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

acolytes, each in red robe and skull mask. Their appearance caused a stir through the assembly. Many in the hall made surreptitious gestures to ward off ill luck, for to encounter the Death God’s minions was unpleasant at the best of times. The whistles shrilled, and the skulls clacked in time to the head priest’s step. His dance grew faster, and the acolytes initiated a series of gyrations and leaps that described the throes of human suffering, the Death God’s ultimate power, and the punishment meted out to mortals who displeased him.
    Now a muttering disturbed the hall as Desio’s guests asked in whispers why Red Priests should be chosen to invoke a blood ritual at this gathering. Normally the priests of Chochocan, the Good God, or in rare cases the priests of Juran the Just would be asked to bless a new Lord’s reign, but a Death Priest was a rare and unsettling presence.
    The dancers spun to a standstill and the whistles ceased. The chief priest advanced on soundless feet and mounted the dais. He removed a scarlet dagger from a pocket inside his cape and, with a high, keening yell, severed his left braid. This he hung upon the corresponding arm of the new Lord’s throne. Then he touched his forehead to the chairback, and cut his right braid. The tiny skull at the end clicked ominously against agate carvings. When this talisman hadbeen affixed to the right arm of the great chair, none present were left in doubt. The Red God’s priests did not cut their hair except in expectation of great sacrifice to their divine master. Desio of the Minwanabi was pledging his house to violent undertakings.
    Uneasy quiet reigned as Desio’s honour guard made their entrance. The customary twelve warriors were led by Force Commander Irrilandi and First Adviser Incomo. Last came the new Lord, resplendent in a plumed overrobe of orange trimmed in black, his dark hair tied back.
    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