The Godspeaker Trilogy (54 page)

As he neared the barracks he saw a familiar figure walking towards him in the godmoon’s half-light.

Aieee. Hekat. She said she would find me . . .

She saw him. She stopped. She said, “We must talk together, Vortka.”

He cast an anguished look up and down the road but, for the moment at least, they were alone. “Hekat, we cannot,” he whispered, as though Nagarak might hear him. “The high godspeaker forbids me your company, I will be thrown down if I disobey.”

“Nagarak forbids you?” she said, disgusted. “Tcha! What is Nagarak to us, the god sees us in its eye.”

“Hekat. I cannot thwart the high godspeaker. I serve in his godhouse, I answer to him. He tested me for demon-taint , he knows I hide something. I must take care, would you have me discovered?”

She folded her arms, she still wore her dusty linen tunic. “Nagarak knows nothing, he is a stupid man.”

Aieee, she was stubborn, she thought no man could touch her. “You have seen Zandakar?”

“I have seen him.”

He smiled, he could not help it. “I told you he was healed, and whole.”

“Yes. You told me.” In the half-strength moonlight her face was cold and hard. After a moment, it softened slightly. “You are very thin. Have you been ill?”

“A fever. I am better. Hekat,” he said, though he was foolish to keep on talking, “what has happened to Hanochek?”

Her teeth shone, she was smiling. Vortka felt his flesh crawl. “Hanochek is an unknown man. Never speak his name again.”

Unknown? What was that, some obscure warrior ritual? “Hanochek lives? You did not kill him?”

“You think I should have killed him?” She pulled a face. “Vortka, I wanted to.”

“No! I am glad he lives! What happened to Zandakar was not Hanochek’s—”

“ Do not defend him!” She had her fingers on her snakeblade, her fury was so fierce he thought it might scorch him. “Or I will smite you, there will be no need for Nagarak!”

“I am sorry,” he said, stepping back. “I will not speak of him again.”

She took a deep breath and leashed her temper. “The large crystal, Vortka. The one you buried beyond the city. Did you fetch it while I was gone to Mijak’s Heart? Is it hidden in my palace garden?”

“No,” he said. “I—”

“ No ?” she echoed, and her rage again unleashed. “Did I not tell you—”

“It was not safe!” he protested. “I retrieved it from the woods but I did not dare risk the palace. Hekat, I do not walk in the god’s eye as easily as you. Only with you do I trust myself fully hidden. The crystal is buried in the godhouse shrine garden, no demon can touch it there. And Nagarak says he desires me within his reach, only the god knows if or when he will send me from Et-Raklion. I will guard the crystal, Hekat. I will keep it safe for Zandakar.”

She released a hard breath. “You are the god’s chosen. If you say it is safe I must believe you.” Her hand brushed her breast beneath its covering of linen, and some memory shifted behind her eyes. “But if Nagarak should decide to send you from his godhouse—”

“Yes. Then I will make sure it is left in your safekeeping. I promise, Hekat. I want that weapon for Zandakar as much as you do.”

“ Zandakar . . .” she whispered. “Aieee, Vortka. He nearly died.”

There were tears in her voice, he would not say so. “I know,” he said. “But he did not.”

She nodded slowly, her face was so troubled. “No. He did not.”

He longed to hold her. Comfort her. Kiss her. I cannot touch her. She would not let me . He said, “Tell me quickly, what happened at Mijak’s Heart? What happened to the warlord, did the god smite him?”

“No, of course not. Stupid Vortka. The god has thrown down those sinning warlords, they knelt before me on the ground.”

“But Raklion—”

“Was injured, he is not dead. He will see Mijak united, he will make of it a gift for my son. That is his purpose, he is not finished yet.”

She had fed his curiosity, not sated it. There was no time to ask her more. No time to ask her about his strange fever. Do I really want to? I did not die, do I need to know more? I do not think so. My fever is passed, let it stay behind me .

He was being a coward, he knew it, he did not care. If the god wanted him to know more, the god would tell him. I will leave that decision to the god . He looked towards the distant godhouse, shadowy figures were approaching. “Hekat, I must go, I am expected in the city. I am tasked to keep the god’s peace in the quiet time. I do not know when or how we will speak again. I have told you Nagarak’s edict, I must obey him. To disobey the high godspeaker is unwise, and unsafe.”

“Yes. Go,” she said. She seemed distracted, her eyes were still troubled. “You are expected in the city, I must see Raklion and consult with Nagarak. If the god desires us to speak again it will make that possible. The god see you, Vortka.”

“The god see you, Hekat.”

They walked swiftly away from each other. Despite his misgivings, he tried not to care.

“Well, Nagarak?” said Raklion faintly. “Does the god say I will recover my strength?”

Nagarak looked up from the healing chamber’s red-spattered altar, where he read the omens in a dead dove’s blood. After his confrontation with sinful Hanochek, Raklion had all but collapsed. He had been so weak a healing had been too much for him, he was put to bed and allowed to sleep for a time. Woken now, with some vitality restored, he had tolerated his high godspeaker’s godstone and the god’s power pouring into his faltering flesh. Nagarak was relieved, he had never seen Raklion laid so low.

He said, “The knife struck you deeply, warlord, in many vital places. You will recover, but not completely. Your strength will never fully return. You are Mijak’s warlord, that is your purpose, you must live carefully if you would live long.”

Raklion sagged on the low couch, his scarred, naked body full of bones. “I see.”

Nagarak watched him in silence, noting the carved lines of pain in his face, the empty places beneath his skin where his flesh had melted as they rode home to Et-Raklion. “Raklion,” he said sternly, “you must not despair. If the god desired you dead, you would be dead. The god does not desire that.”

Raklion smiled. “No. It gave me Hekat, to save my life not once but twice.”

Hekat . Nagarak felt his mouth shrivel. “The god has many instruments, do not place more faith in this one than in that.”

“She is beautiful, she is precious. She is the god’s gift, Nagarak,” said Raklion, frowning. “Do not seek to harm her, you will displease the god. She is the god’s warrior, she dances in its eye. Until I am myself again her words are my words. I am Mijak’s warlord, that is my want.”

Nagarak said nothing, what could he say? Where Hekat was concerned the warlord was blinded, he thought with his male parts, his tongue was in his heart. He sluiced his hands clean of blood in a basin of water and dried them on a towel.

Raklion said, “Nagarak. Why did you not warn me that Banotaj had a weapon?”

Nagarak did not look at him, he cleaned his sacrifice knife instead. He could feel his heartbeat in his stone scorpion pectoral. “Like his father before him, Banotaj was a man who danced with demons. Demons live to thwart the god. That is their purpose, they sometimes succeed. The god has its vengeance, Banotaj is dead.”

“Because of Hekat,” said Raklion. He did not sound appeased. “If she had not insisted, if I had listened to you, Hekat would not have stood with us in Mijak’s Heart. Banotaj would have killed me. Do you deny this? Do you still deny her ?”

Aieee, the god see him. How much simpler his life without that knife-dancer in it. Nagarak dried his knife and sheathed it on his belt. “Be warned, warlord. You are a man, you cannot say what would or would not have happened. Hekat was there, the god made use of her. If she had stayed in her place it would have used another instrument.”

“You say,” said Raklion. “I tell you, Nagarak. I am not so sure.”

Nagarak felt his fingers clench. Who was Raklion, a mere warlord, to question him in that tone? If the man were not so recently wounded he would make him dearly repent those words.

Am I not Nagarak high godspeaker, smiter of sinners, smiter of high godspeakers in the god’s wrathful eye?

The memory of that moment, when his stone pectoral had turned to living scorpion, when the god’s power had thundered through him with a fury never known, that memory lingered yet. In his cold blood, a hot thread of that power.

He let it echo in his voice. “Warlord, you do not need to be sure. I am high godspeaker, I am sure, I—”

The healing chamber’s door swung open, it was a novice with suitably downcast eyes. “Forgive me, high godspeaker. Hekat warleader says she will see the warlord.”

Curse the woman, god, send her godspark to hell . “The warlord is resting. She may return after newsun.”

“No,” said Raklion. “She has come, I will see her.”

Nagarak turned. “Warlord—”

“You tell me I am not dead or dying? I will see her . Do not deny me, this is warlord business!”

Nagarak nodded to the novice, then looked at Raklion. “You are warlord of Mijak, with a warlord’s authority. That is the god’s will, I say nothing to that. But this is my godhouse, Raklion, I am its warlord. Do not raise your voice to me here, or think to command me like one of your warriors. No man sits above the scorpion wheel, I will see you on it and weeping for the god if once more you disrespect the god’s warlord within these walls.”

In Raklion’s wasted face, a tumult of feeling. “Forgive me,” he said, through teeth clenched tight. “As you say, I am warlord. My brain is filled with warlord thoughts, my journey has begun, it is not ended. It—”

“High godspeaker,” said the novice from the doorway. “Here is Hekat warleader, to see the warlord.”

Nagarak glared at her, she was a plague in his heart. She returned his stare calmly, she had no shame. “He is weary, warleader,” he said. “You will not tire him. Stay a short time only, I will know if you linger. I must commune with the god now. After newsun sacrifice we will speak of other matters. Come to me then, I will not see you before.”

That did not please her, anger flickered in her face. She was a proud, haughty woman too used to having her own way. Raklion had spoiled her, it was a great pity.

Reluctantly, she nodded. “High godspeaker.”

Raklion was smiling, his eyes shone to see her. “Thank you for your care of me, Nagarak. I am grateful, I will remember your words.”

Nagarak closed the chamber door behind him. He stalked through the godhouse, godspeakers scattering before him.

As the god is my witness I will bring that bitch down. She has given us Zandakar, she saved Raklion in the crater. Let that be her legacy. Let her now rot.

Raklion held out his thin hand, he did not rise from his bed. “Hekat. Beloved. Come, sit beside me.”

Pushing aside her hatred of Nagarak, she crossed to the low stool placed near to Raklion’s pillows and sat. He looked ancient and wasted, his silver godbraids had no life. “Warlord.”

“Hekat . . .” Smiling, he stroked her scarred cheek. “Will you dress yourself in nothing but plain linen? What must I do, what can I say, that will convince you to dress in silk and wool and golden jewelry! You are Hekat, you are beautiful. You are beautiful and mine.”

She shook her head. “I am Hekat, the god’s knife-dancer. I have no need for silk and bangles. My snakeblade is my jewelry, my beauty is the dance.”

“You are Hekat, slayer of two warlords,” he said, easing himself beneath his blankets. “You will sit at my right hand as I reshape Mijak. The other warlords will quail before me, for you are the snakeblade in my fist.”

“What other warlords?” she asked him, smiling. “Those sinning men, are they not thrown down in the dirt?”

He laughed, it was a sickly sound. “Yes. They are thrown down. Together you and I will see they stay down, or die.” He sobered. “I see in your face how changed I appear. Do not fret, beloved. Nagarak promises I will be myself again in time.”

Nagarak was lying, did he know it or was he blind? Raklion was ruined, he would never be the same. She would not say so, she had need of him yet. “It pleases me to hear it, warlord. And until then you will trust me as your voice? You will trust me to continue what the god began at the Heart of Mijak? The warlords are chastened now, Raklion, but if they are not beaten to the ground and their warhosts taken from them, their godhouses taken from them, everything that made them warlords, if it is not all taken from them soon they will rise to their knees and then to their feet. They will turn to demons and abandon the god.”

The chamber was lit with a handful of candles. In the soft light she watched him smile again. “Aieee, my knife-dancer. So savage for the god, so savage for me.”

I am savage for Zandakar, he will not inherit chaos . “I am the god’s servant, Raklion. I do not rest until its will is done.”

“I know. You are fearless.” His words were slurred, his gaze unfocused. “I trust you, Hekat. You speak with my voice. Together you and Nagarak will subdue the warlords. You will take from them what they must lose. You will continue what the god began at the Heart of Mijak. And when I am myself again, I will finish it.”

“You honor me, warlord. I am humbled in your eye.”

“Tcha,” he said. “Will I forget how you saved me from Bajadek and his son? My life and Zandakar, you have gifted me with both. I do not forget it, you are Mijak’s first woman. All other women are beneath you.”

She touched his wrist. “Where I am, warlord, the god has placed me. If I have saved you, you also saved me. You did not return me to Abajai and Yagji, or give me to Nagarak for killing on a godpost.”

“The god would not let me,” said Raklion. “It meant you for my warlord bed.”

That is the least thing I am meant for . “You are the warlord. You know the god’s want.”

He nodded, slowly. “When I am well again I will ride with my warhost through the streets of Et-Raklion. You will ride at my right hand, you and Zandakar. The people will see my son beside me, they will see you, his mother, the warhost’s warleader with my heart in your hands.”

She smiled to think of it. “Godspeakers will stand on every street corner. The word will ring out with godbells of the god’s desire. One Mijak. One warlord.”