‘No, my Lord,’ Incomo murmured quickly, warned by the spark of fire under the master’s lashes. ‘I am just not sure what you mean.’
‘I wish to have one of the Acoma spies close at hand.’ Tasaio considered a rising ribbon of smoke as if it told him secrets. He went on, ‘I would observe this servant. Let him believe that he can eavesdrop upon critical conversations. You and I shall be certain that nothing he overhears is inherently false; no. Never false. But we’ll also remember anything we say will also be heard by Mara. The deep plans we keep to ourselves, discussed only when we are alone. The little things we say before the spy will be offered as a gambit. I want this servant observed, and followed, until this network of Acoma spies is infiltrated.’
Incomo bowed. ‘Anything else, my Lord?’
Tasaio set the pipe to his lips and drew another lungful of the intoxicating smoke. ‘No. I am tired. I will sleep. Tomorrow at dawn I will hunt. Then I will dine with you and the other advisers. At midday I will marry, and throughout the afternoon we shall celebrate the wedding festival. Send to the nearby villages for entertainers.’ Nothing if not concise, Tasaio summed up. ‘Now leave.’
The Minwanabi First Adviser retired from his master’s presence. Upon return to his quarters, he determined the time was appropriate to begin composition of his death prayer. A careful man addressed this task when he got on in years, that his final appeal to the gods be read by someone who survived him. To name the Lady of the Acoma for destruction seemed a perilous enough course, but to mark the new Warlord, who had just come to power over the bodies of five other claimants, as a target was suicide.
As he shed his formal robe of office, Incomo wasted no time wondering whether Tasaio’s planning was a dream that would disperse with the tateesha smoke – the eyes beneath their heavy lids had been all too dangerously aware. Sighing at the discomfort of stiff knees, Incomo knelt before his writing table. Three Minwanabi Lords before Tasaio he had called master, and while they were not men he admired, they were Lords he was pledged to serve with his mind and will and if need be, his life. Taking a deep breath, he took up his pen and began to write.
* * *
The festivities were modest, but those in attendance seemed to enjoy themselves. The food was ample, the wine abundant, and the Lord of the Minwanabi sat atop his dais in the great hall of his ancestors, looking every inch the quintessential Tsurani warrior. If he was not overly solicitous to his wife, he was polite and observed all the forms. Incarna’s skimpy courtesan’s garb had been replaced by a robe of stunning richness, black silk embroidered with orange threads at sleeves, neck and hem, and studded down the front with matching pearls of incalculable worth.
The two children sat quietly at their father’s feet, the boy slightly higher and closer than the girl. Occasionally Tasaio would speak to Dasari, instructing him in some point of trivia or another. From the moment he named his son legitimate, Tasaio was determined to groom him for rulership. The boy’s robe was a clear imitation of his father’s, down to the embroidery upon the sleeve, the outline of a snarling sarcat. The little girl, Hani, was content to sit below her father’s feet, chewing upon a sweet fruit while a juggler entertained.
Behind the Lord of the Minwanabi stood a servant, one recently promoted to the personal service of the master of the estate. While only the least of four men assigned responsibility for attending to their Lord’s needs, this one listened with a little more attention to the nuances of conversation.
Throughout the evening the festivities continued, until Tasaio rose and bid his guests good evening. Motioning for Incomo to accompany him, the Lord of the Minwanabi moved toward his private quarters. Incomo quietly requested the servant to follow and station himself at the door to the master’s chamber, against Tasaio’s needs. The servant did as he was bid with a patience that concealed the fact that he avidly consigned to memory every word that passed between the Lord and his First Adviser.
* * *