The Godspeaker Trilogy (186 page)

One by one the warships of the alliance followed the Ilda out to sea. And one by one they vanished, as Han's witch-men wrapped them in the wind.

When the last warship was taken, an uneasy silence fell. Kingseat was hushed. No-one knew what to say.

“Come,” said Rhian, dry-eyed and angry. “They have their work to do…and we have ours. Get to your chapel, Prolate. Pray that they sail home.”

Alasdair looked up as Ludo wove his way towards him along the Ilda's shifting deck. His cousin's handsome face was tinged a pale but definite green. It seemed ocean sailing failed to agree with Duke Ludo of Linfoi.

“God have mercy,” groaned Ludo, reaching him. “You're eating . Why are you eating ?”

Alasdair grinned, and took another mouthful of porridge. “Because I'm hungry,” he said, indistinctly.

“Well, stop it. It's obscene !”

Taking pity, Alasdair set the bowl aside then kicked a coil of rope towards his distressed cousin. “Here. Sit down before you fall down – or overboard. You for certain don't desire to fall overboard. Han and his witch-men won't stop to save you.”

They both looked across the Ilda 's side railing towards the nearby bow of Han's imperial Tzhung boat, where the emperor and ten of his witch-men stood in silence, their eyes closed, breathing in the salt air. Then they looked to their own bow, where stood their own three borrowed witch-men, equally silent, equally mysterious.

After yet another breathtaking dazzle through the witch-men's twilight realm, the armada was sailing normally for a time. Giving Han and his witch-men a chance to rest and replenish their strength.

Seated on the rope coil, Ludo shivered and hugged his knees. “They make my skin crawl. Do they make your skin crawl?”

Seated on his own coiled rope, Alasdair shrugged. “I'm reluctant to criticise. Without them we'd be lost.”

“Oh, I don't say we wouldn't be,” said Ludo. “I don't say we're not in Tzhung's debt until the great-great-great grandchildren of Ethrea's babes today are old and grizzled.” Another shiver. “But that doesn't mean they don't make my skin crawl. Did you ever suspect the Tzhung were capable of this?”

“No. Did you?”

Ludo gave him a look. “Don't be silly. I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Linfoian. I don't pay attention to matters barely south of our border, let alone halfway around the world.”

How typically Ludo. “Well, I suppose that's not unreasonable, considering. It's not like we ever had much to do with them at home. In all my life I caught sight of a Tzhung boat patrolling Linfoi's waters what – three times? No pirates ever think of raiding our duchy. What's there to steal? Rocks? Sheep?”

“What about when you went to court? Nobody talked of Tzhung-tzhungchai then?” Ludo managed a grin, despite his heaving belly. “Or were you too busy eyeing Rhian to pay attention?”

The Ilda was an immaculate ship. There was no useful flotsam lying about to throw at his cousin. He could throw the bowl of porridge, but that might hint at a lack of decorum. “Of course there were rumours. Whispers. Far-fetched stories. I wondered, in passing. But I was at court for the council, to speak for my father, not to waste my time with Tzhung fairy tales.”

“And now here we are in the middle of nowhere,” said Ludo, looking over the side of the boat to the empty ocean beyond. “Surrounded by witch-men with powers I can't begin to understand. Dear God. Are you certain this isn't some fever-born dream?”

“Alas.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Ludo gloomily, and lapsed into silence.

Propping his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand, Alasdair rested his gaze on the shifting, seething ocean. A light breeze half-heartedly snapped the Ilda's canvas sail. Tinkled the witch-men's windchimes. The guiding voice of their god, or so they believed. Wood creaked. Water sloshed. Everything everywhere smelled of fresh wet salt. They'd been at sea for nine days, and Ethrea was weeks behind them.

Gently, inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Rhian. How did the training of the army progress? The soldiers who had travelled to Ethrea with the trading nations' boats, how were they settling in? Did they accept her authority? Did they accept Zandakar?

Zandakar. Rhian was right not to send him with the armada. If we should fail…God forbid, if we should perish…he truly will be Ethrea's last chance. But he is Zandakar…and he loves my wife.

He didn't doubt Rhian. Would never doubt Rhian. But neither could he doubt the bond she had with Zandakar. The warrior understood her in ways he didn't. Perhaps couldn't. She had an affinity for swordplay, for the hotas , that he lacked. She could be gentle, and loving, but in her heart burned a fire that was absent in his own. When she danced with her blade she was a stranger to him.

But not Zandakar. To Zandakar her heart is as familiar as his own.

He looked up as Ludo kicked his boot. “Stop fretting, Alasdair. She has Edward and Rudi. When it comes to the army they'll not let her steer wrong. Ethrea's people adore her. Any one of them would die for her in a heartbeat. And just to make certain, Helfred and his venerables and chaplains sing her praises from the pulpit morning, noon and night. She'll come to no harm while you're gone from her side. If she does, it'll only be for worry about you. I've never seen a woman so in love, cousin. If the woman the pair of you find me – if ever you do find me one – loves me even half as much, I'll be content.”

Ludo knew him so well. “We'll find you a grand wife, Ludo,” he said gruffly. “I promise. The finest duchess Linfoi's ever seen. Excepting my mother, of course.”

Ludo grinned. “Of course.” Then his amusement faded. “How far are we from the Mijaki warships, do you think?”

“I've no idea. Doubtless Han will tell us when we sail close.”

“Doubtless,” said Ludo, suddenly glum, and shifted to stare behind them at the rest of the armada, which like themselves coasted on the trade winds as Han's witch-men rested. “I still can't believe Dalsyn and Ebrich are sailing with us. What possessed them? Surely they had some underlings they could spare?”

Alasdair considered his cousin. “You never were political, Ludo. How could they stay behind, when the Emperor of Tzhung-tzhungchai was here? Of course they came. They want to keep an eye on him. They want history to reflect that they were present at the greatest sea battle of the age, that they led their mighty nations' warships against the invading horde of Mijak. Let Han take the credit? Let him bask in the adulation of the world?” He snorted. “I hardly think so.”

“And then there's you and me,” sighed Ludo. “Well, you. Don't you find it remarkable, if not downright laughable, that Alasdair of Linfoi is the crowned King of Ethrea? Seriously, cousin. When we were newly breeched brats tumbling out of apple trees in your father's ducal orchard, did you ever imagine we would come to this?”

“What? Rhian dubbing you Your Grace, the Duke of Linfoi?” Again, Alasdair regretted the lack of something to throw. “No. Never.” And then he let his own smile die. “Ludo, it's not laughable. It's terrifying. I spend all my waking moments afraid.”

Sober silence, as they stared at each other. “I'm glad you're king,” said Ludo. “I can't think of another man more suited. I can't begin to imagine what Ethrea would be like, were Rhian married to that poor fool Rulf and Marlan ruled without a crown. That's what I find terrifying. The thought that you aren't king. And Rhian's not queen.”

The wind chimes of Tzhung tinkled again as the ocean breeze gusted more strongly. Alasdair looked to the bow, but not a witch-man stirred. The trade winds, held back for so long by Tzhung's powers, bellied the sail and drove them onward towards unsuspecting Mijak.

“Do you still chafe at the tactics devised by Han and the queen?” said Ludo.

Alasdair shrugged. “How can I? They're sensible. If we lose Tzhung's emperor in this battle we're far more likely to lose the battle soon after. It's better Han concentrates on defeating Mijak instead of merely staying alive. Besides, it appeases the pride of Arbenia and Harbisland. Let Dalsyn and Ebrich lead the charge. Their ships have the most useful weapons, after all.”

“Aside from Han's witch-men,” said Ludo. “Let's not forget them.”

“No,” he said heavily. “Indeed, let's not.”

Another sharp gust of wind. The Tzhung windchimes danced urgently. This time their echo could be heard from other ships close by.

“Do I imagine things,” said Ludo slowly, “or do those windchimes sound…different?”

Alasdair stood and looked to Han's ship. The Tzhung sailors charged with care of the boat while Han and his witch-men slept, if they were sleeping, stopped what they were doing and turned their eyes to their emperor.

“No, Ludo,” he said, as the sailors dropped to their bare knees. “I don't believe you imagine anything. I think the god of Tzhung has spoken.”

In the bow of his ship, Emperor Han opened his eyes. As though following a silent command, he and his ten witch-men spread their arms wide. Moments later the Ilda's witch-men echoed them.

“They're all waking, Alasdair,” said Ludo, staring over the side at the ships sailing to starboard. “I think we're about to ride the wind again.”

That's what the Tzhung called it. Riding the wind . Also Sleeping on God's breath . So very poetic. Were the Tzhung a poetic race? He didn't know enough to know. And if their venture ended badly, he suspected he never would.

One of the witch-men in Ilda's bow turned and nodded, almost regally. He couldn't remember the man's name. They all looked alike to him, with their long black hair and their plaited moustaches and the tattoos sleeping under their skin.

“King of Ethrea,” the witch-man said, his reedy voice accented almost beyond understanding. “We ride the wind for the last time. When next we return to the world, we shall face the might of Mijak.”

Alasdair felt his belly tighten. A shudder ran down his spine. “You're certain?”

The witch-man's eyes were tranquil. “The wind has spoken. The wind is never wrong.”

Alasdair turned to Ludo, who no longer looked greenly seasick. Now his cousin's cheeks were drained to a chalky white. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said Ludo faintly. “No. Alasdair, I'm scared.”

He gripped Ludo's shoulder. “So am I. It doesn't matter.”

The rising wind howled, then, and the Ilda's sails slapped hard against her mast. Suddenly the air seemed thicker. Less transparent.

“Here we go,” said Ludo. “Quick. We'd best get down.”

Han had told them to lie flat on their backs as the boat rode the wind. Flinging themselves to the deck, heedless of splinters, bruises and stains, they rolled onto their backs…

… and again the world disappeared in a tinkling of windchimes.

W
hen they emerged from the dreamy, drifting unreality of riding the wind, Alasdair hauled himself to his feet, fighting to clear his mind of the lingering fogginess. Blinking, he clung to the Ilda's rail and tried to make sense of where they were, and what surrounded them. He heard shouts from the other boats in the armada, heard sails and rigging slap and crack in the wind, heard the Ilda's captain, Yanson, barking orders to his men. The flagship ploughed through a deep swell, and the air was full of spray and salt.

In the distance a dark smudge blotted out the horizon, as though black ink had been poured over the ocean.

“Dear God,” said Ludo, lurching to the rail. “Is that the Mijaki fleet?”

Alasdair nodded. “I think so.”

“Then may Rollin have mercy on us,” Ludo breathed. “We'd have no hope if they were half as many. Look at them. They're legion .”

Alasdair felt his fingers tighten on the railing. “Hold your tongue. Is that any way for a duke to speak?”

He said it because he had to, but his heart echoed Ludo's despair.

Oh, Rhian. I can't believe we'll prevail here. Not even with Han's witch-men. Thank God you didn't come. Thank God it's me here, not Zandakar.

In the bow, Han's witch-men stirred. In Han's ship, alongside them, the emperor shouted something in the Tzhung tongue and his loincloth clad sailors scrambled to obey. Alasdair watched as they collapsed their sails, halting the boat's progress. He heard Captain Yanson shout, and turned to see the Ilda's crew follow suit.

Where the Tzhung emperor went, the Ilda would follow. This was Han and Rhian's plan: that he'd drop back to the middle of the armada once the enemy was sighted, and the Ilda would drop back with him to act as his eyes. Hidden and protected by so many other ships, it would surely take Mijak a long time to realise he was the witch-men's leader.

Han's boat was an easy stone's throw away from the Ilda . Like harnessed carriage horses the two ships sailed side by side, surging and curvetting on the ocean's lively waves. There was no land in sight. Alasdair had no idea where they were. He'd never been so far from Ethrea in his life.

Watching Han closely, he saw the emperor's black silk tunic was salt-stained, his unbound hair tangled and salt-crusted. His ageless face was drawn with weariness. Alasdair looked past Han to the witch-men standing with him, and then to the Ilda's witch-men, still standing in their bow. They all looked weary. As though this great feat had spent them.

And still there was a battle to come.

Feeling eyes upon him, Han turned and smiled and smoothed a hand down his long hair. Its tangles untangled so it fell sleek and glossy black once again, rippling in his witch-wind like threads of polished silk.

Alasdair frowned. Tricks. He performs tricks to divert me. He is worried, even at this distance I can feel it .

The other ships of the armada were surging past them now, riding the wind of the real world to engulf Han's boat and the Ilda . First, on both sides, were the other ships of Tzhung-tzhungchai. Laden with witch-men, with no other weapons, unadorned and simple, like the very finest blade.

After them, on the port side, came Ebrich, Count of Arbenia, with his nation's mighty catapults strapped to the deck of his blunt, aggressive flagship. Its sails were blood red, its black-and-red striped hull hung with bear skulls and halberds. The rest of his nation's fleet hunted behind him, like hounds following their pack leader. Every deck was crammed with a catapult, their sails were striped to match their master's garish hull, and their hulls were hung with the skulls of smaller creatures. It was a wonder, seeing them, that any animal breathed in Arbenia.