The crowd surged to its feet, crying out welcome for the mightiest warrior in the Empire.
Quiet in her place, and sipping at her fruit drink, Mara watched but did not cheer as the Warlord made his entry. Wide bands of gold adorned the neck and armholes of his breastplate; additional goldwork patterned his helm, which was surmounted by a crimson plume. Behind Almecho trailed two black-robed magicians, named the ‘Warlord’s pets’ by the masses. Kevin had heard how, in the years before his capture, one of those distant Great Ones had cast the spell that proved Mara’s claim of treachery by the Minwanabi, an action that compelled Desio’s predecessor to ritual suicide to expiate the shame to his family.
Then, unexpectedly, the herald announced a second presence. ‘Ichindar! Ninety-one times Emperor!’
The ovation became a deafening roar. The young Light of Heaven made his entrance. Even Lady Mara threw restraint to the winds. She cheered as loudly as any commoner, her face alight with admiration and awe: this was a man held in near-religious devotion by his nation.
The Light of Heaven made his unprecedented appearance in armour covered entirely in gold. He seemed no more than three years over twenty. His expression could not be interpreted over distance, but his bearing was erect and confident, and red-brown hair flowed from under his high gilt helm, to lie in trimmed curls on his shoulders.
Behind the Emperor filed twenty priests, from each of the twenty major temples. As the Light of Heaven made his way to stand beside the Warlord, the crowd thundered. The cheering seemed inexhaustible.
Through the unnerving din, Kevin shouted to Lujan, ‘Why is everyone so carried away?’
Since decorum had been totally forsaken, Lujan freely called back, ‘The Light of Heaven is our spiritual guardian, who through prayer and exemplary living intercedes on our behalf to the gods. He is Tsuranuanni!’
Never in living memory had an Emperor blessed his nation by coming among the people. That Ichindar chose to do so now was inspirational, a cause for unrestrained joy. Yet, alone in a crowd of thousands, Arakasi was not cheering. He went through all the motions, but Kevin saw that he scanned the surrounding throng for any hint of danger to his mistress. With Tsurani impassivity abandoned to wild pandemonium, this moment offered the perfect opportunity for an enemy to slip close without notice. Kevin edged closer to Mara’s back, prepared to leap to her defence if need be.
The tumultuous ovation rolled on with no sign of waning. At length the Emperor took his seat, and the Warlord raised outstretched arms. His demand took several minutes to be noticed. When the crowd reluctantly quietened, Almecho shouted, ‘The gods smile upon Tsuranuanni! I bring news of a great victory over the otherworld barbarians! We have crushed their greatest army, and our warriors celebrate! Soon all the lands called the Kingdom will be laid at the Light of Heaven’s feet.’ The Warlord ended with a deferential bow to the Light of Heaven, and the masses roared out in approval.
Kevin stood as if stunned. The pit of his stomach felt like ice. Then, aware through his shock and the howl of the crowd that Arakasi studied him intently, the Midkemian glared back. ‘Your Warlord means Brucal and Borric’s forces were routed, the Armies of the West.’ Desperate to bridle an anger that could only endanger his life, Kevin qualified. ‘My own home lies in peril, for now the way lies open for Tsuranuanni to march on Zun!’
Arakasi looked away first; and Kevin remembered: the Spy Master had lost a master and home to the Minwanabi before he swore service to the Acoma. Then Mara’s fingers stole into Kevin’s hand and returned a squeeze of understanding. The Midkemian battled a rush of emotion as his conflicts of loyalty, love, and upbringing tore him a thousand different ways. Fate had taken him from his family and forced him away to a distant world. He had chosen life and love as a man may, rather than miserable captivity; but the cost was only now becoming apparent: who was he — Kevin of Zun or Kevin of the Acoma?
Before the imperial box, the Warlord held up his hands. As the noise subsided, he shouted, ‘To the glory of Tsuranuanni and as a sign of our devotion to the Light of Heaven, we dedicate these games to his honour!’
The cheering swelled afresh, grating on ears and nerves. Somehow Kevin endured it. Though Lujan and Arakasi might tolerate a breach of manners, any Tsurani warriors who guarded neighbouring boxes would cut him down and ask questions later should they suspect him of impudence toward a Lady of Mara’s rank.
Numbly Kevin watched the doors open at the arena’s far end. Roughly a hundred men shambled onto the sunlit sand. Naked but for loincloths, they were of all ages and states of health; some stood with weapons and shields that were familiar to them, but they were few. Most seemed confused by their circumstances, their grip on their swords uncertain.