Incomo reached the dais, turned, and sank to his knees at his master's right hand. He watched critically as his Lord completed the steps to his seat of power. Desio was holding up well, despite the heat and the unaccustomed weight of the armour beneath his finery. As a boy, Jingu's heir had lacked any skill at warcraft. His efforts in the practice yard had earned only silent scorn from his instructors. When old enough for active service, he had marched with a few patrols in safe areas, but when the officers in command had politely complained about his ineptness, the boy had gratefully become a permanent fixture in his father's court. Desio inherited the worst attributes of his sire and grandsire, Incomo judged. It would be a miracle for the Minwanabi to prosper under his rule, even should the Acoma pose no threat.
Studying the assembled crowd, Incomo's attention was caught by a striking figure in the first row of guests. Tasaio wore Minwanabi armour like a warrior born. He was'
perhaps the most able family member in three generations.
Bored with the ceremony, Incomo considered what it would be like to serve under a clever-minded ruler such as Tasaio.
Then the First Adviser banished such fanciful thoughts. In a moment he would swear to obey Desio in all things.
The new Lord managed to seat himself upon his great chair without mishap, for which Incomo was thankful.
Clumsiness at this time would be inauspicious, an omen that the gods' disfavour had fallen upon the Minwanabi.
Anxious sweat dampened the First Adviser's brow as he endured the time-honoured formalities before Desio arose to speak. The young Lord of the Minwanabi began in a voice surprisingly strong in the silent hall.
'I welcome you,' Desio intoned,'my family, my allies, and friends. Those who served my father are doubly welcome, for your loyalty to him in the past and to myself in the future.'
Incomo drew a relieved breath, his immediate worries assuaged. His young charge went pompously on to thank the attending priests; then he waved his florid hands as his words became more passionate. Convinced of his own importance, Desio called attention to his more prominent guests. Incomo was trying to look attentive, but his mind became increasingly preoccupied: What move would the Lady of the Acoma make next?
How had a girl turned Jingu's plans for her murder to her own ends? As many times as Incomo reviewed the events of that cursed day, he could not determine what had reversed things to bring about such a tragic pass.
One thing he knew: the Minwanabi had relied too heavily upon a hired courtesan as agent. She had a reputation as thoroughly professional, yet at the last she had failed to carry out her duty. The result had cost the beautiful woman her life. Incomo vowed never again to depend upon one not sworn to Minwanabi service. And what of the part played by the Strike Leader Shimizu, one who was oath-bound to service? His assault upon Mara's bodyguard had gone as planned, but the following night a simple 'accident' that should have ended the Acoma line turned into a debacle.
Desio announced another honoured guest come to see him take his office. Incomo glanced in that Lord's direction, attempting not to look bored. His thoughts returned again to that terrible day.
Incomo repressed a shiver as he remembered the horror upon Lord Jingu's face as the Warlord's magician companion had employed magic to prove the misfortunate treachery of courtesan and Strike Leader against Mara.
Shamed before the eyes of guests, Jingu had been forced to make amends on behalf of his house in the only appropriate way. In all history, no Minwanabi Lord had ever been required to preserve family honour by suicide. Incomo still awoke in a cold sweat each night as he dreamed of the moment Jingu had seized bravery and thrown himself upon his family sword.
Incomo remembered little after that; the march back to the estate house, his Lord upon the funeral bier, with his armour polished and shining, and his hands crossed upon his sword, were vague images. Instead the First Adviser was tormented by the moment of death: his Lord sprawled upon the ground, life's blood and entrails spilling out of his stomach, his vacant eyes filming over like those of a fish dying upon the docks. The priest of Turakamu had quickly bound Jingu's hands with the ritual red cord and hidden his face with a scarlet cloth. But