The Complete Empire Trilogy

The hadonra paused, hands spread diffidently before him. Then, encouraged by the fact that Mara did not interrupt, he went on. ‘And the breeders … they are a mystery. Again I mean no disrespect, but the lords of the north seem especially shortsighted concerning choice of breeding bulls.’ More at ease, the little man shrugged in perplexity. ‘A bull that is ill-tempered and difficult to manage, but that is heavily muscled and paws the ground in fierce display, or with a large’ – he lowered his eyes in embarrassment – ‘ah, male member sells better than a fat one that will breed good meat animals, or a docile one that begets solid draught stock. So animals a cannier man might have castrated or slaughtered bring prime prices, while the best remain here, and people wonder at the quality of our herds. They say “How can the Acoma meat taste so good, when they keep such weak bulls?” I do not understand such thinking.’

Mara smiled slightly, the first relaxed expression she had shown since leaving the temple. ‘Those noble lords seek animals that reflect upon their own virility. I have no such need. And as I have no desire to be mistaken for any of my breeding stock, you may continue to select which cows and bulls to sell without regard for how their traits match up to mine.’ Jican’s eyes opened wide for an instant before he realized the girl was making a joke. He laughed slightly with her. Mara added, ‘You have done well.’

The man smiled his thanks, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Plainly he enjoyed the responsibilities of his new office and had feared his new mistress might remove him. He was doubly pleased to discover not only that he would continue as hadonra, but that Lady Mara recognized his worth.

But Mara had inherited her father’s instinct for governance, even if it was only just beginning to emerge, and knew she had a competent, perhaps even gifted, estate manager beside her. ‘Your diligence in business brings honour to the Acoma as much as our soldiers’ bravery,’ she finished. ‘You may leave now, and attend your duties.’

The hadonra bowed from a kneeling position until his forehead touched the foor, an obeisance more abject than required from a man in his position. ‘I bask in the sunlight of my mistress’s praise.’

Jican rose and departed as a house servant came forward to gather the scrolls from the floor. Nacoya hurried through the doorway as the hadonra passed by. More servants followed at her heels with trays of refreshments, and with a sigh, Mara wished her overly abundant domestic staff could be transformed into soldiers.

Nacoya bowed, then sat before Mara had a chance to grant her leave. Over the soft clink of the serving ware and the bustle of servants setting down trays, she said, ‘Does my Lady think she should work all morning and take no meals?’ Her old, dark eyes turned critical. ‘You’ve lost weight since you left for the temple. Some men might think you scrawny.’

Still preoccupied with her discussion with Jican, Mara spoke as though she had not heard. ‘I have undertaken to learn of my estates and properties. You chose with care in selecting this Jican, Nacoya. Though I remember Sotamu with affection, this man seems a master of commerce.’

Nacoya’s manner softened. ‘I presumed much, mistress, but decisiveness was necessary at the time.’

‘You did well.’ Mara regarded the array of food, the odour of fresh thyza bread wakening her awareness of hunger. She reached for a slice, frowned, then added, ‘And I’m not scrawny. Our meals at the temple were not so plain as you think.’ She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. She regarded her indomitable nurse. ‘Now, what must we do?’

Nacoya pursed her lips, a sure sign that she broached what she guessed to be a difficult subject. ‘We must move quickly to strengthen your house, Lady. Without blood family, you make a tempting target for many. Even those with no prior cause for strife with the Acoma might look upon your holdings with an envious and ambitious eye. Land and herds might not tempt a minor lord to move against your father, but against a young girl with no training? “There is a hand behind every curtain,”’ she quoted.

‘“And a knife in every hand,”’ finished Mara. She set her bread aside. ‘I understand, Nacoya. I have thought that we must send for recruits.’

Nacoya shook her head with such sharpness that her precariously pinned hair threatened to come loose. ‘That is a difficult and dangerous proposition to attempt at this time.’

‘Why?’ Mara had forgotten the food in her annoyance. ‘I just reviewed assets with Jican. The Acoma have more than enough wealth to suport twenty-five hundred soldiers. We even have enough to pay for recruiting fees.’

But Nacoya had not been referring to the fact a new master must indemnify the former master for each recruit’s training. Gently she reminded, ‘Too many have died, Mara-anni. The family ties that remain are too few to matter.’ Tsurani tradition required that only a relative of a soldier already serving could join a household’s garrison. As eldest sons tended to assume the same loyalties as their fathers, such recruits were further limited to second or later sons. Bearing these facts in mind, Nacoya added, ‘With the heavy recruiting your father undertook prior to the invasion of the barbarian world, most of the able men have already been called. Any you found now would be young and unseasoned. The Lord of the Minwanabi will act before such as those would prove any benefit.’

‘I have given that some thought.’ Mara reached under the writing table before her and removed a case, delicately carved of costly hardwoods. ‘I sent to the Guild of Porters this morning. The representative who arrives will be told to give this into the hand of the Lord of the Minwanabi, under bond and without message.’ Grim now, Mara handed the box to Nacoya.

Nacoya opened the finely crafted catch and raised an eyebrow at what rested within. A single red cord, darkened with blood from Mara’s hand, lay coiled next to a shatra feather. Closing the box as though it contained a scarlet dhast, the most venomous of serpents, Nacoya said, ‘You openly announce blood feud with House Minwanabi.’

‘I only acknowledge a feud begun ages ago!’ Mara shot back, the murder of her father and brother too near yet for temperance. ‘I am only telling Jingu that another generation of Acoma stands ready to oppose him.’ Embarrassed suddenly by her emotions, the girl stared at the food tray. ‘Mother of my heart, I am inexperienced in the Game of the Council, but I remember many nights when father discussed with Lano those things he plotted, teaching a son each move, and the reason for it. His daughter listened as well.’

Nacoya set the box aside and nodded. Mara looked up, sweating lightly in the heat, but composed. ‘Our enemy the Minwanabi will think this represents something more subtle than it does. He will seek to parry whatever move he thinks we plot, giving us the chance to plan. All I can do now is hope to gain us time.’

Nacoya was silent, then said, ‘Daughter of my heart, your boldness is admirable, yet while this gesture may gain you a day, a week, even more, in the end the Lord of the Minwanabi will move to obliterate all things Acoma.’ The old nurse leaned forward, insistent. ‘You must find allies, and for that, only one course remains open to you. You must marry. Quickly.’

Mara shot erect so abruptly that her knee banged the leg of the writing table. ‘No!’ A strained silence developed, while a dislodged parchment floated in her soup dish.

Nacoya brusquely disregarded her mistress’s temper. ‘You have no other choice, child. As Ruling Lady you must seek out a consort from among the younger sons of certain houses in the Empire. A marriage with a son of the Shinzawai, the Tukareg, or the Chochapan would gain an alliance with a house able to protect us.’ She fell silent a moment, then said, ‘For as long as any could. Still, time might tip the balance.’

Mara’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes widened. ‘I’ve never seen any of the boys you have named. I will not wed a stranger!’

Nacoya stood. ‘You speak now from anger, and your heart rules your mind. Had you never entered the temple, your husband would have been selected from those found acceptable by your father or your brother after him. As Lady of the Acoma, you must do as much for the sake of your house. I leave you to think upon this.’

The nurse wrapped old fingers around the box to be delivered by the Porters’ Guild to the Lord of the Minwanabi. She bowed stiffly and left.

Mara sat in silent rage, eyes fixed unseeing upon the soaked parchment, which slowly sank in the depths of the soup bowl. The thought of marriage evoked nameless fears, rooted somehow in her grief. She shivered, though the day was hot, and snapped her fingers for servants to remove the food trays. She would rest, and contemplate alone upon what her aged nurse had instructed.

Upon Keyoke’s recommendation, Mara remained within the estate house throughout the afternoon. Although she would have preferred to continue her review of the Acoma holdings by litter, her warriors were too depleted; a retinue would be needed to ensure her safety in the open, leaving fewer guards available for routine patrols. Too conscientious to remain idle, the girl studied documents, to acquire further familiarity with the more distant assets of her family. She called for a light meal. The shadows lengthened, and the heat of the afternoon settled into stillness.

In the course of her reading, the Lady of the Acoma had come to understand a subtle but important fact of Tsurani life, one emphasized often by her father but only now appreciated: honour and tradition were but two walls of a great house; power and wealth comprised the other two. And of the four, it was the latter pair that kept the roof from collapsing. Mara clenched her fist against the handle of the scroll. If somehow she could keep those enemies who sought her death at bay, until she could muster the strength to enter the Game of the Council, then … She abandoned the thought unfinished. Keeping the Lords of the Minwanabi and Anasati at bay was the problem at hand. Vengeance was a useless dream unless she could secure her family’s survival.

Deep in thought, Mara did not hear Nacoya call softly from the doorway. ‘Mistress?’ the nurse repeated.

Mara glanced up, startled, and motioned the old nurse inside. She waited, preoccupied and aloof, while the old woman bowed, then knelt before her.

‘Lady, I have thought upon our talk this afternoon, and I beg your tolerance as I advise.’

Mara’s eyes narrowed. She had no desire to resume their earlier discussion of marriage, but the lingering ache of the assassin’s bruises reminded her of the need for prudence. She laid her scrolls aside and gestured for Nacoya to continue. ‘As Ruling Lady of the Acoma, your status would not change with marriage. A husband might sit at your right hand, but he would have no voice in house matters, save that which you permit. He –’

Mara waved her hand. ‘These things I know.’

The old nurse settled more comfortably upon the mat before her mistress. ‘Your forgiveness, Lady. When I spoke earlier, I had forgotten that to a maiden of Lashima the concerns of the world beyond the temple walls would fade from mind. Matters between boys and girls, the meetings with the sons of noble houses, the kissing and the touching games – these things were denied you the past year and more. The thought of men …’ Unnerved by the growing intensity of Mara’s stillness, Nacoya faltered, but forcibly finished. ‘Forgive an old woman’s rambling. You were a maiden – and still are.’

The statement caused Mara to blush. During her time at the temple, she had been instructed to put things of the flesh aside. Nacoya’s concern that the girl might be unable to deal with this question was unfounded, for within Mara the struggle to forget had been difficult. She had often caught herself daydreaming of boys she had known during childhood.

Mara rubbed nervously at the bandage that covered her injured palm. ‘Mother of my heart, I am still a maiden. But I understand what is between a man and a woman.’ Abruptly, as if piqued, she formed a circle with thumb and forefinger of her left hand and inserted her right forefinger with a thrusting motion. Herdsmen, farmers, and soldiers used such a mime to indicate fornication. While not obscene – sex was an unselfconscious fact of Tsurani life – her gesture was common and ill became the Lady of a great house.

Too wise to rise to such provocation, Nacoya said, ‘Mistress, I know you played with your brother among soldiers and herdsmen. I know you have seen the bulls mount the cows. And more.’ Given the close proximity of Tsurani living, many times over the years Mara and her brother had been within earshot of passion, or occasionally had blundered upon an encounter between slaves or servants.

She shrugged, as if the matter were of little account.

‘Child, you understand what passes between men and women, here.’ The nurse raised a forefinger to her own head. Then she pointed to her heart. ‘But you do not understand here,’ and she pointed toward her groin, ‘or here. I may be old, but I remember.

‘Mara-anni, a Ruling Lady is also a warrior. You must master your body. Pain must be conquered.’ The nurse grew reflective with remembrance. ‘And at times passion is more pain than any sword wound.’ Low sunlight through the screen underscored the firmness of her features as she focused once more upon Mara. ‘Until you learn your own body, and master its every need, you are vulnerable. Your strengths, or your weaknesses, are those of House Acoma. A handsome man who whispers sweetly in your ears, whose touch rouses fire in your loins, might destroy you as easily as the Hamoi tong.’

Mara flushed deeply, her eyes ablaze. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘A Ruling Lady must be free of doubt,’ Nacoya said. ‘After your mother’s death, Lord Sezu took steps to ensure that the desires of the flesh would not tempt him to act foolishly. Lust for the daughter of the wrong house could have destroyed the Acoma as surely as if he had lost a battle.

‘While you were at the temple, he had women of the Reed Life brought to this house –’

‘Nacoya, he had such women stay here when I was younger. I remember.’ Mara drew breath impatiently and, by the heavy scent of akasi, realized that slaves were trimming the gardens beyond the screens.

But the cloying air seemingly had no effect upon Nacoya. ‘Lord Sezu did not always act for himself, Mara-anni. Sometimes the women came for Lanokota, that he might learn the ways of man and woman, and not fall prey to the ambitions of wily daughters and their fathers’ plots.’

The idea of her brother with such women unexpectedly offended Mara; yet the proximity of slaves forced her to maintain propriety. ‘So, again I say what do you suggest?’

‘I will send for a man of the Reed Life, one skilled in –’

‘No!’ Mara cut her off. ‘I will not hear of this!’

Nacoya ignored her mistress. ‘– ways of pleasure. He can teach –’

‘I said no, Nacoya!’

‘– all you need to know, that soft touches and sweet words whispered in the dark will not beguile you.’

Mara verged upon outright rage. ‘I command you: say no more!’

Nacoya bit back her next words. The two women locked eyes and for a long, silent minute neither moved. At last the old nurse bowed her head until her forehead touched the mats upon which she knelt, a slave’s sign of supplication. ‘I am ashamed. I have given offence to my mistress.’

‘Go! Leave me!’

The old woman rose, the rustle of her clothing and her stiff old back reflecting disapproval as she departed. Mara waved away the servant who appeared to inquire after her needs. Alone, surrounded by the mannered and beautifully calligraphed scrolls that honourably masked what actually constituted a cruel and deadly mesh of intrigue, Mara attempted to sort out the confusion created by Nacoya’s suggestion. She could put no name to the fear that rose up to engulf her.

Holding herself, Mara sobbed silently. Bereft of her brother’s comfort, surrounded by conspiracy, threat, and the unseen presence of enemies, the Lady of the Acoma bent her head, while tears soaked the bandage on her hand, stinging the scabs underneath.

A bell chimed faintly. Mara recognized the signal for the slaves to gather at their quarters for the evening meal. The workers who attended the akasi gardens rose and set aside their tools, while behind thin paper screens their mistress pushed aside her scrolls. She daubed at tearswollen eyes, and softly called for servants to open the study and let in the outdoor air.

She rose then, feeling empty and wrung out; but the firm set had returned to her mouth. Thoughtfully biting her lip, the girl rested against the polished frame of the screen. Another solution besides marriage must exist. She pondered, but saw no answer, while the sun lowered, heavy and gold, in the western sky. Heat haze hung over the distant fields, and overhead the green-blue bowl of the sky was empty of birds. Akasi leaves pruned by the workers wilted upon the white stone walk, adding fragrance to the sleepy silence around the estate house. Mara yawned, worn out from grief and worry.

Suddenly she heard shouts. Shocked alert, she straightened. Running figures sped along the road towards the guards’ barracks. Aware such disturbance must bode bad tidings, the girl turned from the screen, just as a serving girl rushed into the study.

A warrior strode at her heels, dusty, sweating, and breathing hard from what amounted to a long run in battle armour. He bowed his head in respect. ‘Mistress, by your leave.’

Mara felt a knot of cold tighten her stomach. Already it begins, she thought to herself. Yet her tearstained face showed poise as she said, ‘Speak.’

The soldier slapped his fist over his heart in salute. ‘Mistress, the Force Commander sends word: outlaws have raided the herd.’

‘Send for my litter. Quickly!’

‘Your will, mistress.’ The maidservant who had preceded the soldier ducked through the doorway at a run.

To the warrior, Mara said, ‘Assemble an escort.’

The man bowed and departed. Mara unwrapped the light, short robe Tsurani noblewomen preferred to wear in the privacy of their homes. She tossed the garment into the waiting hands of one attendant, while another rushed forward with a travelling robe, longer and more modest in cut. Adding a light scarf to hide the unhealed marks on her neck, Mara stepped outside.

Her litter bearers waited silently, stripped to loincloths and sweating in the heat. Four warriors waited with them, hastily fastening helmets and adjusting weapons at their belts. The soldier sent to inform Mara deferentially offered his hand and aided his mistress into the cushioned seat. Then he signalled bearers and escort. The litter swayed and jolted forward as the bearers complied with the need for haste and hurried towards the outer pastures.

The journey ended far sooner than Mara expected, miles inside the borders of the estate. This was a discouraging sign, since bandits would never dare to raid the inner fields if the patrols had been up to strength. With a motion made brisk by outrage, the girl whisked aside gauze curtains. ‘What has passed here?’

Keyoke turned away from two soldiers who were studying the ground for tracks that might indicate the numbers and strength of the renegades. If he noticed her tearstained face, his own leathery features showed no reaction. Imposing in his lacquer armour, his plumed helm dangling by its strap from his belt, he gestured towards a line of broken fencing, which slaves in loincloths laboured to repair. ‘Outlaws, my Lady. Ten, or perhaps a dozen. They killed a herd boy, smashed through the fence, and drove off some needra.’

‘How many?’ Mara gestured, and the Force Commander helped her from the litter. Grass felt strange under her sandals after temple confinement and months of echoing stone floors; also unexpected were the smells of rich earth and khala vines, which twined the fence rows. Mara pushed aside her momentary distraction and greeted Jican’s presence with a frown the image of her father’s when domestic affairs went amiss.

Though the hadonra had had little contact with the former Lord of the Acoma, that look was legend. Sweating, fingers clenched nervously to his tally slate, he bowed. ‘Lady, at most you have lost three or four cows. I can report for certain when the strays are rounded up.’

Mara raised her voice over the bawl of agitated animals as herders whistled, their long steering sticks and hide whips singing through the air as they drove their charges to a secure corral. ‘Strays?’

Cross with Jican’s diffidence, Keyoke answered, his tone better suited to the battlefield on the barbarian world than the trampled earth of a needra meadow. ‘The beasts in this pasture were due for breeding. The smell of blood startled them into stampede, which alerted the herders.’ He paused, eyes raking the distant line of the woods.

The tautness in his manner sharpened Mara’s concern. ‘What troubles you, Keyoke? Sure not the loss of a few cows, or one murdered slave?’

‘No, Lady.’ Eyes still on the woods, the old soldier shook his head. ‘I regret the ruin of good property, but no, the cows and the boy are the lesser problem.’ He paused while an overseer shouted; the team of slaves bent to raise a new post, while the Force Commander related the worst. ‘We have been vigilant since the Hamoi dog sought your life, mistress. These were no petty thieves. They struck, and departed, during daylight, which speaks of advance planning and a thorough knowledge of patrols.’

Mara felt fear like a sliver of ice. Carefully steady, she said, ‘Spies?’ The Lord of the Anasati would not be above staging a false raid by ‘bandits’, if he wished to gauge the strength of the Acoma forces.

Keyoke fingered his sword. ‘I think not, mistress.’ He qualified this with his usual almost uncanny perception. ‘Minwanabi is never so subtle, and the Anasati have no outposts far enough south to have organized an attack so swiftly. No, this seems the work of soldiers, masterless ones surely.’

‘Grey warriors?’ Mara’s frown deepened as she considered the rough, clanless men who often banded together in the mountains. With the Acoma so severely undermanned, such as these under the guidance of a shrewd commander might prove as menacing as any plot by enemies.

Keyoke slapped dust from his cuffs and again regarded the hills, deepening now under shadow of dusk. ‘With my Lady’s permission, I would send out scouts. If grey warriors were responsible for this raid, they sought only to fill their bellies. There will be smoke, and cook fires; or if there are not, we know that word of our weakness travels swiftly to enemy ears.’

He did not mention counterattack. As guardedly subtle as Nacoya was not, his silence on the subject informed Mara that an open show of force might precipitate disaster. Acoma warriors were too few, even to drive out an enclave of needra thieves. How far the Acoma have fallen, Mara thought; but she gave the formal gesture of acquiescence. Keyoke hastened to command his soldiers. The litter bearers straightened in readiness, anxious for a swift return to the dinners they had left cooling on the tables at quarters; but the Lady was not ready to depart. While she knew Nacoya would have scolded her for lingering where her presence was not required, the urgent need for new fighting men seemed the root of immediate threat. Still resisting the idea of marriage as the only solution, she waved Keyoke back to her side.

He bowed, his face shadowed in twilight. ‘Night comes, mistress. If you wish counsel, let me walk as your escort, for your safety might be in jeopardy after dark.’

Warmed by the same qualities Lord Sezu had prized in his Force Commander, Mara smiled. She permitted the old warrior to settle her into the litter, then addressed the problem at hand. ‘Have you begun recruiting more warriors?’

Keyoke ordered the litter bearers forward, then matched his pace with theirs. ‘My Lady, two of the men have contacted cousins in distant cities, asking for younger sons to be sent to your service. In a week or two, I will permit one or two more to do the same. Much more than that and every barracks from Ambolina to Dustari will know the Acoma lack strength.’

Lights bloomed in the shadows as the workers at the fence lit lanterns to continue their labour. As the Lady’s litter turned towards the estate house, one man, then another, then more began tentatively to sing. Mindful that their security relied upon her judgement, Mara said, ‘Should we buy contracts?’

Keyoke halted. ‘Mercenaries? Common caravan guards?’ In a stride he closed the distance the bearers had opened. ‘Impossible. They wouldn’t be dependable. Men who have no blood vows to the Acoma natami would be worse than useless. They owe you no honour. Against the enemies of your father, you need warriors who will obey without hesitation, even die at your order. Show me a man who will die for pay, and I’ll swear to service. No, Lady, a house hires mercenaries only for simple tasks, like guarding warehouses, or patrolling against common thieves. And that is done only to free warriors for more honourable duty.’

‘Then we need mercenaries,’ Mara said. ‘If only to keep grey warriors from growing fat on our needra.’

Keyoke unhooked his helm, fingering the plumes in the growing dark. ‘My Lady, in better times, yes. But not now. Half the men you hired would likely be spies. Though I am loath to yield honour to masterless men, we must wait, and replenish our ranks slowly.’

‘And die.’ Unreconciled to the fact that Nacoya’s suggestion of marriage seemed more and more inevitable, Mara set her teeth in bitterness.

Startled by her mood, one he had never known in the girl before, Keyoke stopped the litter bearers. ‘My Lady?’

‘How long before my Lord of the Minwanabi learns of the extent of the damage done us by his treachery?’ Mara lifted her head, her face a pale oval between the white fall of the curtains. ‘Sooner or later one of his spies will discover the heart of our house is weak, my own estates stripped of all but a handful of healthy warriors as we maintain the illusion of sufficiency. Our distant holdings are stripped bare, held by a ruse – old men and untrained boys parading in armour. We live like gazen, holding our breath and hoping the harulth will not trample us! But that hope is false. Any day now our act will be discovered. Then the Lords who seek our ruin will strike with brute force.’

Keyoke set his helm on his head, fingers slowly and deliberately fastening the strap beneath his chin. ‘Your soldiers will die defending you, my Lady.’

‘My point, Keyoke.’ Once started, Mara could not stifle the hopeless, trapped feelings that welled up within her. ‘They will all die. As will you and Pape, and even old Nacoya. Then the enemies who murdered my father and brother will take my head and the Acoma natami to the Lord of the Minwanabi and … the Acoma will be no more.’

The old soldier lowered his hands in silence. He could not refute his mistress’s word or offer her any sort of comfort. Gently he ordered the bearers forward, towards the estate house, and lights, and the solace of beauty and art that was the heart of Acoma heritage.

The litter rocked as the slaves stepped from the rough meadow onto the raked gravel path. Shamed by her outburst, Mara loosed the ties, and the gauze curtains fluttered down, enclosing her from view. Sensitive to the possibility she might be weeping, Keyoke walked with his head turned correctly forward. Survival with honour seemed an unattainable hope since the death of Lord Sezu and his son. Yet for the sake of the mistress whose life he guarded, he resisted the belief held by the warriors who still lived: that the gods’ displeasure rested upon this house, and the Acoma fortune was irretrievably on the wane.

Mara spoke, jarring the Force Commander from thought with an unexpected tone of resolve. ‘Keyoke, were I to die, and you survive me, what then?’

Keyoke gestured backwards, towards the hills where the raiders had retired with their booty. ‘Without your leave to take my own life, I would be as those, mistress. A wanderer, masterless and alone, without purpose and identity, a grey warrior with no house colour to wear.’

Mara pushed a hand through the curtain, forming a small crack to peer through. ‘The bandits are all like this?’

‘Some. Others are petty criminals, some thieves and robbers, a few murderers, but many are soldiers who have lived longer than their masters.’

The litter drew near the dooryard of the estate house, where Nacoya awaited with a small flock of servants. Mara pressed on quickly. ‘Honourable men, Keyoke?’

The Force Commander regarded his mistress with no hint of reproof. ‘A soldier without a house can have no honour, mistress. Before their masters fell? I assume grey warriors were good men once, but to outlive one’s master is a mark of the gods’ displeasure.’

The litter swept into the dooryard, and the bearers settled it to the ground with a barely perceptible bump. Mara pushed aside the curtains and accepted Keyoke’s assistance. ‘Force Commander, come to my quarters tonight, after your scouts return from the hills. I have a plan to discuss while the rest of the household sleeps.’

‘As you will, mistress.’ Keyoke bowed, fist pressed to his heart in formal salute. But as servants rushed forward with lanterns, Mara thought she caught a hint of approval on the warrior’s scarred face.

Mara’s meeting with Keyoke extended deep into the night. The stars glinted like ice. Kelewan’s moon showed a notched, copper-gold profile at the zenith by the time the old warrior gathered up the helmet that rested by his knee. ‘My Lady, your plan is dangerously bold. But, as a man does not expect aggression from the gazen, it may work.’