The Godspeaker Trilogy (200 page)

Her tongue stumbled. Her heart clenched. All of a sudden it was difficult to breathe.

“I know,” said Helfred gently. “I pray for them both every hour, I promise.”

Rhian spun about and marched to the chapel's Living Flame. Stood before it, staring at its golden heart. How often had her prolate told her God holds all the answers . Well, she'd asked and she'd asked, but so far no answers were forthcoming.

“It's the not knowing I can't bear, Helfred,” she whispered, abruptly emptied of rage. She kept her back turned so he wouldn't see her face. “I just want to know where they are, one way or another.”

She'd not told him that she was sure the Tzhung had something to do with Zandakar and Dexterity. She'd not told anyone, not even Alasdair. She was frightened to think of what might happen, if her king and her privy council believed in Tzhung-tzhungchai's interference. The peace between Ethrea and the trading nations was too fragile already. One more bitter exchange would surely shatter it completely.

“What I don't understand,” said Helfred, still gentle, “is why you've so resolutely refused the council's calls for an open investigation into their whereabouts. I know you've a fondness for Zandakar, Rhian, but as a queen you don't have the luxury of personal indulgence. Stark reality now dictates you must at least entertain the idea that—”

“I heard a voice, Helfred,” she said, bracing herself for ridicule. “The night Ursa reported them missing. It told me to have faith, that I'd not been betrayed. I trusted it. I'd heard it before, and it was right. I believed – I wanted to believe – that it was right again. I thought that if I raised a public outcry over their disappearance I'd do more harm than good. I thought—” She shook her head, sighing. “It doesn't matter. I don't expect you to understand.”

A dull swishing of plain wool robes behind her as Helfred stood. “But I do understand. I once heard a voice too, Rhian. In Old Scooton. When I was praying for Ven'Martin's poor soul. It gave me the courage to face Marlan that last time.”

She turned. “You heard a voice?”

“Yes.”

“Was it – was it—” She swallowed. “Helfred, was it God?”

“To this day I don't know,” he said. “But if not God himself, then I think it was certainly godsent.”

“And you think the voice I heard was godsent, too?”

He shrugged. “What do you think?”

Rhian felt the chapel's cool air catch in her throat. Felt fresh sweat slick the skin beneath her leathers. Everything hurt. “I don't know what to think. I want to believe. I want to have faith. But why wasn't I told anything more than that? Why wasn't I told where they are, what's happened to them? How long am I expected to wait like this, not knowing?”

“I don't know,” said Helfred, troubled. “God's purposes and our own are often at odds.”

“Well, that's reassuring,” she snapped. “I feel much better now!”

Helfred frowned. “There's no need to be sarcastic. All I meant was that we're not always made privy to the intricacies of God's plan. That would be where faith comes in.”

Almost, she poked her tongue at him. “Now who's being sarcastic?”

“ Rhian —” Helfred took a deep, self-controlling breath. “I pretend no special insights, but surely Mister Jones and Zandakar must still be somewhere in Ethrea. If someone had tried to steal them away on a boat they'd have been discovered. The harbour-master and his people inspect every vessel.”

They inspected every ordinary trading vessel, yes. But she feared Han and his witch-men would laugh at anything so prosaic as an inspection. Not that she could say so to Helfred. Hoping against hope that Han truly was the friend he'd claimed to be, she'd also kept silent about his witching powers…and the longer she stayed silent the harder it became to say anything at all.

Staring again at the serene Living Flame, Rhian folded her arms and held on tight, so cold inside even though the chapel was warm. “And what if they are still somewhere in Ethrea?” she said. “Does that mean I'm not to fear for them? What else can I do but fear for them, Helfred? If God were able to banish evil from the world there'd be no Mijak, would there? There'd be no need for miracles and armadas.”

“Alas, that's true,” Helfred admitted. “Though it breaks my heart to say so.”

She shook her head. “And that's all that breaks your heart? I envy you. I'm so disheartened now I scarce know which way to turn.”

“For shame, Rhian,” he said sternly, prosing Helfred again. “I know this is hard, that in these times faith seems no more substantial than smoke. But you must believe in the rightness of your cause.”

“Really? And what does my belief achieve if nobody else believes with me? Aside from Emperor Han and poor Athnïj, no trading nation will take the threat of Mijak seriously. Nothing I say to them makes any difference, they're so meshed in their fears and suspicions, their old enmities and private dealings. I tell you, Helfred, God must've been wrong. I can't be the one to lead the fight against Mijak. Not with so little progress made.”

“No,” said Helfred, fingering his prayer beads. “God can't be wrong.”

“Oh, I think he can, Helfred,” she retorted. “Mijak is out there, like a – a – wolf concealed in the undergrowth, biding its time. And we're the unprotected sheep. Mijak can tear out Ethrea's throat whenever it likes. And I'm supposed to stop it? I'm supposed to defeat Zandakar's mother, and his brother and their thousands of warriors who've devoted their whole lives to killing? With no real army, no armada, no allies, no idea? What was God thinking , Helfred, deciding I be in charge?”

“You mustn't question God's plan, Rhian,” said Helfred, scandalised. “All things fall out as the divine will intends.”

Oh, Helfred . So pompous, so pious – she really could slap him. “Really? Is that so?” she demanded, scathing. “Well, it's nice you can think it. Forgive me if I'm less sanguine. Forgive me if my faith falters when all around me I see failure and ruin.”

“Failure and ruin?” Helfred echoed. “Rhian, that's not so. God has not deserted you, God will never desert you. He will aid you—”

“When?” she retorted. “When do you suppose God intends to show me how I can make the trading nations listen? When will he show me how I'm meant to defeat this monstrous army of warriors who might at any moment leap from concealment and tear my kingdom apart? When will he speak to the ambassadors and convince them to follow me? Tell me, Helfred, when will God take care of that?”

Rattle, rattle, rattle went Helfred's wooden prayer beads. “Rhian, remember where we are. This is God's sacred house. You must speak more temperately beneath his roof. I tell you straightly, your tone is far amiss.”

Her tone was amiss ? Dear God, it was restrained . “If I'm a trifle short-tempered, Helfred, you can put it down to lack of restful sleep. I can't pass a single night without dreaming of Mijak. What Dexterity told us of Garabatsas plays over and over in my mind, but it's not some place I've never seen before that's burning. It's Kingseat. It's Ethrea. I'm lost in my own kingdom and everywhere I look I see death and destruction. I see Alasdair and Ludo, I see you, charred to pieces. I'm wading in blood to my knees and then my hips. In the end the blood closes over my head and I'm drowning, Helfred. I'm drowning in scarlet. And while I'm drowning…while I'm dying…I hear the cries of my people, all the innocents I couldn't save .”

Trembling, close to the humiliation of tears, she pressed a hand across her mouth and turned away from Helfred's horrified stare, unable to stomach the pity in his eyes.

“Oh, Rhian,” he whispered.

She heard a softer rattle as he tucked his prayer beads into his belt. The rasp of his roughspun robe, the slap of his leather sandals on the chapel's stone floor, as he came close behind her. His hand rested on her leather-clad shoulder, lending her his strength.

If anyone had told me scant months ago that Helfred's touch could give me heart, I'd have laughed in their face.

“It's true these are bleak times, Majesty,” he said. “Times to try us to the depth of our souls. But Ethrea has stood on the brink before, and it survived.”

Spine and legs aching with the effort of not slumping to the chapel floor, Rhian shook her head. “No. This is different. Ethrea has never faced a danger like this. Nor has the world.”

“Nevertheless,” said Helfred. “It will survive. It has you.”

She shrugged his hand free of her. “Oh, Helfred, the world needs more than me! It had more than me, when it had Dexterity and – and—” Zandakar. Zandakar . “Now they're gone and it seems the world rests upon a three-legged stool with only one leg remaining. Survive, you say? How can it survive? It must tumble to destruction, surely, with only me to rest on!”

“Rhian, you sink so deep into melancholy you're blinded to those around you,” said Helfred. He sounded stern again. “You have your dukes, who support you. And God has given you Alasdair, a loving husband and worthy king, who will fight at your side till the last drop of his blood is spilled. A man of Ethrea, no heathen foreigner, who can be trusted to safeguard your crown.”

His sharp words were a rebuke. He was rebuking her, as though she'd somehow been – been unfaithful. She felt a sting of anger.

He should mind his tongue. I haven't dishonoured my marriage. I've done nothing wrong. Worrying for someone's safety is hardly a sin.

But there was no use arguing the point with Helfred. For one thing she was too weary, and for another he was proving a champion at the splitting of hairs.

“Yes, Helfred. I know. I am blessed in Alasdair, and I—”

A gust of wind. A sudden chill. Emperor Han stood in the chapel.

“ God have mercy !” Helfred gasped.

Han looked dreadful. As though the lightest blow from a feather would shatter his bones. Dark eyes sunken, long black hair disordered, green silk tunic crumpled. He looked like a sick vagabond, not the supreme ruler of millions.

“My witch-men are broken, Majesty.” His voice was faint, as though speaking taxed him to his limits. “The trade winds return.”

“Rhian, what is this ?” demanded Helfred. “Where did he – how did he – and why aren't you surprised ?”

“Oh, hush a moment, Helfred,” she said impatiently. “Can't you see the emperor's distressed?”

Going to Han, she took him by the elbow and guided him to the nearest pew. Helped him to sit down. He seemed hardly aware that she touched him, that he moved. Even through his silk sleeve she could feel the heat in him, as though a bonfire burned beneath his skin.

Just when I thought our fortunes had ebbed to their lowest…

She dropped to a crouch, leathers creaking, and looked up into the emperor's drawn face. “What do you mean broken, Han? Not – not dead ?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes glazed. Almost confused. “Many are dead, yes. Many more are sundered. They are scattered on the wind. Lost…lost…”

“These are dreadful tidings, Han,” she said, closing her hand over his. His fingers were lax beneath hers, as though he couldn't feel her touch. “You have my sorrow, and the sorrow of Ethrea.”

Still he seemed dazed. He seemed not like an emperor, but like any grieving ordinary man. “Sun-dao,” he whispered, shuddering, staring at the floor. “Sun-dao.”

She felt a chill rush through her. “He's dead?”

Han lifted his gaze. The pain in his eyes was searing. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “He was my brother.”

What ? “I'm sorry, Han. I had no idea.”

Stirring, he pulled his hand from beneath hers. “The secrets of Tzhung are not for the world.”

“How many more of your witch-men have died, Han?” How many allies had she lost, that she could not afford?

“Over one hundred,” he said, his drawn face twisted with pain. “We are growing too few…”

We ? She exchanged a glance with Helfred, who was almost dancing in his eagerness to pepper her and the emperor with questions. A sharply raised finger warned him to hold his tongue.

“So, I was right,” she said quietly. “You are a witch-man.”

Han's eyes gleamed as his gaze shifted to Helfred. “It is a Tzhung secret. I am weary. My witch-senses are blunt. I would not have walked in the wind to you if I had felt the presence of your—”

She closed her hand on his again. “Helfred won't say a word, Han. I promise.” She glared sideways. “ Will you, Helfred?”

Helfred looked displeased. “Majesty—”

“Rulers have secrets, Prolate, which they must keep for the good of the realm. Sometimes rulers keep each other's secrets.”

“Yes, but—”

“And as prolate, I imagine you keep secrets from your most venerables of the Ecclesiastica.”

She knew very well that he did. And he knew that she knew – and what they were. Fingers tight around his prayer beads, he nodded. “Very well,” he said, grudging. “The emperor's secret is safe with me.”

“Good.”

“Provided the keeping of it does not endanger Ethrea.”

Oh, Helfred. Stop trying to have the last word . “Of course, Prolate. I've not quite lost my wits yet.” Turning back to Han, she unfolded from her crouch. “Tell me what I need to know, Han. You say the trade winds return? That means—”

Han nodded. “Yes. Mijak will come.”

She felt her blood leap, her heart thud. “Why did you and your witch-men break, Han? Why did Sun-dao and the others die?”

His drooping eyelids widened, as though he looked upon a scene of horror. “Mijak spilled so much human blood,” he whispered. “Their priests' dark power rose like a tide, sweeping us before it. We tried to stop them but their evil drowned us. Sun-dao—”

His voice broke on the name, tears flooding his eyes. Rhian found it deeply unsettling, to see the Emperor of Tzhung so distraught. If a man so urbane, so experienced, so – so imperial could be brought low by Mijak—

Rollin give me strength. How will I stand?

Han stared up at her. “Rhian, the trade winds blow against us. There is no more time for Arbenia and Harbisland and the rest to play their games.” With a grunting effort he stood, and smoothed his rumpled silk tunic. Then his fingers closed hard around her wrist. “We must go.”

“Unhand the queen, Emperor Han,” Helfred commanded. “You forget yourself, sir.”

Rhian silenced him with a look. “Han,” she said quietly, not pulling herself free. “What do you need of me? Where must we go?”