‘Which we conceded was a brilliant move,’ interjected Hochopepa, again just loud enough to make the speaker stumble. Teloro and Shimone repressed amusement. The stout magician was a master at embarrassing colleagues that he deemed in need of having their pomposity punctured. As Motecha seemed ready to depart from his prepared remarks, Hochopepa added, ‘But please, I didn’t mean to interrupt; pray continue.’
Motecha was nonetheless thrown off stride. He brushed lamely past his hesitation saying, ‘She will crush the Anasati –’
Representing the more seasoned members of the Assembly, Fumita stood. At Hodiku’s nod of acknowledgment he said, ‘Forgive the interruption, Motecha, but an Anasati defeat is neither assured or even likely. Given the well-documented assessment of the forces available to both sides, it is a given Jiro must counteract with a Call to Clan. Alone, Anasati’s war hosts are no match for Lady Mara’s, and she has spoken boldly by raising Clan Hadama. This has already cost her politically. She will lose powerful allies – in fact, two will be forced by blood ties to take the field against her on Jiro’s behalf – and while the Acoma are awesome in wealth and power, the two clans are closely matched.’
Hochopepa grinned openly. Motecha’s thinly veiled attempt to stir the Assembly on behalf of the Anasati was now crushed. Rather than sit down, Fumita continued. ‘There is another issue here, that must be addressed.’
Motecha jerked his chin and conceded the floor in disgust. As he moved away, and no other Great One stood to claim the floor, Hodiku merely waved at Fumita to continue. ‘While matters of honor are deemed inviolate, we must consider: will this clash of clans so weaken the internal structure of the Empire that the stability is set at risk?’
A murmur stirred the Assembly, but no one thrust to the fore to debate the issue. Clan Ionani and Clan Hadama were large factions, yes, but neither commanded enough followers to upset civil order irretrievably. Hochopepa knew his ally Fumita stalled for time; the underlying concern behind this tactic was wider than the settlement of one House’s personal honor over insult. The worst was already halfway realised: that the conflict of the Anasati and the Acoma would create a polarisation of factions who opposed Ichindar. Disorganised dissenters already rallied behind Jiro’s cause, forming a traditionalist party that could throw serious opposition against the Empire’s new order. Though they were not yet incensed enough to contribute to the bloodshed, were there still a High Council left with power to act, there could be no doubt that if a vote were held at this minute, Lord Jiro would hold enough support to take the Warlordship. There were magicians who had regarded Ichindar’s rise to power as an impious expedient: that the balance should be returned to the time before the Enemy, with the Light of Heaven’s office restored to the old ways. Hochopepa led a small contingent that welcomed change; he paid scant heed to Fumita’s stalling, but instead watched to see where Motecha would gravitate. To his colleague he confided, ‘Ah, there’s the hand behind Jiro’s cause.’
With a slight nod of his head, he indicated the magician Motecha now spoke with, an athletic-looking man just out of youth, unremarkable save for the red hair that showed around the edges of his black cowl. He had thick brows, an expression that approached a scowl, and the carriage of a man who tended to fidget with excess nerves.
‘Tapek,’ Shimone identified. ‘He’s the one who burned up a building while practicing for his mastery. Came into his talents very early, but took a long time to learn restraint.’
Hochopepa’s mild face furrowed in concern. ‘He’s no friend of Jiro’s. I wonder what his stake in this is?’
Shimone gave the barest lift of shoulders, as close as he ever came to the enigmatic Tsurani shrug. ‘His kind gravitates toward trouble, as floating sticks will draw toward a whirlpool.’
On the floor, debate continued. Careful to keep his tone neutral lest someone point out his personal tie to Hokanu and Mara’s House, Fumita offered up his conclusion. ‘I believe that if Clans Ionani and Hadama destroy each other, we shall be faced with both internal and external perils.’ He held one finger aloft. ‘Can any doubt that whoever survives, that house will be so weakened that others will instantly fall upon it?’ He raised a second finger, adding, ‘And can any gainsay that enemies outside our border will take advantage of our internal dissension to strike?’
‘My turn to contribute to the general excess of hot air,’ Hochopepa muttered, and promptly stood. At the cue, Fumita sat with such abruptness that nobody else could rise to his feet in time to prevent Hodiku’s indication that the stout magician had the floor.
Hochopepa coughed to clear his throat. ‘My learned brother makes a strong brief,’ he said, warming up to a virtuoso speech of confusing pomposity. ‘But we must not blind ourselves with rhetoric.’
Shimone’s lips twitched at this half-lie. His fat companion paced heavily to and fro, meeting the eyes of all the magicians in the front rows to draw them to attention. ‘I would like to point out that such clashes before have not spelled the end of civilisation as we know it!’ He nodded for emphasis. ‘And we have no intelligence to indicate that those upon our borders are poised to strike. The Thuril are too busy with trade along our eastern frontier to seek struggle so long as we give them no cause. They can be a hard lot, but profit is bound to seem more attractive to them than bloodletting; at least that seems to be the case since the Alliance for War desisted in their attempt to conquer them.’ A murmur of disapproval disturbed the shadowy hall, for the attempt to annex the Thuril Highlands as a new province had ended in disgrace for the Empire, and it was considered bad form to recall the defeat. Hochopepa’s scruples did not restrain him from using this point to unbalance his opposition. He simply raised his sonorous voice enough to be heard above the noise. ‘The desert men of Tsubar have sworn binding treaty with the Xacatecas and Acoma on behalf of the Empire, and we have had no resumption of conflict in Dustari.’
That this was in part to Lady Mara’s credit was not lost on the Assembly. A smile spread across Hochopepa’s round face as the tumult died back to respectful stillness. ‘By any measure, the Empire is peaceful to the point of boredom.’ In a dramatic shift, his smile fled before a scowl, and he shook a finger at the gathering. ‘Need I remind my brothers that the Servant of the Empire is counted a member of the Imperial House by adoption? An odd convention, I know, but a tradition.’ He waved to single out Motecha, who had sought to discredit Mara. ‘Should we be so rash as to do anything on behalf of the Anasati, the Emperor could conceivably consider this an attack upon his family. And, more to the point, Elgohar and I witnessed the last Warlord’s execution. At his hanging …’ He paused for effect, and tapped his temple. ‘Let me see if I can recall our Light of Heaven’s exact words upon that occasion of a magician acting in conspiracy with council politics. Oh, yes, he said: “If another Black Robe is ever discovered involved in a plot against my house, the status of Great Ones outside the law will end. Even should I be forced to pit all the armies of the Empire against your magic might, even to the utter ruination of the Empire, I will not allow any to challenge the supremacy of the Emperor again. Is that understood?”’
Sweeping a dire glare over the assembly, Hochopepa said, ‘I assure you all, Ichindar was sincere. He is not the sort to threaten violence lightly. Our previous Emperors may have been content to sit by, dividing their time between holy devotions in the temples, and begetting heirs upon their assorted wives and mistresses’ – he let his voice rise again – ‘but Ichindar is not one! He is a ruler, not some divine puppet wearing the costume of religious office!’
Lowering his voice, forcing every magician present to strain with undivided attention to hear him, Hochopepa summed up. ‘We who attended the Good Servant’s son’s funeral know full well that Mara’s lapse was born of overwhelming grief. Now she must bear up to the consequences of her shame. From the moment she assaulted Jiro with her bare hands, this conflict was inevitable. As our charge is to preserve the Empire, I strongly doubt we can justify pursuing any activity that might find us all’ – shaking the