Mistress of the Empire by Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts Page B

to take the Warlordship. There were magicians who had regarded Ichindar’s rise to power as an impious expedient: that the balance should be returned to the time before the Enemy, with the Light of Heaven’s office restored to the old ways. Hochopepa led a small contingent that welcomed change; he paid scant heed to Fumita’s stalling, but instead watched to see where Motecha would gravitate. To his colleague he confided, ‘Ah, there’s the hand behind Jiro’s cause.’
    With a slight nod of his head, he indicated the magician Motecha now spoke with, an athletic-looking man just out of youth, unremarkable save for the red hair that showed around the edges of his black cowl. He had thick brows, an expression that approached a scowl, and the carriage of a man who tended to fidget with excess nerves.
    ‘Tapek,’ Shimone identified. ‘He’s the one who burned up a building while practicing for his mastery. Came into his talents very early, but took a long time to learn restraint.’
    Hochopepa’s mild face furrowed in concern. ‘He’s no friend of Jiro’s. I wonder what his stake in this is?’
    Shimone gave the barest lift of shoulders, as close as he ever came to the enigmatic Tsurani shrug. ‘His kind gravitates toward trouble, as floating sticks will draw toward a whirlpool.’
    On the floor, debate continued. Careful to keep his tone neutral lest someone point out his personal tie to Hokanu and Mara’s House, Fumita offered up his conclusion. ‘I believe that if Clans Ionani and Hadama destroy each other, we shall be faced with both internal and external perils.’ He held one finger aloft. ‘Can any doubt that whoever survives, that house will be so weakened that others will instantly fall upon it?’ He raised a second finger, adding, ‘And can any gainsay that enemies outside our border will take advantage of our internal dissension to strike?’
    ‘My turn to contribute to the general excess of hot air,’ Hochopepa muttered, and promptly stood. At the cue, Fumita sat with such abruptness that nobody else could rise to his feet in time to prevent Hodiku’s indication that the stout magician had the floor.
    Hochopepa coughed to clear his throat. ‘My learned brother makes a strong brief,’ he said, warming up to a virtuoso speech of confusing pomposity. ‘But we must not blind ourselves with rhetoric.’
    Shimone’s lips twitched at this half-lie. His fat companion paced heavily to and fro, meeting the eyes of all the magicians in the front rows to draw them to attention. ‘I would like to point out that such clashes before have not spelled the end of civilisation as we know it!’ He nodded for emphasis. ‘And we have no intelligence to indicate that those upon our borders are poised to strike. The Thuril are too busy with trade along our eastern frontier to seek struggle so long as we give them no cause. They can be a hard lot, but profit is bound to seem more attractive to them than bloodletting; at least that seems to be the case since the Alliance for War desisted in their attempt to conquer them.’ A murmur of disapproval disturbed the shadowy hall, for the attempt to annex the Thuril Highlands as a new province had ended in disgrace for the Empire, and it was considered bad form to recall thedefeat. Hochopepa’s scruples did not restrain him from using this point to unbalance his opposition. He simply raised his sonorous voice enough to be heard above the noise. ‘The desert men of Tsubar have sworn binding treaty with the Xacatecas and Acoma on behalf of the Empire, and we have had no resumption of conflict in Dustari.’
    That this was in part to Lady Mara’s credit was not lost on the Assembly. A smile spread across Hochopepa’s round face as the tumult died back to respectful stillness. ‘By any measure, the Empire is peaceful to the point of boredom.’ In a dramatic shift, his smile fled before a scowl, and he shook a finger at the gathering. ‘Need I remind my brothers that