Mara considered this throughout the voyage by river, and beyond, as her litter wove through the crowded streets of Sulan-Qu and into the quieter countryside surrounding Acoma lands. With the Minwanabi dominance ended in the High Council, Almecho stood unchallenged, save for the alliance of those in the Blue Wheel Party and the Alliance for Progress. Mara regarded the decorated litters of the nobles who trailed after her retinue, her mind absorbed by the likely readjustments of politics. With the beginnings of a smile, she realized the wisdom of having Nacoya place Hokanu of the Shinzawai near her at least once during the feasting. Then she inwardly laughed. Just as she must once again consider marriage, the Empire would begin another round of multi-player bickering as the game entered a new phase; but it would always be the Game of the Council.
Mara turned to mention her thought to Nacoya and found the old woman napping. At last, with their return to familiar roads, the First Adviser had begun to relax the tension that had driven her throughout their stay in the Minwanabi house.
Just then Arakasi said, ‘Mistress, something odd ahead.’
Nacoya roused, but her complaints died unuttered as she saw her mistress staring raptly forward. At the crest of the next hill, at the boundary of the Acoma lands, stood two warriors, one on each side of the road. To the left, upon Acoma soil, waited a soldier in the familiar green of her own garrison. On the right, on lands belonging to the Empire, the second soldier wore the red and yellow armour of the Anasati. As Mara’s retinue and litter came fully into view, both men spun around and shouted almost in unison, ‘Acoma! Acoma!’
Startled as her litter swerved to the left, Mara glanced back and saw her bearers pull aside to make room for the Warlord’s litter to draw even with hers. Almecho shouted over the noise of tramping feet. ‘Lady, you’ve arranged an exceedingly odd welcome.’
Caught at a loss, Mara said, ‘My Lord, I do not know what this means.’
The Warlord gestured to his Imperial Whites, and side by side the two retinues crested the hill. Another pair of warriors waited beyond, some distance along, and an even more distant pair farther yet. On the crest of the last hill before the prayer gate a fourth pair could be seen. And from the waving back and forth, the cry ‘Acoma’ had been clearly carried ahead of the returning litters.
Mara bowed her head to Almecho. ‘With my Lord’s permission …?’
At Almecho’s brusque nod, the Lady of the Acoma instructed her bearers to quicken pace. She grabbed at the beaded handrail as, running, her slaves forged ahead. Her guard of warriors jogged with her, past the familiar, outlying fields, the needra pastures with their tawny cows and calves. Mara felt tension tighten her chest. As far as the eyes could see, the fields were empty of field hands or herders, porters or cart drivers. Even the slaves were absent. Where Acoma workers should have been hard at their labours, crops and livestock stood abandoned in the sun.
Wishing she had Keyoke’s staunch presence at her side, Mara shouted to the first Acoma soldier they passed, ‘What’s going on? Have we been raided?’
The warrior fell in beside the trotting slaves and reported on the run. ‘Anasati soldiers came yesterday, mistress. They made camp beyond the prayer gate. Force Commander Keyoke has ordered every soldier to stand ready. The lookouts he posted on the road were to call out when you returned, or report the appearance of Minwanabi soldiers.’
‘You must be cautious, daughter.’ Jounced breathless by the movement of the litter, Nacoya made as if to elaborate; but Mara needed no warning to spark her concern. She waved Keyoke’s sentinel back to join her honour company, and called out to the Anasati warrior who had stood opposite her own man, and who now kept pace with her litter on the opposite side of the road.
Any reply would be a courtesy, since no Anasati warrior was answerable to the Lady of the Acoma. This one must have been instructed to keep his own counsel, for he ran on in silence, his face turned resolutely forward. When the litter crested the last hill, the valley beyond lay carpeted in coloured armour. Mara’s breath caught in her throat.
Over a thousand Anasati warriors stood before her gate, in battle-ready formation. Confronting them, from the other side of the low boundary wall, Keyoke commanded a like number of Acoma soldiers. Here and there the green ranks were divided by wedges of gleaming black, cho-ja warriors ready to honour the treaty with their Queen, that called-for alliance should any threaten the peace of Acoma lands.
Shouts echoed down the valley the instant the litter came into view. The sight caused the Acoma forces to erupt with an uninhibited cheer; to Mara’s astonishment, the Anasati war host answered them. Then a thing happened that even old Nacoya had never heard of, not in tales, or ballads, or any of the remembered historical events in the great Game of the Council: the two armies broke ranks. Throwing down weapons and unbuckling their helms, they approached her litter in a single joyous crowd.
Mara stared in wonderment. Dust blew in the grip of a freshening breeze, hazing the plain like smoke as two thousand shouting soldiers surrounded her litter and honour guard. With difficulty, Keyoke pushed a path through his Acoma soldiers. A clear space widened in the Anasati side, and a confounded Mara found herself eye to eye with Tecuma. The Lord of the Anasati wore the armour of his ancestors, bright red with yellow trim, and at his side marched the plumed presence of his Force Commander.
The multitude of warriors stilled, even as the litter bearers jolted to a stop. The hoarse gasps of their breathing sounded loud in the silence as Keyoke bowed to his mistress. ‘My Lady.’
Tecuma stepped forward with the first polite bow observed by a Ruling Acoma in many generations.
‘My Lord,’ acknowledged Mara, a bit stiffly from her seat in the litter. With a frown of genuine confusion, she commanded her Force Commander to report.
Keyoke drew himself up and spoke loudly that all might hear. ‘Sentries warned of the approach of an army at dawn yesterday, my Lady. I mustered the garrison and went myself to challenge the trespassers –’
Tecuma interrupted. ‘We have not yet entered Acoma lands, Force Commander.’
Keyoke conceded this point with a stony glance. ‘True, my Lord.’ He again faced Mara and resumed. ‘I was approached by my Lord of the Anasati, who demanded to see his grandson. In your absence, I declined to allow him his “honour guard”.’
Mara regarded Ayaki’s grandfather with no expression visible on her face. ‘Lord Tecuma, you brought half your garrison as an “honour guard”?’
‘A third, Lady Mara.’ Tecuma returned a humourless sigh. ‘Halesko and Jiro are in command of the other two thirds.’ Here the old man seemed to falter, though he filled the moment with his usual finesse by unstrapping and removing his helm. ‘Sources of mine indicated you would not survive the Warlord’s celebration and’ – he sighed as if he hated to make this admission – ‘I feared it would be so. To prevent harm to my grandson, I decided to come visit, in case Jingu sought to end the Acoma-Minwanabi blood feud for good and all.’
Mara raised her brows in comprehension. ‘Then when my Force Commander declined your attentions to my grandson, you decided to stay and see who arrived first, myself or Jingu’s army.’
‘True.’ Tecuma’s hands tightened on his helm. ‘Had Minwanabi soldiers come over the hill, I would have marched in to protect my grandson.’
In even tones, Keyoke said, ‘And I would have stopped him.’
Mara shared a pointed stare between her Force Commander and her father-in-law. ‘Then you’d have done Jingu’s work for him.’ She shook her head in irritation. ‘This is my fault. I should have considered an Anasati grandfather’s concern might turn to war. Well then, there’s nothing to worry about, Tecuma. Your grandson is safe.’
Here the Lady of the Acoma paused, as she relived the miracle of relief all over again. ‘Jingu is dead, by his own hand.’
Taken aback, Tecuma jammed his helm over iron-grey hair. ‘But –’
Mara interrupted. ‘I know, you received no word. Regretfully for the Anasati, your “source” is dead also.’ At this news Tecuma’s eyes narrowed. Plainly he ached to know how Mara had found out about Teani, but he said nothing. Very still, he waited as Mara told him her last item of news. ‘We’ve moved the Warlord’s birthday celebration here, Tecuma. Since you were the only Lord who was absent, perhaps you’d care to amend that slight and join us for the next two days? But please understand: I must insist that you restrict your honour guard to fifty men, as everyone else has.’
The old Lord nodded, at last giving way to relief and amusement. As Mara briskly ordered her own honour guard to resume their march to the estate, he stared at her slight form with something akin to admiration. ‘It is well we did not see Minwanabi soldiers breasting the hill, Mara.’ He considered the resolute warrior at Mara’s side and added, ‘Your Force Commander would have been forced to yield quickly, while most of my forces held Jingu’s army at bay. I would not have wished that.’
Keyoke said nothing, only turning and signalling to where Lujan stood, at the rear of the first line of Acoma soldiers. He in turn waved to another soldier further away. When Mara looked at Keyoke with a curious expression, he said, ‘I indicated that the one hundred cho-ja warriors waiting in ambush should feel free to return to their hive, mistress. Now, if you feel it appropriate, I’ll order the men to stand down.’
Mara smiled, though she would not laugh at Tecuma’s obvious shock at hearing of a hundred cho-ja warriors that would have met his advance guard should they have won their way past Acoma lines. ‘Maintain an honour guard to meet our guests, Keyoke.’ The Force Commander saluted and turned to do as he was bid. To Tecuma, Mara said, ‘Grandfather of my son, when you have dealt with the disposition of your forces, please come and be my guest.’ So saying, she ordered her bearers to carry her to her house.
Tecuma watched her depart. Even his smouldering hatred over Bunto’s death was replaced by wonder for the moment. He looked down the road at the advancing column of guests, and was glad that the problem of food, housing, and entertainment were not his own to bear. The little hadonra – was it Jican? – was surely going to fall apart.
But Jican did not fall apart. He had heard about Mara’s return before the soldiers on lookout, since the gossip had been brought by a guild runner with rush dispatches from a merchant. The man passed on rumours of vast quantities of noble barges all tied up in Sulan-Qu, the Warlord’s white and gold prominent among them. In his subsequent panic, the hadonra forgot to pass the information along to Keyoke and the warriors. Instead he had requisitioned every freeman, slave, and all the craftsmen who were already gathered at the estate house to defend Ayaki if the Anasati war host broke through; these had been reassigned to work freshening linens and peeling fruits in the kitchens, and into this furious hive of activity came Mara and her honour retinue.
‘So that’s where all my fields hands are,’ exclaimed the Lady of the Acoma, even as her bearers set her litter down in the dooryard. By now she could not contain her amusement, for her little hadonra had delivered his breathless report while still wearing cast-off bits of armour from the store sheds, his helm a pot borrowed from the cooks. The servants who bustled from the slaughtering pens to the kitchens were similarly equipped, and everywhere the hoes, rakes, and scythes they would have employed as weapons were leaning against the furniture. Mara’s laughter was cut short by a carping complaint from Nacoya, who was weary of litters and barges and wished for a real hot bath.
‘You may have whatever you wish, mother of my heart. We’re home.’
And like a weight of stone lifted from her shoulders, the Lady of the Acoma knew this was so, for the first time since she had left for the Holy City of Kentosani.
Still tying strings from changing back to his house livery, Jican ran furiously from the estate house to the lawns, where huge pavilions were erected to house several hundred Lords, Ladies, noble children, First Advisers, honour guards, and their innumerable servants. There would hardly be room to move in the main house, jammed as the guest rooms would be with Almecho’s immediate relations and Imperial Whites. Selected servants would be housed in the barracks with the soldiers, with the overflow assigned to the slave buildings. The slaves, and the unlucky freemen to draw the short lots, would sleep under the stars for three days. Mara felt her heart warm at the loyalty of her servants and soldiers; for through the chaos and upheaval of her return, no one complained. Even the house servants had stood ready to defend Ayaki, though their farm implements and kitchen knives would have proved no match for the weapons of trained soldiers. Yet their bravery was none the less for that fact; and their loyalty was beyond the bounds of duty.
Touched by their devotion, and having hastily changed into fresh robes, Mara returned to the dooryard as the Warlord’s cortege heaved into sight in full splendour. The Imperial Whites were a machine of precision as they escorted their master from his litter. Trumpets blew and drums beat and Almecho, second only to the Emperor Ichindar in power, made his formal arrival before the Lady of the Acoma.
Mara bowed gracefully. ‘My Lord, I welcome you to our house. May your visit here bring rest, and peace, and refreshment.’
The Warlord of all Tsuranuanni bowed slightly. ‘Thank you. Now, would you keep things somewhat less formal than … our previous host did? Day-long celebration can be tiresome, and I would like an opportunity to speak with you in private.’
Mara nodded politely and looked to her First Adviser to welcome the two black-robed magicians and show them to their quarters. Pride had straightened the old woman’s shoulders, and in her indomitable mothering manner she took the two envoys of the Assembly of Magicians under her wing as if she had dealt with their kind all her life. Mara shook her head, marvelling at Nacoya’s resilience. Then she let the Warlord take her arm, and the two of them walked alone into the peaceful stillness of the garden she preferred for meditation.
Four warriors stood guard at the entrance, two wearing green and two the white of the Imperial Guard. Pausing by the rim of the fountain, the Warlord removed his helm. He sprinkled water over damp greying hair, then faced the Lady of the Acoma. Beyond the hearing of guests and servants he said, ‘I must salute you, girl. You have proven your mettle in the game over the last two years.’
Mara blinked, not at all certain she grasped his intent. ‘Lord, I did only what was necessary to avenge my father and brother and preserve the existence of my house.’
Almecho laughed, and his bitter humour sent small birds winging from the treetops. ‘Lady, what do you think the game is, if not to remain while you dispose of enemies? While others have been flitting around the High Council nattering at one another over this alliance and that, you have neutralized your second most powerful rival – turning him into a reluctant ally, almost – and destroyed your most powerful enemy. If that isn’t a masterful victory in the game, I’ve never seen anyone play.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘That dog Jingu was growing a little too ambitious. I believe he plotted to dispose of three opponents: you, the Lord of the Anasati, and then me. Tecuma and I are somewhat in your debt, I think, though you certainly didn’t act on our behalf.’ He trailed his fingers thoughtfully through the water; small currents rose up and roiled the surface, just as the currents of intrigue ran always beneath the affairs of the Empire. The Warlord regarded her keenly. ‘Before I leave you, I want you to know this: I would have let Jingu kill you, if that was your fate. But now I am pleased you lived and not he. Still, my favour is scant. Just because no woman has ever worn the white and gold before, don’t think I count your ambition any less dangerous, Mara of the Acoma.’
Somewhat overwhelmed by this endorsement of her prowess, Mara said, ‘You flatter me too much, Lord. I have no ambition beyond the desire to see my son grow in peace.’
Almecho placed his helm upon his head and motioned for his guards to return. ‘I don’t know, then,’ he reflected, half to himself. ‘Who is to be more feared, one who acts from ambition or one who acts for the needs of survival? I like to think we can be friendly, Lady of the Acoma, but my instincts warn me you are dangerous. So let us just say that for now we have no reason to be at odds.’
Mara bowed. ‘For that I am very grateful, my Lord.’
