Raymond E. Feist - Empire Saga 1 - Daughter Of The Empire

Daughter Of

The Empire

By

Raymond E Feist

&

Janny Wurts

Book 1 of

The Empire Series

V3.0 Scanned & proofed by Allflippedup 9/4/04

Acknowledgements

We find ourselves deeply indebted to many people for much of what appears in this book. We would

like to publicly offer our heartfelt thanks for their contributions, intentional or otherwise:

To the Friday Nighters, whose affection for games introduced REF to many wonderful ideas that

were used in two worlds, and the many writers of those games, most especially those at Midkemia Press.

To Kyung and Jon Conning, who gave JW a red-carpet tour of their home in Korea which added

immeasurably to the colour in this book.

To Virginia Kidd, for making it easy for JW to say yes, and for years of wise counsel and friendship.

To our editors, Adrian Zackheim, who started with us, and Jim Moser, who was there at the finish.

To Richard C. Freese, for caring above and beyond duty's call.

To Elaine Chubb, for making us look good.

To Daniel P. Mannix IV for both being an example of what a writer is, and for giving us a terrific place

to work (the ducks notwithstanding).

And to Barbara A. Feist for putting up with one of us.

Raymond E. Feist

Janny Wurts

Frazer, PA, June, 1986

1

Lady

The priest struck the gong.

The sound reverberated off the temple's vaulted domes, splendid with brightly coloured carvings. The

solitary note echoed back and forth, diminishing to a remembered tone, a ghost of sound.

Mara knelt, the cold stones of the temple floor draining the warmth from her. She shivered, though not

from chill, then glanced slightly to the left, where another initiate knelt in a pose identical to her own,

duplicating Mara's movements as she lifted the white head covering of a novice of the Order of Lashima,

Goddess of the Inner Light. Awkwardly posed with the linen draped like a tent above her head, Mara

impatiently awaited the moment when the headdress could be lowered and tied. She had barely lifted the

cloth and already the thing dragged at her arms like stone weights! The gong sounded again. Reminded of

the goddess's eternal presence, Mara inwardly winced at her irreverent thoughts. Now, of all times, her

attention must not stray. Silently she begged the goddess's forgiveness, pleading nerves - fatigue and

excitement combined with apprehension. Mara prayed to the Lady to guide her to the inner peace she so

fervently desired.

The gong chimed again, the third ring of twenty-two, twenty for the gods, one for the Light of Heaven,

and one for the imperfect children who now waited to join in the service of the Goddess of Wisdom of

the Upper Heaven. At seventeen years of age, Mara prepared to renounce the temporal world, like the

girl at her side who – in another nineteen chimings of the gong - would be counted her sister, though they

had met only two weeks before.

Mara considered her sister-to-be: Ura was a foul-tempered girl from a clanless but wealthy family in

Lash Province while Mara was from an ancient and powerful family, the Acoma. Ura's admission to the

temple was a public demonstration of family piety, ordered by her uncle, the self-styled family Lord, who

sought admission into any clan that would take his family. Mara had come close to defying her father to

join the order. When the girls had exchanged histories at their first meeting, Ura had been incredulous,

then almost angry that the daughter of a powerful Lord should take eternal shelter behind the walls of the

order. Mara's heritage meant clan position, powerful allies, an array of well-positioned suitors, and an

assured good marriage to a son of another powerful house. Her own sacrifice, as Ura called it, was made

so that later generations of girls in her family would have those things Mara chose to renounce. Not for

the first time Mara wondered if Ura would make a good sister of the order. Then, again not for the first

time, Mara questioned her own worthiness for the Sisterhood.

The gong sounded, deep and rich. Mara closed her eyes a moment, begging for guidance and

comfort. Why was she still plagued with doubts? After eighteen more chimes, family, friends, and the

familiar would be forever lost. All her past life would be put behind, from earliest child's play to a noble

daughter's concern over her family's role within the Game of the Council, that never-ending struggle for

dominance which ordered all Tsurani life. Ura would become her sister, no matter the differences in their

heritage, for within the Order of Lashima none recognized personal honour or family name. There would

remain only service to the goddess, through chastity and obedience.

The gong rang again, the fifth stroke. Mara peeked up at the altar atop the dais. Framed beneath

carved arches, six priests and priestesses knelt before the statue of Lashima, her countenance unveiled

for the initiation. Dawn shone through the lancet windows high in the domes, the palest glow reaching like

fingers through the half-dark temple. The touch of sunrise seemed to caress the goddess, softening the

jewel-like ceremonial candles that surrounded her. How friendly the lady looked in morning's blush,

Mara thought. The Lady of Wisdom gazed down with a half-smile on her chiselled lips, as if all under her

care would be loved and protected, finding inner peace. Mara prayed this would be true. The only priest

not upon his knees again rang the gong. Metal caught the sunlight, a splendid burst of gold against the

dark curtain that shrouded the entrance to the inner temple. Then, as the dazzling brilliance faded, the

gong rang again.

Fifteen more times it would be struck. Mara bit her lip, certain the kind goddess would forgive a

momentary lapse. Her thoughts were like flashing lights from broken crystals, dancing about here and

there, never staying long in one place. I'm not very good material for the Sisterhood, Mara confessed,

staring up at the statue. Please have patience with me, Lady of the Inner Light. Again she glanced at her

companion; Ura remained still and quiet, eyes closed. Mara determined to imitate her companion's

behaviour outwardly, even if she couldn't find the appropriate calm within. The gong sounded once more.

Mara sought that hidden centre of her being, her wal, and strove to put her mind at rest. For a few

minutes she found herself successful. Then the beat of the gong snatched her back to the present. Mara

shifted her weight slightly, rejecting irritation as she tried to ease her aching arms. She fought an urge to

sigh. The inner calm taught by the sisters who had schooled her through her novitiate again eluded her

grasp, though she had laboured at the convent for six months before being judged worthy of testing here

in the Holy City by the priests of the High Temple.

Again the gong was struck, as bold a call as the horn that had summoned the Acoma warriors into

formation. How brave they all had looked in their green enamelled armour, especially the officers with

their gallant plumes, on the day they left to fight with the Warlord's forces. Mara worried over the

progress of the war upon the barbarian world, where her father and brother fought. Too many of the

family's forces were committed there. The clan was split in its loyalty within the High Council, and since

no single family clearly dominated, blood politics bore down heavily upon the Acoma. The families of the

Hadama Clan were united in name only, and a betrayal of the Acoma by distant cousins who sought

Minwanabi favour was not outside the realm of possibility. Had Mara a voice in her father's counsel, she

would have urged a separation from the War Party, even perhaps an alliance with the Blue Wheel Party,

who feigned interest only in commerce while they quietly worked to balk the power of the Warlord . . .

Mara frowned. Again her mind had been beguiled by worldly concerns. She apologized to the

goddess, then pushed away thoughts of the world she was leaving behind.

Mara peeked as the gong rang again. The stone features of the goddess now seemed set in gentle

rebuke; virtue began with the individual, she reminded. Help would come only to those who truly

searched for enlightenment. Mara lowered her eyes.

The gong reverberated and through the dying shiver of harmonics another sound intruded, a

disturbance wholly out of place. Sandals scuffed upon stone in the antechamber, accompanied by the dull

clank of weapons and armour. Outside the curtain an attending priest challenged in a harsh whisper,

'Stop, warrior! You may not enter the inner temple now! It is forbidden!'

Mara stiffened. A chilling prescience passed through her. Beneath the shelter of the tented headcloth,

she saw the priests upon the dais rise up in alarm. They turned to face the intruder, and the gong missed

its beat and fell silent.

The High Father Superior moved purposefully towards the curtain, his brow knotted in alarm. Mara

shut her eyes tightly. If only she could plunge the outside world into darkness as easily, then no one

would be able to find her. But the sound of footfalls ceased, replaced by the High Father Superior's

voice. 'What cause have you for this outrage, warrior! You violate a most holy rite.'

A voice rang out. 'We seek the Lady of the Acoma!'

The Lady of the Acoma. Like a cold knife plunged into the pit of her stomach, the words cut through

Mara's soul. That one sentence forever changed her life. Her mind rebelled, screaming denial, but she

willed herself to remain calm. Never would she shame her ancestors by a public display of grief. She

controlled her voice as she slowly rose to her feet. 'I am here, Keyoke.'

As one, the priests and priestesses watched the High Father Superior cross to stand before Mara.

The embroidered symbols on his robes of office flashed fitfully as he beckoned to a priestess, who

hastened to his side. Then he looked into Mara's eyes and read the contained pain hidden there.

'Daughter, it is clear Our Mistress of Wisdom has ordained another path for you. Go with her love and in

her grace, Lady of the Acoma.' He bowed slightly.

Mara returned his bow, then surrendered her head covering to the priestess. Oblivious to Ura's sigh of

envy, she turned at last to face the bearer of those tidings which had changed her life.

Just past the curtain, Keyoke, Force Commander of the Acoma, regarded his mistress with weary

eyes. He was a battle-scarred old warrior, erect and proud despite forty years of loyal service. He stood

poised to step to the girl's side, provide a steadying arm, perhaps even shield her from public view should

the strain prove too much.

Poor, ever-loyal Keyoke, Mara thought. This announcement had not come easily for him either. She

would not disappoint him by shaming her family. Faced with tragedy, she maintained the manner and

dignity required of the Lady of a great house.

Keyoke bowed as his mistress approached. Behind him stood the tall and taciturn Papewaio, his face

as always an unreadable mask. The strongest warrior in the Acoma retinue, he served as both companion

and body servant to Keyoke. He bowed and held aside the curtain for Mara as she swept past.

Mara heard both fall into step, one on each side, Papewaio one pace behind, correct in form to the

last detail. Without words she led them from the inner temple, under the awning that covered the garden

court separating the inner and outer temples. They entered the outer temple, passing between giant

sandstone columns that rose to the ceiling. Down a long hall they marched, past magnificent frescos

depicting tales of the goddess Lash-ima. Desperately attempting to divert the pain that threatened to

overwhelm her, Mara remembered the story each picture represented: how the goddess outwitted

Turak-amu, the Red God, for the life of a child; how she stayed the wrath of Emperor Inchonlonganbula,

saving the city of Migran from obliteration; how she taught the first scholar the secret of writing. Mara

closed her eyes as they passed her favourite: how, disguised as a crone, Lashima decided the issue

between the farmer and his wife. Mara turned her eyes from these images, for they belonged to a life now

denied her.

All too soon she reached the outer doors. She paused a moment at the top of the worn marble stairs.

The courtyard below held a half company of guards in the bright green armour of the Acoma. Several

showed freshly bandaged wounds, but all came to attention and saluted, fist over heart, as their Lady

came into view. Mara swallowed fear: if wounded soldiers stood escort duty, the fighting must have been

brutal indeed. Many brave warriors had died. That the Acoma must show such a sign of weakness made

Mara's cheeks burn with anger. Grateful for the temple robe that hid the shaking in her knees, she

descended the steps. A litter awaited her at the bottom. A dozen slaves stood silently by until the Lady of

the Acoma settled inside. Then Papewaio and Keyoke assumed position, one on each side. On

Keyoke's command, the slaves grasped the poles and lifted the litter on to sweating shoulders. Veiled by

the light, embroidered curtain on either side of the litter, Mara sat stiffly as the soldiers formed up before

and after their mistress.

The litter swayed slightly as the slaves started towards the river, threading an efficient course through

the throng who travelled the streets of the Holy City. They moved past carts pulled by sluggish,

six-legged needra and were passed in turn by running messengers and trotting porters with bundles held

aloft on shoulder or head, hurrying their loads for clients who paid a premium for swift delivery.

The noise and bustle of commerce beyond the gates jolted Mara afresh; within the shelter of the

temple, the shock of Keyoke's appearance had not fully registered.

Now she battled to keep from spilling tears upon the cushions of the litter as understanding

overwhelmed her. She wanted not to speak, as if silence could hide the truth. But she was Tsurani, and

an Acoma. Cowardice would not change the past, nor forever stave off the future. She took a breath.

Then, drawing aside the curtain so she could see Keyoke, she voiced what was never in doubt.

'They are both dead.'

Keyoke nodded curtly, once. 'Your father and brother were both ordered into a useless assault

against a barbarian fortification. It was murder.' His features remained impassive, but his voice betrayed

bitterness as he walked at a brisk pace beside his mistress.

The litter jostled as the slaves avoided a wagon piled with jomach fruit. They turned down the street

towards the landing by the river while Mara regarded her clenched hands. With focused concentration,

she willed her fingers to open and relax. After a long silence she said, 'Tell me what happened, Keyoke.'

'When the snows on the barbarian world melted we were ordered out, to stand against a possible

barbarian assault.' Armour creaked as the elderly warrior squared his shoulders, fighting off remembered

fatigue and loss, yet his voice stayed matter-of-fact. 'Soldiers from the barbarian cities of Zun and LaMut

were already in the field, earlier than expected. Our runners were dispatched to the Warlord, camped in

the valley in the mountains the barbarians call the Grey Towers. In the Warlord's absence, his

Subcommander gave the order for your father to assault the barbarian position. We - '

Mara interrupted. 'This Subcommander, he is of the Minwanabi, is he not?'

Keyoke's weathered face showed a hint of approval as if silently saying, you're keeping your wits

despite grief.

'Yes. The nephew of Lord Jingu of the Minwanabi, his dead brother's only son, Tasaio.' Mara's eyes

narrowed as he continued his narrative. 'We were grossly outnumbered. Your father knew this - we all

knew it - but your father kept honour. He followed orders without question. We attacked. The

Subcommander promised to support the right flank, but his troops never materialized. Instead of a

coordinated charge with ours, the Minwanabi warriors held their ground, as if preparing for

counterattack. Tasaio ordered they should do so.

'But just as we were overwhelmed by a counterattack, support arrived from the valley, elements of

the forces under the banner of Omechkel and Chimiriko. They had no hint of the betrayal and fought

bravely to get us out from under the hooves of the barbarians' horses. The Minwanabi attacked at this

time, as if to repulse the counterattack. They arrived just as the barbarians retreated. To any who had not

been there from the start, it was simply a poor meeting with the barbarian enemy. But the Acoma know it

was Minwanabi treachery.'

Mara's eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened; for an instant Keyoke's expression betrayed concern

that the girl might shame her father's memory by weeping before tradition permitted. But instead she

spoke quietly, her voice controlled fury. 'So my Lord of the Minwanabi seized the moment and arranged

for my father's death, despite our alliance within the War Party?'

Keyoke straightened his helm. 'Indeed, my Lady. Jingu of the Minwanabi must have ordered Tasaio

to change the Warlord's instructions. Jingu moves boldly; he would have earned Tasaio the Warlord's

wrath and a dishonourable death had our army lost that position to the barbarians. But Almecho needs

Minwanabi support in the conquest, and while he is angry with Jingu's nephew, he keeps silent. Nothing

was lost. To outward appearances, it was simply a standoff, no victor. But in the Game of the Council,

the Minwanabi triumph over the Acoma.' For the first time in her life, Mara heard a hint of emotion in

Keyoke's voice. Almost bitterly, he said, 'Papewaio and I were spared by your father's command. He

ordered us to remain apart with this small company - and charged us to protect you should matters

proceed as they have.' Forcing his voice back to its usual brisk tone, he added, 'My Lord Sezu knew he

and your brother would likely not survive the day.'

Mara sank back against the cushions, her stomach in knots. Her head ached and she felt her chest

tighten. She took a long, slow breath and glanced out the opposite side of the litter, to Papewaio, who

marched with a studied lack of expression. 'And what do you say, my brave Pape?' she asked. 'How

shall we answer this murder visited upon our house?'

Papewaio absently scratched at the scar on his jaw with his left thumb, as he often did in times of

stress. 'Your will, my Lady.'

The manner of the First Strike Leader of the Acoma was outwardly easy, but Mara sensed he wished

to be holding his spear and unsheathed sword. For a wild, angry instant Mara considered immediate

vengeance. At her word, Papewaio would assault the Minwanabi lord in his own chamber, in the midst of

his army. Although the warrior would count it as an honour to die in the effort, she shunted away the

foolish impulse. Neither Papewaio nor any other wearing the Acoma green could get within half a day's

march of the Minwanabi lord. Besides, loyalty such as his was to be jealously guarded, never

squandered.

Removed from the scrutiny of the priests, Keyoke studied Mara closely. She met his gaze and held it.

She knew her expression was grim and her face drawn and chalky, but she also knew she had borne up

well under the news. Keyoke's gaze returned forward, as he awaited his mistress's next question or

command.

A man's attention, even an old family retainer's, caused Mara to take stock of herself, without

illusions, being neither critical nor flattering. She was a fair-looking young woman, not pretty, especially

when she wrinkled her brow in thought or frowned in worry. But her smile could make her striking - or

so a boy had told her once - and she possessed a certain appealing quality, a spirited energy, that made

her almost vivacious at times. She was slender and lithe in movement, and that trim body had caught the

eye of more than one son of a neighbouring house. Now one of those sons would likely prove a

necessary ally to stem the tide of political fortune that threatened to obliterate the Acoma. With her

brown eyes half-closed, she considered the awesome responsibility thrust upon her. She realized, with a

sinking feeling, that the commodities of womankind - beauty, wit, charm, allure - must all now be put to

use in the cause of the Acoma, along with whatever native intelligence the gods had granted her. She

fought down the fear that her gifts were insufficient for the task; then, before she knew it, she was

recalling the faces of her father and brother. Grief rose up within her, but she forced it back deep.

Sorrow must keep until later.

Softly Mara said, 'We have much to talk of, Keyoke, but not here.' In the press of city traffic, enemies

might walk on every side, spies, assassins, or informants in disguise. Mara closed her eyes against the

terrors of imagination and the real world both. 'We shall speak when only ears loyal to the Acoma may

overhear.' Keyoke grunted acknowledgement. Mara silently thanked the gods that he had been spared.

He was a rock, and she would need such as he at her side.

Exhausted, Mara settled back into the cushions. She must arise above grief to ponder. Her father's

most powerful enemy, Lord Jingu of the Minwanabi, had almost succeeded in gaining one of his life's

ambitions: the obliteration of the Acoma. The blood feud between the Acoma and Minwanabi had

existed for generations, and while neither house had managed to gain the upper hand, from time to time

one or the other had to struggle to protect itself. But now the Acoma had been gravely weakened, and

the Minwanabi were at the height of their power, rivalling even the Warlord's family in strength. Jingu was

already served by vassals, first among them the Lord of the Kehotara, whose power equalled that of

Mara's father. And as the star of the Minwanabi rose higher, more would ally with him.

For a long while Mara lay behind the fluttering curtains, to all appearances asleep. Her situation was

bitterly clear. All that remained between the Lord of the Minwanabi and his goal was herself, a young girl

who had been but ten chimes from becoming a sister of Lashima. That realization left a taste in her mouth

like ash. Now, if she were to survive long enough to regain family honour, she must consider her

resources and plot and plan, and enter the Game of the Council; and somehow she must find a way to

thwart the will of the Lord of one of the Five Great Families of the Empire of Tsuranuanni.

Mara blinked and forced herself awake. She had dozed fitfully while the litter travelled the busy

streets of Kento-sani, the Holy City, her mind seeking relief from the stress of the day. Now the litter

rocked gently as it was lowered to the docks.

Mara peeked through the curtains, too numb to find pleasure in the bustle of the throngs upon the

dockside. When she had first arrived in the Holy City, she had been enthralled by the multi-coloured

diversity found in the crowd, with people from every corner of the Empire upon every hand. The simple

sight of household barges from cities up and down the river Gagajin had delighted her. Bedecked with

banners, they rocked at their moorings like proudly plumed birds amid the barnyard fowl as busy

commercial barges and traders' boats scurried about them. Everything, the sights, the sounds, the smells,

had been so different from her father's estates - her estates now, she corrected herself. Torn by that

recognition, Mara hardly noticed the slaves who toiled in the glaring sun, their sweating, near-naked

bodies dusted with grime as they loaded bundled goods aboard the river barges. This time she did not

blush as she had when she had first passed this way in the company of the sisters of Lashima. Male

nudity had been nothing new to her; as a child she had played near the soldiers' commons while the men

bathed and for years she had swum with her brother and friends in the lake above the needra meadow.

But seeing naked men after she had renounced the world of flesh seemed somehow to have made a

difference. Being commanded to look away by the attending sister of Lashima had made her want to

peek all the more. That day she had to will herself not to stare at the lean, muscled bodies. But today the

bodies of the slaves failed to fascinate, as did the cries of the beggars who called down the blessings of

the gods on any who chose to share a coin with the less fortunate. Mara ignored the rivermen, who

sauntered by with the swaggering gait of those who spent their lives upon the water, secretly

contemptuous of land dwellers, their voices loud and edged with rough humour. Everything seemed less

colourful, less vivid, less captivating, as she looked through eyes suddenly older, less given to seeing with

wonder and awe. Now every sunlit facade cast a dark shadow. And in those shadows enemies plotted.

Mara left her litter quickly. Despite the white robe of a novice of Lashima, she bore herself with the

dignity expected of the Lady of the Acoma. She kept her eyes forward as she moved towards the barge

that would take her downriver, to Sulan-Qu. Papewaio cleared a path for her, roughly shoving common

workers aside. Other soldiers moved nearby, brightly coloured guardians who conducted their masters

from the barges to the city. Keyoke kept a wary eye upon them as he hovered near Mara's side while

they crossed the dock.

As her officers ushered her up the gangplank, Mara wished for a dark, quiet place in which to

confront her own sorrow. But the instant she set foot upon the deck, the barge master hustled to meet

her. His short red and purple robe seemed jarringly bright after the sombre dress of the priests and sisters

in the convent. Jade trinkets clinked on his wrists as he bowed obsequiously and offered his illustrious

passenger the finest accommodation his humble barge permitted, a pile of cushions under a central

canopy, hung round by gauzy curtains. Mara allowed the fawning to continue until she had been seated,

courtesy requiring such lest the man unduly lose face. Once settled, she let silence inform the barge

master his presence was no longer required. Finding an indifferent audience to his babble, the man let fall

the thin curtain, leaving Mara a tiny bit of privacy at last. Keyoke and Papewaio sat opposite, while the

household guards surrounded the canopy, their usual alertness underscored by a grim note of

battle-ready tension.

Seeming to gaze at the swirling water, Mara said, 'Keyoke, where is my father's . . . my own barge?

And my maids?'

The old warrior said, 'The Acoma barge is at the dock in Sulan-Qu, my Lady. I judged a night

encounter with soldiers of the Minwanabi or their allies less likely if we used a public barge. The chance

of surviving witnesses might help discourage assault by enemies disguised as bandits. And should

difficulty visit us, I feared your maids might prove a hindrance.' Keyoke's eyes scanned the docks while

he spoke. 'This craft will tie up at night with other barges, so we will never be upon the river alone.'

Mara nodded, letting her eyes close a long second. Softly she said, 'Very well.' She had wished for

privacy, something impossible to find on this public barge, but Keyoke's concerns were well founded.

Lord Jingu might sacrifice an entire company of soldiers to destroy the last of the Acoma, certain he

could throw enough men at Mara's guards to overwhelm them. But he would only do so if he could

assure himself of success, then feign ignorance of the act before the other Lords of the High Council.

Everyone who played the Game of the Council would deduce who had authored such slaughter, but the

forms must always be observed. One escaped traveller, one Minwanabi guard recognized, one chance

remark overheard by a poleman on a nearby barge, and Jingu would be undone. To have his part in such

a venal ambush revealed publicly would lose him much prestige in the council, perhaps signalling to one of

his 'loyal' allies that he was losing control. Then he could have as much to fear from his friends as from his

enemies. Such was the nature of the Game of the Council. Keyoke's choice of conveyance might prove

as much a deterrent to treachery as a hundred more men-at-arms.

The barge master's voice cut the air as he shouted for the slaves to cast off the dock lines. A thud and

a bump, and suddenly the barge was moving, swinging away from the dock into the sluggish swirl of the

current. Mara lay back, judging it acceptable now to outwardly relax. Slaves poled the barge along, their

thin, sun-browned bodies moving in time, coordinated by a simple chant.

'Keep her to the middle,' sang out the Merman.

'Don't hit the shore,' answered the poleman.

The chant settled into a rhythm, and the tillerman began to add simple lyrics, all in tempo. 'I know an

ugly woman!' he shouted.

'Don't hit the shore!'

'Her tongue cuts like a knife!'

'Don't hit the shore!'

'Got drunk one summer's evening!'

'Don't hit the shore!'

'And took her for my wife!'

The silly song soothed Mara and she let her thoughts drift. Her father had argued long and hotly

against her taking vows. Now, when apologies were no longer possible, Mara bitterly regretted how

close she had come to open defiance; her father had relented only because his love for his only daughter

had been greater than his desire for a suitable political marriage. Their parting had been stormy. Lord

Sezu of the Acoma could be like a harulth -the giant predator most feared by herdsmen and hunters -in

full battle frenzy when facing his enemies, but he had never been able to deny his daughter, no matter how

unreasonable her demands. While never as comfortable with her as he had been with her brother, still he

had indulged her all her life, and only her nurse, Nacoya, had taken firm rein over her childhood.

Mara closed her eyes. The barge afforded a small measure of security, and she could now hide in the

dark shelter of sleep; those outside the curtains of this tiny pavilion would only think her fleeing the

boredom of a lengthy river journey. But rest proved elusive as memories returned of the brother she had

loved like the breath in her lungs, Lanokota of the flashing dark eyes and ready smile for his adoring little

sister. Lano who ran faster than the warriors in his father's house, and who won in the summer games at

Sulan-Qu three years in a row, a feat unmatched since. Lano always had time for Mara, even showing

her how to wrestle - bringing down her nurse Nacoya's wrath for involving a girl in such an unladylike

pastime. And always Lano had a stupid joke - usually dirty - to tell his little sister to make her laugh and

blush. Had she not chosen the contemplative life, Mara knew any suitor would have been measured

against her brother . . . Lano, whose merry laughter would no more echo through the night as they sat in

the hall sharing supper. Even their father, stern in all ways, would smile, unable to resist his son's

infectious humour. While Mara had respected and admired her father, she had loved her brother, and

now grief came sweeping over her.

Mara forced her emotions back. This was not the place; she must not mourn until later. Turning to the

practical, she said to Keyoke, 'Were my father's and brother's bodies recovered?'

With a bitter note, Keyoke said, 'No, my Lady, they were not.'

Mara bit her lip. There would be no ashes to inter in the sacred grove. Instead she must choose a relic

of her father's and brother's, one favourite possession of each, to bury beside the sacred natami - the

rock that contained the Acoma family's soul - that their spirits could find their way back to Acoma

Raymond E. Feist - Empire Saga 1 - Daughter Of The Empire

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