Free Daughter of the Empire by Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts Page A

paper screens their mistress pushed aside her scrolls. She daubed at tearswollen eyes, and softly called for servants to open the study and let in the outdoor air.
    She rose then, feeling empty and wrung out; but the firm set had returned to her mouth. Thoughtfully biting her lip, the girl rested against the polished frame of the screen. Another solution besides marriage must exist. She pondered, but saw no answer, while the sun lowered, heavy and gold, in the western sky. Heat haze hung over the distant fields, and overhead the green-blue bowl of the sky was empty of birds. Akasi leaves pruned by the workers wilted upon the white stone walk, adding fragrance to the sleepy silence around the estate house. Mara yawned, worn out from grief and worry.
    Suddenly she heart shouts. Shocked alert, she straightened. Running figures sped along the road towards the guards’ barracks. Aware such disturbance must bode bad tidings, the girl turned from the screen, just as a serving girl rushed into the study.
    A warrior strode at her heels, dusty, sweating, and breathing hard from what amounted to a long run in battle armour. He bowed his head in respect. ‘Mistress, by your leave.’
    Mara felt a knot of cold tighten her stomach. Alreadyit begins, she thought to herself. Yet her tearstained face showed poise as she said, ‘Speak.’
    The soldier slapped his fist over his heart in salute. ‘Mistress, the Force Commander sends word: outlaws have raided the herd.’
    ‘Send for my litter. Quickly!’
    ‘Your will, mistress.’ The maidservant who had preceded the soldier ducked through the doorway at a run.
    To the warrior, Mara said, ‘Assemble an escort.’
    The man bowed and departed. Mara unwrapped the light, short robe Tsurani noblewomen preferred to wear in the privacy of their homes. She tossed the garment into the waiting hands of one attendant, while another rushed forward with a travelling robe, longer and more modest in cut. Adding a light scarf to hide the unhealed marks on her neck, Mara stepped outside.
    Her litter bearers waited silently, stripped to loincloths and sweating in the heat. Four warriors waited with them, hastily fastening helmets and adjusting weapons at their belts. The soldier sent to inform Mara deferentially offered his hand and aided his mistress into the cushioned seat. Then he signalled bearers and escort. The litter swayed and jolted forward as the bearers complied with the need for haste and hurried towards the outer pastures.
    The journey ended far sooner than Mara expected, miles inside the borders of the estate. This was a discouraging sign, since bandits would never dare to raid the inner fields if the patrols had been up to strength. With a motion made brisk by outrage, the girl whisked aside gauze curtains. ‘What has passed here?’
    Keyoke turned away from two soldiers who were studying the ground for tracks that might indicate the numbers and strength of the renegades. If he noticed her tearstained face, his own leathery features showed no reaction. Imposing in his lacquer armour, his plumed helmdangling by its strap from his belt, he gestured towards a line of broken fencing, which slaves in loincloths laboured to repair. ‘Outlaws, my Lady. Ten, or perhaps a dozen. They killed a herd boy, smashed through the fence, and drove off some needra.’
    ‘How many?’ Mara gestured, and the Force Commander helped her from the litter. Grass felt strange under her sandals after temple confinement and months of echoing stone floors; also unexpected were the smells of rich earth and khala vines, which twined the fence rows. Mara pushed aside her momentary distraction and greeted Jican’s presence with a frown the image of her father’s when domestic affairs went amiss.
    Though the hadonra had had little contact with the former Lord of the Acoma, that look was legend. Sweating, fingers clenched nervously to his tally slate, he bowed. ‘Lady, at most you have lost three or four cows. I can