The Complete Empire Trilogy

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.