The Complete Empire Trilogy: Daughter of the Empire, Mistress of the Empire, Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts

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СКАЧАТЬ by the presence of witnesses, Mara confronted Papewaio’s killer. ‘Would you murder me before the eyes of all the guests and condemn your lawful Lord to death?’

      Shimizu glanced quickly to either side and saw the running figures who converged across the courtyard. Flames ripped rapidly up the roof line, and Nacoya’s cries were joined by a chorus of others. The alarm was spreading rapidly through the estate house, and soon every able man would appear upon the scene with buckets.

      The chance to kill Mara was lost. Shimizu might love Teani, but a warrior’s code would never value a courtesan above honour. He bowed and sheathed his fouled blade. ‘Lady, I just aided your honour guard in dispatching a thief. That he died at his duty is the will of the gods. Now you must flee the fire!’

      ‘Thief?’ Mara all but choked on the word; at her feet, Papewaio lay sprawled with a black-handled dagger in his shoulder. That thrust could never have killed him, but the gaping wound through his heart surely had.

      The first, shouting guests reached the scene of the fire, and taking no further notice of Mara, the Minwanabi Strike Leader called orders to clear the halls. Already the flames reached the corner supports, and fumes boiled white from the varnish, filling the air with an acrid odour.

      Through the guests pushed Nacoya, clutching a few belongings as the two whimpering maids hauled the biggest box out of harm’s way. ‘Come, child.’ Nacoya caught her mistress’s sleeve, trying to pull her down the hall to safety.

      Tears and smoke stung Mara’s eyes. She resisted Nacoya’s efforts, motioning for the Minwanabi servants who arrived to assist. Nacoya indulged in a rare blasphemy, but her mistress refused to move. Two servants took the carry box from the struggling maids. Others raced to gather the rest of Mara’s property from the rapidly spreading flames. Two burly workers took Nacoya by the arm and led her out of danger.

      Shimizu caught at Mara’s robe. ‘You must come, Lady. The walls will soon fall.’ Already the heat of the blaze was becoming unbearable.

      The bucket bearers began their job. Water hissed onto flaming timbers, but on the opposite side of the room from the place where the dead thief lay. His clothing had begun to blaze, eradicating any evidence of treachery he might have provided. Dully Mara responded to necessity. ‘I will not leave until the body of my Strike Leader has been carried from the field.’

      Shimizu nodded. Without emotion he bent and shouldered the corpse of the warrior he had just run through with a sword.

      Mara followed through halls choking with smoke as a murderer bore brave Papewaio’s body to the coolness of the night. She stumbled past servants who struggled with slopping buckets to battle the blaze, lest their master’s estate house become totally engulfed. Mara implored the gods to let it burn, let it all burn, so that Jingu might know a tenth part of the loss she felt at Pape’s death.

      She might have wept then for the loss of a loyal friend; but amid a cluster of sleep-rumpled guests Jingu of the Minwanabi awaited, his eyes bright with the joy of victory.

      Shimizu deposited Papewaio’s body on the cool grass and said, ‘Master, a thief – one of your servants – sought to use the confusion of new guests in the house to cover his escape. I found him dead at the hands of the Lady of the Acoma’s honour guard, but that brave warrior was also slain in turn. I found this on the dead man.’ Shimizu gave over a necklace of no particular beauty but fashioned from costly metal.

      Jingu nodded. ‘This belongs to my wife. The culprit must be a house servant who pilfered our quarters while we dined.’ With an evil grin, he turned to face Mara. ‘It is a pity that such a worthy warrior had to give his life to protect a trinket.’

      No evidence or witness existed to refute such obvious lies. Mara’s wits returned like a cold rush of wind. Before Jingu of the Minwanabi she bowed with icy poise. ‘My Lord, it is true that my Strike Leader Papewaio died bravely, defending the wealth of your wife from a thief.’

      Taking her agreement for capitulation, and a salute to his superiority in the game, the Lord of the Minwanabi expansively offered commiseration. ‘Lady, your Strike Leader’s valour in behalf of my house shall not be unremarked. Let all present know that he conducted himself with highest honour.’

      Mara returned a level stare. ‘Then honour Papewaio’s spirit as he deserves. Grant his memory due ceremony and provide him a funeral in proportion to his sacrifice.’

      The shouts of the bucket brigade filled an interval as Jingu considered refusing Mara’s request. But then he noticed the Warlord grinning at him through an opened screen across the courtyard.

      Almecho was aware that Papewaio’s death had been murder; but the contrived excuses did not upset protocol, such nuances amused him hugely, and since Mara had not cried for mercy, or otherwise flinched from the brutalities inherent in the Great Game, she was due this recompense from her enemy. Almecho called out to Jingu in a show of camaraderie, ‘My Lord host, your wife’s metal jewellery is worth many times the cost of such a rite. Give the Acoma man his funeral, for the gods’ sake, Jingu. His death leaves you a debt of honour. And since he lost his life at my birthday celebration, twenty of my own Imperial Whites shall stand in salute around the pyre.’

      Jingu returned a deferential nod to Almecho, but his eyes showed cold annoyance in the light of the flames that still burned through one of his finer suites. ‘Hail to Papewaio,’ he conceded to Mara. ‘Tomorrow I shall honour his shade with a funeral.’

      Mara bowed and retired to Nacoya’s side. Supported by her maids, she watched Shimizu retrieve the limp form of Papewaio and toss him indifferently to the strangers who would prepare him for his funeral. Tears threatened her composure. Survival did not seem possible without Pape. The hands dragging lifelessly across the damp grass had guarded her cradle when she was first born; they had steadied some of her first steps and defended her from murder in the sacred grove. The fact that the Lord of the Minwanabi was now obliged to pay for an extravagant ceremony to honour the warrior of an enemy house seemed a hollow victory, and meaningless. No more would the flamboyant red shirt with its tassels and embroidery bother anyone’s eyes on festival days; and right now that loss seemed more important than any power gained in the Game of the Council.

       • Chapter Sixteen • Funeral

      The drums boomed.

      The guests of Jingu of the Minwanabi gathered in the main foyer of the estate house for Papewaio’s funeral. Foremost among them, and veiled in red in deference to the God of Death, Mara of the Acoma led her temporary honour guard, one of the Warlord’s Imperial Whites. The drumbeat deepened, the sign for the procession to begin. Mara held a frond of ke reed in her hands, the raising of which would signal the marchers forward. Now was the time. Yet she closed her eyes, hesitant.

      Weariness and grief left an ache inside that no ceremony would assuage. The Acoma were warriors, and Papewaio had given his life to serve his mistress, earning him an honourable death, but Mara still ached for him.

      The drums boomed again, insistent. Mara lifted the scarlet reed. Feeling more alone than ever before in her life, she led the procession through the wide doorway to honour the shade of Papewaio, First Strike Leader of the Acoma. Jingu of the Minwanabi and the Warlord came after her, followed by the most powerful families of the Empire. They moved without speaking into a daylight turned gloomy with clouds. Mara’s steps were heavy, her feet reluctant to continue, yet each time the drum beat, she managed another stride. She had slept safely the night before in СКАЧАТЬ