The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  “Oh, must you go?” he said. “You're the royal physick now, Ursa. You should have a care for yourself.”

  “No, I should have a care for those folk less fortunate in their health,” she snapped. “I never was a physick to give myself airs and graces, and I'm too old to start such nonsense now.” She slapped him. “As you well know, Jones. Wash your mouth out with soap.”

  He watched her stamp away, muttering, and smiled. It was good to be on side with her again, that was certain. He'd missed her severely, even the rough side of her tongue. Or perhaps especially…

  “Dexterity!”

  He turned. Rhian was walking towards him, sweaty and dirty, lightly spattered with blood. Her own blade was sheathed again, and Zandakar's was in her hand. He walked behind, nicked and bloody himself here and there.

  As he watched her walking, Dexterity felt his heart thud hard. Yes indeed. Oh dear. Something definitely was wrong.

  When she reached him, he bowed. “Majesty. Is everything all right?”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  Her statecraft was flawless. Without his days on the road, learning her, he'd not have seen the truth beneath the mask. “But you're wounded.”

  “Wounded?” She glanced at the red-stained slash in her sleeve. “A scratch. No need for healing. And no time if there was. I have to go, I'm running late for Litany. Did you come out to stretch your legs, Mister Jones? Perhaps Zandakar would keep you company.”

  Her message was clear: she wanted him to spend time with Zandakar. He glanced in the warrior's face, and saw there an echo of the distress he'd witnessed earlier. Yatzhay, Rhian . But why was he sorry?

  “Yes, indeed, Majesty,” he said heartily. “I do need the fresh air. Would you walk with me, Zandakar? I'd be glad of the company.”

  “Of course he'll walk with you,” said Rhian. “But mind you stay in the gardens, Mister Jones. The soldiers will fetch you when it's time to come in.”

  As he watched Rhian out of sight, he heard Zandakar sigh. Without turning he said, “Zandakar. Why are you sorry?”

  Zandakar didn't answer. “Zandakar?” he said, and did turn. “What's happened?”

  The warrior's brief captivity in the castle's dungeons hadn't marked him. Not like the nobles had been marked by their stay, under Marlan. He looked strong and well and just like himself. Dexterity looked closer.

  No. Not quite like himself. He's had a bad shock.

  “Dexterity—” Zandakar began, then shook his head.

  “Come along,” he said, and patted the man's arm. “You heard Rhian. We're to stroll in the gardens.”

  A scattering of bees still buzzed in the fragrant flowerbeds, even though the sun was slowly sinking, dragging dusk in its wake. From the corner of his eye Dexterity caught sight of four castle soldiers, hovering discreetly beyond the garden's borders. He thought Zandakar knew they were there too, though he made no comment.

  How small his life has become. Not so long ago he was a prince in his own land, commander of an army. And now he's a prisoner who must walk in a garden watched by men who'll gladly kill him if he so much as takes one wrong step.

  “Zandakar,” he said again, breaking the long silence. “I can see you're upset. Rhian's upset too. I wish you'd tell me what's happened.”

  The late afternoon air was warm and scented, almost too sweetly for comfort. Zandakar reached out his hand and trailed his fingers through a waterfall of pale yellow sassy-blossoms. Then he sighed again, deeply, a sound full of pain.

  “Yuma gives humans to chalava .”

  It took him a moment to make sense of the comment. Understanding halted him dead in his tracks. “You mean – sacrifice ? Human sacrifice in Mijak?”

  Zandakar continued another few paces, then slowed. Stopped. Without looking back he nodded. “ Zho .”

  Oh dear. Oh, Hettie . Feeling sick, Dexterity stared at Zandakar's braced, rigid shoulders. “You didn't know.”

  That made Zandakar turn. His ice blue eyes were too bright. “ Wei .”

  “But Rhian thought you did?”

  Zandakar swallowed. “ Wei . Alasdair king.”

  Well of course Alasdair thought that. Alasdair would believe anything of the man who loved his wife.

  “Human sacrifice?” he said, still sickened. “Oh, this is bad, Zandakar. It's – well, it's worse than barbaric.” A thought occurred. “How did Rhian learn of it?”

  Zandakar shrugged. “ Wei know.”

  “But she's quite certain? She knows it for a fact?”

  “I think zho .”

  “And you believe it,” he murmured. “With no proof, you think it's true.”

  His face twisting, Zandakar nodded. “ Zho .”

  Because you know your mother. Because you've seen what she can do, you've seen her slash your unborn child from your wife's belly. Seen your own death in her eyes.

  “Zandakar…” Dexterity folded his arms, suddenly chilled through. “Is this chalava ? Has your god ever asked for human blood before?”

  “ Wei! Wei! ” Zandakar's fist struck his chest. “ Chalava say wei kill.”

  To you. Not to her . “Zandakar—”

  Zandakar said something swiftly in his own tongue, then, the words dressed in misery. Only one word was familiar. Yuma . His fist struck his chest again, surely hard enough to hurt.

  Dexterity stared at him, nonplussed. He's grieving. After all she's done, he's grieving for his mother. I don't understand it, Hettie. Why doesn't he hate her?

  “Zandakar…” He put a gentle, careful hand on Zandakar's shoulder. “This is dreadful news. Yatzhay .”

  A little of the pain eased from Zandakar's face. “ Zho . Thank you. Dexterity gajka .”

  “ Zho ,” he said. “You mustn't forget that. Even though we've had our differences and difficulties I am your friend, Zandakar. You can confide in me.”

  Zandakar rubbed a hand across his face. The thin line of dried blood from Rhian's knife-prick flaked off his skin, to float haphazardly on a current of air. “Rhian is Dexterity gajka ?”

  He sighed. “Yes, we're friends again. She's forgiven me, it seems. I'm back on the council.”

  Zandakar mimicked whittling. “Toys?”

  “I'm afraid they'll have to wait. But I'm sure I'll get back to my little business one of these days. Zandakar—”He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry you ended up in that prison cell. I did try to speak for you. I tried to explain. You must understand, people are frightened. And with Emperor Han arriving unexpected like that—”

  “ Zho ,” said Zandakar. “I know.”

  Dexterity started walking again, and Zandakar fell into step beside him. “While you were in prison, nobody…hurt you?”

  A shadow of memory chased over Zandakar's face. “Witch-men.”

  He felt his own memories shudder through him. The winnowing of his soul by Emperor Han's Sun-dao. Not a word spoken, yet all his life laid bare…or so it had felt at the time.

  “I know. They're awful. But no-one else?”

  “ Wei ,” said Zandakar.

  “Well that's good. That's good. And now you're free.”

  Zandakar glanced across the flowerbeds, to where the soldiers were lurking. “ Zho ,” he said, his expression wry. “Free.”

  Oh dear. Change the subject. “I'm told you saved Rhian's life by teaching her how to fight Damwin and Kyrin. That was a good thing, Zandakar. That was the right thing to do.”

  “Zho.”

  “Did you see it? Were you there?”

  “ Wei there.” Zandakar glanced up at the nearby looming castle. “In chamber. I saw from window.”

  “And was it – was it dreadful?”

  “Dreadful?” said Zandakar slowly, as though he tasted the word. “ Wei . Rhian stupid, she wei kill Kyrin quick.” His face clouded with remembered anger, then his teeth bared in a smile. “She kill Damwin quick. She kill Damwin in her hota . Rhian hushla , killing queen.”

  Dexterity stared at him. I will never, never understan
d this man. The thought of human sacrifice torments him, and yet he is pleased by the deaths of those wretched dukes . “Well,” he said faintly. “It was a nasty business, but it's all over now.”

  “ Zho ,” said Zandakar, then stopped and looked to where the soldiers were approaching.

  “Ah,” said Dexterity. “It seems our pleasant stroll is over too.”

  “Sir,” said the sergeant, joining them with his men. “This man must be escorted inside.”

  “ This man has a name!” he snapped. “I'll thank you to use it.”

  The sergeant's eyes narrowed. “Sir—”

  “And I've got a name too. It's Dexterity Jones. I'm one of the queen's councillors, in case you weren't aware.”

  “Mister Jones,” said the sergeant, his manner deflating considerably. “I see.”

  He felt slightly ashamed, puffing himself up with consequence like the worst kind of nobleman, but he couldn't bear to have Zandakar treated like a common villain.

  “Dexterity,” said Zandakar as the soldiers gave a little ground. “I eat now. You eat with me?”

  Dexterity looked at him. Zandakar's face was schooled again, he and Rhian were equals in their discipline, but even so…he couldn't quite hide his loneliness.

  Or perhaps it's just I know him as well as I know Rhian.

  “It would be my pleasure,” he replied. “Sergeant, lead on.”

  The castle apartments given over to Zandakar for his use were neat and pleasant, but hardly lavish. It seemed there were two rooms, a public area for sitting and dining, and a smaller room for sleeping.

  Dexterity flinched at the sound of a key turning in the outer door's lock. He glanced at Zandakar, but if he heard it he gave no sign. Probably he was used to it now.

  Used to being a prisoner. It may not be a dungeon cell, but that's the only difference.

  “This is wrong,” he said, frowning. “It's an insult. I take it the soldiers remain on the other side of the doors?”

  Drifting over to the window so he could look outside, Zandakar shrugged. “ Zho .” He sounded…resigned.

  “Well, it's not good enough. I'll talk to Rhian, Zandakar. I'll see the soldiers sent away, I'll see that your doors are left unlocked. Rollin's mercy, you're a man, you're not some – some dangerous animal .”

  Zandakar glanced over his shoulder. “You say?”

  He took a step closer. “Rhian will listen to me.”

  “Rhian, zho ,” said Zandakar, and shrugged. “Alasdair king? I think wei .”

  “It won't be Alasdair's decision! It's for Rhian to decide how you're treated and I tell you I won't stand for you being treated like this .”

  Slowly, Zandakar turned from the window. “You care, Dexterity. Why? I am Mijak.”

  “ Why ?” Dexterity found the nearest chair and dropped into it, abruptly weary. “Because it's reprehensibly immoral for us to expect you'll fight with us against your own people, against your family , yet continue to treat you like a pariah. Either you're one of us, or you're not. And if you're one of us, then you'll live like one of us. Truly free. Truly trusted. That's what I intend to say to Rhian.”

  Zandakar shook his head. “And Alasdair king? Council? Emperor of Tzhung?”

  He banged his fist on the arm of his chair. “Zandakar, if God himself were here I'd say it to him!”

  Now Zandakar was frowning. “ Wei trouble, Dexterity. For you. Wei trouble.”

  “Oh, it's no trouble. I don't like to see anyone slighted. And Rhian will listen, just you wait. Like it or not, I'm more than a toymaker these days. And if I have to remind her of that, I will. Unless—” Dexterity hesitated. “Unless you don't want me to. Unless you're happy to remain here under lock, key and guard.”

  Zandakar sat back, relaxing a little at last, and let his gaze roam around the small apartment. “Happy?” His face settled into a sharper expression. “ Wei .”

  “Then it's settled. The first chance I get, I'll have words with Her Majesty.”

  “Thank you,” said Zandakar, again. Then he looked down at himself, sweat-stained and dirty from dancing the hotas . “Food soon. I bathe. You wait, zho ?”

  He nodded. “ Zho . Of course.”

  Zandakar went into the second room, closing the door. Dexterity settled himself comfortably in the armchair, and at length Zandakar returned in a clean linen shirt and another pair of leather huntsman's leggings. His feet were bare. If it weren't for his blue hair, tied back now with a strip of leather, he'd look like any ordinary man.

  Dexterity shook his head. And yet he's anything but commonplace . “Zandakar…” He hesitated. “When this is over, what will you do? Where will you go?”

  Zandakar moved back to the window, and stared down at the Great Lawn. “If I live, Dexterity? If I wei die for Ethrea?”

  He swallowed. “ Zho . If you live. Will you go home?”

  “Home?” said Zandakar. “Tcha. What is home?”

  He didn't know how to answer that. And then he didn't have to, because the key turned in the chamber door's lock, it opened, and two soldiers entered bearing trays of steaming food. They put the trays on the small dining table, nodded warily, and withdrew.

  It had been a mistake to ask that question. Thoughtlessly cruel. He stood, and dusted his hands together. “My, that smells good!” he said brightly. “Shall we eat? I'm famished.”

  “ Zho ,” said Zandakar, his expression cool, contained. “We eat.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Within days of his elevation to the prolateship, Helfred had begun conducting evening Litany in Kingseat capital's great chapel. It was important, he'd said, that the people of Kingseat quickly accept him as their new spiritual leader. The faster Marlan's memory was laid to rest, the better for everyone. So every night of the week, as darkness rolled over the harbour and the township, the chapel bells rang out and the devout of Kingseat gathered to pray.

  The queen and her king consort gathered with them.

  “Every night?” Rhian had protested when Helfred informed her their presence was requested. “You expect us to attend public Litany every night ?”

  “Every night that you can,” said Helfred, serenely unmoved by her lack of enthusiasm. “Majesty, it is vital you set a most perfect example for your people. You are Ethrea's first queen, they must see you are a queen in whom they can repose their trust. God himself placed you on your throne. Would you deny him thanks? Is Eberg's daughter so churlish?”

  She'd felt her face heat at that. “No, of course I'm not, but Helfred, every night ?”

  Not answering her immediately, he'd turned to the Living Flame of her privy chapel and contemplated its steady burning, his expression sober.

  “Rhian,” he'd said softly, “you are a monarch like none other in our history. Not only because you're a woman, but because of the dangers confronting us. Ethrea, having weathered one tempest, will soon face an even greater maelstrom. The peace we enjoy now is an illusion, and you know it. When the truth of Mijak is revealed you and the king must not be strangers to your people. Most particularly, they must know you for a faithful queen who is reconciled with God. They must know in their hearts that when they lean on you, you'll not falter.”

  She'd shaken her head at him. “And you think me going to Litany every night is going to achieve that?”

  “Going to Litany in the town's great chapel, yes,” said Helfred. “Rhian, think . When word spreads that you attend public Litany many folk who rarely bother will come for curiosity's sake, just to see you. So they can say they've seen you. Who knows? It may well be that folk from beyond our own duchy might come to see you for themselves. I pray they do, it can only be to our benefit.”

  “I see little benefit to being paraded like a cow at market,” she'd grumbled.

  Helfred had sighed. “Majesty, the benefit is clear. If we fail in our effort to sink Mijak's warships at sea, if we are forced to confront them here, in Ethrea, every man, woman and child shall be made a soldier in your army. They'll look
to you for leadership and the saving of their lives – and I look to pave the way to their belief that you will. Once captive in the chapel, your people will have no choice but to hear my admonitions. I can quietly, discreetly, prepare them for what's to come. I can give them hope and strength and belief in God's mercy, in you , and remind them you're queen because of God's great grace.”

  The worst of it was, Helfred made sense. She'd almost heard her father's voice, whispering agreement in her ear. Was sure she could hear her brothers, sniggering. They'd always poked fun at her impatience of Church ceremony.

  “All right ,” she'd said, without any grace at all. “I'll be there, some nights.”

  And Helfred had smiled.

  So now here she sat in the front pew of Kingseat's great chapel with her husband, acutely aware of the crowded pews behind them, of the folk pressed close at the chapel's open doors, of even more residents and visitors collected in the township's streets waiting for a glimpse of their young queen as she returned from Litany to the castle.

  Helfred, in his prolate's robe of good quality but great restraint, stood in his pulpit before the Living Flame in its magnificent gold and jewel-crusted sconce. He was flanked on either side by those members of his Court Ecclesiastica not engaged on royal business, equally magnificent in their finest attire. Their presence lent weight to his youthful, deliberately unflamboyant appearance.

  Though he preaches like a man thrice his age. But then he always did, and wasn't that just one reason why he drove me to distraction?

  And still did, if she were honest. But she was able to admit – if only to herself, and grudgingly – that she needed him in this fight, the greatest fight of her life.

  Beside her, Alasdair shifted a little on the hard pew. Not looking at him, feeling her heart thud beneath her gown's ornately beautiful green velvet bodice, she slid her fingers over his and listened to Helfred's voice thunder beneath the rafters.

  “For did not Rollin himself say, in Admonitions 32, ‘Be sure you do not let down your guard, for evil flourishes in quiet places,’” he preached. “‘Its seeds take root in an untilled garden. Do not think because I bring you peace today that peace tomorrow is your portion. Peace must be husbanded, for God knows there are men of the world who see peace as an enemy to be defeated. I say again, be on your guard, for who shall know when God's peace will stand threatened?’” Hands firmly grasping the edge of his gilded wooden pulpit, Helfred swept his fierce gaze across his congregation. “Rollin wrote those words centuries ago, my children. But what is time, to the timelessness of God? We must be ever vigilant. We cannot take our island kingdom's serenity for granted.”