shamelessly with the First Adviser of the Chilapaningo. That dignitary looked as stiff as cured needra hide; quite probably he was mortified by her attentions, but she spoke too fast and gripped his sleeve too tightly for him to excuse himself.
Mara scanned the crowd, noting the wide variety of fashions and house colours. She counted the guests in two categories: those who were allies or not strong enough to challenge her, and those who were threats or who wished some vengeance upon her. Since the Minwanabi were numbered among the Five Great Families of Tsuranuanni, every powerful house in the Empire had sent some representative. Mara noted the Keda, the Tonmargu, and the Oaxatucan, each with their circle of flatterers. Lesser Lords kept their distance, or sought to wheedle favour. The Ekamchi Lord’s purple headdress bent close to his First Adviser, while the red robes of the Inrodaka clashed with the garb of two servants whose livery Mara did not recognize. Having studied those guests who were present, she felt a sudden chill. Nowhere did she see a tunic of scarlet and yellow.
As if sensing her uneasiness, Nacoya pushed aside the jigabird bones that remained of her repast. ‘I do not see the Lord of the Anasati,’ she said pointedly. ‘Unless the gods have delayed him, my daughter, you and your young son are in the gravest danger.’
Nacoya did not elaborate upon the obvious: that the absence of a prominent family was of political significance, the least aspect of which was that Tecuma’s vow to protect the Acoma for the sake of Ayaki would give no shelter unless he or his eldest son was in attendance. Without Anasati protection, Mara had only fifty warriors, who were quartered in barracks beyond her reach. Now the coldness of the Techtalt’s greeting gained a new significance; for it seemed possible that Buntokapi’s slight against the Warlord had damaged the Anasati name more than Mara had anticipated. Her danger grew in proportion. The Lord of the Minwanabi might think himself strong enough to obliterate the Acoma, then win the war that would result when Tecuma sent armies to defend Ayaki’s title,
‘You should not have accepted this invitation,’ Nacoya whispered.
Mara gestured sharp denial. Not even the fact that two houses now stood in peril could change her resolve. She would survive, turn defeat into triumph if chance lent her the appropriate weapons. But the absence of an ally she had depended upon worried her enough that she failed to notice that Teani came late to the reception, a secretive, self-satisfied look on her face whenever she glanced at Mara. Neither did the Lady of the Acoma rise from the table fast enough to avoid the Lord of the Ekamchi, who appeared, leering, at her elbow.
‘Good day, Lady of the Acoma. What a surprise to see you did not bring any of your new cho-ja warriors to watch out for your health.’
Mara bowed stiffly, reading an uncharacteristic boldness in the pudgy man’s manner. ‘My health is in sunlight, Lord of the Ekamchi. And I do not lack protection with Papewaio at my side.’
The Lord of the Ekamchi grimaced, having good cause to remember the courage and prowess of the Acoma First Strike Leader. Still, some purpose kept him persistent, revealing to Mara that he knew of some shifting alliances before she did. Unwittingly emulating her father, she chose the bold course and provoked the issue before it could be broached under less favourable circumstances. ‘You have perhaps spoken with Tecuma of the Anasati lately?’
‘Ah!’ The Lord of the Ekamchi was taken aback. Still, his eyes flashed briefly in triumph as he recovered his poise. ‘I regret to tell you that our host, the Lord of the Minwanabi, did not invite Tecuma of the Anasati to his festival. He wished not to remind the Warlord of the late unpleasantness, indeed, the slight visited upon that worthy man by the son who married the Acoma.’
‘Buntokapi died with honour,’ Mara said acidly. ‘You demean yourself by speaking ill of the dead.’ Her words were a warning, and a challenge to Ekamchi honour if the subject was not dropped.
The Lord who had insulted her withdrew with a barb of his own. ‘Still, I know that Tecuma could not have come, if circumstances permitted. He is otherwise occupied, I have heard, since an attack on his richest trade caravan left its defenders dead to a man. He lost his goods, and two hundred warriors as well, to a most vicious band of thieves.’ The Ekamchi Lord smiled, for he knew, as would Mara, that such a slaughter had not been achieved by lawless men. Some great house moved boldly against the Anasati; and of them all, only one had sworn blood feud against the Acoma, who had contrived Tecuma’s unwilling alliance.
‘Pray to the gods for the health of your son,’ sneered the Lord of the Ekamchi.
He walked off, and Mara missed the chance for a rejoinder. The fact that so small a Lord would dare to insult her came as a shock, and also served to remind her that in the eyes of the pettiest enemies her death was considered certain.
The Warlord appeared.
He entered to a fanfare of flutes, his robe of gold-trimmed white dazzling in the sunlight. Stark in contrast, two black-clad figures walked at his side. Seeing them, the guests fell instantly silent. Even the Lord of the Minwanabi hesitated before greeting the man who was second in power to the Emperor. When Jingu did step forward to bow, his manner was subdued and deferential rather than boisterous. The presence of the black-robed Great Ones often had that effect on people. The minds of magicians were unknowable, and their ways beyond question. They existed outside the law, their only task to serve the Empire. That Almecho had brought two of them to his birthday celebration affected every guest present; no plot could be certain, and no alliance completely dependable, with the presence of magic like a wild thing in their midst. Some whispered that Almecho had won several of the Black Robes to his cause; others said much of his Warlord’s policy was being decided in the City of Magicians.
Mara watched the proceedings of formal greeting from an unobtrusive place in one corner. She was somewhat relieved to see the Great Ones at Almecho’s side, for the attention of the guests would now be diverted by something besides her plight … at least for a while. She was tired of dealing with the biting observations of the other guests, and sick of having the Lord of Ekamchi repeatedly point out Tecuma’s absence. The Great Ones would cast long shadows across the interplay of intrigue; they could bring magic arts to play, render judgment swiftly and without appeal – their words were as law. They could obliterate Jingu in his own house if they felt he threatened the Empire, and Desio would only bow and intone the ritual phrase ‘Your will, Great One.’
Yet traditionally the Great Ones remained aloof from the Game of the Council; some other gambit brought the two magicians. Mara smiled to herself. Whatever the reason for their arrival, the result was two-edged: her enemies had other concerns, but then Minwanabi gained a freer hand to work her demise as the guests’ concerns focused elsewhere.
Yet even as Mara weighed the implications, the guests began to assemble, each family according to rank, to pay their respects to the Warlord. Mara and Nacoya would soon be required to leave the obscurity of their corner, for the Acoma were one of the most ancient names of the Empire, first among those that followed the original Five Great Families. Still the Lady delayed, while the Keda and Tonmargu gathered ahead of her. Then, as the Lord of the Xacatecas strode forward in turn, she threaded her way through the crowd.
‘Go slowly,’ she instructed Nacoya. Where other families moved in groups of sons, daughters, in-laws, and cousins, each relative of the blood being permitted an honour guard, her own contingent consisted only of a First Adviser and Papewaio. Other Lords and their advisers often did not notice her presence until she had passed them by, since greatness and power seldom moved without fanfare. Quite often Mara could overhear enough of their conversations to catch the drift of their concerns before
