Incomo could only stand mute and nod. The concept of working under a mistress who was blessedly not afflicted with temperament, or an insane lust for cruelty, seemed a vision of perfection from the gods. Uncertain whether he was dreaming, he shook his head in wonder. The old man raised his hand and was shocked to find tears flowing. Forcing himself back to an honourable impassive mien, he heard Saric whisper, ‘When you’ve reconciled yourself to death, a new life is something of a shock, yes?’
Incomo could only nod, speechless, as Mara returned her attention to the priests of Chochocan. The clerics finished their rites over the bodies of the Minwanabi Lord, his wife, and his children. As they lit their candle to start the death fire, Mara looked one last time at the hard, clean profile of the man who had nearly come to ruin her, and whose hand had brought the deaths of her father and brother. ‘Our debt is settled,’ she said to herself, then raised her voice in formal call. ‘Soldiers of the Minwanabi! Give honours to your master!’
As one, the waiting warriors relieved their helms and arms from the ground. They stood at attention, saluting their former master as his earthly form and extravagantly fine armour were engulfed in curtains of fire.
As the smoke rose toward heaven, Irrilandi stood forward and was permitted, in a voice almost tremulous with gratitude, to recite the long list of Tasaio’s honours in the field. Mara and the Acoma retinue stood and listened with impeccable politeness, and out of respect for her feelings the fallen Minwanabi Force Commander omitted the names of Mara’s father and brother when he mentioned the battle that ended their life. When his recitation came to an end, Mara turned to face those arrayed before her. Raising her voice to be heard over the roaring fire, she cried, ‘Who among you were advisers, hadonra, servants, and factors, you are needed. Serve me from this day forward as the freemen you are.’ Several of those in grey robes rose uncertainly, then moved to stand on one side. ‘You who are slaves, serve me also in the hope that one day this Empire will find the wisdom to grant the freedom that should never by right have been forbidden you.’ These others followed, hesitantly.
Then Mara shouted to the soldiers, ‘Brave warriors, I am Mara of the Acoma. Tradition holds that you now lead a masterless existence as grey warriors, and that all who were your officers must die.’ The front rank of men who had once worn plumes received her words impassively. They had expected no less, and their affairs were settled in preparation for the end.
Yet Mara did not order them to fall upon their swords. ‘I find such a practice a crime and a dishonour for men who were but loyal to their lawful Lord. It was not your choice to be led by men of evil nature. That fate decrees a death without battle honours is a foolishness I have no intention of perpetuating!’
Softly, to the Force Commander at her side, Mara murmured, ‘Lujan, did you find him? Is he here?’
Lujan inclined his head to speak in her ear. ‘I think he stands on the right in the first rank. It’s been years, so I can’t be sure. But I’ll find out.’ Stepping away from his mistress, he called out in his field commander’s voice, ‘Jadanyo, who was once fifth son of the Wedewayo!’
The soldier who had been identified bowed in obedience and came forward. He had not seen Lujan since boyhood and had thought him dead in the destruction of the Tuscai, so his eyes widened. ‘Lujan, old friend! Can it be you?’
Lujan waved introduction to Mara. ‘Mistress, this man is Jadanyo, by blood my second cousin. He is an honourable soldier and worthy of service.’
The Lady inclined her head toward the former Minwanabi warrior. ‘Jadanyo, you have been called to serve the Acoma. Are you willing?’
The man stumbled over his words in dismay. ‘What is this?’
Lujan gave a devilish grin. In a laughing voice he said, ‘Say yes, you idiot, or will I have to wrestle you into submission as I did when we were children?’
Jadanyo hesitated, eyes wide. Then, in a joyful shout, he cried, ‘Yes! Lady, I am willing to serve a new mistress.’
Mara saluted him formally, then signalled Keyoke forward.
In the tone that once commanded armies, her battered Adviser for War cried out, ‘Irrilandi, who was my friend as a child, present yourself!’
The Minwanabi Force Commander took a moment to recognize a former friend and rival, resplendent as he was in the glittering finery of an adviser. With a glance in wonderment at the crutch, and the face whose chiselled lines still held vitality and pride, he moved from his place before the front ranks of his dishonoured soldiers. By every tradition he expected to die this day, along with all his subofficers. Too old a campaigner to set any store in miracles, he heard without belief as Keyoke said, ‘Mistress, this man is Irrilandi, who is brother to one who married my cousin’s wife’s sister. He is therefore my cousin and worthy of service to the Acoma.’