Arakasi appeared inwardly calculating. ‘Even had things gone as Kevin surmises, I don’t think our Emperor would have risked an open confrontation with the Warlord. Not unless he had some special avenue of appeal.’
Kevin’s eyes widened. ‘The magicians!’
Mara nodded. ‘Almecho has his “pets”, so Ichindar would need allies to counter them.’ To Arakasi she said, ‘Go and speak with your agents. Discover, if you can, who among the Great Ones is a likely candidate to have been involved in this game. See if one has a special relationship to any within the Blue Wheel, especially the Shinzawai. They seem to be at the heart of things.’
As her Spy Master bowed and departed, Mara’s gaze sharpened as if she viewed some private vista from a place of dizzying height. ‘Great changes are coming. I feel this like the breeze that brings the butana,’ she said in reference to the bitter, dry wind that in the old stories raised the spirits of demons and set them free to roam the land. Then, as if thoughts of mythological evils and present-day strife gave her shivers, she ruefully acknowledged her clumsiness. ‘But one can hardly seize the initiative while swimming in puddles of chocha.’
‘That depends on what sort of initiative,’ Kevin countered, and he rescued her from the disaster by sweeping her into his arms.
The upheaval precipitated by Milamber brought in a few small concessions. As trade resumed, and shortfalls opened opportunities, Mara received word from Lord Keda that her terms for the warehouse space had been accepted. The destruction along the dock front in Kentosani had made her offer the only option, and a premium would reward the first grain shipments to reach the market on the flood. Lord Andero conceded her the Keda vote with a minimum of sureties; with no High Council called to session, such a promise held questionable value.
Yet Mara dispatched a messenger with word of her acceptance anyway. Any promise was worth more than no promise at all, and from the information brought by her Spy Master, the ruling Lords who were not busy exploiting trade advantages were displeased with the Emperor’s machinations. Peace, they said, was a coward’s act, and the gods did not favour weak nations.
The news came thick and heavy after that; Mara spent yet another morning in conference with Arakasi, while Kevin dozed in the shade of a tree in the courtyard. He did not hear until later, when official word came, that the Light of Heaven had departed for the City of the Plains, his intent to cross the rift to Midkemia and negotiate for peace with Lyam, King of the Isles.
Kevin shot bolt upright at the mention of the Midkemian name. ‘Lyam!’
‘King Lyam,’ Mara repeated. She tapped the parchment delivered to her town house by imperial messenger. ‘So it is written here, by the Emperor’s own scribe.’
‘But Lyam is Lord Borric’s son,’ Kevin remembered, a dazed look on his face. ‘If he’s King, that can only mean King Rodric, Prince Erland of Krondor, and Borric himself are all dead.’
‘What do you know of King Lyam?’ Mara asked, choosing a seat by his side.
‘I don’t know him well,’ Kevin admitted. ‘We played together as children one time. I just remember him as a big blond boy who laughed a lot. I met Lord Borric once at a commanders’ meeting.’ He fell silent, wrapped in thoughts of his own land, until curiosity caused him to ask to read the parchment. The Emperor of Tsuranuanni did not believe in travelling without half the nobles in his Empire, it appeared. Kevin’s mouth quirked wryly. By imperial command, the Light of Heaven’s honour guard consisted of the Warchiefs of the Five Great Clans and the eldest sons of half the other Lords in Tsuranuanni.
‘Hostages,’ the Midkemian said outright. ‘The Lords will hardly defy edict and make bloody trouble with their heirs in the Emperor’s field army.’
The arena of politics suddenly paled. Kevin shut his eyes and tried to imagine the brown-haired youth in gilt armour seated across a table with Borric’s son Lyam, who was also young . . . and it came home to Kevin, like a slam to the heart, that time had passed. The war had gone on, and people had died in his absence. He did not even know if his father and elder brothers were alive. The thought stung, that for years he had forgotten to care. Seated in a beautiful courtyard, surrounded by alien flowers and a woman from a culture that often seemed incomprehensibly cruel, Kevin, third son of the Baron of Zun, took a deep breath and tried to take stock of who he was.
‘But why should Ichindar go there?’ Mara mused, unmindful of his turmoil. ‘Such a risk to our Light of Heaven.’