The Godspeaker Trilogy (172 page)

On his knees beside dead Sun-dao, Han stirred. “His words, toymaker?”

Rhian nodded as Dexterity looked to her. “Tell him.”

“He said, Blood, blood, blood in Mijak. My brothers have failed . Then he called for the emperor. And then…he died.” Dexterity shuddered. “You should know, Majesty…Mijak's empress planned on slaughtering ten thousand slaves to give her priests more power.”

“ Ten thousand ?” she whispered, appalled. “Are you sure, Dexterity?”

“That's what Vortka said, Majesty.” Dexterity shuddered again. “Terrible. And she must have done it. I think the shock of all those deaths is what finished Sun-dao. He was already so weak, you see.”

“Not even Tzhung's witch-men could stand against so much spilled blood,” said Han. His hands were in his lap. He didn't touch his brother.

“No,” she said. “Of course they couldn't, Han. The blame's not yours.” Then she looked at Dexterity. “Did you say Vortka told you? Who's Vortka?”

“The highest priest of Mijak,” said Dexterity, suddenly cautious. “Zandakar and I met with him in Jatharuj. You know, Icthia's main seaport.”

She stared. “You met – Dexterity, how is that possible? Icthia is full of Mijaki warriors, isn't it?”

“Oh yes. But Sun-dao hid us in the wind.”

More witch-man sorcery. Helfred would have a spasm when he learned of all this. If the ambassadors found out, they'd likely do worse. She raised an eyebrow at Alasdair, who offered a small shrug, then turned back to Dexterity.

“And why did you and Zandakar meet with this high priest of Mijak?”

Dexterity glanced at Zandakar. “We…hoped to convince him that Mijak was wrong. We thought if anyone could change Empress Hekat's mind about conquering the world, it would be Vortka.”

What ? She stared from Dexterity to Zandakar, whose stolid silence was starting to unnerve her. “You idiots – what were you thinking? God save us, you could've been killed .”

Still Zandakar said nothing. Dexterity sighed. “I know, Majesty,” he said. “But we thought it was worth the risk. We thought—” His gaze shifted to Han, and again she saw his smouldering anger. “We thought Emperor Han believed we had a chance to save lives. We thought that was why he was willing to risk Sun-dao in getting us to Icthia.”

We thought. Rhian felt her body tense. Every instinct was prickling and her skin crawled with foreboding. “But?” she said delicately. She didn't dare look at Han, for fear of losing her temper. “That wasn't the case?”

“No. It wasn't.”

“What went wrong, Mister Jones?”

“Answer your queen, toymaker,” said Han as Dexterity hesitated. His gaze did not lift from his dead brother's face. “The Tzhung empire wishes to know how its most revered witch-man was so grievously hurt. For it is surely possible he would not have died, if he'd been whole.”

Both Dexterity and Zandakar glared at him, openly hostile now. Dexterity took a step forward, his hands clenched. “I'm not inclined to take commands from you, Emperor Han. And I think you know why.”

“He may, but I don't,” said Rhian. “Mister Jones, enlighten me. How was Sun-dao burned?” Swift as a striking snake hota she seized Dexterity's left hand and examined it in the lamplight. It was seared, blistered and bubbled. Suspicions confirmed, she released him. “How were you burned?”

Dexterity looked to Zandakar. Something complicated passed between them. As one man they looked at Han, and this time Han did look up. The silence stretched out, full of complications…

“Ah – I thought you wanted to discuss this in the castle?” Dexterity said.

Suddenly she was angry. Frightened, and angry.

All these men with their secrets, all these wretched men. First Zandakar and Dexterity, now Han. Everywhere I turn, secrets, and yet I'm expected to prevail.

“I've changed my mind!” she snapped. “If what you wish to tell me is politically sensitive – and I just know that it is, I can see your faces, gentlemen – then what better place to discuss it than in the middle of the night, on a boat, on the ocean? It seems unlikely we'll be interrupted or overheard. Tell me what happened! Or do you long for a cell again, and a witch-man to keep you company?”

Even as she made the threat, some small part of her regretted it. Dexterity flinched, his eyes widening. Alasdair touched her arm with his fingertips, silently urging restraint.

Then Dexterity sighed. “No, Your Majesty. I'll tell you. I'm afraid there was a slight disagreement. An…altercation, if you will.”

“Why?” said Alasdair. “You were in enemy territory. Your lives were in danger. What was so important you'd risk fighting over it, and being discovered?”

Dexterity's eyes grew colder. “Emperor Han lied to us, Your Majesty. He wasn't interested in seeing Mijak change its mind. He wanted to use us to get Sun-dao close to the empress so the witch-man could murder her and Dmitrak.”

Murder? No…assassination. Rhian looked to Han. “Is this true?”

Han stared back at her, his grief-filled eyes calm. “Yes.”

“You lied to my people? You played on their sympathies, their vulnerabilities, their trust?”

“Yes,” said Han, no apology in him.

“You sent Sun-dao to Icthia so he might kill Zandakar's mother and brother?”

Han nodded. “Mijak must be stopped.”

She turned to Dexterity. “And you discovered Sun-dao's true intentions.”

“Eventually,” he said. “Thank God.”

“And you stopped him?”

He seemed surprised at her tone. “Of course we did, Your Majesty.”

Rhian stared into the night, across the endless stretch of ocean. Burning deep within her, a bright flame of fury. Then she turned and fixed Dexterity with a glare. “Mister Jones, there is no of course about it. You had no business interfering with Sun-dao.”

“Your Majesty?” he said, dumbfounded. “Surely you don't mean that. We had to stop him! When we refused to take him into the township he began raising a storm. He would've killed thousands , some of them enslaved Icthians. How can we rail against Hekat's slaughter, then turn around and slaughter thousands ourselves?”

It was a fair question, for someone who wasn't expected to save kingdoms, and countries.

You're a kind man, Dexterity. Sadly, I no longer have the luxury of kindness.

“But those enslaved Icthians died anyway, Mister Jones, didn't they?” she demanded. “And their deaths broke Han's witch-men. If you'd left Sun-dao alone it's true, he'd have killed those slaves. But Mijak's warriors would have died with them . Tell me, what do you imagine will happen when Mijak comes to Ethrea? Do you think if we ask Zandakar's mother and brother nicely to leave us be, they'll oblige? Have you forgotten Garabatsas?”

Dexterity's chin came up, his beard jutting defensively. “No! No, of course I haven't. But Zandakar had already spoken with Vortka. The priest promised to help us. Surely he deserved a chance to stop Mijak without more bloodshed.”

Kneeling with his dead brother, Emperor Han snarled. “So, Queen Rhian, this is the will of Ethrea? To talk and talk and not lift a finger against an enemy more fearsome and powerful than this world has ever known? You will not lift a finger when my witch-men offer to lay down their lives ?”

She held up a hand to Han, her gaze not leaving Dexterity's shocked face. “Why does Mijak deserve mercy, Mister Jones? What mercy did it offer Garabatsas, or Icthia, or any other conquered nation? Don't you understand ? Because you indulged your scruples, because you stopped Sun-dao, how many hundreds of thousands will perish? Will Ethrea fall? Tzhung-tzhungchai, with its millions? Arbenia? Harbisland? Barbruish, and the rest? Must everyone die because you turned squeamish?”

In the lamplight Dexterity was pale. “I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I never said I'd kill for you.”

“No!” she spat. “But you're perfectly happy to have me kill for you !”

He stepped back. “Rhian—”

“And you !” she snarled, turning on Zandakar. “Standing there silent, as though someone's cut out your tongue! Do you think I don't know why you fought with Sun-dao? Do you think I'm stupid , Zandakar? You wanted to save your mother and brother. You – you hypocrite . You sicken me. All that talk of making me a killing queen, of having to be resolute, of how accepting a crown means accepting a sword and using it, by God, to preserve my realm. And then when the chance presents itself to stop Mijak in its tracks, to end this, all you can do is think of yourself ?”

As Zandakar stared at her, his expression blank, his breathing swift, Alasdair stepped towards her, his eyes fathomed with compassion. “Rhian—”

She turned on him. “What? You're not angry about this?”

“Oh yes,” he said, so quiet. So deadly. “Majesty, I am steeped in fury.”

“ Good ,” she said, and flung round to glare again at Zandakar and Dexterity. “Tell me, gentlemen, are your memories truly so short? I killed Damwin and Kyrin ! I spitted those dukes like mad dogs and destroyed their ancient Houses. I destroyed their families' happiness and turned babies into orphans. Because I had to. Because Ethrea demanded it. Because God demanded it, so I could be queen. Do you know what that cost me? Do you know what that made me?”

“Rhian, you're not a murderer,” said Alasdair, his voice soft and careful. “Damwin and Kyrin died by judicial combat. Their blood's not on your hands.”

“Not now, no. I washed it off,” she retorted. “But they are dead because of me and no sweet mumblings from you can change that.”

It was a horrible thing to say. She watched Alasdair flinch, watched the pain of her words sharpen in his eyes. There was pain in her, too, somewhere, but she couldn't afford to indulge it. Had to hold on to her anger, let it rule her, because if she didn't she'd abandon her self-control altogether.

And these men, these men. They must never see me weak.

She looked again at Dexterity. “You say Sun-dao tried to raise a storm to scour Jatharuj?”

He nodded, then found his voice. “He didn't just try, Your Majesty. He did it.” He was looking at her as though she were a stranger, some evil changeling that had stolen his darling Rhian.

I don't care, I don't care, I don't care…

“Han,” she said, and crossed the deck to stare down at the emperor. “How is this? You told me to my face the witch-men of Tzhung lacked the power to destroy Mijak. Was that a lie?”

In a single, self-controlled movement Han rose from the deck so they were standing face-to-face. His dark eyes were furious and despairing. “You call an emperor of the Tzhung a liar? Foolish girl. I could kill you where you stand.”

“Don't bother,” she retorted, glaring, refusing to be intimidated. “It seems Mijak will do your killing for you, soon enough. But you needn't worry. You and your witch-men can blow yourselves to safety whenever you like, can't you?”

Now Han's grief for Sun-dao was burned to ashes by anger. “If Sun-dao did this thing, if he called a storm, alone, he did so out of desperation. He did so out of love for me, his emperor, knowing he would die for calling it. As so many of our wind-brothers died holding back the trade winds for you. And yet you criticise the Tzhung? You call us cowards ? Will we only be brave in your eyes when every last witch-man in the world is dead?”

Rhian held her ground, barely. “No, but—”

Han leaned towards her, his breath hot in her face. “You are mere flesh and blood, Rhian. You cannot see what we see, what we taste, what we smell, in the world beyond the world where the wind blows its witch-men. The stench of Mijak chokes every nation. It smothers, it suffocates, it turns the air to rancid blood.” He spat. “Would the Emperor of Tzhung-tzhungchai bend his knee to a girl-child of Ethrea, begging for help, if he had another choice? We do all that we can. We can do no more .”

The bitterness in his voice would curdle fresh milk. Rhian jabbed a finger in his chest. “This is your fault, not mine. You should've told me what you were planning, Han. You should've trusted me. If I'd known I would have helped and with my help perhaps Mijak would be in ruins even now, its empress dead , her son with his gauntlet of power dead , its warriors dead or at least in disarray. But no. You care more for your pride and your witch-man secrets than you do for winning this battle. So our chance – perhaps our only chance – is lost and while we float on the ocean throwing words at each other, the warships of Mijak are doubtless sailing towards us.”

“Trust?” said Han, and pointed at Sun-dao. “You speak of trust to me when my brother lies there dead and I must believe these men tell the truth of how he died? These men who will not answer you, who will not reveal how Sun-dao was burned? Your dear Mister Jones, he's the burning man of Ethrea. He burned your father's prolate. He burns for Ethrea's God.” Turning away from her, he advanced on Dexterity. “Did you burn my brother, toymaker? Did you kill him? Did you ?”

Before Dexterity could deny it, or defend himself, Zandakar stepped forward, dragged Dexterity behind him and confronted Han himself. His hand reached inside his roughspun shirt and pulled out a knife, long and thin-bladed.

“No, don't!” shouted Dexterity, fumbling at Zandakar's arm. “Don't, Zandakar, don't, you'll only make things worse!”

Shouting. Confusion. A cold wind howled round them as Han's witch-men leapt to safeguard their emperor. The boat's sail began snapping, a sinister, menacing sound. Rhian felt herself flung aside as Alasdair sought to protect her. She hit the boat's railing and fell to her knees, pain jolting through her as she struck the shifting deck. Cursing, vision blurred, she struggled back to her feet.

The night was lit with strange blue fire. It came from Zandakar's knife, streaming wildly overhead as Dexterity hung from Zandakar's arm, still shouting. Alasdair – where was Alasdair? Rollin's mercy, he'd stood himself in front of the emperor. He was trying to shield Han with his own body. You dear fool . The boat was rocking violently, the witch-men's wind whipping the waves into a frenzy.

Lurching, staggering, she threw herself between them. Now Alasdair was shouting, torn between saving Han and saving her. Time to spare his torment. In a single swift move she unsheathed the blade on her hip and danced its point to Zandakar's throat.

“You've made of me a killing queen,” she said softly, staring into his pale blue eyes. “Shall I prove how well you've taught me?”