The wind held sway through another interval of silence. Tasaio stood motionless, his plumes whipping in the brisk air. His face became too still, a mask, and his hands rested like carved stone on the hilt of his sword, while burning amber eyes never moved from Mara’s face. After considering her words, he said, ‘Suppose for a moment you are correct. Tell me why I should care, given the fact, Lady, that I can seize the Warlord’s mantle without your help.’
The reply came as gall from Mara’s lips. ‘At what price? Would you bring the Empire to ruin to take the prize? You will win, I have no doubt, for while few would openly back your claim out of love for House Minwanabi, many will oppose Ichindar’s break with tradition – and to protect their own prerogatives. So, in the end, after a ruinous war you will sit on the white and gold throne, marry your son to one of the departed Ichindar’s many daughters, and have him become the ninety-second Light of Heaven. Then you’ll have no trouble having the new Emperor ratify your election. But you will rule a shattered people.’ Mara strove to maintain poise; merely imagining the costs of such a bid for power caused revulsion in every fibre of her being. After a necessary interval to keep herself from shaking, she added, ‘Such a conflict will certainly leave you critically weakened. Are your reserves deep enough to cope with those likely to prey upon your borders after such mighty conquest? The lesser houses would swarm over you like ravenous insects.’
Tasaio broke eye contact with Mara for the first time. Loftily remote, and in his secret depths convinced he had gained the key to Mara’s gravest weakness, he turned and surveyed his forces. Under his scrutiny, they seemed flawless, arrayed in rows across the hillside, and ready for his instant orders. In their impeccably clean armour and correct bearing, they were a sight to bring pride to any commander. The glorious Minwanabi banner of alternating squares of black and orange snapped smartly in the wind. What else Tasaio saw in the night that sheltered his army only he knew. At length his gaze swung insolently back to Mara. ‘Do continue on the assumption that your supposition is true, Lady. What do you propose in exchange for my not seizing what I perceive is already mine?’
Mara stifled a fury that had nothing to do with enmity or blood feud, but held root in her personal desire to nurture life. ‘I treat with you for the Good of the Empire, Tasaio. I am not without resources.’ She motioned, and an unarmed servant approached from her lines. The Lord of the Minwanabi could not know that the man in the simple robe was actually Arakasi in disguise; in flawless imitation of servility, the Spy Master carried a wrapped bundle, unrolled the parchment covering, and tossed a human head that reeked of preservative across the grass to Tasaio’s feet.
Barely shy of shouting, Mara said, ‘You should recognize the face. Behold the remains of the man you attempted to use to compromise my spy network.’
Tasaio returned a startling rictus of hate. ‘You!’ His word came out as a snarl. ‘You were the one who ordered murder in my house! Only I may command death upon Minwanabi lands!’ A mad light entered his eyes, icily without compunction. Touched by an involuntary shiver, Mara sensed threat in the air. The wind ruffled her robes, tugged at her elaborately piled hair, and chilled the sweat on her skin. No words were spoken, but Mara knew in her soul that only the thinnest thread of reason remained to remind Tasaio of his pledge of truce. At this moment, she knew, her enemy wished for nothing more than his hands around Mara’s throat, perhaps as he took her in brutal rape.
Then, with equally frightening abruptness, Tasaio’s expression shifted to a satisfied smile. ‘So you admit to killing your own agent?’
Mara willed herself to outer calmness. Inwardly she was frightened by his shattering shift of mien, and aware that she was dealing with a man who could only be judged insane. She inclined her head. ‘More than one, Tasaio.’
Tasaio’s teeth flashed white as his smile turned cruel. Through a long and uneasy interval, the only sounds upon the hillside were the crack and flap of battle standards and the hiss of the wind through the grass. Then Tasaio said, ‘So you forged my family chop? And paid the Hamoi tong to murder your own agents in my house? Lady, you have unexpected turns of originality.’
He did not threaten or posture, which Mara found disturbing. That his heart held murder, and worse, could never for an instant be doubted. And yet she pressed him. ‘You must consider the frustration in coming years of not being able to bring strangers into your service, Tasaio. You know as I stand here, my agents shall be among them. Perhaps you should have all merchants and visitors banned from your estates, and even refuse the wagons of traders lest you admit an Acoma spy.’
Tasaio’s patience suddenly vanished. He shouted, ‘Do you really think such pathetic threats worry me, Mara? Upon your death, all your servants become slaves and grey warriors. What dread will I know when you are food for worms?’