The Complete Empire Trilogy. Janny Wurts
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The Force Commander’s face showed nothing. ‘No man can ask for more.’
Certain that Nacoya was acting in all her glory with the guests, Mara said, ‘Walk with me to the glade of my ancestors, Keyoke.’
The Force Leader of the Acoma shortened stride to match that of his slight mistress and silently opened a side door. As they left the main house, and birdsong replaced the talk of guests and servants, Mara sighed. ‘We shall need a new First Strike Leader.’
Keyoke said, ‘Your will, mistress.’
But Mara kept her opinion to herself. ‘Who is the best for the position?’
Keyoke seemed unusually expressive as he said, ‘It galls me to say it, but despite his less than seemly attitude at times, no man is better able than Lujan. Tasido has been with us longer and is a better swordsman … but Lujan is among the best I’ve seen in tactics, strategy, and leading men since’ – he hesitated – ‘well, since your father.’
Mara raised her eyebrows. ‘That good?’
Keyoke smiled, and his humour was so unexpected that Mara stopped in her tracks. She listened as her Force Commander qualified. ‘Yes, that good. He’s a natural leader. That’s the reason Papewaio came to like the rascal so quickly. And if your First Strike Leader had survived he’d be telling you the same. Had the Lord of the Kotai lived, Lujan would probably already be a Force Commander now.’ By the hint of pain beneath Keyoke’s tone, Mara understood how much like a son Papewaio had been to this old campaigner. Then his Tsurani self-discipline fell back into place and the old warrior was as she had always known him.
Glad of his choice, Mara said, ‘Then name Lujan First Strike Leader, and promote a Patrol Leader to take his place.’ They passed beneath the trees, where once Papewaio had knelt and begged to take his life with his sword. With a pang of sorrow for his passing, Mara considered what might have happened had she not reinterpreted tradition concerning the black scarf of the condemned. A shiver touched her spine. How delicate was the thread of progression that had preserved her life.
Strangely abrupt, Keyoke stopped. Ahead lay the guarding hedges at the entrance to the glade, and the Force Commander traditionally might accompany her that far. Then Mara saw that a lone figure awaited her, before the contemplation glade of her ancestors. The red and yellow helm in his hands was familiar, gleaming in the copper light of latest afternoon; and the scabbard at his side held no weapon.
Mara gently dismissed her Force Commander and stepped forward to meet the Lord of the Anasati.
Tecuma had brought no honour guard. The scarlet and yellow armour of his family creaked in the stillness as he offered greeting. ‘My Lady.’
‘My Lord.’ Mara returned his slight bow, aware that the birds in the trees had fallen silent at the coming of sundown.
‘I hoped to find you here. Since the last time we exchanged words in this place, I thought it appropriate to make a new beginning on the same soil.’ He glanced to the chattering throng of guests crowding the dooryard, and the bustle of the servants who attended them. ‘I expected the next time I trod this grass, I’d see orange-clad warriors swarming over it, not revellers come to honour you.’
‘They come to honour the Warlord,’ corrected Mara.
Tecuma studied the face of his daughter-in-law, as if truly seeing her for the first time. ‘No, Lady. They celebrate Almecho’s birthday, but they truly honour you. There will never be love between us, Mara, but we have Ayaki in common. And I dare to think we share a respect for one another.’
Mara bowed, lower than ever before. In all sincerity she said, ‘We have that, Tecuma. I have no regrets, save that good men have been made to suffer …’ Her mind turned to her father, brother, Papewaio, and even Buntokapi, and she added, ‘And to die. What I have done was for the Acoma, and all that shall be Ayaki’s someday. I hope you understand.’
‘I do.’ Tecuma gathered himself to leave, then shook his grey head, unwilling humour showing through his poise. ‘I truly do. Perhaps when Ayaki comes to his majority and rules, I may find it in my heart to forgive what you have done.’
Mara wondered at the strange way that events could turn in the Game of the Council. ‘I am glad at least that for now we have no reason to be at odds,’ she said.
‘For now.’ Tecuma sighed with something very close to regret. ‘Had you been my daughter, and Bunto Lord Sezu’s son … who knows what could have been possible?’ Then, as if the matter were forever put aside, he placed his helm on his head. The hair stuck out at odd angles over his ears, and the ornamented strap swung against his neck, but he did not look the least bit foolish. Rather he looked a ruler, with years of life behind and more yet to come, with age and wisdom, experience and knowledge, a master of his office. ‘You are a true daughter of the Empire, Mara of the Acoma.’
Left no precedent upon which to model a response, Mara could only bow deeply and accept the accolade. Overwhelmed by emotion, she watched Tecuma walk back to rejoin his retinue. All alone, she entered the contemplation glade of her ancestors.
The path to the natami seemed changeless as time. Sinking down on the cool earth where many an ancestor had knelt ahead of her, Mara ran her fingers over the shatra bird carved into the stone. Quietly, but in a voice that trembled with joy, she said, ‘Rest you well, my father, and you, my brother. He who took your lives is now but ashes, and your blood is avenged. The honour of the Acoma is intact, and your line preserved.’
Then tears came unbidden. Years of fear and pain lifted from Mara’s spirit.
Overhead, the fluting call of a shatra bird called the flock to take wing in celebration of sundown. Mara wept without restraint, until lantern light glowed through the hedges and the distant sounds of festivities filled the glade. All her struggles had borne fruit. She knew peace for the first time since Keyoke had fetched her from the temple; and somewhere upon the Great Wheel the shades of her father and brother rested peacefully, their pride and honour restored.
Filled with the deep satisfaction of victory, Mara arose. She had a household full of guests to attend to … and the Game of the Council would continue.
We find ourselves deeply indebted to many people for much of what appears in this book. We would like to publicly offer our heartfelt thanks for their contributions, intentional or otherwise:
To the Friday Nighters, whose affection for games introduced REF to many wonderful ideas that were used in two worlds, and the many writers of those games, most especially those at Midkemia Press.
To Kyung and Jon Conning, who gave JW a red-carpet tour of their home in Korea which added immeasurably to the colour in this book.
To Virginia Kidd, for making it easy for JW to say yes, and for years of wise counsel and friendship.
To our editors, Adrian Zackheim, who started with us, and Jim Moser, who was there at the finish.
To Richard C. Freese, for caring above and beyond duty’s call.
To Elaine Chubb, for making us look