Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts

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       • Chapter Six • Diversions

      The wet season ended.

      Lengthening days brought back the dry dust, and strong sunlight faded the plains grass surrounding the Minwanabi estate house; within weeks the hills would begin to lose their lushness, until by midsummer all would be golden and brown. During the hotter weather, Lord Desio preferred to remain within the shaded comfort of his estate house, but admiration for his cousin often lured him outdoors.

      Tasaio might be serving his family as a senior adviser, but the day never dawned that he failed to maintain his battle skills. Today, while the morning mists burned off the lake, he stationed himself on a hillside with his bow and sheaves of arrows, and straw figures set at varying distances for targets. Within a half hour they bristled with shafts fletched in Tasaio’s personal tricolours: Minwanabi black and orange, cut with a band of red for Turakamu.

      Desio joined him as his battle servant retrieved arrows between rounds. Aware of the young Lord’s approach for some time, Tasaio turned at precisely the correct moment and bowed. ‘Good morning, my Lord cousin.’

      Desio halted, panting from his climb up the hill. He inclined his head, wiped sweat from his pink brow, and regarded his taller cousin, who wore light hide armour studded with precious iron garnered as a war prize from the barbarian world. Tasaio wore no helm, and the breeze stirred his straight auburn hair, clipped short in a warrior’s style. The bow in his hand was a recurve, lacquered shiny black and tasselled at each horn with orange silk. Politely Tasaio offered the weapon. ‘Would you care to try a round?’

      As yet too breathless for speech, Desio waved to decline. Tasaio nodded and turned as the servant approached, a bin of recovered arrows in each hand. He bowed before his master. While he remained on his knees, Tasaio removed the shafts by their nocks and pressed them one by one, point first, into the sandy soil. ‘What brings you out this fine morning, cousin?’

      Desio watched the arrows pierce the earth, in perfect lines like warriors arrayed for a charge. ‘I could not sleep.’

      ‘No?’ Tasaio emptied the first bin and started on the second. A jade-fly landed on the battle servant’s nose. He twitched no muscle and did not blink as the insect crawled across his cheek and began to suck at the fluids of his eye. To reward his perfect composure, Tasaio at length gave the man leave to brush the insect away. The man gratefully did so, having learned under the lash to ease himself only when given permission.

      Tasaio smoothed a parted cock feather and waited for his cousin to continue.

      ‘I could not sleep because months have passed, and still we have not uncovered the Acoma spies.’

      Tasaio set arrow to bowstring and released in one fluid motion. The shaft arced out through the bright morning and thumped into the painted heart of a distant straw figure. ‘We know there are three of them,’ the warrior said evenly. ‘And the field has narrowed. We have disclosed information leaks from our barracks, from our grain factor, and also from someone who has duties in the kitchens or among the house staff.’

      ‘When will we know the names of these traitors?’

      Drawing his bow, Tasaio seemed totally focused, but an instant after the arrow left his string he said, ‘We shall learn more this morning, when we hear the fate of our raiding party. The survivors should have returned by now.’ Nocking another arrow to his bow, he continued, ‘Besides, discovering the spy is but the first step in preparation for our much larger plan.’

      ‘So when does your grand campaign take effect?’ Desio burst out in frustration. ‘I want the Acoma ruined!’

      Two more arrows flew and sliced into targets. ‘Patience, cousin.’ Tasaio notched a third shaft and sent it through the neck of the straw figure farthest from his position. ‘You wish the Acoma ruined beyond recovery, and the wise man plans carefully. The best traps are subtly woven, and unsuspected until they close.’

      Desio sighed heavily. His body servant rushed to set a cushion under him as he settled his bulk upon the grass. ‘I wish I had your patience, Tasaio.’ Envy showed through his petulance.

      ‘But I am not a patient man, cousin.’ The arrows flew at regular intervals, and a straw figure toppled, riddled like a seamstress’s pincushion with feathered shafts. ‘I chafe at delay as much as, perhaps more than, you, my Lord – I hate waiting.’ He studied his distant targets as if evaluating his performance. ‘But I hate the flaw of impatience within myself even more. A warrior must strive toward perfection, knowing full well that it will forever be unobtainable.’

      Desio pulled his robe away from sticky flesh and fanned himself. ‘I have no patience, I admit, and I was not gifted with coordination enough for the field, as you were.’

      Tasaio waved his servant off to fetch arrows, though the line by his feet was not depleted. Then he set his bow across his shoulder and looked at his more corpulent cousin. ‘You could learn to be, Desio.’ There was no mockery in his tone.

      The Lord of the Minwanabi smiled back. ‘You have finalized your plan to destroy Mara.’

      Tasaio remained still a moment. Then he threw back his head and sounded a Minwanabi battle cry. When he finished his ululation, he looked back to his cousin, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. ‘Yes, Lord, I have a plan. But first we must speak with Incomo and discover if the runners he dispatched have returned with word of the ambush.’

      ‘I will go back and call him,’ Desio grunted as he pushed to his feet. ‘Join us in my chambers in an hour’s time.’

      Tasaio acknowledged that his Lord paid him deference by complying with his request for a meeting. Then his eyes narrowed. He spun, slipped his bow, and set another war arrow to his string.

      The servant on the field retrieving arrows saw the move and dropped to earth just a heartbeat before the shot hissed past the place his body had just vacated. He remained prone as more shafts whined by, peppering the dummy by his elbow. Wisps of straw drifted down and made his face itch, yet he did not move to brush them away until he saw that his master had depleted his arrows.

      ‘You play with your men as a sarcat plays with his prey before the kill,’ Desio observed, having lingered to watch the display.

      Tasaio raised one cool eyebrow. ‘I train them to treasure their lives,’ he amended. ‘On СКАЧАТЬ