Kevin closed his gaping mouth with an effort. This was only a clan meeting!
Mara had attempted to explain clan relationships to him, and after a long and frustrating discourse Kevin grasped only a fuzzy concept of how all these notables were affiliated. By his understanding, somewhere back in the dim mists of history, these people had ancestors that were cousins. Bound to customs that seemed a knotwork of contradiction, they clung to what was, in Midkemian logic, an outdated concept of relationship, one that might have held significance in an earlier age, but that now seemed mostly ceremonial. Yet when Kevin had voiced this conclusion, Mara had insisted that clan loyalty was no phantom. Given the right motivation, these separate family factions would unite and die in bloody battle defending their elusive code of identity. It was the very urgency of such relationships that had created the Great Game, for once clan honour was invoked, no house could honourably ignore those ties of blood.
Once past the entry platform and the drummers, Kevin could view the entire chamber. The sheer size made him feel dwarfed. On a dais slightly higher than the ring of seats on the central level of the hall, a man in flowing robes and a massive headdress of green and yellow plumes nodded to Mara’s bearers to set down her litter. Her honour guard retired, to take up position above and behind the concentric circle of seats cut into the lowest tier of galleries, and a snap of her fingers summoned Kevin to assist her to her feet. With the Lady poised on his arm, the Midkemian guided where she pointed: down a shallow stair, to a green-painted awning and a chair carved with shatra bird symbols, in a gallery large enough for all of Mara’s advisers and officers to surround her, should she need them close by. Followed by the ghostly echo of whispered conversation, Kevin kept his eyes down in proper Tsurani submission. He must observe the forms here, distasteful as they were to his beliefs. Fully five thousand people could fill the overhanging galleries, with room for ten thousand more at floor level, if occasion warranted.
As Kevin installed the Lady of the Acoma in her green lacquered chair, he marked that her place was relatively close to the dais. Aware that the time of entry, as well as seating, were cultural indicators of rank, Kevin had already marked the range of fashion and quality of clothing. The Lord farthest from the dais was a poor country relative, by all appearance, for his finery was worn and faded with wear.
But the man upon the dais was a peacock in full plumage! As Kevin performed a slave’s bow beside his Lady’s chair, he risked a peek beneath his lashes.
‘My Lord Chekowara,’ Mara greeted cordially. ‘Are you well?’
The Lord, whose name Kevin recognized as belonging to the Clan Warchief, nodded back, though how he could do so and not topple under the weight of his jewels and plumes was mystifying; the man seemed something of a fop, yet his face was broad and masculine, and almost as black-skinned as that of a native of Great Kesh, the southern empire in Midkemia. Muttering as he rose from obeisance, Kevin commented, ‘If you two are related, it’s many generations back.’
Mara shot him a glance that was half-irritated, half-amused. From the dais, the Lord of the Chekowara smiled, showing an array of ivory teeth, ‘I am most well, Lady Mara. We welcome our most august Ruling Lady to our meeting, and presume that you are well also.’
Mara returned the ritual assurance, then coolly inclined her head to other surrounding lords. As he assumed a slave’s place behind his Lady’s chair, Kevin searched faces for signs of displeasure; yet if any notable present was disappointed by Mara’s timely arrival, nothing showed but Tsurani impassivity. Nearly seventy families had sent representatives to the gathering, and one or several could have been responsible for Mara’s misdirected invitation. Stunned yet again by the scope of Tsuranuanni, Kevin reminded himself that the Hadama were held to be a minor clan in the Empire, no matter how much honour the Acoma had gained. How many powerful houses must a great clan number? By Kevin’s rough estimation, this tiny clan meeting, with advisers, servants, and slaves, put the number of people in this building close to five hundred, with an equal number of soldiers waiting in outer halls. When the mighty of the Empire met in council, Kevin could only imagine the place filled to capacity.
Clearly not intimidated, Mara said, ‘I am most pleased to seek council with our cousins and attend this, the first clan meeting since I assumed the Acoma mantle.’
The Lord of the Chekowara’s smile broadened. ‘Much honour and prestige have you brought House Acoma since your father’s untimely death, Lady Mara. You bring pride to our hearts.’