‘It would seem we must be ready for any eventuality,’ Mara announced with firmness. ‘Arakasi, when you are able, you will be needed back in the city. Keep abreast of every rumour. For soon the powers of this Empire will change their course, and if we do not lay our path carefully, we may be crushed in the byplay.’
There followed a tense, sleepless night, while Lujan’s warriors rearranged furnishings and pulled old battle shutters out of storage. The ancient dwelling in Kentosani had not taken assault in many centuries, but the old walls were solid. The warriors fortified the gates and the doorways as best they could, their work lit by slaves bearing lanterns.
Sounds of strife drifted in from the direction of the inner city, and running footsteps chased up and down the street. Whether these were men fleeing thieves, or assassins sent out to knife enemies, no one within the safety of walls dared open their gates to know.
Three hours after nightfall, Strike Leader Kenji returned, a sword cut in his shoulder and his armour chipped from hard fighting. He found Lady Mara in the kitchen, deep in consultation with Jican concerning food stores. By the slate in her hand, and the inventory going on, she looked as if she prepared for a siege.
Kenji bowed, and the movement caught Mara’s eye. She called for a servant to bring chocha, and settled her Strike Leader on a chopping table, while the battered basket of remedies was once again fetched from the stores.
‘The Sajaio were swept away by the mob.’ Kenji fought back a grimace as he reached to unbuckle his armour.
‘Don’t,’ Mara said. ‘Let me call a slave to help.’
But Kenji was too numbly focused on completing his duty to take heed. As the first fastening loosened, he started on another, and torturously resumed his report. ‘The two men with me were lost. One died fighting; the other perished in the falling fire. The mob drove me far astray, though I fought to return to the town house. Thick crowds jammed the temple precinct, drawn there in fear of their lives. I tried to come by way of the waterfront, but the docks there collapsed in the earthquakes.’
A slave appeared at Mara’s summons and stooped to help Kenji with his armour. His wound was sullenly bleeding, the silk padding underneath lacquer armour already ringed with stains. ‘There were riots, Lady.’ Kenji gasped as the breastplate was lifted from him. Sallow and sweating in his pain, he continued, his words laboured. ‘The poor and the fisherfolk from the dockside started looting moored barges and nearby shops.’
Mara glanced anxiously at Jican, who had earlier noticed the scarlet glow of fires and rightly predicted disastrous effects upon trade.
‘Some of the warehouses were torn open and gutted. Other folk swarmed away to the imperial precinct to demand food and shelter from the Warlord.’
Mara waved Kenji to silence. ‘You have done well. Rest now, and allow your hurts to be tended.’
But the battered Strike Leader insisted on rising to make his bow. As the slave brought warm water to soak the padding away from his half-formed scabs, he sank back and endured the discomfort in a wretched lethargy of exhaustion.
Mara sat down and took the hand of her officer. She remained with him while his shoulder was tended, and listened as sounds of distant strife mingled with the scratch of Jican’s chalk. Spread on benches and tables were supplies enough to last for several days. Thirty warriors might be enough to hold the gates against a mob bent on mayhem, but never a foray of armed force.
In the end, toward dawn, when Kenji was bedded down and sleeping, Mara consulted with Lujan, and an officer was chosen to summon reinforcements from the nearest Acoma garrison.
Thuds and screams drifted in through the screens, incongruous against the liquid play of fountains. The sky lay tinged by the glow of raging fires, and the streets were safe for no man. As Lujan let his messenger out the gate, he said in worried parting, ‘Let us pray to the gods that our enemies are in as much disarray as we are.’
‘Indeed,’ Mara murmured. ‘Let us pray.’
16 – Regrouping
The trumpet sounded.
After two days behind locked gates, with Acoma soldiers camped in garden and courtyard and even the downstairs hallway, the noise was a welcome intrusion. Mara pushed away a book scroll she had failed to read. Her nerves were like overwound strings, responsive to the slightest movement and sound. She was on her feet ahead of thought, even as the warriors on duty had blades half-drawn from their scabbards.