Читать книгу The Complete Empire Trilogy: Daughter of the Empire, Mistress of the Empire, Servant of the Empire - Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts - Страница 15

Mara stiffened.

Dismay, disappointment, and anger welled up within her all at once; then fear prevailed over all else. Somehow, someone had relayed word of the cho-ja Queen’s hatching.

If the news had spread indiscriminately across the countryside, more than one family might be travelling to the hive in the hill. The one waiting above would be only the first of many. Yet this boded ill even if the news had not been widely dispersed, for then the Lord of the Inrodaka might have invited some special friend to be first to seek the new Queen’s hive. He would most certainly not be pleased to discover trespassers upon his land to steal a march upon his ally. With or without the young Queen’s approval, Mara now faced returning across the lands of a hostile Lord aware of her presence. Even more frightening, some agent of the Minwanabi might have learned of Mara’s errand and sent an informant back to his master. Perhaps Jingu himself waited above to communicate with the young Queen.

Careful to hide her distress from the Queens, Mara took a deep breath. Her throat felt as dry as sand, even as she reminded herself of a teaching mother’s lesson: ‘Fear is the little death, daughter. It kills in tiny pieces.’

With the appearance of calm, Mara looked to the old Queen. ‘Honoured ruler,’ she said, ‘be advised that I am most determined to win the loyalty of this new hive. Acoma lands are rich and wide, and another Lord of the Empire is unlikely to better the terms I can offer.’

On the dais, the old Queen huffed through her nose slits, the cho-ja equivalent of laughter. ‘Loyalty? Lady Ruler of the Acoma, that is a concept not shared by my kind. Workers, warriors, rirari, all do as is their nature, for without the hive there is nothing. A queen is the sole arbiter of a hive, and we make our trade contracts for the best terms we may. Always we serve the highest bidder.’

Mara sat speechless at this revelation. By chance the Queen had disclosed a thing no Tsurani in the Empire had guessed. Tsurani society had always believed the cho-ja were above certain human failings. Now what was believed to be an unassailable sense of honour was revealed as the crassest sort of service-mongering. These cho-ja were nothing more than a race of merchants. Their legendary loyalty was open to sale to the highest bidder, and perhaps subject to renegotiation should the cho-ja receive a better offer from a rival Lord. One of the underpinnings of the Empire’s power structure was far more vulnerable than anyone knew, for never before had anyone thought to test cho-ja loyalty by contacting the hive upon another Lord’s lands. Through her dismay, Mara saw advantage: so long as no other ruler in the Empire guessed the truth, she might use such knowledge for her own gain – provided she survived the next hour.

‘Keyoke.’ Mara leaned across her cushions and motioned the Force Commander closer. ‘These warriors who came with us must be sworn to absolute silence.’ With her face kept carefully blank, she added, ‘The slaves must not be permitted to reveal what we have just heard.’ Nothing more would be said, but the old warrior knew she had just pronounced death sentence upon eight men. He in turn whispered something to Arakasi and, his expression unreadable, the Spy Master nodded once, indicating he affirmed the decision.

Mara straightened. To the old Queen she said, ‘Then we shall bargain.’

Excited by the prospect, the old Queen trilled her pleasure. ‘I shall inform the other human Lord that he has a competing offer.’

The Queen then issued commands to waiting cho-ja workers. These were of the smaller, more intelligent artisan class. Mara waited with the appearance of patience as they scuttled away. Other workers entered the chamber, clearly establishing a relay of messengers, since the newly arrived Lord preferred to negotiate from the surface, in the traditional Tsurani manner. Mara resolved to extract what advantage she could from that circumstance.

The first message arrived from above, and after clicking communication with the courier and the young Queen, the hive matriarch inclined her head towards Mara. ‘Your rival Lord also possesses fine meadowlands that are dry year round, near to good water, and free of tree roots. He says as well that his soil is sandy and easy to tunnel.’ She paused and conferred with her daughter Queen, then added, ‘Lady of the Acoma, my hatchling wishes to know if you care to improve your offer.’

Mara resisted an impulse to twist her fingers in the fringes of her cushion. ‘Kindly relate to your daughter that sandy soil may be easy to dig, but it also leaches water and tends to collapse easily.’

Enjoying herself, the old Queen responded with her odd laugh. ‘We know, Lady of the Acoma. We find it entertaining that a human would presume to know more of tunnelling than a cho-ja. Still, sandy soil presents no difficult problem for us.’

Mara thought quickly. ‘You are the finest miners in the world, yet I will provide slaves to help with the digging so that your daughter’s wait upon the surface is short. One hundred of my warriors will safeguard the site, and my own pavilion will shade her from the sun until her chambers are ready underground.’ Mara swallowed hard. ‘In addition, each day she remains above ground she shall have twenty baskets of fruits and thyza harvested from my fields, that her workers may remain full of industry with no need to forage.’

The old Queen clicked her translation and the young Queen replied. A moment later a messenger scuttled up the passage towards the surface. Perspiring lightly in the spicy warmth, Mara managed not to fidget. Negotiations might proceed very slowly, she thought, but the messenger returned unexpectedly fast.

When the new terms had been related to her daughter, the old Queen translated for Mara. ‘Should any tunnels collapse, your rival says he offers a suite of rooms in his estate house to the Queen and her chosen attendants, until her own quarters may be rebuilt.’

Something in the Queen’s voice lent Mara an insight. Despite her fluent Tsurani, the Queen was an alien being with alien needs. Few common values overlapped; by repeating the rival offer, the cho-ja ruler might not be indicating her preference but instead inciting the human rulers to bid each other up as high as possible. Mara strove to be as shrewd as possible. ‘That is silly. What reason would your daughter have to wish to reside in a Tsurani house? My pavilion would be more comfortable.’

The old Queen answered without hesitation. ‘This is true. But he also offers a hundredweight in jade and an equal weight in fine metal to endow my daughter’s craft workers.’

Mara shivered slightly under her thin robes. The items just named amounted to a fortune. Her rival above was most determined, to raise his stakes so high this soon. Cleverness alone would not suffice, and Mara imagined Jican wringing his hands as she debated the wealth the Acoma would pledge as a counter-offer.

Mara’s voice was unsteady as she spoke. ‘Honourable Queen, tell your daughter that Tsurani estate houses are suitable to workers and soldiers only, not queens. Far better, tunnels that never collapse. Say also that metals and jade are useless without tools to work them; so then, what would the cho-ja wish: gems and metals which they can find more easily than any human miner, or tools which can work such into things of beauty and value, to be traded to humans for whatever the cho-ja truly wish to possess? I will match the other Lord’s offer in value, but with things cho-ja do not fashion for themselves: tools, and needra hide of equal worth, and resin-worked woods.’ She paused, then added, ‘Also weapons and armour for her warriors.’

‘A generous offer,’ observed the old Queen. Her eyes glittered brightly while she translated as if she enjoyed the striving between human rulers. The exchange was punctuated by excited trills.

Strained and tired, Mara closed her eyes. The Acoma resources stood in danger of depletion, and the pledge she had just made relied heavily on the craftsmen brought in by Lujan, armourers and weapons makers whose work had yet to be evaluated. And the cho-ja would be insulted by inferior work, perhaps even moved to wrath.

The messenger returned quickly. He exchanged rapid clicks with the Queen matriarch, and the daughter Queen broke into a series of loud trills.

Mara dreaded the translation; surely the outburst from the daughter Queen signified a magnanimous concession from the rival Lord.

The old Queen finished with the messenger. Still as a statue of obsidian, she said, ‘Lady Ruler, the Lord above ground has informed us that he recognizes Acoma colours upon the warriors who wait by the hive entrance. He says he knows of your resources and claims further that you cannot possibly meet the terms you have just named.’

Mara’s eyes narrowed before the glittering gaze of the Queen. ‘His words are untrue.’ She paused, contained a sharp, dangerous anger, and arose from her cushion. ‘This Lord speaks from ignorance.’

Indifferent to Mara’s ire, the Queen said, ‘I do not understand.’

Mara strove to control her fury. ‘Do the cho-ja know the details of every hive, the workings, the goings-on?’

The Queen flicked her forearms in perplexity. ‘Whatever transpires in a hive is known to all queens.’ She paused a long minute, then chittered softly to the young Queen. To Mara she added, ‘Clearly your human ways differ from ours.’

Mara licked her lips and tasted sweat. Strain must not drive her to act rashly. Deep below ground, with only six warriors standing between herself and the most rigorous of hive defences, a single mistimed gesture might prove fatal. ‘I am Ruling Lady of the Acoma,’ Mara said carefully. ‘I say that no house in the Empire dares to presume to know the extent of my resources! This rival Lord bargains without honour and his charge is an insult to my house.’ She stepped forward, fear masked by the proud bearing of her ancestors, and faced the young Queen directly. ‘Lady of the cho-ja, I negotiate in good faith. Know that, as an Acoma, I hold my word more important than my life.’

The wait as her words were translated threatened to break her, yet Mara endured, hands clenched hard together. The young Queen studied the human visitor with keen curiosity, while the old Queen gave instructions to her messengers. Mara’s challenge to her unseen rival above ground broached matters of honour, and a bloodletting might result that could carry even into the hive. Fighting an onset of panic, Mara cursed inwardly. Not knowing the identity of her rival placed her at a severe disadvantage.

A faint scrape sounded in the passage as the next messenger whisked into view. The old Queen heard him, then spoke. ‘Lady Ruler, the Lord above concedes his words were spoken in anger. Perhaps you might have armourers who can fulfil the obligation you have promised, but he says all the Empire knows that his wealth is greater than that of the Acoma. For the young Queen he will better any and all offers the Lady Mara cares to make, if my daughter will choose his land for her new hive.’

Jade bracelets clashed against silence as Mara stiffened. ‘Who boasts his wealth is superior to mine?’

‘The Lord of the Ekamchi,’ answered the Queen.

Mara looked askance at Arakasi, for the name was only vaguely familiar. The Spy Master left his place among her retinue and whispered swiftly, ‘Inrodaka’s closest friend. He has some wealth, a little more than your own, I think. His army is small, though he probably has an escort with him that outnumbers us. I remember him as a fat man, with no personal history of warcraft and most likely little courage.’

Mara nodded. The speed with which the Lord of the Ekamchi had retracted his claim to know Acoma resources seemed to indicate the hesitancy of a man unsure of himself. Relying on Arakasi’s implicit advice, Mara said, ‘Advantage shifts away from us the longer we wait. I think I need to be bold.’

The Spy Master flashed a quick smile as he bowed and returned to his place. Making her voice ring with a confidence she did not feel, Mara addressed the young Queen. ‘Daughter Queen of the cho-ja, I say now the Acoma will match any bid set forth by this arrogant braggart who stands above us. All material goods he offers I will equal in kind for your hive. I also promise that sweet-smelling blossoms will be delivered each day of the spring, that those pleasures of life above ground will not be forgotten by you as you care for your subjects. I will have hangings of pretty colours made by our finest weavers, so your quarters will always be pleasant, and these hangings shall be replaced each season, that you not tire of your surroundings. And I will come, and sit, and discuss with you the affairs of the Empire, so you may grow in understanding of human affairs. I beg that you now choose which estate you will have as home for your new hive.’

Silence fell. The attendant workers seemed to tense slightly as the Queen matriarch began her translation, each click and whistle starkly emphasized. Mara listened with the breath stopped in her throat, while at her sides Keyoke and Arakasi exchanged grim signals of readiness. Their mistress had made a bold request, and no man knew how the alien cho-ja might respond.

The two queens conferred. Tense, aching with pressure, Mara felt the minutes stretched like the strings of a gikoto tightened past pitch by an overanxious musician. Every shred of self-control she had learned at the temple came into play as she endured cruel suspense. The faces of her retainers surrounded her, from the familiar, lined visage of Keyoke, to each of her soldiers, to the enigmatic countenance of Arakasi. Chills pricked her skin as she wondered what fate would befall should the cho-ja Queen decide against the Acoma; if the bargain went to the Lord of the Ekamchi, she would have enemies waiting above. Any advantage she had gained by entering the hive would be lost; her boldness ultimately might bring her death, since no man knew what guest customs the alien race observed.

Then, without warning, the old Queen’s faceted eyes swivelled towards the humans. Mara stood motionless as judgement was pronounced. ‘The Queen daughter has chosen. She says she will bring her hive to the estate of Mara of the Acoma.’

Lax’l gestured. The messenger sped off up the passage for the last time, with word of defeat for the Lord of the Ekamchi. Keyoke and Arakasi exchanged small smiles of relief, while Mara briefly covered her face with both hands to smother a laugh of triumph. Her instinct had proven correct. Now the Acoma would gain a rare and precious advantage for years to come.

With her fatigue swept away by excitement and curiosity, Mara said, ‘If I may ask, why did your daughter finally choose Acoma lands, when the offers were so close?’

The queens exchanged remarks, then the elder said, ‘My daughter likes you. You called her pretty.’

‘That’s something most men would never have thought,’ Arakasi mused, ‘that even queens of the cho-ja are not immune to flattery.’

‘Indeed,’ observed Keyoke.

The old Queen inclined the polished dome of her head towards Mara. ‘And we both count it a great courtesy that you would come below ground to negotiate rather than use messengers, for you are the first of your race to do so.’

Arakasi almost chuckled aloud. He said to Keyoke, ‘Simply because most lords would not set foot within another’s house without first being invited to enter. It seems Tsurani civility is cho-ja rudeness.’

The Force Commander seemed less amused. ‘Swords may yet determine the outcome of this encounter,’ he reminded the Spy Master, with a jerk of his thumb indicating the less than friendly forces waiting above.

Mara did not comment on her retainer’s remarks, but instead looked up at the old Queen. ‘I have been led to understand that the young Queen’s retinue will be scant.’

The old Queen motioned with a forelimb. ‘This is true, patron of my daughter’s hive. I have birthed three hundred warriors, two hundred of which have been matured at fast rate to accompany her, the other hundred to follow when they have grown. I will allow her two rirari, two breeding males, and seven hundred workers.’

Mara pondered this. The presence of the cho-ja on the Acoma estate would prove a hindrance to any but the boldest enemy, for no one else was likely to know the cho-ja warriors were young and difficult to control. ‘In the normal course of things, how long do you judge before a new hive is able to begin commerce?’

The old Queen twitched her jaws, as if divining Mara’s intent. ‘In the normal course of things, two to three years.’

Fatigue returning in numbing waves. Mara’s mind drifted, and she forced herself to apply something said earlier by the old Queen. ‘I would like to bid for additional workers and warriors to be sent with your daughter.’ Careful to conceal her exhaustion, Mara stepped steadily back to her litter. She entered, and motioned to a slave to hold the curtains back to keep an unobstructed view of the two queens. Settled upon her cushions – and hoping she didn’t appear too wilted – Mara said, ‘I would talk terms.’

‘That is wise,’ answered the Queen. ‘The young warriors are fractious; older, more experienced soldiers will be needed to bring them quickly to order at the new hive.’

Mara’s heart leaped in pleasure; she had understood the old Queen’s comments on the nature of the cho-ja. Behind her, Keyoke murmured his astonishment. ‘They barter their own!’

The old Queen showed keener hearing than expected by saying, ‘Only the hive matters, Force Commander. And I am the hive. Those I sell will serve your Lady as they would serve me. She will be their new Queen.’

Mara said, ‘I wish only that your daughter have a stronger hive, as soon as possible. I buy workers and warriors as a gift for her.’

The old Queen nodded. ‘That is generous. I will keep that in mind as I set my price.’

Mara took a moment to consult her advisers. Then, making sure her shoulders didn’t droop, she spoke to the Queen. ‘I have need for twenty of your warriors, Majesty. I would also ask for artisans.’

Keyoke straightened in surprise. ‘I thought we came for warriors, my Lady?’

Mara assumed a faraway look, as she often had lately; as the Acoma position stabilized, she strove to plan for the future; more and more, she kept her own counsel. But an old and valued adviser deserved an explanation. ‘Since my betrothal to the Anasati son, our position is safe for the present. This young Queen can breed more warriors, in time. But their most valued skill is not inborn, I think. What I want is silk-makers.’

The Queen matriarch reared up as high as her immobile rear segment allowed. ‘For the makers of silk to be given over to you would cost greatly.’

Mara returned a half bow, that her boldness might not offend. ‘What price?’

The Queen waved her forelegs for a long moment. ‘A hundred bags of thyza for each worker.’

‘Agreed,’ said Mara without hesitation. ‘I require five such workers.’

But the old Queen clicked scoldingly at Mara’s haste. ‘You must also give one thousand swords, one thousand helmets, and one thousand shields, to be shipped upon your arrival home.’

Mara frowned. Since Jican was a competent manager, she had finances to buy what was not on hand in the warehouse. ‘Agreed.’ The bargain was hard, but fair; in time a flourishing silk trade would repay the expenditure many times over. Anxious now to deliver her news to Jican and Nacoya, Mara said, ‘When will the Queen depart?’

The matriarch conferred with her daughter, then answered, ‘Not until the autumn.’

Mara inclined her head in a gesture of respect. ‘Then I will leave at dawn and set about fulfilling our obligation to you. My workers will see that the needra are moved and the meadow is clipped and made ready, that the Queen your daughter will be welcome upon her arrival.’

The Queen matriarch signalled dismissal. ‘Go, then, Mara of the Acoma. May your gods grant you prosperity and honour, for you have dealt graciously with our kind.’

Mara spoke through a profound feeling of relief. ‘And may your hive continue to grow in prosperity and honour.’

Lax’l stepped forward to guide the humans to the surface, and the Queen’s bright eyes turned away, absorbed once more with hive matters and the complex decisions of breeding. Able to give in to exhaustion, and shaking slightly from hours of sustained stress, Mara sank back into the cushions of her litter. She gestured, and her company moved to depart. During her ride towards the surface, she felt like laughing aloud, then like crying. Seeds now sown might someday bring forth rich fruit, for she had won the means to expand upon Jican’s already impressive financial base. The silk trade in the south was not yet an established industry. Northern silk varied in quality and availability. Mara did not know how to convince this young Queen to turn silk production into the major speciality of her hive, but she would endeavour to find a means. Produced near the major southern markets, Acoma silk might someday come to dominate the trade.

Then, as her bearers bore her along the dark, richly scented tunnels of the cho-ja hive, her euphoria dimmed. Barely two weeks remained for the elaborate preparations that a wedding of two great houses entailed. Although the past night’s efforts might add to the Acoma wealth, soon that wealth must be turned over to another, the son of one of her most bitter enemies. Mara brooded in the privacy of her litter; of her acts since the death of her father and brother, her marriage to Buntokapi posed the greatest risk of them all.

The last intersection fell behind, yet the tunnel did not darken. Through the thin curtains of her litter, Mara saw the arches of the entrance of the hive, with daylight shining brightly between. Negotiations with the cho-ja queens had lasted throughout the night. The girl’s eyes ached as they adjusted to the increased light, and her head swam with weariness. Content to lie back and doze while Keyoke marshalled his escort and readied the slaves and warriors for the long march home, she did not recognize trouble until her litter shuddered to a halt, followed by the hiss of weapons being drawn.

Alarmed, Mara sat up. She reached to draw open the curtains, just as a stranger’s voice rang out in anger.

‘You! Thief! Prepare to answer for your crimes!’

Chilled awake by fear and anger, Mara whipped the gauze aside. Keyoke and the Acoma warriors waited with drawn swords, ready to defend. Beyond them stood the white-haired Lord of the Inrodaka, red-faced, tousled, and furious from a night spent in the open. Swiftly Mara took stock of his retinue. She counted a full company of soldiers, two hundred at the least, and not all of them wore Inrodaka red. Fully half were armoured in the purple and yellow of the Ekamchi.

The old Lord thrust his jaw forward and pointed his decorative family sword. ‘Lady of the Acoma! How dare you trespass upon Inrodaka lands! Your audacity oversteps your strength, to the grief and shame of your name. For stealing the daughter Queen’s hive you shall be made to pay dearly.’

Mara met the accusation with a cool look of contempt. ‘Your words are without much thought, and of less honour.’ She glanced at the fat man at Inrodaka’s side, assuming him to be the Lord of the Ekamchi. ‘The lands surrounding this hive are unclaimed – have your hadonra check the archives in Kentosani, if you doubt me. And the cho-ja are no man’s slaves. They choose with whom they bargain. And to call one who bargains in good faith a thief is an insult demanding apology!’

Both Lords regarded the Acoma ruler. She might seem a young girl taken by a fit of pique, but in the face of the armed and able company waiting on her word to extract such apology, both men lost some of their fury. Still, they remained uncowed by Mara’s unexpected boldness. The Lord of the Inrodaka spluttered in indignation and his companion shook a pudgy fist. The unmannerly displays might have been comic except for the glowering rows of warriors and weapons behind them.

‘You have slighted me, caused me to break faith with a trusted ally,’ Inrodaka raged. Yet he seemed more inclined to speak than fight. ‘I had promised the Ekamchi exclusive rights to bargain with the daughter Queen, and by treachery you Acoma became privy to my secrets!’

Now Mara understood. The man suspected the Acoma of having an agent in his household. Arakasi had spent several weeks as a guest of the Inrodaka; if anyone recognized him, a fight might result. Mara chanced a surreptitious glance that ended in a blink of confusion. The Spy Master had disappeared. Another searching glance, a little more careful, revealed his presence among the soldiers, but even there she had trouble picking him out. At one with the others in Acoma ranks, he stood poised for trouble, but his helm hung slightly lower over the bridge of his nose, and his chin was thrust forward, making his jaw seem squarer than usual. Very likely he would remain unnoticed. Relieved by this, Mara sought to avoid conflict. ‘My Lord, I take no responsibility for causing a break in a pledge beyond your right to promise. The cho-ja keep their own counsel. As for being privy to your secrets, “the cho-ja are the first with news and early-season fruit.” If you but ask, they’ll tell you that one hive knows the affairs of all others. Whether or not your workers, servants, or slaves set foot off your land, the news was accessible in all parts of the Empire. I was simply first to act. You could not prevent me, my Lord. And in the last, since when must the Acoma nursemaid the honour of the Inrodaka?’

The Lord of the Inrodaka bristled. His ally, the Lord of the Ekamchi, looked as if he would just as soon be done with the whole affair and go elsewhere. Yet honour prevented his withdrawal as Inrodaka said, ‘For that, you presumptuous girl, you will not leave my lands alive.’

Mara met this threat in proud and stony silence. She must not capitulate, for such cowardice would shame the bones of her ancestors. Though her heart leaped in fear, she saw her men were ready, showing no sign of concern for the odds against them. She nodded once to Keyoke.

The Force Commander signalled the warriors of the Acoma to raise weapons while, like imperfect reflections in a mirror, Inrodaka and Ekamchi commanders ordered their own men to the ready.

Through the rattle of blades and the creak of armour, Mara felt her pulsebeat quicken. She tried one last time to negotiate. ‘We have no desire for strife, especially as we have done nothing for which we need to defend ourselves.’

Inrodaka’s reply rang crisp on the morning air. ‘You will not leave without a fight.’

A heartbeat away from precipitating bloodshed, Mara held the irate old man’s gaze, while whispering furiously to Keyoke. ‘Dare we count on our alliance with the young Queen?’

Keyoke kept his eyes upon the opposing forces. ‘Lady, the old Queen rules this hive, and her alliance is with the Inrodaka. Who knows how her warriors will react if the young Queen’s ally is threatened?’ Gripping his sword tightly, he said, ‘I doubt there has ever been such a confrontation in the long history of the Empire.’

As he spoke, a full hundred old, experienced cho-ja warriors marched from the hive entrance. Black carapaces and razor forelimbs gleamed in the sunlight as they interposed themselves between the opposing lines of humans. Dozens more scurried from the earth, even as Lax’l moved a half-dozen paces closer to the two fuming Lords and said, ‘The Acoma and their ruler are our Queen’s guests and the Inrodaka Lord her ally. None shall bring strife to her hive. If both armies quit the field, no blood need be shed.’

Incensed, the Lord of the Inrodaka jerked his chin upward. ‘But your hive has been in service to my house for three generations!’

‘Allied,’ repeated Lax’l. His eyes glinted with something Mara thought might be anger, though his voice was calm. ‘As the Lady of the Acoma said, the cho-ja are no man’s slaves. Leave at once.’ As if to drive home the point, another command of cho-ja scurried around from behind the hive to take position behind the forces of the Inrodaka and the Ekamchi. A similar force was appearing behind Mara’s soldiers.

Inrodaka glanced to either side, where another two hundred cho-ja warriors approached with their limbs angled forward to charge. His rage faltered, even before he turned to discover Lord Ekamchi already signalling his forces to retire. Mara observed that Inrodaka was as relieved as not to be forced to depart. His reputation had long been that of a man who avoided conflict, and his display had probably been for the benefit of his ally rather than from any true sense of outrage.

Weakness overwhelmed the Lady of the Acoma as sleepless nights and tension overcame her staunch will. She allowed herself to fall back into her pillows as Lax’l span to face Keyoke. ‘Force Commander, my company will escort you to the limit of the Inrodaka boundaries with a full hundred warriors.’

Keyoke signalled and, over the sound of men returning swords to sheaths, said, ‘Are you among the twenty who will join the new hive?’

‘I am.’ Lax’l made an odd facial expression, perhaps the cho-ja equivalent of a smile. ‘Since you undertook great expense to ensure the safety of her daughter, the old Queen has given you the best of her soldiers. Another will assume my post here, and I will be the new hive’s Force Commander.’

Then as if in afterthought, he said, ‘I believe the Lady of the Acoma has won what you Tsurani would call the old Queen’s affection.’

Tired to the core of her bones, Mara still managed a half bow of appreciation. ‘You are not needed by the young Queen?’

The cho-ja Force Commander gestured in the negative with his forelimbs. ‘The young Queen is most vulnerable when growing, so even our presence would not mitigate the young warriors’ aggression – as it should not. Once within our new hive, we shall teach them what they must know to become good warriors.’

As the Inrodaka and Ekamchi forces retreated over a rise and vanished from sight, Keyoke mustered the men for the long march home. When the last soldier was in place, he looked at his mistress. ‘My Lady?’

Mara indicated they should depart, but requested Arakasi walk beside her litter. He arrived looking drawn and dusty, like the rest of the men, except for the glint of victory in his eyes. Warmed by his pride of accomplishment, Mara spoke softly as the column moved out. ‘You have been better than your word, Arakasi. Not only have you shown the value of your advice, but your wisdom has benefited the Acoma well. How long will you need to reactivate your network?’

The Spy Master’s satisfaction spread across his face until he showed a genuine smile. He bowed slightly to his new mistress. ‘A year, Lady, if I encounter no difficulties.’

‘If there are difficulties?’

‘A year, a year and a half.’ The Spy Master paused significantly, then added, ‘More, if you require.’

Mara glanced to either side, assuring herself that no men marched close enough to overhear. ‘When we make camp tonight, I want you to leave and begin seeking out your agents. Return to our estates in a year. Should you have need to reach me, our signal will be the phrase “the young Queen’s silk-makers”. Do you understand?’

Arakasi returned the hint of a nod, the gesture concealed behind an adjustment to the strap of his helm. ‘If I do not return and swear upon the Acoma natami, I am not bound to the bidding of the Lady of the Acoma until I am ready to do so.’ Then he added pointedly, ‘Or the bidding of the Lord of the Acoma.’

‘You understand.’ Mara closed her eyes and reined back strong emotion. The gods were kind that this man should be perceptive enough to divine her intentions regarding her husband-to-be.

Arakasi qualified softly. ‘Buntokapi might not share our enthusiasm for our vow, Lady.’

Mara nodded, chilled by relief that this man was an ally and not an enemy. If Jingu of the Minwanabi should ever secure the talents of a man like Arakasi … but fatigue could not be permitted to fan the embers of unfounded fears. With an effort, the Lady focused on the present. ‘When you have returned, we shall see how things are. If all has progressed as I hope, we may then moves forward with our plans for Jingu of the Minwanabi.’

Arakasi inclined his head slightly towards Mara’s litter. ‘In my heart I have sworn loyalty to you, my Lady. I pray the gods grant me the opportunity to make a more formal oath before the Acoma contemplation glade someday.’ He glanced around at the heavy matted greenery of the forest. ‘This seemes as good a place as any to leave. May the gods protect you, Lady of the Acoma.’

Mara thanked him and fell silent as Arakasi turned and faded away into the woods. Keyoke glanced back and saw him go. If the Force Commander wondered at this sudden departure, he said nothing, but simply returned his attention to his warriors and the dangers of the march home. Mara lay back, Arakasi’s last words turning over and over in her mind. She added a prayer that his wish would come to pass; for if he lived and did not swear before the natami, either she would be dead, or Buntokapi would be firmly in place as Lord of the Acoma, and beyond her power to control.

The maids waited upon their mistress. Seated upon cushions in the chamber she still considered her father’s, Mara opened her eyes and said, ‘I am ready.’

But in her heart she knew she was not prepared for her marriage to the third son of the Anasati, and never would be. With her hands clenched nervously together, she endured as her maids began the tortuous process of combing out her hair and binding it with threads and ribbons into the traditional bride’s headdress. The hands of the women worked gently, but Mara could not settle. The twist and the tug as each lock was secured made her want to squirm like a child.

As always, Nacoya seemed to read her mind. ‘Mistress, the eye of every guest will be upon you this day, and your person must embody the pride of Acoma heritage.’

Mara closed her eyes as if to hide. Confusion arose like an ache in the pit of her stomach. The pride of Acoma heritage had enmeshed her in circumstances that carried her deeper and deeper into nightmare; each time she countered a threat, another took its place. She wondered again whether she had acted wisely in selecting Buntokapi as husband. He might be influenced more easily than his well-regarded brother Jiro, but he also might prove more stubborn. If he could not be controlled, her plans for the resurgence of Acoma pre-eminence could never be achieved. Not for the first time, Mara stilled such idle speculations: the choice was made. Buntokapi would be Lord of the Acoma. Then she silently amended that: for a time.

‘Will the Lady turn her head?’ Mara obeyed, startled by the warmth of the maid’s hand upon her cheek. Her own fingers were icy as she considered Buntokapi and how she would deal with him. The man who would take her father’s place as Lord of the Acoma had none of Lord Sezu’s wisdom or intelligence, nor had he any of Lano’s grace, or charm, or irresistible humour. In the few formal occasions Mara had observed Buntokapi since his arrival for the wedding, he had seemed a brute of a man, slow to understand subtlety and obvious in his passions. Her breath caught, and she forestalled a shudder. He was only a man, she reminded herself; and though her preparation for temple service has caused her to know less of men than most girls her age, she must use her wits and body to control him. For the great Game of the Council, she would manage the part of wife without love, even as had countless women of great houses before her.

Tense with her own resolve, Mara endured the ministrations of the hairdressers while the bustle and shouts through the thin paper of the screens indicated that servants prepared the great hall for the ceremony. Outside, needra bawled, and wagons rolled, laden with bunting and streamers. The garrison troops stood arrayed in brightly polished full armour, their weapons wrapped with strips of white cloth to signify the joy of their mistress’s coming union. Guests and their retinues crowded the roadway, their litters and liveried servants a sea of colour against the baked grass of the fields. Slaves and workers had been granted the day off for the festivities, and their laughter and singing reached Mara where she sat, chilled and alone with her dread.

The maids smoothed the last ribbon and patted the last gleaming tresses into place. Beneath coiled loops of black hair, Mara seemed a figure of porcelain, her lashes and brows as fine as a temple painter’s masterpiece. ‘Daughter of my heart, you have never looked so lovely,’ observed Nacoya.

Mara smiled mechanically and rose, while dressers slipped the simple white robe from her body and dusted her lightly with a powder to keep her dry during the long ceremony. Others readied the heavy embroidered silk gown reserved for Acoma brides. As the wrinkled old hands of the women smoothed the undergarment over her hips and flat stomach, Mara bit her lip; come nightfall, the hands of Buntokapi would touch her body anywhere he pleased. Without volition she broke into a light sweat.

‘The day grows warm,’ muttered Nacoya. A knowing gleam lit her eyes as she added a little extra powder where Mara would need it. ‘Kasra, fetch your mistress a cool drink of sa wine. She looks pale, and the excitement of the wedding is not yet begun.’

Mara drew an angry breath. ‘Nacoya, I am able to manage well enough without wine.’ She paused, frustrated, as her women hooked the laces at her waist and lower chest, temporarily constricting her breath. ‘Besides, I’m sure Bunto will drink enough for both of us.’

Nacoya bowed with irritating formality. ‘A slight flush to your face becomes you, Lady. But husbands don’t care for perspiration.’ Mara chose to ignore Nacoya’s cross words. She knew the old nurse was worried for the child she loved above all others.

Outside, the busy sounds told Mara that her household scrambled to finish the last-minute tasks. The august of the Empire and nearly overwhelming list of invited guests would gather in the great hall, seated according to rank. Since those of highest rank would be shown to their cushions last, the arrangement of the guests became a complex and lengthy affair that began well before dawn. Tsurani weddings occurred during the morning, for to complete so important a union in the waning part of the day was believed to bring ill luck to the couple. This required guests of modest rank to present themselves at the Acoma estate before dawn, some as early as four hours before sunrise. Musicians and servants with refreshments would entertain those seated first, while the priest of Chochocan sanctified the Acoma house. By now they would be donning their high robes of office, while out of sight a red priest of Turakamu would slaughter the needra calf.

The maids lifted the overrobe, with its sleeves sewn with shatra birds worked in rare gold. Mara gratefully turned her back. As attendants arranged her bows, she was spared the sight of Nacoya checking each last detail of the costume. The old nurse had been on edge since Mara chose to grant Buntokapi power over the Acoma. That Mara had done so with long-range hopes in mind did nothing to comfort Nacoya, what with Anasati warriors encamped in the barracks, and one of the Acoma’s most vigorous enemies living in style in the best guest chambers in the house. And with his brassy voice and artless manners, Buntokapi offered no reassurance to a servant who would shortly be subject to his every whim. And she herself would also, Mara remembered with discomfort. She tried to imagine being in bed with the bullnecked boy without shuddering, but could not.

Cued by a servant’s touch, Mara sat while the jewelled ceremonial sandals were laced onto her feet. Other maids pressed shell combs set with emeralds into her headdress. Restive as the needra calf being perfumed for sacrifice – so that Turakamu would turn his attentions away from those at the wedding – the girl called for a minstrel to play in her chambers. If she must endure through the tedium of dressing, at least music might keep her from exhausting herself with thought. If fate brought her trouble through this marriage to Buntokapi, she would find out soon enough. The musician was led in blindfolded; no man might look upon the bride until she began her procession to the wedding. He sat and picked out a soothing melody on his gikoto, the five-string instrument that was the mainstay of Tsurani composition.

When the last laces and buttons had been fastened, and the final string of pearls looped to her cuffs, Mara arose from her cushions. Blindfolded slaves bearing her ceremonial litter were led into the chamber, and Mara climbed into the open palanquin crafted solely for Acoma weddings. The frame was wound with flowers and koi vines for luck, and the bearers wore garlands in their hair. As they lifted the litter to their shoulders, Nacoya stepped between them and lightly kissed Mara on the forehead. ‘You look lovely, my Lady – as pretty as your own mother on the morning she wed Lord Sezu. I know she would have been proud to see you, were she alive this day. May you find the same joy in marriage as she, and be blessed with children to carry on the Acoma name.’

Mara nodded absently. As serving women stepped forward to lead her bearers through the screen, the minstrel she had summoned faltered in his singing and awkwardly fell silent. With a frown, the girl berated herself for carelessness. She had done the musician a discourtesy by leaving him without praise. As the litter moved from the chamber into the first empty connecting hall, Mara quickly dispatched Nacoya to give the man a token, some small gift to restore his pride. Then, wrapping her fingers tightly together to hide their shaking, she resolved to be more alert. A great house did not thrive if its mistress concerned herself with large matters only. Most often the ability to handle the petty details of life comprised an attitude that allowed one to discover the path to greatness; or so Lord Sezu had admonished when Lano had neglected his artisans for extra drill with the warriors.

Mara felt a strange detachment. The distant bustle of preparations and the arrival of guests lent a ghostly aspect to the corridors emptied for the passage of her litter. Wherever she looked she saw no one, yet the presence of people filled the air. In isolation she reached the main corridor and moved out of the estate house, into the small garden set aside for meditation. There Mara would pass an hour alone in contemplation, as she prepared to leave her girlhood and accept the role of woman and wife. Acoma guards in elaborate ceremonial armour stood watch around the garden, to protect, and to ensure the Lady would suffer no interruption. Unlike the bearers, they wore no blindfolds, but rather stood facing the walls, straining their hearing to the limit, alert, but not tempting ill luck by gazing upon the bride.

Mara turned her mind away from the coming ceremony, seeking instead to find a moment of calm, some hint of the serenity she had known in the temple. She settled gracefully to the ground, adjusting her gown as she settled on the cushions left for her. Bathed in the pale gold of early morning, she watched the play of water over the rim of the fountain. Droplets formed and fell, each separate in its beauty until it shattered with a splash into the pool beneath. I am like those droplets, thought the girl. Her efforts throughout life would, in the end, blend with the lasting honour of the Acoma; and whether she knew happiness or misery as the wife of Buntokapi would not matter at all when her days ended, so long as the sacred natami remained in the glade. And so long as the Acoma were accorded their rightful place in the sun, unshadowed by any other house.

Bending her head in the dew-bright stillness, Mara prayed earnestly to Lashima, not for the lost days of her girlhood, or for the peace she had desired in temple service. She asked instead for the strength to accept the enemy of her father as husband, that the name Acoma might rise once again in the Game of the Council.