‘No one, Lady.’ The runner straightened from his obeisance and flipped back sweat-damp hair. ‘For the good of the Empire, my guild sends word to all Ruling Lords and Ladies.’
For the good of the Empire . . . With that phrase the runner indicated his guild had thought this matter of grave enough importance that they acted without recompense. Concerned now, Mara asked, ‘What has occurred?’
The messenger seemed not to mind that her request came without any offer of refreshment. ‘Lady, the Empire stands imperilled. The gods have turned their anger upon us. The renegade magician, the former Great One, Milamber, has returned.’
Mara sensed a stir of movement behind her and knew that Kevin had joined her. In a note of rising excitement, the Midkemian said, ‘Then the rift is opened once more!’
‘As your slave observes, my Lady,’ the runner answered, looking only at Mara. ‘More. The Warlord sought to capture this magician, using allies in the Assembly. There is no clear account of what occurred, save that a battle was fought in the palace between the Imperial Whites and an army led by Kamatsu of the Shinzawai.’
The air seemed suddenly to lose brightness. Mara clutched her robe around her shoulders, unaware that her knuckles had gone white. With a calm she did not feel, for there could be no doubt that Hokanu would have marched beside his father, she prompted, ‘A battle in the palace?’
‘Yes, mistress.’ Unaware of her personal discomfort, the messenger seemed to relish his dark news. To this end: the Warlord was pronounced traitor and has been put to dishonourable death.’
Mara’s eyes widened. Dishonourable death could only mean hanging. Only two powers in the Empire could order such an execution, and Axantucar had allies among the magicians. ‘The Emperor . . . ?’
Barely able to restrain his excitement, the messenger confirmed. ‘Yes, Lady, the Light of Heaven condemned the Warlord and now himself suspends the right of any Lord to sit upon the white and gold throne.’
In the shocked interval that followed, Mara did little but try to order her reeling thoughts. The Emperor condemning the Warlord! The event stunned, breaking as it did all former tradition and precedence. Even in times of gravest threat, no Light of Heaven had dared to act as did Ichindar.
The messenger summed up. ‘Mistress, the High Council is dissolved and will not assemble without the Emperor’s command!’
Mara struggled to show no surprise. ‘Is there more?’
The messenger crossed his arms and bowed. ‘Nothing in common knowledge. But no doubt official word should follow.’
‘Then visit the kitchen and eat,’ Mara invited, ‘I have been remiss in my courtesy, and would invite you to replenish your strength before you make your next call.’
‘My Lady is generous, but I must depart. By your leave?’
Mara waved the young man on his way. As he hurried down the road at a run, she bent a keen look at Saric. ‘Get Arakasi back here as soon as possible.’
Her urgency needed no explanation. For if the runner’s news was accurate, this was far and away the most momentous event ever to occur in her lifetime. Now the rules of the Great Game were forever altered, and until such day as the Light of Heaven changed his mind, he was the absolute power in the Empire. Unless, Mara thought, with a twist of irony like Kevin’s own, someone decided otherwise by killing him.
It took nearly two weeks to recall Arakasi, given the circuitous methods he insisted upon. Throughout the delay, Mara fretted, while rumours ran rampant through the Empire. Contrary to expectation, there came no official tidings of the upheavals surrounding Axantucar’s execution. Yet the days dawned damp and humid, and the afternoons brought fine drizzle and showers, as they did each year at this season. Plots and speculation abounded, but the Emperor indisputably remained alive and in power in Kentosani. Word held that eight of his slaves had died of various exotic poisons left in dishes of food, and that three cooks and two imperial chambermaids had been hanged for connected acts of treason. Commerce went on, but uneasily, as if in the calm before a storm.
The oppressive weather made even fidgeting uncomfortable. Mara spent restless hours at her writing desk, penning notes to her various allies. Only missives sent to Jiro of the Anasati remained unanswered, which came as no surprise. Mara sighed and reached for another parchment, then checked the next name on her chalk slate. She dipped her nib, and the soft scratch of her pen wore away yet another afternoon.
Kevin tended to wilt in the heavy, moist air of the wet season. Less volatile than Mara when it came to intangible matters, he lay dozing upon a mat in the corner of her study, lulled by the soft tap of rain from the eaves, or by the scrape of Mara’s pen. Into the grey-green gloom that lingered from yet another shower came a shadow.
Mara started upright, her breath stopped in her throat. Her movement roused Kevin, who scrambled up on a fighter’s reflex, his big hands grasping for a sword that was not there.