The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  She dragged a sleeved forearm over her face. “I don't know what he is, Zandakar. I don't know what you are.”

  Cautiously, he sat up. “ Gajka , Rhian. Friend.”

  Instead of answering she wiped the dirt and grass from her knife and thrust it back in its sheath. “Have you heard of Tzhung-tzhungchai?”

  He shook his head. “This is land of Emperor Han?”

  “His empire. Zho .”

  “I wei hear of Tzhung-tzhungchai.”

  Her gaze slid to him, sideways. “Well, he's heard of you. And not only recently. He says there is mention of Mijak in the Imperial Library, in books written hundreds of years ago. I thought Tzhung-tzhungchai was the oldest empire in the world. Now it seems Mijak is older. Did you know that? Do you know your own history?”

  “ Wei. Wei learn history in Mijak. Learn chalava . Learn hotas . Learn to lead chotzaka .”

  “ Chotzaka ? That's your word for army?”

  He shrugged. “I think zho .”

  Pacing now, she tugged her fingers through her curling hair, grown long enough almost to be godbraided. Tiny little spiky braids, like those of a child. But she was not a child. She was a woman, with a man in her bed. She was a queen. Life and death were in her eyes.

  “Han says Mijak was once a mighty empire. And then overnight it simply…disappeared. Your people were never heard from again. Not until now. You don't know what happened?”

  “Wei. Yatzhay.”

  “Han doesn't know either.”

  Han, she called him, and yet they were not friends. Or perhaps they were and she did not wish to tell him. If he asked her he thought she would not say. So he asked another question, asked what had eaten at him in the night, in the dark.

  “Dexterity, Rhian. He lives?”

  She stopped pacing, glared down at him. “ Zho . Of course. What do you take me for?” Then she shook her head. “Zandakar, I don't wish to speak of Dexterity. He is one man. I have a kingdom to care for.”

  She had a kingdom to care for and yet she was here. He uncoiled himself from the grass to stand before her. “You come to me. Why?”

  “Some on my council say you should be put to death,” she said, fisted hands on her hips, a fighting challenge in her eyes.

  It did not surprise him. For certain Alasdair king would deal the killing blow himself. The dukes have no love for me, they would smile to see me die . Who did that leave to speak for his life? Only one he could think of. “Helfred?”

  “ Tcha , Helfred,” she said, impatience and reluctant admiration in her voice. Aieee, god, how he had missed that. “Who else is such a thorn in my side? As prolate, he says you are an instrument of God. He says God has brought you to us and God must use you as he sees fit.”

  “You say?”

  “The dukes Damwin and Kyrin refuse to accept I am their queen.”

  He knew that. The guards enjoyed gossip as much as gambling. They spoke of Rhian's coronation, of the joyful shouting in the streets. They spoke of the dukes who had been there, and the dukes who defied her, staying away. Damwin and Kyrin, who had not fallen as Marlan fell. That made the guards angry. They were simple men. They loved Rhian, their queen.

  “Rhian wei let these dukes live.”

  “Helfred travels to them tomorrow,” she said, her voice cold. “He'll take with him a letter, in which I shall command them to yield.”

  “Helfred. Then Ethrea god will smite them?”

  “Why do you say that?” she demanded. “Why do you think God must want to hurt, to kill?”

  He shrugged. “Raklion chotzu. Chalava say to him, you are Mijak chotzu. Chalava-chaka of other chotzu , they defy chalava . Nagarak chalava-chaka , he smites them for chalava .”

  “Raklion? Who—”

  “ Adda . I think you say father .”

  “Your father?”

  “Zho.”

  “So. Your father's chalava-chaka , his holy man, yes? – killed anyone who disagreed with him? And that is acceptable in Mijak?” Frowning, she shook her head. “Well, it certainly explains things.”

  Why did she not understand? “Helfred is chalava-chaka for Rhian, zho? He is chalava-chaka for Ethrea god.”

  “And so it must follow that Helfred will strike the dukes dead in God's name?”

  “Ethrea god smite Marlan.”

  He watched the memory of Ethrea's burning high godspeaker shift over her face, shadow-swift and unwelcome. “That was different,” she muttered. “I don't know what that was.” She shivered. “And where is your father in all this, Zandakar?”

  “Dead.”

  Her gaze softened. “Yatzhay.”

  “Rhian…” He wanted to touch her, to shake her until she saw he was right. “You wei let Damwin and Kyrin live.”

  She took a step back. “Truly, Zandakar, your people are barbaric. I think all you must care about is killing and blood.”

  Barbaric . He did not know that word but he could guess what it meant. Anger burned him. “Rhian stupid if she let dukes live. Arrow in the body, make poison, kill , does Rhian leave it there?”

  “You think I believe you care for me?” she said, her eyes and voice hot now. “You lied to me, Zandakar. You are in prison because of me. I would be stupid if I thought you cared!”

  He exhaled a deep and shuddering breath. “My wife Lilit, beautiful like Rhian. Hair. Eyes. She—”

  “She died, I know,” said Rhian impatiently. “Your mother killed her. It was terrible. I know. You've suffered. But—”

  “ Wei let Yuma and Dimmi hurt you, Rhian,” he said. “I see you, I see Lilit. I see Na'ha'leima. I see Targa and Zree.” His fist struck his heart. “Dead people, Rhian. Many many dead people.”

  Her eyes were full of tears. “People you killed, Zandakar. People you murdered. So much blood on your hands. Do you think I want to be like you ?”

  He did touch her then. Fingertips to her cheek snatched swiftly away. “Mijak coming, Rhian. You wei fight Mijak and dukes.”

  “I know that,” she whispered. “I'm not stupid. Why else have I come to you?”

  His heart lifted. “Rhian want Zandakar to kill dukes?”

  “ Zandakar , for the love of Rollin !” She punched him with her small, hard fist. “Wei.” Then she shook her head again. “Though you'd do it if I asked you. Strange man, you are a mystery.”

  He looked at her steadily, not quite convinced. “Rhian will fight dukes? Rhian will kill them?”

  “You doubt I can do it?” she retorted. “You doubt I can kill a man? You have a short memory, Zandakar.”

  No. His memory was as long as shadows in the desert. He wished he could forget. Wished he could touch Rhian and take away her pain. “You wei want to kill that chalava-chaka .”

  “No, I did not,” she said. “Yet Ven'Martin is dead. When I close my eyes at night his dying face is the last thing I see.” She stared at him, eyes hollow, thin lines pinched round her mouth. “What do you see, Zandakar, when you close your eyes?”

  Lilit. His butchered son. The butchered sons and daughters of the cities he had razed. That dead baby, killed by Vanikil shell-leader. In his dreams he heard it wail.

  “You see your dead too, don't you?” Rhian demanded. “They haunt you as mine haunts me. Don't try to deny it, Zandakar. I can see it in your eyes. You see them. You hear them. You're never alone.”

  He nodded, reluctant. “ Zho .”

  “Why did you stop, Zandakar?” she whispered. “Why did you turn your back on your killing god?”

  So many godmoons had waxed and waned since Na'ha'leima, sometimes he wondered if that time was a dream, if the voice in his heart had spoken at all. Vortka had not believed in it and Vortka heard the god best of any man he knew.

  “I wei turn my back on chalava ,” he said. “ Chalava say wei kill. I wei kill.”

  “Told you to stop killing and not your brother? Your mother? It makes no sense to me, Zandakar. Why would your god do that?”

  “ Wei question chalava , Rhian,” he sa
id. “ Chalava is chalava .”

  That made her stare. “You never question God? Never shake your fist at heaven and demand ‘Why me?’ Is your god so cruel, then? Does he have no mercy, no compassion, no love for those who kneel before him?”

  He could not answer. He remembered the godpool, remembered warmth and a sweet voice, heavy with sorrow as he swam in the blood.

  Zandakar, my son, my son. I am with you, though the road is long and steep and strewn with stones. All that will come to pass must come to pass. Grieve, weep, endure, surrender. I will be with you, unto the end.

  That was the voice he had heard in Na'ha'leima, the voice that urged him to kill no more. He had not heard it before the godpool, he had not heard it since leaving Na'ha'leima. Was that voice the god or was it a demon? He did not know. He was lost in Ethrea, he was too far from home. If the god was with him here he was deaf, dumb and blind to it.

  I am alone.

  Rhian still marvelled. “Not a day goes by that I don't ask God what he thinks he's doing. He hasn't answered yet. Perhaps he's hoping I'll go away, or lose my voice.”

  Aieee, tcha, these people of Ethrea with their soft god who did not smite them for their wicked tongues. When Mijak's god came for them they would burn like dry reeds in a fire. Cold in the sunlight, he looked at Rhian's lovely face.

  She will burn if I do not save her. How can I save her? I am nothing now.

  He said the only thing he could think of, the one thing she could not seem to remember. “You queen, Rhian.”

  She spared him a sour glance. “Yes, yes, for my sins I am queen. And if I hadn't sought the crown, if I'd done what Papa and Marlan wanted…” She curled her fingers round the hilt of her knife. “Ven'Martin would be living, not rotting in the ground. It doesn't matter that he was wrong in attempting my life. I pushed him to his sinful action. His death lies at my door and I have but one remedy for it, Zandakar. If his death is to mean something I must be more than a queen. I must be a great queen. I must save my kingdom from your brother and mother and bloodthirsty god. But before I can do that…” For the second time she slid her knife from its sheath and stared at its polished blade glinting in the sun. “I must save my kingdom from itself.”

  There was such pain in her face, her eyes, her voice. The knife blade trembled. “Rhian,” he said, “ you queen .”

  “I know that,” she said, her gaze still fixed on her knife. “And I remember what you told me in Old Scooton. The dukes are bad men. For Ethrea's sake I must see them thrown down or I'll be a bad queen.”

  Rhian was strong, she was a bold strong woman, but at the core of her strength beat a heart that felt so many things. He loved her for it. Would he love her if she was like the empress his mother, joyful at the thought of shedding blood?

  I think I would not.

  “Rhian has soldiers,” he said gently.

  She nodded. “Yes. But the people of those duchies have done no wrong. The dukes' soldiers are blameless too, they but follow their lords. It's the dukes who sin here, against me and my crown.”

  “You smite, zho ?”

  She glanced at him, her beautiful face grim with purpose. “ Zho .”

  He wanted to laugh, he was so pleased. “Good, Rhian.”

  “Good? Tcha !” She thrust her blade back into its sheath. “It's not, but I don't have a choice. We have a law in Ethrea. It's not been used in centuries, but it still holds. I can challenge the dukes to judicial combat and prove my right to rule on their bodies. If I defeat them, by law the matter is settled and can never be challenged again.”

  He felt his heart thud. “Dukes try to kill Rhian.”

  “Yes. Well.” She tried to smile. “It seems you've discovered the flaw in my plan.”

  “Alasdair king knows you will do this?”

  She stared at the castle walls as though she could see through them to the man she had married. “Not yet.”

  And when she told him he would not be pleased. Ethrean men did not see women as warriors.

  “Rhian is sure dukes will fight?”

  She smiled, unamused. “Pride will prevent them from declining to meet me. If they refuse, even using the excuse that no man of honour would draw steel on a woman, too many would taunt them and say they refused out of fear. Besides…” She shrugged. “These are arrogant men. It won't occur to them they could lose.”

  “Rhian could lose.”

  She shifted her gaze, her eyes bleakly upon him. “Yes. But I won't. Not with you to teach me. I need your help to prepare, Zandakar. I have no idea how to dance the hotas against men who have trained with longswords.”

  He felt the world go still and quiet. “Rhian would let Zandakar out of prison? Trust him with a blade? A sword?”

  “If I do, will you swear on Lilit's soul that you can be trusted?”

  He held out his hand. “Rhian – your blade.”

  After a moment's hesitation she gave it to him. Pushing back the stained and stinking rag of his sleeve, before she could stop him he drew the sharp knife through the meat of his forearm. Pain burned. Bright red blood welled and dripped to the ground.

  “ Zandakar !” she shouted, and snatched the knife from his fingers. “Are you mad ?”

  It was the cleanest pain he had felt for so long. He watched his blood splatter and pool on the grass. “Blood for Ethrea. Blood for Rhian.” He pressed a clenched fist hard against his heart, pumping his blood to the grass at her feet. “You trust Zandakar.”

  “I trust you're a fool ,” she retorted, pulling a kerchief from inside her leather jerkin. “I trust you're a man, and like a man you—”

  A shout, and the sound of running feet. He turned and she turned with him, her hand pressing linen against the wound in his arm. His prison guards charged towards them, Evley and the youth named Blay. Their swords glittered in the sunlight and his death was in their faces.

  Rhian stepped forward, her hands upheld. “Halt! Halt , I tell you! There's no danger here. Put up your swords and explain yourselves. Evley?”

  The guard Evley grabbed at the younger man and they stumbled to a standstill. Their swords remained unsheathed, but pointed to the grass. “Majesty, we heard you shout.”

  “And you took that as a command to interrupt my privy business?”

  The guard Evley paled. “No, Your Majesty, I—”

  “You took it upon yourself to hover in the shadows, as though I were a green girl in need of protection,” Rhian snapped. “You are presumptuous, Evley. Return to the garrison and inform Commander Idson of my displeasure. Blay!”

  The young guard flinched. “Majesty,” he whispered.

  “Run to Ursa. Tell her I'm bringing her a patient. Well, why are you still standing there? I told you to run !”

  The guards withdrew. Zandakar watched Rhian drop to the grass and wipe her knife free of his blood. When it was clean she rose to stare him coldly in the face. “Fool. How could you think I have a care for such pointless grand gestures?”

  Her accusation was more painful than the blade-cut. “I swear blood to you, Rhian. My life for your life.”

  She shoved her knife back into its sheath. “Yes. But couldn't you have sworn blood to me without bleeding?” She reached for his arm a second time. “Show me.”

  Without blood, without pain, his oath would mean nothing. To swear in blood was to swear in the heart.

  She is not Mijaki, she cannot know this.

  “It'll need stitches,” said Rhian, and roughly bound his forearm with her linen kerchief. “Come. Ursa's waiting.”

  She led him into the castle, along many corridors, past shocked staring servants who bowed their heads as he and Rhian approached, then whispered and pointed in their wake. He knew he was filthy, he knew his flesh stank. He knew to these people of Ethrea he was a strange and frightening creature. It did not matter. He was Rhian's creature while she had need of him. He was the god's creature too, though it seemed the god had no need of him at all.

  They made their way to the fa
r side of the castle, to a chamber at the end of one short corridor. The corridor's windows showed more gardens and a courtyard and a wagon unloading wooden crates and parcels wrapped in canvas. Rhian pushed the chamber's door open and swept inside. The room was small, lined with wide benches and empty shelves. Shiny metal hooks hung from beams in the ceiling. The centre space was taken up by a large wooden table. Ursa stood behind it, unpacking a crate full of stoppered clay pots. She looked up and nodded, she was not a woman intimidated by power.

  “Majesty. I got your message.” Hands on her hips, she shifted her grey gaze. “Zandakar.”

  She did not like him, it did not matter. “Ursa.”

  The physick frowned at the bloodstained linen round his arm. “I never liked knives. This is what happens when idiots play with knives.”

  “He did it on purpose,” said Rhian, and closed the chamber door. “I need him healed enough for swordplay, Ursa.”

  Ursa's eyebrows lifted, disapproving. “You've released him?”

  “Am I required to explain myself to you?” said Rhian sharply. “Stitch his wound, Ursa. Give him whatever drugs he needs so we can train in the hour before sunset.”

  “Hotas,” said Ursa. Her lips thinned, her brows lowered. “Majesty—”

  “The answer to my question, Ursa, is no ,” said Rhian. “I am not required to explain myself to you. Do as I've asked.” She turned. “Zandakar, you'll remain here until someone comes for you. When they come, obey their instructions. I'll see you again before dusk.”

  He pressed a fist to his heart. “Rhian.”

  “Well, well, well,” said Ursa as the door closed behind Rhian. Her eyes were unfriendly, there was no warmth in her. “I thought we'd seen the last of you.”

  He shrugged. “Rhian did this, I wei ask.”

  “Then Rhian's a fool, and you can tell her I said so.”

  “Ursa…” He stood adrift in the chamber as the physick rummaged in her familiar battered leather bag. The sight of it, a reminder of their days on the road, the times she had smiled at him and he had helped with her physicking, the other times she had healed him, those memories made him breathe deeply and sigh. “You live in castle?”

  She glanced up. “No. I'm appointed Rhian's royal physick, and so I must keep a chamber here and be ready should she need me. I also take care of the castle staff. But I'm keeping my old practice. Bamfield's got it well in hand, and—” She slapped a hand to the table. “And why I'm telling you this I'm sure I don't know. Give me your arm and let's get this business done with.”