Movement returned slowly to those who remained in the chamber. Guests stirred and exchanged comments, while a battered Arakasi helped the Lady Mara to her feet. Almecho and others looked upon the Lady of the Acoma with respect. No guest present believed the Lord of the Minwanabi would have sent servants to murder the Lady of the Acoma out of hand. None doubted that the Great One’s magic had revealed the last act of some complex plot of Mara’s, the Great Game of the Council at its subtle and deadly finest. The Lady of the Acoma had surmounted all but impossible odds to avenge a blow that had come close to ruining her house. Now all silently congratulated her for her skill in defeating her enemy in his own home.
Yet Mara had learned nothing if not to guard herself doubly against treachery where the Minwanabi were concerned. After a murmured conference with Arakasi, she stepped forward. Offering a deferential bow to the Warlord, she smiled in a manner that truly made her beautiful. ‘My Lord, I am sorry that my inadvertent part in these bloody acts has cast a shadow over your birthday celebration.’
More amused than irritated, Almecho regarded her keenly. ‘I place no responsibility on your shoulders, Lady Mara. Jingu is about to erase any debt that remains. Still, I suspect the affair is not ended. Even though our young Lord will provide escort for your return home – I salute that touch, by the way – you yet may face difficulties.’
Mara made light of her own danger. With all the charm at her disposal, she instead offered sympathy to the one who was the Emperor’s voice within Tsuranuanni. ‘My Lord, too much sorrow has passed here for your celebration to continue with grace. As much as Desio might wish otherwise, grief will leave him little heart to resume the festivities in your honour. While there are other estates closer, mine lie in the fastest direct route by river. In reparation, let me offer my home as a humble substitute for the final celebration of your birthday. Should you accept my hospitality, my staff and my artisans shall do their utmost to entertain you.’ Filled with secretive plans, Mara thought of the gifted but unrecognized performers she had observed at her wedding. In return for her past courtesy they would be willing to perform on short notice, and as one who had discovered new talents for the Warlord’s pleasure, her social stock would grow. And many a worthy musician and artist might gain needed patronage, putting them even deeper in her debt.
Almecho laughed. ‘You’re a sharp-witted one, aren’t you, little bird?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I had best keep an eye on you myself. No woman has ever worn the white and gold, but you …’ He lost his serious expression. ‘No, I like your bold offer.’ He raised his voice to the guests who had lingered to watch the final turn of events. ‘We depart at sunrise, to journey to the lands of the Acoma.’
He bowed slightly and, flanked by the dark forms of his magicians, stepped briskly through the doorway. The moment he had disappeared, Mara found herself the centre of a storm of attention. In the very chamber in which she had escaped murder by narrow margins, she suddenly had ceased to be a social outcast, a girl marked for death at a moment’s notice. From the greatest families in the Empire she received congratulations, honour, and the accolades of a victor who could play the Game of the Council.
Mara’s retinue of warriors was recalled from the Minwanabi barracks well ahead of daybreak; they rejoined their mistress on board the Acoma barge. While land and water still lay in darkness, the craft poled away from the docks. Too excited by the events of the night to attempt to rest, Mara stood by the rail with her First Adviser and her Spy Master. Feeling the absence of Papewaio with keen sorrow, they watched the lighted windows in the Minwanabi estate house fall astern. The aftermath of terror and unexpected triumph had left Mara both shaky and exhilarated. Yet her thoughts, as always, ranged ahead. The usual preparations would be lacking, since the Warlord and all the guests would arrive at the Acoma estates unannounced. In spite of herself, Mara smiled. Jican was surely going to tear his hair when he discovered his staff had the responsibility of conducting Almecho’s birthday celebration.
The barge rocked gently as the slaves switched their poles for oars and began a steady stroke. Here and there soldiers spoke in whispers to each other; then all conversations stilled as the sky brightened over the lake. Astern, a colourful flotilla of guests’ barges departed the hospitality of the Minwanabi. With the watercourses jammed with noble witnesses, Mara need not fear attack by enemy warriors disguised as bandits; and Desio in any event could hardly mastermind an attempt around the grief and the ceremony attendant upon his father’s ritual suicide.
When the golden disc of the sun lifted above the valley, Mara and every other noble passenger abroad in their barges noted the small knot of soldiers upon the hillock near the Minwanabi contemplation glade. These men stood honour to Lord Jingu as he mustered the courage to fall upon his own sword. When at length men in orange armour formed up into ranks and marched in formal step to the mansion, Mara breathed a prayer of thanks to the gods. The enemy who had arranged her father and brother’s murder, and nearly her own, at last was dead.
With Jingu’s passing, the Minwanabi ceased their role as supreme power after the Warlord, for Desio was a young man of poor social gifts. Few considered him a worthy successor to his father; those travelling south to the Acoma lands commonly judged that the old Lord’s successor would be hard pressed to preserve the alliances his father had forged, let alone increase Minwanabi power. Now Desio could expect to be closely watched. As he shepherded his family’s decline, all who were once fearful of Minwanabi power would now add strength to his enemies. Unless one of Desio’s more gifted cousins came to power, the Minwanabi fate was sealed. The stock of a great house had fallen far in the Game of the Council.
Mara considered this throughout the voyage by river, and beyond, as her litter wove through the crowded streets of Sulan-Qu and into the quieter countryside surrounding Acoma lands. With the Minwanabi dominance ended in the High Council, Almecho stood unchallenged, save for the alliance of those in the Blue Wheel Party and the Alliance for Progress. Mara regarded the decorated litters of the nobles who trailed after her retinue, her mind absorbed by the likely readjustments of politics. With the beginnings of a smile, she realized the wisdom of having Nacoya place Hokanu of the Shinzawai near her at least once during the feasting. Then she inwardly laughed. Just as she must once again consider marriage, the Empire would begin another round of multi-player bickering as the game entered a new phase; but it would always be the Game of the Council.
Mara turned to mention her thought to Nacoya and found the old woman napping. At last, with their return to familiar roads, the First Adviser had begun to relax the tension that had driven her throughout their stay in the Minwanabi house.
Just then Arakasi said, ‘Mistress, something odd ahead.’
Nacoya roused, but her complaints died unuttered as she saw her mistress staring raptly forward. At the crest of the next hill, at the boundary of the Acoma lands, stood two warriors, one on each side of the road. To the left, upon Acoma soil, waited a soldier in the familiar green of her own garrison. On the right, on lands belonging to the Empire, the second soldier wore the red and yellow armour of the Anasati. As Mara’s retinue and litter came fully into view, both men spun around and shouted almost in unison, ‘Acoma! Acoma!’
Startled as her litter swerved to the left, Mara glanced back and saw her bearers pull aside to make room for the Warlord’s litter to draw even with hers. Almecho shouted over the noise of tramping feet. ‘Lady, you’ve arranged an exceedingly odd welcome.’
Caught at a loss, Mara said, ‘My Lord, I do not know what this means.’
The Warlord gestured to his Imperial Whites, and side by side the two retinues crested the hill. Another pair of warriors waited beyond, some distance along, and an even more distant pair farther yet. On the crest of the last hill before the prayer gate a fourth pair could be seen. And from the waving back and forth, the cry ‘Acoma’ had been clearly carried ahead of the returning litters.
Mara bowed her head to Almecho. ‘With my Lord’s permission