The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  Beyond the basic questions of who among her subjects would best be recruited, and how they could be housed, she and Alasdair had not discussed the army in depth. Between them, he, Edward and Rudi had far more experience in the business of garrisons and soldiers than she did. Leaving those details to him had been a relief.

  And I've not discussed the army's leadership with him because I wanted the safety of the council chamber and a public declaration. Because I know my choice will hurt him. Because I'm a coward.

  Rudi cleared his throat. “I applaud your foresight, Majesty, in considering this important matter. But I'd be remiss if I didn't voice one concern. You've proven your valour. There's not a man on this council – in all of Ethrea – who'd not gladly follow you into battle. But, Majesty, we can't. You can't appoint yourself leader of Ethrea's army. Your person is too precious. If you fall, so falls the kingdom.”

  Edward banged his fist on the table. “Indeed, well said. You have dukes – or a king – who will take such a burden from your shoulders, Majesty. You must be a beacon to the people.”

  They were her two old warhorses. She smiled at them, unoffended. “I am sensible of my place in this. I'm a proud Havrell, it's true—” She spared Ludo a glance, then. “But not a foolish one, I trust. I have some ability with a knife, but that in no way equips me to train and lead an army. Indeed, gentlemen, there is only one man among us who possesses those skills. One man who has experienced war first-hand. One man who understands intimately the warriors of Mijak and will know how to counter their attack. Zandakar .”

  There was no point protesting at their protests. They were shouting so loud they'd never hear her, anyway. So she let their voices storm about her head, sat with her eyes closed and her hands loosely clasped until they pounded themselves into silence against her silence, at last. She didn't even look at Alasdair, whose replies to Ludo's agitated demands were soft, and restrained.

  I'm sorry. I'm sorry. My love, I'm so sorry.

  She opened her eyes. “My lords, this decision has nothing to do with how you are valued. I value each and every one of you, more than I can say. Only a fool would think otherwise. And only a fool would allow pride to blind him to the obvious merits of Zandakar's leadership.”

  Rudi snorted. “This has nothing to do with pride! I'm thinking of Ethrea. Leaving aside the small matter of Zandakar's loyalty—”

  “No, I won't leave it aside, Rudi! Zandakar swore an oath in blood to me!”

  “And when he had the chance to rejoin his people in Jatharuj, he didn't take it,” added Dexterity. “He returned to Ethrea. If that's not loyalty, I don't know what is.”

  With a glance at his silent, kingly cousin, Ludo cleared his throat. “I may be alone in this opinion, but I don't dispute Zandakar's loyalty. And I agree he's the only man among us with the skills to train out soldiers how to fight and kill a Mijaki warrior. But we must consider the impression this would create. To give leadership of our army to a foreigner, to the son of—”

  Rhian silenced him with a lifted hand. “Ludo – gentlemen – this complaining is a waste of our time. The truth, unpalatable as it may be, is there's not a one of you capable of leading an army to face the kind of bloodshed that's waiting for us. If I don't choose Zandakar, I'll have to find leadership amongst the trading nations. They go to war with each other as though it's a sport. The humblest sword-sharpener in Haisun's army knows more of killing warfare than every one of you combined. Can you deny it?”

  She watched her dukes look at each other, watched her arguments deflate their prideful pretensions. When her gaze touched Dexterity he nodded, so very slightly, his eyes warm with approval. A strange thing, that a toymaker unschooled in the business of warfare and politics could see so clearly where her dukes appeared blind.

  She didn't dare look at Alasdair.

  “It would be Arbenia I'd have to turn to,” she continued, driving home her merciless point. “Or Harbisland. For you can be sure they'd not accept the ascendancy of a lesser trading nation. And if I gave an Ethrean army to Han, well, we'd swiftly find ourselves facing enemies on three sides. Besides, choosing any of the great trading nations must be unacceptable. We'll use all of them when and where we can, because we need them, but they must never come to think we're in their special debt.”

  More harsh truth, just as difficult to swallow. But even as she continued to watch her dukes, she saw reluctant resignation wash away resistance. Saw them accept, if not with good grace, that they had no other choice but to support her stand.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, “you must know I don't take this decision lightly. You must know it was never my intention to make you feel slighted. What I do, I do for Ethrea. Nothing else matters.”

  “Certainly,” said Edward, grudging, “the trading nations must be kept at arm's length. And Zandakar is the best placed to understand how that heathen Mijaki horde thinks.”

  “Exactly. And to that end he'll henceforth join our council meetings which must, from now on, be councils of war.”

  “What of Hartshorn and Meercheq?” said Rudi. “They still have no dukes to govern their garrisons.”

  She hesitated, then answered. “I know. But I can't settle that question yet. If my worst fears are realised, if we find ourselves fighting Mijak on Ethrean soil, we'll not escape losses. I think it's best that I wait…”

  “And make your choices from whoever survives the carnage?” said Ludo. “Assuming, of course, that we prevail. Majesty, that is cold reasoning indeed.”

  “And doubtless unfeminine,” she snapped. “But you must admit it's practical.”

  “It is,” said Edward. “It's a good decision. Harsh, but necessary. What do these times demand if not harsh, necessary decisions?”

  God bless him. “That's all they ask of us, Edward. And I can't see but that they'll only get harsher from this point.”

  “If you're not naming the new dukes yet, Majesty,” said Adric, “who's to command those dukeless garrisons?”

  Not you, my bonny lad, so quench the gleam in your eye . “Ah,” she said. “Now that was an easy choice, one of the few.” At last, at long last, she shifted in her seat to look at Alasdair. “His Majesty, naturally. There's no man in Ethrea who enjoys my greater trust. Zandakar will answer to him for the safety and well being of our kingdom's soldiery.”

  “Of course,” said Edward, before Adric could speak. “A wise choice, Your Majesty.”

  Did Alasdair think so? His expression was smooth, his eyes held no emotion. Whatever he was feeling had been thrust deep inside. She wondered if deep inside, he were bleeding. Whether she had wounded him. Wounded them. And if she had, if they were wounds past healing.

  Will there ever come a time when I can be both wife and queen? Or was I mad even to attempt it? Was Alasdair mad, to marry me?

  “My lords,” she said, bullying her voice to remain steady, “I need you to send word to your duchy garrison commanders. Warn them that something is about to start. No details, just have them collect their men in readiness. Whoever has been granted leave, have them recalled. And be sure that the garrison smithies set to work around the clock. We must have at hand as much armour and weapons as we can forge between now and our worst fears coming true.”

  “You intend to tell the kingdom of the danger we're facing?” said Rudi, frowning.

  “Not yet. But soon. Very soon, I think.”

  A sombre hush. A frisson of fear, fleeting and cold.

  “There'll be panic,” said Edward. “I can't see how there won't be.”

  “I know,” she said, nodding. “Even with Helfred's clergy doing their best to urge calm, people will be frightened. But if we can't halt Mijak on the ocean then we will be fighting here, at home. So my soldiers and my subjects must soon begin their martial training.” She heard the tremor in her voice. “They must learn how to kill.”

  “A harsh lesson indeed,” murmured Ludo. “It breaks my heart to think of it.”

  Yours and mine, too, Ludo . Rhian
forced a confident smile. “Yes, it's a grim prospect, but let's not race towards our darkest fears quite yet. I, for one, still have hope for our armada. And on that note, gentlemen, I think we're done for the moment.”

  As her dukes stirred, and Ven'Cedwin put down his quill with a sigh, she gestured to Dexterity. He leaned close. “Tarry,” she murmured. “I'd have a private word.”

  The dukes were waiting for Alasdair to depart first. His hand resting lightly on Ludo's shoulder, his face still so well-schooled she couldn't see what he was thinking, he left the chamber without a word or a look for his queen. The others followed them out, with Ven'Cedwin hurriedly last to leave.

  “Don't fret, child,” said Dexterity, softly. “Your Alasdair's a proud young man. He's still making sense of how to be a consort king.”

  It wasn't at all the way he should address his queen in the privy council chamber, but she was too grateful for his kindness to protest. “I'm still trying to make sense of this new life,” she said, when she could trust her voice. “ Garbled sense, I begin to think.”

  Because they were alone now, his hand closed over hers. “Don't worry. He supports you, and always will.”

  Gently she eased her hand from beneath his. “Yes. Which is more than I can say for Helfred. I swear I could throttle him. Horrible, horrible little man.”

  “Oh, not quite so horrible, surely,” Dexterity protested. “On the whole I find him much improved since our time on the road.”

  Rhian stared, then burst out laughing. “Oh, Dexterity. You do cheer me up, you always have.” Then she sobered. “Will you go to him? I must have Helfred on my side, or any hope of the armada is lost. And there's no point me attempting to make him see sense. I couldn't dissuade him from trying to save his wretched uncle, and I'll not change his mind on this, either. But you might.”

  “I don't know,” he said, doubtful. “I can try. I will try. But you know Helfred.”

  “And I know you .” She managed a smile. “You're my man of miracles. Please, Dexterity. You must convince him. The fate of the kingdom might well depend on it.”

  He sighed. “Majesty, I'll do my best.”

  Dexterity had never been in the prolate's palace before. Standing in its enormous entry hall, he stared astonished at the gilded walls, the intricately mosaic-tiled floor with its depiction of martyred Rollin, the magnificent stained glass windows, the gold and jewel sconces housing the Living Flame. It didn't seem right, somehow, that this place should be more opulent, more extravagant, than Kingseat royal castle.

  Rhian is our jewel, she should be housed in such a setting, not a gaggle of venerables. Surely a house of God should be a shining example of restraint and piety and worship, not – not self-aggrandisement.

  Was it always like this, or had Marlan spent his years in office primping and preening and decorating himself?

  As he stared, his mouth open, he gradually became aware that others were staring at him. Venerables. Chaplains. Devouts. Novices. Their bustling had stopped and now they just stood there with the most extraordinary looks on their faces.

  One of the venerables approached him. “Sir, do I address Mister Jones? Mister Dexterity Jones?” He exhaled slowly. “The burning man?”

  He realised, then, that some of his unexpected audience was regarding him with fear . That they held their breaths, anticipating…what?

  That I'll burst into flames and burn the prolate's palace down around their ears?

  Oh dear. Disconcerted, he nodded. “Well, I'll admit to being Mister Jones, the toymaker. And you are—”

  “Ven'Norbert. How may I serve you?”

  “Serve me?” he said, startled. “I don't need serving, Ven'Norbert. I just need to find the prolate.”

  “His Eminence is sequestered in his privy chapel,” said the venerable. “Doubtless to deny you is a heinous sin, but His Eminence was emphatic.”

  A sin ? “Ven'Norbert, I've not come to make a spectacle of myself,” he said, his voice lowered. “Or to cause trouble. But I do need to see the prolate, on a matter of state.”

  Anguished, Ven'Norbert pulled a face. “Perhaps I should send for a member of the Court Ecclesiastica.”

  He had no time for this. Oh, Hettie. How have I become this man ? He stepped a little closer to the conflicted venerable, and lowered his voice even further. “Ven'Norbert, Blessed Rollin has sent me.”

  Ven'Norbert gasped. “Mister Jones!” He made the sign of Rollin, kissing his thumb so hard he looked in danger of breaking it. “You should have said so at once!”

  Hot with shame, Dexterity followed the white-faced venerable to the sweeping staircase, up the first flight of stairs, the second, the third. They climbed more stairs to the fourth floor, and then Ven'Norbert led him along a red-carpeted corridor, his leather sandals thumping softly. At the end of the corridor was an imposing gilded door. Ven'Norbert stopped and turned.

  “The prolate's privy chapel,” he said. “I don't dare enter, Mister Jones.”

  Dexterity nodded. “All right. Thank you. Ah – God's blessings on you, Venerable Norbert.”

  “And on you,” said Ven'Norbert, faintly. He seemed dazed.

  Dexterity opened the gilded door and entered Helfred's privy chapel.

  First, like the proletary palace, there was an opulent foyer. Mosaics, paintings, a single Living Flame, and an intricately carved and gilded wooden screen. Dexterity slipped around it, searching for Helfred.

  Rhian's unlikely prolate knelt before the Living Flame at the far end of the chapel proper, which was so opulently decorated, as to be oppressive. Hel-fred looked positively incongruous, dressed in the rough, unadorned robe of the kingdom's most humble chaplain.

  Even Ven'Norbert had looked more proletary than Helfred.

  “I can only imagine,” said Helfred, “that the palace threatens to tumble round our ears. There can be no other reason for this rude interruption when I expressly forbade—”

  “It's me, Helfred,” said Dexterity.

  Helfred slewed round, ungainly. “Mister Jones? What do you do here? Is Rhian—”

  “Naught's amiss with our queen,” he said. “Though she does fret on you.”

  Helfred grimaced. “She'd do better fretting on herself.”

  “Oh, she does that too.”

  There was a single pew in the small, exquisite chapel. He sat down, uninvited, and considered the holy flame in its sconce.

  Helfred grunted to his feet. “I suppose she sent you?” He didn't sit down. With tired eyes and a peevish expression he stood before the altar, feet wide and fists on his hips, projecting an image of authority at odds with his plain, roughspun robes. His wooden prayer beads dangled from his cord belt.

  Dexterity let his gaze roam the overwrought chapel. “How can you pray in this place, Helfred? The amount of gilt is blinding. I've a pain behind my eyes and I've sat in here scant minutes.”

  “What do you want, Dexterity? This is my privy chapel, not the high street of Kingseat township.”

  “I want to talk, Helfred.”

  “About what?”

  “It's odd, isn't it?” Dexterity mused. “Where life has brought us. I tell you, not a day goes by that I don't know whether to be humbled or horrified by all that's happened.” He pulled a face. “Though I must confess, horrified usually wins. The things we've seen, Helfred. Rollin save us, the things we've done. The choices we've made. That we're yet to make. It's all so daunting.”

  Helfred sniffed. “Rhian wants you to convince me to brush aside my qualms about Zandakar and Tzhung-tzhungchai, doesn't she? She wants me to embrace him and those witch-men like long-lost loved brothers.”

  Dexterity picked at the fraying edge of his bandage. “She didn't say that , precisely. But yes, she is worried by your sudden concerns.”

  “I am Prolate of Ethrea!” snapped Helfred. “It's my spiritual duty to be concerned!”

  “You didn't seem concerned when I burst into flames that first time,” he said, mild as milk. “As I recall, yo
u proclaimed it a miracle. A sign from God.”

  “Because it was! Do you deny it now?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you here? Why do you disturb me as I seek divine guidance?”

  “Because Rhian's right, Helfred. And you're wrong.”

  Helfred clasped his hands and began to pace before the altar, agitated and dismayed. “I don't believe so. The soul of every Ethrean must surely be perilled if we truck with heathen magics, be they wielded by Zandakar or by Han's witch-men.”

  “Helfred, God wouldn't have sent Zandakar to us, or the witch-men, if he didn't desire them to help us defeat Mijak!”

  “So you say,” said Helfred, still pacing. “But you might be mistaken. You're not a prolate, you're a toymaker.”

  Dexterity gritted his teeth. “And not so long ago you were a chaplain. I swear, you begin to sound like your uncle.”

  Helfred turned on him. “That is a dreadful thing to say!”

  “And Marlan was a dreadful thing to be. Helfred, put aside your self-consequence and listen to me. I tell you straightly, in this matter you are wrong .”

  Offended. Helfred stood there and wrestled with his pride, or his conscience, or both. At last his shoulders slumped and his fingers sought the comforting reassurance of his wooden prayer beads. “Wrong how?” he asked, grudging. “Do you care to explain?”

  Oh, Hettie. Let me be doing the right thing, please.

  “Well,” he said, “all right. But you must promise not to repeat this. I've not told anyone, not even Rhian.”

  “Really?” said Helfred, his curiosity piqued. “Why not?”

  “Hettie said I shouldn't, but I think I need to make an exception. For if you don't support Rhian, Helfred, I fear Ethrea will be doomed.”

  “Very well,” said Helfred, after a moment. “I'll not repeat it…but I'll not promise to change my mind, either.”

  Dexterity swallowed a sigh. At least Helfred was listening. “There is no God of Mijak. Zandakar's chalava doesn't exist. At least, not in the way he and the others think it does. Mijak's priests have mistaken a dark supernatural force for a deity. The blood of their sacrifices feeds it, and gives them the power to do abominable things. It also deludes them into thinking they obey their god when they conquer other nations.”