The Complete Empire Trilogy. Janny Wurts

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СКАЧАТЬ men, and the generous hospitality that had fed them, earned a guarded if tenuous trust. Yet this strange young Ruling Lady had not spoken of why she had contrived this odd meeting, and the outlaws remained suspicious.

      Mara studied the men and found them much like the soldiers, workers, and slaves of her estate. Yet one quality seemed absent; had these men stood dressed in nobles’ robes, still she would have known them for outcasts. As the last crumbs of the meal were consumed, she knew the time had come to speak her offer.

      With Papewaio and Keyoke stationed by the wagon at her side, the girl drew a resolute breath and raised her voice. ‘You outlaws, I am Mara, Lady of the Acoma. You have stolen from me, and for that are in my debt. To discharge that obligation honourably, I ask that you listen to my words.’

      Seated in the front ranks, Lujan set aside his wine cup and answered. ‘The Lady of the Acoma is gracious to concern herself with the honour of outlaws. All in my company are pleased to agree to this.’

      Mara searched the face of the bandit chief, seeking any sign of mockery; instead she found interest, curiosity, and sly humour. She found herself liking this man. ‘You here are counted outcasts for many reasons, so I have been told. All are considered marked unkindly by fate.’ The man with the scarred leg called out in agreement, and others shifted position, leaning raptly forward. Satisfied she had their attention, Mara added, ‘For some of you, misfortune came because you outlived the masters you served.’

      A man with bark wristbands shouted, ‘And so we are dishonoured!’

      Another echoed him. ‘And so we have no honour!’

      Mara raised her hand for silence. ‘Honour is in doing one’s duty. If a man is sent to guard a distant holding and his master dies beyond his capacity to defend him, is he without honour? If a warrior is wounded in battle and lies unconscious while his master dies, is it his fault that he lives and his master does not?’ Mara lowered her arm with a brisk clash of bracelets, her tone changed to command. ‘All who were servants, farmers and workers, raise your hand.’

      A dozen or so men complied without hesitation. The others shifted uncertainly, eyes flicking from the Lady to their comrades as they waited to see what she proposed.

      ‘I have need of workers.’ Mara made an encompassing gesture and smiled, ‘I will allow you to take service with my hadonra.’

      Order vanished. All the bandits began speaking at once, from mutters to shouts, for the Lady’s offer was one unprecedented within the Empire. Keyoke waved his sword for silence, even as an emboldened farmer leaped to his feet. ‘When the Lord of the Minwanabi slew my master, I ran away. But the law says I am slave to the conquering Lord.’

      Mara’s voice cut clearly over the confusion. ‘The law says no such thing!’ Stillness fell, and all eyes turned towards her. Poised, angry, yet seeming beautiful in her rich robes to men who had known months or even years of deprivation in the wilderness, she resumed with firm encouragement. ‘Tradition says a worker is a spoil of war. The conqueror decides who is more valued as a free man, and who is to be a slave. The Minwanabi are my enemies, so if you are a spoil of war, then I will decide your status. You are free.’

      The silence at this point became oppressive, charged like the shimmer of heat waves above sun-baked rock. Men shifted restlessly, troubled by the upset of order as they knew it, for social subtleties dictated every walk of Tsurani life. To change the fundamental was to sanction dishonour and risk the unbinding of a civilization that had continued unbroken for centuries.

      Mara sensed the confusion among the men; glancing first to the farmers, whose faces wore transparent expressions of hope, then to the most sceptical and hardened of the grey warriors, she borrowed from the philosophies learned at Lashima’s temple. ‘The tradition we live by is like the river that springs from the mountain lands and flows always to the sea. No man may turn that current uphill. To try would defy natural law. Like the Acoma, many of you have known misfortune. Like the Acoma, I ask you to join in turning the course of tradition, even as storms sometimes cause a river to carve a new bed.’

      The girl paused, eyes veiled by her lashes as she stared down at her hands. This moment was critical, for if even one outlaw cried out in opposition to what she had said, she would lose control. The silence weighed upon her unbearably. Then, without a word, Papewaio calmly removed his helm; the black scarf of the condemned upon his brow lay bare for all to see.

      Lujan exclaimed in astonishment, startled as the rest to find a man condemned to death standing in a position of honour in the retinue of a great Lady. Proud of Pape’s loyalty, and the gesture he had made to show that shame could be other than tradition dictated, Mara smiled and laid light fingers on the shoulder of her Strike Leader. ‘This man serves me with pride. Will others among you not do the same?’ To the farmer displaced by the Minwanabi she said, ‘If the Lord who vanquished your master wishes another farmer, then let him come for you.’ With a nod towards Keyoke and her warriors, she added, ‘The Minwanabi will have to fight to take you. And upon my estate you shall be a free man.’

      The farmer sprang forward with a wild cry of joy. ‘You offer your honour?’

      ‘You have my honour,’ answered Mara, and Keyoke bowed to affirm his loyalty to her command.

      The farmer knelt where he stood, and offered crossed wrists to Mara in the time-honoured gesture of fealty. ‘Lady, I am your man. You honour is my honour.’ With those words the farmer announced to all that he would die as readily as any of her warriors to defend the Acoma name.

      Mara nodded formally, and Papewaio left her side. He wended his way through the bandit company until he stood before the farmer. By ancient ritual, he placed a cord about the man’s wrists, then removed the mock bonds, showing that the man who might have been kept as slave was instead accepted as a free man. Excited talk broke out as a dozen other men crowded around. They knelt in a circle around Papewaio, eager to accept Mara’s offer and the hope of a new life.

      Keyoke detailed a warrior to gather the newly sworn workers together; Acoma guards would accompany them back to the estate, where they would be assigned housing and field work by Jican.

      The remaining company of bandits watched with the hope of the desperate as Mara spoke again. ‘You who were outlawed, what were your crimes?’

      A short man, pale with sickness, called hoarsely. ‘I spoke ill of a priest, Lady.’

      ‘I kept grain back from the tax collector for my hungry children,’ cried another.

      The list of petty misdemeanours continued until Mara had ascertained the truth of Lujan’s claim that thieves and murderers found no sanctuary within his company. To the condemned she said, ‘Leave as you will, or take service as free men. As Ruling Lady of the Acoma, I offer you pardon within the borders of my lands.’ Although imperial amnesty was beyond the authority of any Ruling Lord or Lady, Mara knew no minister of the imperial government would likely raise objections over the fate of a lowly, next-to-nameless field hand – especially if he had never heard of such an amnesty.

      The pardoned men grinned at the cleverness of the Lady and hurried to Papewaio to swear service. They knelt gladly. As Acoma workers they might face threat from Mara’s enemies, but danger in service to a great house was preferable to their bitter existence as outlaws.

      The shadows of the afternoon lengthened beneath the trees; golden light scattered through where the branches were thinnest. Mara looked at the depleted ranks of the outlaw band, and her gaze settled at last upon Lujan. ‘You soldiers without masters, listen carefully.’ She paused, waiting while the jubilant talk of the newly sworn СКАЧАТЬ