The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  Zandakar closed the van’s doors and perched on the sleeping-shelf opposite. “Rhian fine. I come see you.”

  “Oh.” Although he was exhausted, he felt his muscles tense. “Why?”

  “We wei speak many days,” said Zandakar. “You doing your god’s work. I training soldiers and Rhian. We speak now.” He looked around the van’s cramped interior. “Where is Ursa? Where is Helfred?”

  “The king sent for Helfred. He and the dukes want to talk of Marlan. Since we’re about to cross into what will surely be hostile territory, with Kyrin of Hartshorn standing against us, they want to know what the prolate will likely do. And Ursa’s seeing to one of Duke Edward’s men. He has a belly gripe. She should be back by and by.”

  Zandakar nodded. “Dexterity look bad.”

  I don’t want to talk about it . “I told you. I’m fine.”

  “Zho?” said Zandakar. His tone was disbelieving. “You burn for your god three times this day.”

  “Really?” he said, waspish. “I wasn’t counting.”

  There was no trace remaining of the mortally sick man he’d rescued from the slave ship. Zandakar’s strength had returned in full. He moved like a cat from the jungles of Haisun. Rhian’s bodyguards held him in mixed fear and respect. His stamina seemed endless, he never tired of riding or training or dancing hotas with Rhian. As Ursa had foretold, he was formidable. Half-lidded, his startling eyes stared steadily.

  “You wei like burning. You wei like your god, make you burn three times one day.”

  Dexterity grimaced. “Believe me, Zandakar, I wei like my God long before the burning started. That’s just the latest in a long list of reasons not to like my God.” Still not hungry, but needing something to hide behind, he picked up the bowl of stew and forced himself to take a mouthful. “You like chalava, do you? After every terrible thing your god has made you do?”

  “Like?” Zandakar shrugged. “What is like? Chalava is chalava .”

  Ah, yes. That familiar refrain. “And what if you don’t want to? What if, like me, you have no interest in God?”

  Zandakar looked baffled. “Want? Wei want, Dexterity. All obey chalava .”

  Lowering the spoon, he considered that for a moment. Considered what Hettie had told him about the god of Mijak. I wish I could tell him. He believes in a lie . “Zandakar, does everyone in Mijak believe in your god? I mean, is there no-one in Mijak who thinks there is no god?”

  From the look on Zandakar’s face it was a stupid question. “You wei believe sky, Dexterity? You wei believe sun? Moons? Stars? Chalava like that. Every day Mijak people see chalava in chalava-chaka . They see, they obey. Wei obey, chalava smites.”

  Chalava and Marlan seem to have much in common. Thinking about it, he supposed it made sense that Zandakar and his people never questioned their god’s existence. If I’d grown up seeing miracles on a daily basis …

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “Like people of Ethrea now,” Zandakar persisted, anxious to make his point. “Dexterity is chalava-chaka for Ethrea god, zho? ”

  “Zho . I am.” Unfortunately . “But my God is not a god of smiting, Zandakar. God doesn’t kill those who disobey.”

  Clearly Zandakar wasn’t impressed. He muttered something under his breath in his own mysterious tongue.

  “What was that?” he said.

  Zandakar scowled. “Ethrea god like Rhian. Soft. Wei smiting. You want Zandakar be chalava-hagra ? How be chalava-hagra Zandakar wei smite?”

  Dexterity’s head was pounding unmercifully again. He’d have to ask Ursa for another posset when she returned. She’d nag him and nag him and most likely rail at Rhian … “I don’t know. We mustn’t speak of that, Zandakar. Someone might hear. Let’s worry about what we’re facing at the moment, shall we? That’s enough to be going on with, there’s no need to borrow—”

  The van’s doors pushed open again, revealing Ursa. “Well, well,” she said, staring at Zandakar. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

  “Ursa,” said Zandakar, and stood.

  “Oh, you remember?” she said, sniffing. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

  “Yatzhay,” said Zandakar. “Must go.” He pressed a fist to his heart. “Dexterity.”

  “Zho . You be careful. Remember what I said.”

  “What was that about?” asked Ursa as Zandakar closed the doors behind him, leaving them alone.

  “Nothing. He stopped by to chat.”

  She snorted. “Zandakar? Chatting? That’ll be the day.” Then she poked at his abandoned stew bowl. “Jones, what’s this? Haven’t I told you enough times? You have to eat .”

  “I did eat. I just didn’t finish it.”

  “Jones, you barely touched it!” She straightened, fists on her hips. “And you’ve another megrim brewing, haven’t you? I swear it’s a good thing Hettie hasn’t shown herself to me, for I’d be giving her the rough side of my tongue!”

  “As opposed to the smooth side? Are you sure there’s a difference?”

  “Tcha!” she said, and rummaged in her physicking bag. “Don’t try to be clever, you’ll sprain something.” She tossed him a small glass vial. “Here. Trickle that under your tongue.”

  He stared at the bottle’s unsavoury-looking contents. “What, no posset?”

  “You’ve had too many possets, Jones,” she said, sitting on the bench beside him. “Herbs can harm as well as heal. That’ll dull the worst of the pain. The rest you’ll have to take care of with sleep.”

  Ah. Yes. Sleep. Where he kept revisiting slaughtered Garabatsas. “All right. Thank you.”

  As he unstoppered the bottle and tipped the vile stuff into his mouth, she asked, “So … what were you and Zandakar chatting about?”

  He disguised his dismay in a grimace over the bottle’s foul contents. “I don’t remember. It was nothing. Just … talk.”

  Ursa sat back, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “You’re lying again, Jones. And if you deny it something precious will be broken.”

  It was already broken. He was broken. His soul was bleeding. Hettie’s miracles had crushed him till he was little more than paste. “Ursa … I’m sorry …”

  “It’s to do with Zandakar, isn’t it? Zandakar and Rhian and these wretched miracles.”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “And you can’t talk about it. Because Hettie said not to?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, helpless.

  She sighed. “So am I. For it’s not just the miracles giving you megrims, is it? It’s what you know that you’re not allowed to speak of. There’s a look in your eyes, Jones. I’ve never seen you so afraid. Not even when Hettie was slipping away from us.”

  He was holding the small vial as though it could save his life. A fraction more pressure and he’d have glass slivers in his hand. He loosened his fingers and put it carefully on the bench between them.

  “Ursa …”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I know about keeping secrets. Every physick does. Just tell me this one thing. Do you know what you’re doing?”

  He pressed his hands to his face. “Hettie does,” he said, muffled. At least, I think so. I hope so. For if she doesn’t …

  “In other words I’m to trust you. No proof or questions asked.”

  His hands dropped. “You’ve trusted me so far. Are you having doubts?”

  She picked up the empty vial and brooded over it. “Things are different since we left Kingseat. I’m more involved in this business than I ever asked to be. We’re fighting the Church, Jones!” Her voice caught. Her eyes were too bright. “Some say we’re fighting God.”

  She was his best friend and he’d hurt her. Not on purpose, but still. “We’re not,” he whispered, his throat hurting and tight. “You know we’re not. We’re fighting for God, Ursa. We’re fighting for Rhian and for Ethrea. Don’t lose your faith now. I can’t do this without you.”

  “I just wish I knew why we needed Zandakar,” she murmured. “I wish
I understood where he fits in.”

  Oh, Ursa. I’m so sorry. I’d tell you if I could.

  And then a knock sounded on the van’s double-door and a voice called out, “Mr Jones! Are you in there, Mr Jones?”

  Relieved, and searingly ashamed at the relief, he pushed off the bench and looked to see who wanted him. It was one of the duchy Linfoi soldiers who made up the larger company escort. What was his name? Oh yes. Maxwil.

  “Mr Jones, I know it’s late. I’m sorry to disturb you,” said guardsman Maxwil. “But there’s this woman with a baby. We tried to explain you couldn’t come but she’s powerful upset and—”

  “Oh, for the love of Rollin,” said Ursa. She pushed to her feet and joined him at the doorway. “Jones is not coming out to do a healing! He’s done enough healing for one day. Go tell the woman a physick will be with her directly.”

  Maxwil shifted uncomfortably at the foot of the van’s steps. “I’d say this baby’s too far gone for physicking. Looks three-quarters dead to me. And the mother’s walked more than two hours in the pitch dark to find us. She’s nearly dropping herself.”

  “And I’m sorry to hear it,” said Ursa. “Sorrier still that a clumsy soldier like yourself thinks he knows more of physicking than—”

  “It’s all right, Ursa,” Dexterity said, his bones aching. “I’ll go.”

  She glared at him, dismay and displeasure mingled. Despite their differences, as always so concerned. “Jones!”

  “No.” Surprising them both, he kissed her wrinkled cheek. “It’s what I’m here for. It’s what Hettie would want.”

  Walking by torchlight beside guardsman Maxwil, feeling the vicious headache battering his skull, he cast a look upwards at the twin moons and the night sky.

  Somewhere out there Dmitrak and his mother Hekat are looking at those same stars. Somewhere out there they are planning our doom. Somewhere out there another Garabatsas is weeping.

  What was a headache compared to that?

  The next morning, before they rode out to cross the Morvell border into Hartshorn, Rhian cautioned her sombre dukes.

  “Gentlemen, from this moment we must maintain a constant vigilance. You know Kyrin as well as my father did. He is hotheaded and foolish enough to try taking us with soldiers. If that should happen—”

  “We won’t let it,” said Adric, bolstered by youth.

  Alasdair shook his head. “No. We must let it.”

  It hurt her so much that they could be at such sharp odds yet so deeply in sympathy. “The king’s right, Adric,” she said, as her newest duke would have argued. “Blood spilled in my name will be our undoing. Let’s just pray that Kyrin thinks before he acts, for once.”

  Adric’s father grunted. “If he does it’ll be for the first time.”

  She smiled at Rudi, though she didn’t feel amused. “God has favoured us so far. We must trust his favour will last a little longer.”

  “We could still go by river,” said Edward. “Make haste to Kingseat without ever tempting Kyrin to attack. Or Damwin after him.”

  “And prove ourselves cowards in our own kingdom,” muttered Adric, just loudly enough to be heard.

  Rhian closed her eyes. If this is how Adric and Edward rub along, perhaps I should reconsider Edward’s daughter for his wife . “Adric,” she said, “that was unseemly. Edward thinks of my safety. Season your courage with caution, Your Grace. You’re no use to me dead or maimed by bravado.”

  “What of Edward’s suggestion?” said Alasdair quietly. “Abandon the wooing of Hartshorn and Meercheq and take the fight to Marlan in Kingseat sooner rather than later?”

  She was desperate to show him his value to her, that his thoughts mattered even though they were at odds. “You think the notion has merit?”

  His eyes remained opaque. “It’s not my place to comment. You’re the queen.”

  He was hurt, she understood that, but oh, she could have slapped him. As the dukes pretended not to notice something was amiss, she gritted her teeth. “I’m asking your opinion.”

  He shrugged. “Very well. Then, in my opinion , you risk more unrest in those duchies than can be justified. With their dukes and their chaplains ranged firm against you, the chances of violence are too high. I think Edward’s right. We should finish our journey by river.”

  “Except Hettie said not to,” she answered, after a moment. Another rejection. Will he ever forgive me? “And if I avoid both duchies I’ll embolden Marlan and those rebellious dukes. They’ll think I’m afraid. I can’t afford to give those men a false scent of blood.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” said Edward. “We fling caution to the winds and beard both dukes in their dens?”

  She took a deep breath. “No. I suggest a compromise. We’ll travel fast through Hartshorn, gaining whatever support we can find, and from there cross into Kingseat and ride as hard as we can for the capital. Once I’m back in the castle with my standard flying from the battlements, the people will see I am here to stay.”

  “And Meercheq?” asked Rudi.

  She tugged her riding gloves from her belt and pulled them on slowly, finger by finger. “Meercheq I leave for my procession of triumph. Gentlemen, to horse.”

  She walked away from her husband, his following stare hot on her skin.

  I’m sorry, Alasdair. But you were wrong and I’m right.

  It took them three days by the shortest route to reach Hartshorn’s border with Kingseat. In that time they saw not a single Hartshorn soldier. Not wishing to stir trouble, they steered clear of towns and villages as much as they were able. When they did meet up with Kyrin’s people there were miracles and healings and the inevitable clashes of belief and loyalties. Duke Kyrin held his duchy in a tight, relentless grasp. Marlan’s clergy also stood firm for the most part. They made few converts to the queen’s cause in Hartshorn.

  It was a piercing relief to reach the duchy Kingseat border.

  “And there it is,” said Rhian. “Kingseat.” Her eyes prickled with tears. So much had happened since she’d fled her home duchy. She was another person entirely. The world around her had been remade, and not in ways entirely to her pleasing.

  But I can’t worry about that. At least I still have a world. At least I’m not married to Lord Rulf and imprisoned in the castle, or on his estate. Things could be a lot, lot worse …

  She sat astride her stallion Invincible, on the top of a rise overlooking a placid expanse of wheat and flax. The crops were planted chequerboard style, great bold splashes of green and gold. A living tablecloth covering the fertile soil. Breathtaking. Heartstopping.

  Beside her, Alasdair looked without comment. The fresh dawn light rested in the hollows of his cheeks and lightened slightly the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He was exhausted, and so was she. Exhausted already and their fight had barely begun. For there was Kingseat, the heart of Ethrea, containing Marlan and all the foreign ambassadors who were surely uneasy now, and clamouring for answers.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have written them those letters. But how could I stay silent? I had to tell them I am queen.

  “We should keep on,” said Alasdair. “Travel swiftly, while we still can. You know what’ll happen once we strike the first village.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I just wanted a quiet moment.”

  Behind them waited the rest of her retinue. The dukes. The soldiers. Her bodyguards, and Zandakar. Ursa, Helfred and Dexterity.

  Dexterity. What would I have done without him? He is the one who has truly crowned me queen. Without his miracles I might as well have surrendered myself to Marlan and been done with it.

  Her quest for a crown had cost him dearly. Pale and so thin, now, he was rarely glimpsed when not proclaiming her name. Ursa came close to looking at her with dislike.

  I’m sorry but there’s no help for it. I’ll make it up to him after.

  “Rhian …” said Alasdair. He sounded curt. Out of patience.

  Oh, God. Is our marriage over before it’s begun? />
  She tore her gaze away from the lush crops and looked at him. “Are you ready for what awaits us down there?”

  “Does it matter if I’m ready?” said Alasdair, indifferent. “We must face Marlan regardless. And Damwin, and Kyrin.”

  She shivered, even though her clothes were more than warm enough to withstand a touch of early-morning chill. “I have the law on my side, Alasdair. They have to acknowledge me. If they don’t they’ll push Ethrea into civil war!”

  “You’ve pushed us halfway there already. We’ve left nothing but arguments and upset in our wake.”

  I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I will not weep before him . “We’ve left more than that. We left Walder behind us. We left scores of healed people. We left entire towns and villages with hope. Alasdair, why are you doing this? Are you wishing you’d sided with Damwin and Kyrin, now?”

  His face was remote. He’d gone so far away. “No. Of course not. I’m worried for Henrik.”

  “So am I,” she whispered. “Alasdair, I told you we’d save him. If Marlan has hurt him then Marlan will pay.”

  He nodded, as though he couldn’t trust himself to speak. But she could see the thought in his face. It echoed in her own heart, tearing with taloned claws.

  Henrik’s paid already. Because I insisted on a crown.

  “If Henrik were … all right …” said Alasdair, carefully, “He’d have sent word long since to Ludo and Ludo would’ve found a way to tell me. There’s been nothing, Rhian. What can I do but fear the worst?”

  He’d nearly said alive . He thought his uncle was dead. She couldn’t afford to let him despair. He was the King of Ethrea and she needed him beside her.

  “There are lots of reasons why you’ve not heard from Ludo,” she said, softly. “One messenger trying to reach us could’ve encountered many delays.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “I swear to you, Alasdair, if Marlan has harmed him I will make him pay. My word as queen. But for now you have to banish Henrik from your thoughts. What has happened has happened . And you can’t change that or help him. Not until we’ve won.”

  The bleakest of smiles touched his lips. “As if I need you to tell me that.”