That reassurance did not blunt the edge of Mara’s urgency. Even in the wind-caught flicker of the torch light, the reporting Patrol Leader’s face showed strain. Terrified that the disaster that had overtaken her might not have been confined to the glen, Mara demanded, ‘Has there been an attack upon my house?’
‘My Lady, an assassin was sent.’ The Patrol Leader tersely bowed. Trained by Keyoke to be concise, he delivered the news like a battle report. ‘Ayaki suffered a minor cut, but is otherwise unharmed. Two nurses died, and Nacoya, First Adviser, was killed in the child’s defence. The estate grounds have been searched, with no sign of other enemies found. The assassin apparently stole in alone. Keyoke reinforced all border patrols and sent us to bolster your escort.’
But Mara heard none of the details, past knowledge that Ayaki had suffered hurt and that Nacoya, who had been a mother to her since childhood, was dead. Her knees felt weak, and her mind was shocked past thinking. She did not feel the arm that Lujan slipped under her elbow to steady her. She heard but did not comprehend the words her Force Commander said to the Patrol Leader, dispatching a runner to fetch a replacement litter.
Nacoya was dead, and Ayaki injured. She needed Kevin’s arms around her, and the comfort of his love through this nightmare; but he lay bandaged in a litter, unconscious from a healing draught.
Mara stumbled forward. The night felt bitterly desolate. Trouble seemed to roost unseen in the dark, and the road through her own prayer gate seemed menacing with unnamed danger.
‘I must go home,’ she said blankly.
‘Lady, we shall take you there with all haste.’ Lujan snapped orders to his company, and the patrol integrated with the guard already surrounding the Lady and her wounded.and dead. Then, without awaiting the runner’s return with the litter, the warriors marched for the estate house.
Mara hurried in a numb haze of disbelief. Nacoya was dead; that fact seemed incomprehensible. The Lady felt she ought to be crying. Instead, she could not see past placing one stumbling foot in front of the other. She was aware of the Patrol Leader giving the details of the assassin’s raid to Lujan, but inside her head she could hear only Nacoya’s voice, scolding and scolding her for folly, vanity, and headstrong actions.
Ayaki had been injured.
Her heart cried out in outrage, anger, and grief, that one so little should ever be threatened by the machinations of the Great Game. She thought blasphemies: Kevin was right; deaths for political gains were a senseless, cruel waste. Her sense of family honour warred outright with her pain. How narrowly Tasaio had missed ending the Acoma line in the passage of a single day!
Keyoke’s wisdom, Nacoya’s courage, a slave’s disregard of propriety: those had been all that stood between her house and total destruction. Almost, Minwanabi had fulfilled his blood oath to Turakamu. Chills chased over Mara’s flesh. She remembered the rain of arrows that had hissed over her head, even as Kevin’s weight had knocked her down, out of the way. She hurried faster, and did not protest when the litter at last arrived and Lujan caught her up in his arms and bundled her inside without pause to break his stride.
These bearer slaves were fresh. Mara signalled Lujan to appoint an honour guard and let the other soldiers escorting the wounded and dead proceed more slowly. Distraught beyond restraint, she screamed for the slaves to sprint the last quarter mile to the lighted hall of the estate house.
Keyoke met her there, grim and wearing armour from the waist up. He had donned his old helm, shorn of plumes, and his sword was strapped to his side, prepared for the worst if word came back that his mistress had been killed in the forest.
Mara stumbled out of her litter before Lujan could catch her hand. She flung herself into the arms of the old warrior, and with her cheek against his hard breastplate, she fought to hold back tears.
Keyoke stood staunch on his crutch, and his free hand stroked her hair. ‘Mara-anni,’ he said in his deep voice, using the diminutive as a father might address a beloved daughter. ‘Nacoya died most bravely. She will be sung into the halls of Turakamu with all of the honours of a warrior and make proud the Acoma name.’
Mara repressed a deep, shuddering sob. ‘My son,’ she gasped. ‘How is he?’
Over her bent head, the Adviser for War and Lujan exchanged a quick look. Needing no words, the Force Commander gently took Mara’s elbow and eased her weight off Keyoke.
‘We shall go at once to see Ayaki,’ the older adviser said. He pointedly did not ask after her crumpled appearance, or the evidence of bloodstains on her robe. ‘Your son sleeps, attended by Jican. The cut on his neck was attended to promptly, but he lost a lot of blood. He will be well enough in time, but you should know; we could not stop his crying. He has had a terrible shock.’