E-Book - Raymond Feist - Empire 2 - Servant Of The Empire

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SERVANT of the EMPIRE

Raymond Feist

Raymond E. Feist lives in Rancho Santa Fe,

California, and was born and raised in Southern

California. He is the author of the bestselling and

critically acclaimed Riftwar Saga (Magician,

Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon and Prince of

Blood), Faerie Tale and The King's Buccaneer.

Janny Wurts is also a bestselling author in her own

right with novels including the Cycle of Fire trilogy

(Stormwarden, The Keeper of the Keys and

Shadowfane), The Master of Whitestorm, The Curse

of the Mistwraith and That Way Lies Camelot which

have all been published to great acclaim.

ALSO BY RAYMOND E. FEIST AND JANNY WURTS

Daughter of the Empire

Mistress of the Empire

ALSO BY RAYMOND E. FEIST

Magician

Silverthorn

A Darkness at Sethanon

Faerie Tale

Prince of the Blood

The King's Buccaneer

Shadow of a Dark Queen

ALSO BY JANNY WURTS

Sorcerer's Legacy

Stormwarden

Keeper of the Keys

Shadomfane

The Master of Whitestorm

That Way Lies Camelot

The Curse of the Mistwraith

SCI ENCE

FICTION

FANTASY

RAYMOND E. FEIST

and

JANNY WURTS

Servant of the Empire

HarperCollinsPublishe'3

Harpercollins Science Fiction & Fantasy

An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

77-8S Fulham Palace Road,

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

This paperback edition 1993

3 s 7 9 8 6 4

Previously published in paperback by Grafton 199i

First published in Great Britain by

Grafton Books 1990

The Authors assert the moral right to

be identified as the authors of this work

ISBN 0 586 20381 8

Set in Sabon

Printed in Great Britain by

HarperCollinsManufacturing G lasgow

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior

permission of the publishers.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,

by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or

otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent

in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it

is published and without a similar condition including this

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Dedicated to the memory of

Ron Faust,

always a friend

The breeze died.

Dust swirled in little eddies, settling grit over the palisade

that surrounded the slave market. Despite the wayward

currents, the air was hot and thick, reeking of confined and

ullwashed humanity mingled with the smell of river sewage

and rotting garbage from the dump behind the market.

Sheltered behind the curtains of her brightly lacquered

litter, Lady Mara wafted air across her face with a scented

fan. If the stench troubled her, she showed no sign. The

Ruling Lady of the Acoma motioned for her escort to stop.

Soldiers in green enamelled armour came to a halt, and the

sweating bearers set the litter down.

An officer in a Strike Leader's plumed helm gave his hand

to Mara and she emerged from her litter. The colour in her

cheeks was high; Lujan could not tell if she was flushed from

the heat or still angered from the argument prior to leaving

her estate. Jican, the estate hadonra, had spent most of the

morning vigorously objecting to her plan to purchase what

he insisted would be worthless slaves. The debate had ended

only when she ordered him to silence.

Mara addressed her First Strike Leader. 'Lujan, attend

me, and have the others wait here.' Her acerbity caused

lujan to forgo the banter that, on occasion, strained the

limits of acceptable protocol; besides, his first task was to

protect her - and the slave markets were far too public for

his liking - so his attention turned quickly from wit to

security. As he watched for any sign of trouble, he reasoned

that when Mara busied herself in her newest plan she would

forget Jican's dissension. Until then she would not

appreciate hearing objections she had already dismissed in

her own mind.

Lujan understood that everything his mistress undertook

was to further her position in the Game of the Council, the

political striving that was the heart of Tsurani politics. Her

invariable goal was the survival and strengthening of House

Acoma. Rivals and friends alike had learned that a once

untried young girl had matured into a gifted player of the

deadly game. Mara had eluded the trap set by her father's

old enemy, Jingu of the Minwanabi, and had succeeded with

her own plot - forcing Jingu to take his own life in disgrace.

Yet if Mara's triumphs were the current topic of discussion

among the Empire's many nobles, she herself had

barely paused to enjoy the satisfaction of her ascendancy.

Her father's and brother's deaths had taken her family to the

brink of extinction. Mara concentrated on anticipating

future trouble as she manoeuvred to ensure her survival.

What was done was behind, and to dwell on it was to risk

being taken unawares.

While the man who had ordered the death of her father

and brother was finally himself dead, her attention

remained focused on the blood feud between House Acoma

and House Minwanabi. Mara remembered the unvarnished

look of hatred on the face of Desio of the Minwanabi as she

and the other guests passed his father's death ceremony.

While not as clever as his sire, Desio would be no less a

danger; grief and hatred now turned his motives personal:

Mara had destroyed his father at the height of his power,

while he hosted the Warlord's birthday celebration, in his

own home. Then she had savoured that victory in the

presence of the most influential and powerful nobles in the

Empire as she hosted the Warlord's relocated celebration

upon her own estates.

No sooner had the Warlord and his guests departed

Acoma lands than Mara had embarked on a new plan to

strengthen her house; She had closeted herself with Jican, to

discuss the need for new slaves to clear additional meadowlands

from the scrub forests north of the estate house.

Pastures, pens, and sheds must be completed well before

calving season in spring, so the grass would be well grown

for the young needra and their mothers to graze.

As Acoma second-in-command, Lujan had learned that

Acoma power did not rest upon her soldiers' loyalty and

bravery, nor upon the far-held trading concessions and

investments, but upon the prosaic and dull six-legged

needra. They formed the foundation upon which all her

wealth rested. For Acoma power to grow, Mara's first task

was to increase her breeding herd.

Lujan's attention returned to his mistress as Mara lifted her

robe clear of the dust. Pale green in colour, the otherwise plain

cloth was meticulously embroidered at the hem and sleeves

with the outline of the shatra bird, the crest of House Acoma.

The Lady wore sandals with raised pegged soles, to keep her

slippers clear of the filth that littered the common roadways.

Her footfalls raised a booming, hollow sound as she mounted

the wooden stair to the galleries that ran the length of the

palisade. A faded canvas awning roofed the structure, shading

Tsurani lords and their factors from the merciless sunlight.

They could rest well removed from the dust and dirt, and

refreshed by whatever breeze blew in off the river as they

viewed the slaves available for sale.

To Lujan, the gallery with its deep shade and rows of

wooden benches was less a refuge than a place of concealing

darkness. He lightly touched his mistress on the shoulder as

she reached the first landing. She turned, and flashed a

bothered look of inquiry.

'Lady,' said Lujan tactfully, 'if an enemy is waiting, best

we show them my sword before your beautiful face.'

Mara's mouth turned upward at the corners, almost but

not quite managing a smile. 'Flatterer,' she accused. 'Of

course you are right.' Her formality with Lujan became

gentled by humour. 'Though among Jican's protests was the

belief I would come to harm from the barbarian slaves, not

another Ruling Lord.'

She referred to the inexpensive Midkemian prisoners of

war. Mara lacked the funds to buy enough common slaves

to clear her pastures. So, seeing no other alternative, she

chose to buy barbarians. They were reputed to be intractable,

rebellious, and utterly lacking in humility toward their

masters. Lujan regarded his Lady, who was barely as high as

his shoulder, but who possessed a nature that could burn the

man - Lord or slave or servant- who challenged her

indomitable will. He recognized the purposeful set of her

dark eyes. 'Still, in you the barbarians will have met their

match, I wager.'

'If not, they will all suffer under the whip,' Mare said with

resolve. 'Not only would we forfeit the use of the lands we

need cleared before spring, we would lose the price of the

slaves. I will have done Desio's work for him.' Her rare

admission of doubt was allowed to pass without comment.

Lujan preceded his mistress into the gallery, silently

checking his weapons. The Minwanabi might be licking

their wounds, but Mara had additional enemies now, lords

jealous of her sudden rise, men who knew that the Acoma

name rested upon the shoulders of this slender woman and

her infant heir. She was not yet twenty-one, their advisers

would whisper. Against Jingu of the Minwanabi she had

been cunning, but mostly lucky; in the fullness of time her

youth and inexperience would cause her to misstep. Then

would rival houses arise like a pack of jaguna, ready to tear

at the wealth and the power of her house and bury the

Acoma natami - the stone inscribed with the family crest

that embodied its soul and its honour - face down in the

dirt, forever away from sunlight.

Her robe neatly held above her ankles, Mara followed

Lujan around the first landing. They passed the entrance to

the lower tier of galleries, which by unwritten but rigid

custom was reserved for merchants or house factors, and

climbed to the next level, used only by the nobility.

But with Midkemians up for auction, the crowds were

absent. Mara saw only a few bored-looking merchants who

seemed more interested in the common gossip of the city

than in buying. The upper tier of galleries would probably

stand empty. Most Tsurani nobles were far more concerned

by the war on the world beyond the rift, or in curbing the

Warlord Almecho's ever growing power in the council, than

with purchasing intractable slaves. The earliest lots of

Midkemian captives had sold for premium prices, as

curiosities. But the novelty lost attraction with numbers.

Now grown Midkemian males brought the lowest prices of

all; only women with rare red-gold hair or unusual beauty

still commanded a thousand centuries. But since the Tsurani

most often captured warriors, females from the barbarian

world were seldom available.

A breeze off the river tugged at the plumes on Lujan's

helm. It fluttered the feathered ends of Mara's perfumed fan

and set her beaded earrings swinging. Over the palisade

drifted the voices of the barge teams as they poled their craft

up and down the river Gagalin. Nearer at hand, from the

dusty pens inside the high plank walls came the shouts of the

slave merchants, and the occasional snap of a needra hide

switch as they hustled their charges through their paces for

interested customers in the galleries. The pen holding the

Midkemians held about two dozen men. No buyers offered

inquiry, for only one overseer stood indifferent watch. With

him was a factor apparently in charge of issuing clothing,

and a tally keeper with a much chipped slate. Mara glanced

curiously at the slaves. All were very tall, larger by a head

than the tallest Tsurani. One in particular towered over the

chubby factor, and his red-gold hair blazed in the noonday

sun of Kelewan as he attempted to communicate in an

unfamiliar language. Mara had no chance to study the

barbarian further, as Lujan stopped sharply in her path. His

hand touched her wrist in warning.

'Someone's here,' he whispered, and covered his check in

stride by bending as if a stone had lodged in his sandal. His

hand settled unobtrusively on his sword, and over his

muscled shoulder Mara glimpsed a figure seated in the

shadow to the rear of the gallery. He might be a spy, or

worse: an assassin. With Midkemians scheduled for sale, a

bold Lord might chance on the fact that the upper level

would be deserted. But for a rival house to know that Mara

had chosen to go personally to the slave market bespoke the

presence of an informant very highly placed in Acoma

ranks. The Lady paused, her stomach turned cold by the

thought that if she was struck down here, her year-old son,

Ayaki, would be the last obstacle to the obliteration of the

Acoma name.

Then the figure in the shadows moved, and sunlight

through a tear in the awning revealed a face that was

handsome and young, and showing a smile of surprised

pleasure.

Mara lightly patted Lujan's wrist, gentling his grip on the

sword. 'It's all right,' she said softly. 'I know this noble.'

Lujan straightened, expressionless, as the young man

arose from his bench. The man moved with a swordsman's

balance. His clothing was well made, from sandals of blue-dyed

leather to a tunic of embroidered silk. He wore his hair

in a warrior's cut, and his only ornament was a pendant of

polished obsidian hanging around his neck.

'Hokanu,' Mara said, and at the name her bodyguard

relaxed. Lujan had not been present during the political

bloodbath at the Minwanabi estate, but from talk in the

barracks he knew that Hokanu and his father, Lord

Kamatsu of the Shinzawai, had been almost alone in

supporting the Acoma. This, at a time when most Lords

accepted that Mara's death was a foregone conclusion.

Lujan stood deferentially aside and, from beneath the

brim of his helm, regarded the noble who approached. Mara

had received many petitions for marriage since the death of

her husband, but none of the suitors was as handsome or as

well disposed as the second son of Kamatsu of the

Shinzawai. Lujan maintained correct bearing to the finest

detail, but like any in the Acoma household, he had a

personal interest in Hokanu. And so had Mara, if the flush

in her cheeks gave any indication.

After the subtle flattery of recent suitors, Hokanu's

honest yearning for Mara's approval was refreshing. 'Lady,

what a perfect surprise! I had no expectation of finding so

lovely a flower in this most unpleasant of surroundings.' He

paused, bowed neatly, and smiled. 'Although of late we

have all seen this delicate blossom show thorns. Your

victory over Jingu of the Minwanabi is still the talk of

Silmani,' he said, naming the city closest to his father's

estates.

Mara returned his bow with sincerity. 'I did not see any

Shinzawai colours among the retainers waiting on the street.

Otherwise I should have brought a servant with jomach ice

and cold herb tea. Or perhaps you do not wish your interest

in these slaves to be noticed?' She let that question hang a

moment, then brightly asked, 'Is your father well?'

Hokanu nodded politely and seated Mara on a bench. His

grip was strong but pleasant; nothing like the rough grasp

she had known from her husband of two years. Mara met

the Shinzawai son's eyes and saw there a quiet intelligence,

overlaid by amusement at the apparent innocence of her

question.

'You are very perceptive.' He laughed in sudden delight.

'Yes, I am interested in Midkemians, and at my most healthy

father's request, I am trying not to advertise the fact.' His

expression turned more serious. 'I would like to be frank

with you, Mara, even as my father was with Lord Sezu - our

fathers served together in their youth, and trusted one

another.'

Though intrigued by the young man's charm, Mara

repressed her desire to be open lest she reveal too much.

Hokanu she trusted; but her family name was too recently

snatched from oblivion for her to reveal her intentions.

Shinzawai servants might have loose tongues, and young

men away from home sometimes celebrated their first

freedom and responsibility with drink. Hokanu seemed as

canny as his father, but she did not know him well enough to

be certain.

'I fear the Acoma interest in the barbarians is purely a

financial one.' Mara waved her fan in resignation. 'The

cho-ja hive we gained three years ago left our needra short of

pasture. Slaves who clear forest in the wet season fall ill, my

hadonra says. If we are to have enough grazing to support

our herds at calving, we must allow for losses.' She gave

Hokanu a rueful look. 'Though I expected no competition

at this auction. I am glad to see you, but nettled by the

thought of bidding against so dear a friend.'

Hokanu regarded his hands for a moment, his brow

untroubled, and a smile bending the corners of his mouth. 'If

I relieve my Lady of her dilemma, she will owe the

Shinzawai her favour. Say, entertaining a poor second son at

dinner soon?'

Mara unexpectedly laughed. 'You're a devil for flattery,

Hokanu. Very well; you know that I need no bribes to allow

you to visit my estates. Your company is ... always

welcome.'

Hokanu stared in mock suffering at Lujan. 'She says that

very prettily for one who refused me the last time I was in

Sulan-Qu.'

'That's not fair,' Mara protested, then blushed as she

realized how quickly she had spoken in her own defence.

With better decorum she added, 'Your request came at an

awkward moment, Master Hokanu.' And her face darkened

as she recalled a Minwanabi spy, and a pretty, importunate

boy who had suffered as a result of the intrigue and

ambition that underlay every aspect of life in the Empire of

Tsuranuanni.

Hokanu noted the strain that shadowed her face. His

heart went out to this young woman, who had been so

serious as a child, and who had against the greatest odds

found the courage and intelligence to secure her house from

ruin. 'I will cede to you the Midkemians,'he said firmly, 'for

whatever price you can bargain with the factor.'

'But I wish not to inconvenience you,' Mara protested.

Her fan trembled between clenched fingers. She was tense;

Hokanu must not be permitted to notice, and to distract him

she whiffed air through the feathers as if she were bothered

by the heat. 'The Shinzawai have shown the Acoma much

kindness and, in honour, it is time that we proved ourselves

worthy. Let me be the one to cede the bidding.'

Hokanu regarded the Lady, who was daintily small, and

far more attractive than she herself understood. She had a

smile that made her radiant, except that at present the face

beneath its thyza-powder makeup was almost wary with

tension. Her concern went much deeper than simple forms

of honour, the young man sensed at once.

The insight gave him pause: she had been snatched away

from taking vows of service to the goddess Lashima to

assume her role as Ruling Lady. In all likelihood she had

known little or nothing of men before her wedding night.

And Buntokapi of the Anasati, an ill-mannered, coarse

braggart at the best of times, had been the son of an Acoma

enemy before he had become her husband and Ruling Lord.

He had been rough with her, Hokanu understood with

sudden certainty, which was why this Ruling Lady and

mother could also act as unsure as a girl years younger.

Admiration followed; this seemingly delicate girl had

owned valour out of all proportion to her size and

experience. No one outside her inner household could ever

guess what she might have endured in Buntokapi's rude

grasp. One close to Mara might say much if Hokanu could

get him to share drink in a wine shop. But a glance at Lujan's

alert pose convinced Lord Kamatsu's son that the Strike

Leader was a poor choice. The warrior measured Hokanu,

having perceived his interest; and where his mistress was

concerned, his loyalty would be absolute. Hokanu knew

Mara was a shrewd judge of character - she had proven as

much by staying alive as long as she had.

Attempting to lighten her mood and not give offence,

Hokanu said,'Lady, I spoke out of sincere disappointment

at not being able to see you on my last visit.' He concealed

any diffidence behind a disarming smile. 'No favours do the

Acoma owe the Shinzawai. We deal here in simple practicality.

Most Midkemian slaves go to the block at the City

of the Plains in Jamar, and I am bound for Jamar. Should I

make you wait for the next shipment of prisoners to journey

upriver, while I drive two score men in a coffle through the

heat, house them while I conduct business, then herd them

back upriver again? I think not. Your needra pastures are a

more immediate need, I judge. Please accept my not bidding

against you as nothing more than a tiny courtesy from me.'

Mara stopped her fan in midair with barely hidden relief.

'Tiny courtesy? Your kindness is unmatched, Hokanu.

When your business in Jamar is concluded, I would be most

pleased if you would accept my invitation to rest as a guest

of the Acoma on your way back to your father's estates.'

'Then the matter of the slaves is settled.' Hokanu took her

hand. 'I will accept your hospitality with pleasure.' He

bowed, sealing their agreement. As he straightened he saw

two brown eyes regarding him intently. The Lady of the

Acoma had always attracted him, from the moment he had

first seen her. When he returned from Jamar, he might have

the opportunity to know her better, to explore possibilities,

to see if his interest was reciprocated. But now, intuitively,

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SERVANToftheEMPIRERaymondFeistRaymondE.FeistlivesinRanchoSantaFe,California,andwasbornandraisedinSouthernCalifornia.HeistheauthorofthebestsellingandcriticallyacclaimedRiftwarSaga(Magician,Silverthorn,ADarknessatSethanonandPrinceofBlood),FaerieTaleandTheKing'sBuccaneer.JannyWurtsisalsoabestsellingaut...

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