The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  Word came for Rudi and Edward that their councillor kinsmen were taken with Henrik Linfoi and their duchies placed under the same interdict. Rudi’s son Adric arrived at the manor house and Rhian invested him Duke of Kingseat … but there was no celebration after. Who could laugh and smile when good men were taken hostage? When whole duchies and their people were denied the Living Flame?

  Though her council was doubtful she wrote to every foreign ambassador.

  “There’s no point pretending we’re not in some degree of chaos,” she’d told her dukes sharply. “They know what’s going on. And you can be sure Marlan’s whispering in their ears as fast as he can, lying until he’s blue in the face. They must hear from the rightful Queen of Ethrea. I can’t allow Marlan’s to be the only voice in this kingdom.”

  “She’s right,” said Alasdair. “As king, I concur.”

  So she wrote her careful letters, to be sent south to the capital with trusted couriers. Most particular were her words for the ambassadors of Harbisland, Arbenia and Tzhung-tzhungchai. Win the confidence of those countries and half her battle would be won.

  She decided she’d ride home to Kingsear, not travel in a carriage. Since no horse in Alasdair’s stables pleased her sufficiently the duchy was hastily scoured for an animal she’d accept. A silver-grey stallion with a mane down to its knees appealed. She named it Invincible and gave Zandakar the black stallion she’d liked almost as much. Alasdair made no outward objection but his eyes were brooding. Zandakar, smiling, named the horse Didijik .

  Despite the long meetings and the frantic preparations she made time to dance the hotas with him morning and afternoon, lingering a little while after each session to watch him with the ducal soldiers he’d chosen as her personal bodyguards. They were competent men already … but Zandakar, knowing time was short, schooled them without mercy in all the hours they had left.

  “I know you hate to hear this but you must. He frightens me, Rhian,” Alasdair said in a low voice, walking back to the manor with her the afternoon before they departed. He’d come to watch her hotas in the worn and grass-trampled gardens, and stayed with her as the bodyguards returned to their relentless training. “He has skills I’ve never dreamed of.”

  A familiar, unwelcome throbbing started up at her temples. “Skills we need, Alasdair. You can’t deny that.”

  He couldn’t, but it was clear he wanted to. “I have to say, Rhian, you frighten me a little too. You look so fierce doing those hotas with your knife.”

  She made herself smile at him. “You’ve seen me fence before. We used to fence each other back in Kingseat. Were you afraid then?”

  “That was different,” he said, shaking his head. “It was fencing and it was … a game. You’re not playing now.” He touched the knife belted at her hip. “And that’s no button-tipped foil.”

  He was right. Dear God, how much she hated that. “I know. But I don’t have a choice, Alasdair.”

  A complication of pains darkened his eyes. “You could choose to let me defend you.”

  She sighed. “No, I can’t. Alasdair—”

  “I’m your husband, Rhian!” he said violently, taking her arms in a biting grip. “God help me, I’m your king . Have you no use for me now wedding me and briefly bedding me have put a crown on your head?”

  “That’s not fair!” she hissed, pulling herself free. They were still a small distance from the manor and alone, for the moment. “That’s your wounded pride talking! Think, Alasdair. I’m Ethrea’s first queen. How can I ever hope to rule if it’s seen that my own husband doesn’t trust me! I must stand alone. I can’t be overshadowed by you!”

  “But you can be overshadowed by Zandakar?”

  She could easily pummel her fists against his broad, stubborn chest. “Zandakar doesn’t count! Why won’t you see that? Why do you insist on letting jealousy blind you?”

  He looked away. “I’m not jealous. I’m worried. We’ve a long way to travel from Linfoi to Kingseat. We both know a lot can go wrong between here and there.”

  “Which is why I need to know how to use this knife! I need to be more than a royal decoration. If I’m not more than a royal decoration I’ll never win this fight. Unless …” She looked at him, her eyes pricking. “Is that what you want? Would that make you happy?”

  He released a harsh breath. “I don’t think you want to know what would make me happy, Rhian.”

  Now he was wounding her, his words as cruel as any knife. She stepped back. “No more, Alasdair. I’m too tired. I know you’re unhappy. I know you’re disappointed in me. In what your life has become. You dreamed of a duchess not—not a warrior queen. I’m sorry. This isn’t what I wanted, either. And if you think it is then you never knew me.”

  “That’s the trouble, Rhian,” he whispered. “I do know you. Better than you know yourself, though you’ll never admit that. I can see what this is costing you … and it’s killing me that you won’t let me help.”

  “You want to help me, Alasdair?” She blinked hard, her throat tight. “Then stop nagging me about Zandakar. Don’t carry on because I must put myself first. You want to help me, husband? Then remember I’m your queen !”

  She spun on her heel and walked away. Before she said something else, something worse. Before he did.

  First Ludo angry with me, now Alasdair. And though the dukes aren’t angry I can tell they’re afraid. Of course they’re afraid, their families are in danger, their duchies are indicted. They’ve put their faith and their futures in the hands of an untried girl.

  Dear God. Dear God. Don’t let this be a mistake …

  The royal procession departed the following dawn.

  Rhian, astride Invincible, still dressed like a boy but in fabrics more feminine, watched as Alasdair embraced his cousin.

  “The duchy’s yours now, Ludo,” he said, his voice not quite controlled. “There’s no other man breathing I’d lief entrust it to. Be visible among the people. Let them know you’re here and that you care. Give them no cause to doubt you’ll fight their battles to the death.”

  Ludo nodded. “I will. I swear it. But Alasdair—”

  “Hush,” he said, and rested his hand against Ludo’s face. “This is right, and you know it. I’ll rescue your father. You have my word.”

  “Your Majesty,” Ludo whispered. He turned. “Queen Rhian. God speed your journey south and may he keep you safe and see you on your throne where you belong. Duchy Linfoi is yours until the end of time.”

  For a moment she wasn’t sure if she could trust herself to speak. Then she nodded. “Duke Ludo, the Crown holds you in the highest regard. What you give up will be returned to you tenfold. Do not fear for your father or the people whose lives are trusted to you. I will see them safe … or perish in the attempt.”

  Somehow, Ludo managed to smile. Managed to release his burden of hurt anger. “Please don’t perish, Your Majesty. You owe me a wife.”

  Which made her smile too, and lightened her heart for a moment.

  The manor-house staff and the ducal estate workers lined the long driveway to see them leave. If their loyalty was tested by Marlan’s interdict they didn’t show it. They waved and shouted and called “God bless Queen Rhian! God bless our King Alasdair!”

  She waved and smiled at them, Alasdair at her right hand. Edward, Rudi and Adric rode directly behind them, side by side, her loyal dukes. Then came Zandakar on Didijik, and the handpicked soldiers, who had swiftly come to respect him for his fluency with a blade. Next the peddler’s van, driven by Dexterity, with Ursa and Helfred riding in the back.

  Rhian felt a prickle of pain. She still hadn’t told Helfred that Most Venerable Artemis had come for him. He knew about the interdictions and that was enough. He’d wept at the thought of all the people denied God. To keep him safe she’d ordered he not set foot from the van in daylight and stay close to the royal camp at night.

  He’d tried to argue. Ruthless, she’d shouted him down.

  After the peddler’
s van came a handful of ducal retainers, three supply wagons and the rest of the armed escort. Not the most inconspicuous assemblage.

  But her purpose wasn’t to be inconspicuous. Her purpose was to declare herself to the kingdom. There was risk involved, she would be open to challenge by chaplains and venerables and the people whose lives her existence upset … but it was a risk she knew she had to take.

  The people must see her, and know her, and accept her. Showing fear or hesitation would doom her … and make everything she’d done for naught.

  “What do you think, Jones?” said Ursa, riding beside him on the van’s driving seat for a while. “Do you think we’ll reach Kingseat unscathed? Or will one of Marlan’s ranting chaplains see us pulled from this van and drubbed for our sins?”

  Dexterity put the reins in one hand and scratched his nose. “There’ll be no drubbing of any kind. Not so long as Zandakar’s with us.”

  Since leaving the manor house they’d passed through three large villages. Each time the villagers had spilled into the streets and each time the royal procession was met by the local chaplain, who attempted to bar their progress and waved a Book of Admonitions in their faces.

  “For shame! Repent! Ask for God’s mercy!”

  That was the cry from Marlan’s chaplains, to a man. Rhian had commanded them to stand aside for the Crown.

  “I am Rhian, Eberg’s daughter. Do not listen to the lies of unGodly men. God has granted me my birthright. I am your true and loving queen. Beside me rides Alasdair of Linfoi, son of your late duke. I have made him your king. Have faith, people of Linfoi, and don’t despair. God has not been taken from you. Only God can take God from the world, and he will never do that. His Flame lives in your hearts. Trust in him and rejoice.”

  So young, and so regal. The villagers cheered to hear her words and the chaplains were hushed. It was possible God held their tongues … but it was more likely they saw Zandakar and the bodyguards and realised their best safety lay in silence.

  “Zandakar,” Ursa mused. “You know, it seems to me he’s been keeping very quiet.”

  “He was never talkative, Ursa. And he’s been kept busy training the soldiers and Rhian.”

  She nodded. “True. But something’s changed in him. He seems sadder than usual … or afraid. But what could frighten a man like him? What’s got you frightened, Jones? More than the rest of us, I mean. More than what’s sensible.”

  The trouble with Ursa was that her wits were too sharp. “Frightened? I’m not frightened. If anything I’m pleased. We’re going home to Kingseat, Ursa, and not before time. I miss my toyshop and I miss my little donkey. I even miss Tamas, but never tell him I said so.”

  After a long silence, broken by the creaking of cartwheels and the steady clopping of horses’ hooves, Ursa sighed. “We’ve been friends a long time, Jones, unlikely as that seems. So why you’d think to start lying to me now …”

  The hurt in her voice pained him like a knife thrust. Oh, Hettie. If this business costs me Ursa … “You’re imagining things. I’m not lying to you.”

  “Being old doesn’t make me stupid, Jones. And being my friend doesn’t give you leave to be insulting.”

  Before he could stop her she’d climbed down off the peddler’s van, even though it was moving, and gone round the back again to travel inside.

  I’m sorry, Ursa. I know I’ve upset you … but it’s better this way. You don’t want to know the things I’ve been told. You never want to see the horrors I’ve been shown.

  How he wished he didn’t know them. How he wished he’d never seen.

  Please, Hettie. Get us safe to Kingseat and help Rhian to her throne so I can pass this burden of secrets to her and be a simple toymaker again.

  Hettie’s reply was to send another miracle.

  It happened the next morning, in a village called Heddonvale. The royal procession had spent the night in common woodland and at first light, after a brief service conducted by Helfred, started travelling again. They reached Heddonvale mid-morning, where they were greeted by a chaplain who railed against Rhian as an unnatural woman led astray by the forces of evil, and declared anathema on any who would aid her. Rhian defended herself vigorously and soon they found themselves in the centre of a shouting crowd in the high street. Some villagers sided with the chaplain, others with their new queen.

  Dexterity stood up on the driving seat to get a better look at the commotion. Behind him, the van’s wooden hatch slid open.

  “What’s all that shouting, Jones?” Ursa demanded. “Since the chaplain can’t come out and I’m keeping him company you’ll have to tell us what’s going on.”

  “Another chaplain,” he said, shading his eyes with one hand. “Stirring the crowd against us.”

  “It seems to be working,” said Ursa. “They sound irate.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Helfred chimed in. “He’s got no choice but to follow my uncle’s commands. If he disobeys he’ll face interdict … or worse.”

  Which may have been true but it didn’t much help matters. If Rhian had misjudged the people’s love of Eberg and his daughter…

  Before that unsettling thought had time to bloom further Dexterity heard another shouting voice. He turned.

  A man was running towards them. “Help! Help! I need Physick Graythorne, help!”

  “What’s that?” said Ursa. “Is someone calling for a physick?”

  “Yes. Ursa—”

  She slammed the hatchway shut and a moment later appeared with her physicking bag beside the van. The shouting man passed her, his face shiny with sweat and maybe tears, running as though a fiend was at his heels.

  “Physick Graythorne! Physick Graythorne! Are you gathered here? I need you!”

  “I’m here!” a man replied, stepping clear of the villagers ranged around Rhian. He was younger than Ursa by some thirty years. “Joby!” he exclaimed as the shouting man staggered to a halt. “What’s happened?”

  The man Joby bent over, heaving for air, seemingly oblivious to the gathered crowd. “Rogue swarm. Got Walder.” He straightened and pointed back down the street. “His father’s bringing him.”

  “Did I hear that right, Jones? Rogue swarm?” said Ursa. “Is he talking about bees?”

  “I don’t know,” said Dexterity. “I’m not a beekeeper, Ursa.”

  “Tcha!” said Ursa. “Much good you are!” Hefting her physick’s bag, she marched past the bodyguards and the dukes, the ranting chaplain, Rhian and Alasdair, and presented herself to the other physick. “I’m Ursa. Are we talking bees?”

  The man stared at her, bemused. “Yes. Bees. I’m sorry, who are—”

  “I’m the queen’s physick,” said Ursa, planting her bag on the ground. “We can swap entertaining flux stories later. Now I’ve heard of bees swarming but what’s this rogue business mean?”

  “Means there’s been a mistake,” said Joby, breathing easier now as he stared back along the street, his face pinched in a worried frown. “Worker bees aren’t supplied proper with doings for the new hive. Makes them angry. They don’t go peaceful-like, looking for a new home. Walder couldn’t hear the difference in the swarm’s voice.” A choked sob escaped him. “Poor little chap, he got in the way.”

  Ursa took his arm. “And who’s Walder?”

  “The beeman’s son. He’s nine,” said Physick Graythorne, and shook his head. “A bad age for swarm-sting.”

  “I’m telling you, Physick, he’s mortal sick,” added Joby.

  “Can you use a second pair of hands?” said Ursa. “Not that I’ve had much doings with rogue bees, but—”

  “Yes. Yes. It might take two of us,” said Graythorne. “If you can spare the time … if the queen permits—”

  “Permits?” Ursa gave him a look to blister skin. “You think I’d ask permission to do my healing work? What kind of a physick are you? What kind of a queen do you think Rhian is if you think she’d expect me to ask her permission to heal a child—or that if I did she’d h
ave the nerve to say no!”

  “Graythorne!” said the village chaplain. “I forbid you to take any help from this woman. She is under interdict by association and—”

  “You hold your tongue!” said Ursa, furious. “You’d let a boy die and call yourself a man of God?” She looked at Graythorne. “Is your clinic close? There must be supplies you need.”

  The physick nodded. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As he shoved his way through the crowd, Ursa turned. “Jones!”

  “Yes, Ursa?”

  “Back of the van, under the bench. Green pouch tied with blue cord. Bring it!”

  “I’ll take it to her,” said Helfred, through the open hatch.

  “The queen said you were to stay in there,” Dexterity answered, tying off the horses’ reins. “Best obey her, Chaplain.”

  Helfred, scowling, handed him the pouch Ursa wanted through the hatchway. “If there’s a child in need, Mr Jones, then I—”

  “The village chaplain can see to his soul. Please, Helfred. Her Majesty doesn’t need anyone else to worry about.”

  “Tcha,” said Helfred and banged shut the hatch.

  “That’s it, Jones,” said Ursa as he handed her the green leather pouch. “Now just you stand back. This is physicking business.”

  Seated on her magnificent stallion, the king beside her on his restive blood bay, Rhian leaned down. Her eyes were anxious. “Ursa … can you save the child?”

  Ursa looked up from unknotting the pouch’s laces. “I won’t know till I’ve seen him, Majesty. And even then … well. Some folk are struck funny when it comes to a beesting. But I’ll do my best, God knows I will.”

  “Here they come!” shouted someone in the crowd. “Beeman Loryn and Walder!”

  Everyone looked. Puffing and panting his way up the village street, a grizzled man with a small lolling boy in his arms. Toiling in his wake, a weeping woman. The boy’s mother, surely. Such terror in her face.