Daughter of the Empire. Janny Wurts

and fingered her bracelets. ‘My Force Commander said I might be annoyed by an unkempt lot like you.’ Her voice became peevish. ‘I despise him when he’s right. Now I’ll never hear the end of his nattering!’ At this some of the outlaws burst into laughter.

      Papewaio showed no reaction to this unlikely description of Keyoke. He relaxed slightly, aware that his mistress sought to lessen tension and avoid an imminent conflict.

      Mara looked at the bandit chieftain, outwardly defiant but secretly attempting to gauge his mood. He insolently levelled his weapon in her direction. ‘How convenient for us you failed to take your adviser’s suggestion seriously. In future you would be well advised to heed such counsel … if you have the opportunity.’

      Several of the Acoma soldiers tensed at the implied threat. Surreptitiously Mara touched Papewaio’s back to reassure him, then said girlishly, ‘Why would I not have have the opportunity?’

      With a display of mock regret, Lujan lowered his sword. ‘Because, Lady, if our negotiations prove unsatisfactory, you will be in no position to hear your Force Commander again.’ His eyes darted, seeking possible trouble; everything about this raid was askew.

      ‘What do you mean!’ Mara stamped her foot as she spoke, ignoring the dangerous attitude the bandit’s threat roused in her escort.

      ‘I mean that while I’m not certain how much value you place on your own freedom, I do know what price you’ll fetch on the slave blocks at Migran.’ Lujan jumped back half a step, sword poised, as Acoma guards barely restrained themselves from answering such insult with attack. Sure of retaliation, the bandits raised weapons and crouched.

      Lujan scanned the clearing furiously as both sides stood on the brink of combat. Yet no charge came. A gleam of understanding entered the outlaw’s eyes. ‘You plot something, pretty mistress?’ The words were half question, half statement.

      Unexpectedly amused by the man’s impudence, Mara saw that the outlaw’s brash and provocative comments were intended to test her mettle in turn. She realized how closely she had come to underestimating this Lujan. That such a clever man could go to waste! she thought. Striving to buy time, she shrugged like a spoiled child.

      Lujan stepped boldly forward and, reaching through the line of her guards, fingered the scarf at her neck with a rough and dirty hand.

      Reaction followed instantaneously. Lujan felt sudden pressure against his wrist. Looking down, he saw Papewaio’s sword a hairsbreadth away from severing his hand. The outlaw’s head jerked up so his eyes were level with the Strike Leader’s. In flat tones Papewaio said, ‘There is a limit.’

      Lujan’s fingers unclenched slowly, freeing Mara’s scarf. He smiled nervously, adroitly withdrawing his hand, then stepped away from Mara’s guard. His manner now turned suspicious and hostile, for under normal circumstances to touch a Lady in such a way would have cost his life. ‘There is some deception here, Lady. What game is this?’ He gripped his sword tightly, and his men shuffled forward, awaiting only his order to attack.

      Suddenly aware that Mara and her officer were closely observing the rocks above the clearing, the bandit chieftain swore. ‘No Ruling Lady would travel with so few warriors! Aie, I am a fool!’

      He started forward, and his men tensed to charge, when Mara shouted, ‘Keyoke!’

      An arrow sped through the air to strike the ground between the outlaw leader’s legs. He pulled up short, as if reaching the end of a tether. Teetering for an instant on his toes, he awkwardly stumbled back a pace. A voice rang out from above. ‘One step closer to my mistress, and you’re a dead man!’ Lujan spun towards the voice, and high above Keyoke pointed a drawn sword at the bandit chieftain. The Force Commander nodded grimly, and an archer fired a signal arrow over the ridge of the ravine. It rose with a whistling scream, cutting through his shout as he called to his subcommanders. ‘Ansami! Mesai!’

      Other shouts answered from the woods. Flanked from the rear, outlaws whirled to catch glimpses of polished armour between the trees, the tall plumes of an officer’s helm at the fore. Uncertain how large a force had been pitched against him, the bandit chieftain reacted instantaneously. In desperation, he whirled and yelled his command to charge the guard around Mara’s litter.

      A second shout from Keyoke jerked his offensive short. ‘Dacoya! Hunzai! Advance! Prepare to fire!’

      The skyline above the ridge suddenly became notched with the silhouettes of a hundred helms, punctuated by the curved horns of bows. A racket erupted, as if several hundred men advanced through the woods that surrounded the clearing.

      The bandit chieftain gestured, and his men stumbled to a halt. Caught at an uncomfortable disadvantage, he scanned the sides of the ravine in a belated attempt to assess his odds of recovery. Only one senior officer stood in clear sight; he had called the names of four Strike Leaders. Eyes narrowed against sun glare, Lujan reviewed the deployment of his own men. The situation was next to impossible.

      Mara had abandoned her girlish airs. Without even a glance at her bodyguard for direction, she said, ‘Lujan, order your men to put their weapons down.’

      ‘Has reason fled?’ Soundly outflanked, and caught in a bottlenecked position, the outlaw leader straightened with a defiant smile. ‘Lady, I salute your plan to rid your estates of pesky neighbours, but even now, I must point out, your person is still at risk. We are trapped, but you could still die with us.’ Even in the face of overwhelming odds, this man sought to wrest circumstance to his advantage. ‘Perhaps we could come to some sort of accommodation,’ he quickly observed. His voice reflected a roguish banter and desperate bluff, but never a trace of fear. ‘Perhaps if you let us depart in peace …’

      Mara inclined her head. ‘You misjudge us.’ Her jade bracelets clinked in the stillness as she placed a hand on Papewaio’s arm, moving him slightly aside. Then she stepped past him and her guards, confronting the bandit chief face to face. ‘As Ruling Lady of the Acoma, I have placed myself at risk so that we might speak.’

      Lujan glanced at the ridgetop. Perspiration glistened on his forehead, which he blotted on his tattered and dirty sleeve. ‘I am listening, Lady.’

      Her guards like statues at her back, Mara caught the ruffian’s gaze and held it. ‘First you must put down your weapons.’

      The man returned a bitter laugh. ‘I may not be a gifted commander, my Lady, but I am not an idiot. If I am to greet the Red God this day, still I will not surrender myself and my companions to be hung for stealing some cows and grain.’

      ‘Though you have stolen from the Acoma, and killed a slave boy, I have not gone to this trouble simply to see you hang, Lujan.’

      Though Mara’s words rang sincere, the outlaws were reluctant to believe; weapons shifted among their ranks, and eyes darted from the threatening force on the ridge to the smaller band of soldiers who guarded the girl. As tension intensified, Lujan said, ‘Lady, if you have a point to make, I suggest you speak quickly, else we may find a number of us dying, you and I first among them.’

      Without orders, and with no deference for rank, Papewaio closed the distance between himself and his mistress. Gently but firmly he moved Mara back and interposed himself between the Ruling Lady and the bandit leader.

      Mara allowed the familiarity without comment. ‘I will guarantee you this: surrender to me and listen to my proposal. If you wish to leave when I have done speaking with you and your men, then you will be free to depart. So long as you never again raid Acoma lands, I will not trouble you. On this you have my word.’

      Uncomfortably aware that archers even now trained their weapons upon his person, Lujan regarded his men. To the last, miserable rank, they were undernourished, some scrawny to the verge of ill health. Most carried only a single weapon, a badly made sword or knife; few wore adequate clothing, much less armour. It would be a poor contest if it came to a fight against Mara’s impeccably turned-out guard. The bandit leader glanced from face to scruffy face, meeting the eyes of men who had been his companions through difficult times. Most indicated with a nod they would follow his lead.

      Lujan