Mistress of the Empire. Janny Wurts

as if adherence to order could ward off the inconsistencies of life. Always he had tended to wall off his grief behind logic, or unswerving devotion to the dutiful ideal of the Tsurani noble. Chumaka did not like to encourage what he considered a weakening flaw in his Lord. The ramifications of allowing such traits to become policy were too confining for his liking. The perils, in fact, were paramount; in a bold move of his own, Chumaka had seized the initiative to take in more than two hundred soldiers formerly sworn to Minwanabi service. These were disaffected men whose hatred of Mara would last to their dying breath. Chumaka had not housed such for his own entertainment; he was not a disloyal man. He had secretly accommodated the warriors in a distant, secret barracks. Tactful inquiry had shown Jiro to be adamant in his refusal to consider swearing them to Anasati service; ancient custom held that such men were anathema, without honor and to be shunned lest the displeasure of the gods that had seen the unfortunate house fall be visited upon their benefactor. Yet Chumaka had refrained from sending these men away. He had no hope of a change in attitude from his master; but a tool was a tool, and these former Minwanabi might someday be useful, if the Ruling Lord of the Anasati could not be weaned from his puerile hatred of Mara.

      If the two Houses were going to be enemies, Chumaka saw such warriors as an advantage to be held in trust for the day their service might be needed. Mara had proven herself to be clever. She had ruined one house far larger than her own. Guile would be needed to match guile, and Chumaka was never a man to waste an opportunity.

      Indeed, he saw his secret as a loyal act, and what Jiro did not know, could not be forbidden.

      The warriors were not all. Chumaka had to restrain himself from the desire to rub his thin hands together in anticipation. He had spies as well. Already a few factors formerly in the Minwanabi employ were now working on behalf of the Anasati and not the Acoma. Chumaka gained the same pleasure in co-opting these people to his master’s service that he might in isolating an opponent’s fortress or priest upon the shah board. He knew eventually the Anasati would benefit. Then his master must see the wisdom of some of Mara’s choices.

      And so the Anasati First Adviser smiled, and said nothing; to a fine point, he knew just how far he could go in contradicting Jiro. Pressing his Lord toward his meeting with the factors, he said quietly, ‘Master, Mara may have flouted tradition by taking on responsibility for her vanquished enemy’s servants, but rather than merely removing her greatest enemy, she has gained immeasurable resources. Her strength has grown. From being a dangerous, dominant player in the Game of the Council, at one stroke Mara has become the single most powerful Ruling Lord or Lady in the history of the Empire. The Acoma forces, alone, now number more than ten thousand swords; they surpass several smaller clans. And Clan Hadama and its allies together rival the Emperor’s Imperial Whites!’ Chumaka turned reflective as he added, ‘She could rule by fiat, I think, if she had the ambition. The Light of Heaven is certainly not of a mind to oppose her wishes.’

      Disliking to be reminded of the Lady’s swift ascendance, Jiro became the more nettled. ‘Never mind. What is this theory?’

      Chumuka raised up one finger. ‘We know Tasaio of the Minwanabi employed the Hamoi Tong. The tong continues to pursue Mara’s death.’ Counting on a second finger, he listed, ‘These facts may or may not be related. Incomo, Tasaio’s former First Adviser, was effective in discovering some or all of the Acoma agents who had infiltrated the Minwanabi household. There was a disruption after that, and a mystery remains: our own network reported that someone killed every Acoma agent between the Minwanabi Great House and the City of Sulan-Qu.’

      Jiro gave an offhand wave. ‘So Tasaio had all her agents killed as far back as he could trace her network.’

      Chumaka’s smile became predatory. ‘What if he didn’t?’ He flicked up a third finger. ‘Here is another fact: the Hamoi Tong killed those servants inside the Minwanabi household who were Acoma agents.’

      The Lord’s boredom intensified. ‘Tasaio ordered the tong –’

      ‘No!’ Chumaka interrupted, verging on disrespect. Swiftly he amended his manners by turning his outburst into prelude for instruction. ‘Why should Tasaio hire tong to kill his own staff? Why pay death price for lives that could be taken by an order to the Minwanabi guards?’

      Jiro looked rueful. ‘I was thinking carelessly.’ His eyes shifted forward to where the factors were fidgeting at the delay, as Lord and adviser continued to equivocate just inside the doorway.

      Chumaka ignored their discomfort. They were underlings, after all, and it was their place to wait upon their Lord. ‘Because there is no logical reason, my master. However, we can make a surmise: if I were the Lady, and I wished to insult both the tong and Tasaio, what better way than to order the tong, under false colors, to kill her spies?’

      Jiro’s expression quickened. He could follow Chumaka’s reasoning on his own, now he had been clued in to the first step. ‘You think the Hamoi Tong may have cause to declare a blood debt toward Mara?’

      Chumaka’s answer was a toothy smile.

      Jiro resumed walking. His steps echoed across the vast hall, with its paper screens drawn closed on both sides, and its roof beams hung with dusty war relics and a venerable collection of captured enemy banners. These artifacts reminded of a time when the Anasati were at the forefront of historical battles. Theirs was an ancient tradition of honor. They would rise as high again, Jiro vowed; no, higher yet. For Mara’s defeat would be his to arrange, a victory that would resound throughout the Empire.

      He alone would prove that Mara had incurred the gods’ displeasure in granting reprieve to conquered enemy servants. Single-handedly, he would exact vengeance for her flouting of the old ways. She would look into his eyes as she died, and know: she had made her worst mistake on the day she had chosen Buntokapi for her husband. Unlike the grandeur of the Minwanabi great hall that Mara had inherited, the Anasati great hall was as reassuring in its traditional design as the most time-honored ritual in the temple. Jiro luxuriated in this; no different from the halls of a hundred other Ruling Lords, this chamber was nevertheless unique; it was Anasati. Along both sides of the center aisle knelt petitioners and Anasati retainers. Omelo, his Force Commander, stood at attention to one side of the dais upon which Jiro conducted the business of his court. Arrayed behind him were the other officers and advisers of the household.

      Jiro mounted his dais, knelt on the Lord’s cushions, then settled back on his heels as he adjusted his formal robe. Before he signaled his hadonra to begin the day’s council, he said to his First Adviser, ‘Find out for certain if the tong pursues Mara on its own. I would know, so we can make better plans when this news of Ayaki’s death becomes official.’

      Chumaka clapped his hands and a servant came to his shoulder. ‘Have two runners in my quarters by the time I reach them.’ While the servant bowed and hastened away, he made his own obeisance to the master. ‘Lord, I shall begin at once. I have some new sources that may provide us with better information.’ Then, seeing the hardened glint in Lord Jiro’s eyes, Chumaka touched his master’s sleeve. ‘We must show restraint until Mara’s messenger reaches us with formal announcement of Ayaki’s death. Speak now, and your staff will gossip. We would ill be served by giving our enemy proof, that we have spies in sensitive places.’

      Jiro snapped away from Chumaka’s touch. ‘I understand, but do not ask me to be complacent! All in Anasati service will mourn. Ayaki of the Acoma, my nephew, has been slain, and every man of ours who is not a slave will wear a red band upon his arm in token of our loss. When this day’s business is finished, you will ready an honor guard for travel to Sulan-Qu.’

      Chumaka bit back annoyance. ‘We attend the boy’s funeral?’

      Jiro bared his teeth. ‘He was my nephew. To stay home when his ashes are honored would be to admit responsibility or cowardice, and we are guilty of neither. He may have been the son of my enemy, and I may now destroy his mother without constraint, but he shares Anasati blood! He deserves the respect any grandson of Tecuma of the Anasati is entitled. We shall carry a family relic to be burned with him.’ Jiro’s eyes flashed as he finished, ‘Tradition demands our presence!’

      Chumaka kept his reservations