The Godspeaker Trilogy (158 page)

What does Han want of Zandakar that can't be talked of in daylight?

If they didn't go with Sun-dao, he'd never find out.

He looked at Zandakar. “I think we should go,” he said quietly. “Are you willing? If you're not, then we won't.”

Instead of answering, Zandakar rested his cold blue gaze on the witch-man. He'd taken off the Dev'kareshi headwrap. In the warm kitchen lamplight his blue hair glowed, so strange.

“This man. This Dexterity,” he said. His voice was harsh. “My… friend . He is good man. You say here this Dexterity safe? You say here this emperor wei harm?”

Sun-dao's dark eyes glinted with a reluctant respect. “I say.”

Zandakar nodded. “Tcha. We go.” Then he smiled, a feral, brutal baring of teeth. “Sun-dao witch-man. You lie, I kill. Zho?”

Sun-dao laughed, and clapped his hands.

A great wind sprang up. The kitchen lamps blew out. Dexterity shouted as he felt the cottage dissolve around him, as he felt his own flesh and blood stream into tatters leaving only his thoughts intact.

He couldn't tell if he was wrapped in silence or if the sound was so loud it had rendered him deaf. He was hot and cold, standing still and racing. His eyes were open but he couldn't see, as helplessly blind as a newborn kitten. Time stopped, or was sped so fast it no longer had meaning.

This is madness. Madness. Oh please, Hettie, help!

And then he was whole again, his tattered body re-formed. He could hear. He could see. He was alive, and unharmed.

“Welcome, Mister Jones,” said a cool, familiar voice.

Emperor Han. He sat upon a magnificent gold and gemstone throne that was fashioned like some amazing beast out of legend. Not a dragon, not a bird, not a lion or a gryphon, but a strange blending of these animals that defied a simple name. A beaked, maned head reared above him, the eyes great orbs of facet-cut emerald. Its claws, which formed the throne's arm-rests, were a deep purple stone. Not amethyst but something like it, with a red and violent heart. The throne rested upon a thick coiled tail of gold encrusted with diamond scales. Two scaled and feathered wings spread wide behind him.

Dexterity shuddered. It looked like a creature born of a brain-fever, or madness. Instead of answering Han he looked for Zandakar. The warrior stood an arm's length distant, just as dazed. There was no sign of Sun-dao.

“You're all right, Zandakar?”

Zandakar nodded. “ Zho . You?”

“A trifle wind-blown, but unharmed,” he said, then stared at their new surroundings. A small chamber, with lacquered pale golden wood-panelled walls and no windows. Instead it was hung with magnificent silk tapestries depicting snow-capped mountains, wooded glens, tumbling rivers and bright-plumed birds in flight. Scenes from Tzhung-tzhungchai, most like. The floor was black marble, veined in red and gold. Warm light came from scores of tapered white candles, standing tall in iron holders like soldiers on guard. The chamber's still air was gently scented, perfumed with something exotic and unknown. This must be the Tzhung ambassador's residence. Surely they'd not been whisked to Tzhung-tzhungchai…

“You are in Kingseat,” said the emperor. “Your cottage is but a long walk away.”

He cleared his throat. This was no time to show fear. “And I would've been happy to walk it, Your Imperial Majesty. Or drive my donkey cart. I'm sure there was no need for the theatrics.”

“Walking would take too long,” said Emperor Han, his mellow voice laced with amusement. “And your donkey cart is too conspicuous. The wind is swift and silent. It hides in plain sight.”

Well, all right. Enough chit-chat. “Your witch-man said you wanted a word with Zandakar? What about, Emperor Han? As I told Sun-dao—”

“Yes,” said Han. “He is under your protection.”

And how could the emperor know that? Only moments had passed since they were whisked from the kitchen…

Or is this more witch-man sorcery? Oh, Hettie. I do wish you were here.

Han's silk tunic and trousers were a vibrant lapis blue. His feet were slippered in pearl-sewn black velvet. A rubyeyed dragon ring graced one slender forefinger. He was relaxed. Urbane. A rich, powerful man in control of his emotions.

But in his dark eyes an unquiet light gleamed.

“Zandakar of Mijak,” he said, shifting his measured gaze. “Your scorpion god holds you in high esteem. Had you been revealed in my empire of Tzhung, instead of Ethrea, the carrion crows even now would be picking clean your bones.”

Dexterity looked at Zandakar, and watched a subtle change steal over him. Dressed in drab roughspun, without polish or style, still he transformed himself into a prince. Across his lean, handsome face washed haughty arrogance and pride. Since his rescue from the slave ship he had clothed himself in a wary reticence; only once, when he slaughtered the footpads in duchy Arbat, had he seemed unequivocally himself.

Then, and now. Now I believe he is a prince of Mijak. He and Han could be cut from the same cloth.

“ Chalava sees me, zho ,” said Zandakar. “What is this to you, Han of Tzhung?”

If Han resented being spoken to like an underling, his face didn't reveal it. Instead he tapped that ringed finger against his lips, considering. “Queen Rhian assures me you are dedicated to seeing the destruction of Mijak. Does she lie? Is she misled? Or does she tell the truth?”

Zandakar's face tightened, then relaxed. “Truth.”

“So you do desire your people destroyed?”

“Destroyed?” Zandakar shook his head. “ Wei . Want Mijak to hear true voice of chalava. Wei killing. Return home. Et-Raklion. Leave world at peace.”

Han drummed his fingers lightly on the arm of his throne. “Can there ever be peace with Mijak's warriors alive beneath the sun?”

Zandakar's gaze didn't falter. “ Zho .”

He said so, but was it possible? Dexterity wasn't sure. Nothing he'd learned, or been shown by Hettie, encouraged him to think Mijak could be gently persuaded to retreat.

Not while Dmitrak wields his fierce gauntlet.

“They are your people,” said Han. “I understand you'd like to think so. Alas, I think you are the one misled. But of course…” He smiled, thinly. “I could be wrong.”

Dexterity cleared his throat again, hinting. “I'm afraid I don't see what you're getting at, Emperor Han. What do you want? If you tell us plainly, without riddles, we might be able to help.”

“The uninvited man of miracles has a busy fearless tongue,” murmured Han. “He stands before queens and emperors unafraid.”

“No, sir,” he said carefully. “Not unafraid.”

In a single, sinuous move Han slid from his throne. Dexterity watched, perplexed, as the emperor approached and seized his right hand.

“Most strange,” Han whispered. “You feel like mortal flesh and blood, toymaker, yet this rough hand healed a queen's wounds. It burned without burning, and turned a man to ash. What am I to think of that, emperor of two million souls, who commands the wind and cannot raise the dead?”

Heart pounding, Dexterity stared at Han, struggling not to snatch his hand free. He could feel in the emperor a thrumming of power, a drumming of energy, that in some way he couldn't begin to understand echoed the thrumming and drumming of his own blood when he burned with miracles for God.

Emperor Han swallowed a tiny gasp. He felt it too. “Toymaker—”

“I liked it better when you called me Mister Jones,” Dexterity said, and finally pulled his hand free. Then he took a step back, just to be safe.

A thin rind of white showed around Han's dark eyes. His breathing was heavy, his nostrils flaring. “Who are you?” he asked hoarsely. “What part is yours in this business?”

“I don't know,” Dexterity said, and met Han's keen gaze without flinching. “You might not believe me, but I truly don't. I do what I'm asked by the woman I married and still love with all my heart, though she's been dead twenty years. I do it for her, and for a girl I love like a daughter. You're right. I'm a toymaker, I've no business with miracles and suchlike. Yet here I am. Here you are, a mighty emperor. And here is Zandakar, warrior prince of a foreign land. What are we to make of that? I suppose…whatever we can. Together we hope for what's best for your people, and mine and yes, even the people of Mijak. They frighten me so I can hardly spit, but I don't expect they asked to be ruled by such a brutal god.”

A shadow of puzzlement crossed Han's face. “You mean it. You have been shown the truth of Mijak and still there is compassion. Another miracle, toymaker.”

Dexterity snorted. “Emperor Han, if you tell us why Sun-dao brought us here, that will be a blessed miracle!”

The snappish comment surprised a laugh from Tzhung-tzhungchai's ruler. “So! You demand an answer.”

“I do. It's only polite. Your witch-man refused to give us any explanation.”

“He was not told to,” said Han, returning to his throne. “He was to bring Zandakar to me.”

“Yes…” Dexterity glanced at Zandakar and back again. “Emperor Han, how was that accomplished? Was it – was it sorcery ?”

“So say the ignorant,” Han replied, shrugging. “Are you ignorant, toymaker? What name do you give the power in your blood?”

“No name at all. In truth, I – I prefer not to think about it.”

Another laugh. “Then you are a fool.”

Dexterity gritted his teeth. Clearly Han was determined to run at his own pace. There was little point chivvying – he'd only slow down further.

The emperor leaned forward, his gaze now a knife-point aimed at Zandakar. “Prince of Mijak. Zandakar . What would you do to save your people from destruction?”

Zandakar met the bladed look with a steel stare of his own. “What must be done, Han chotzu .”

Slowly, Han sat back again. Let his hands relax on the arms of his magnificent, barbaric throne. “And you, Mister Jones? What would you do to save Ethrea? Protect your little queen? Rescue the suffering people of Mijak from their scorpion god?”

“Whatever I could,” he replied. “But that's not much, I'm afraid. I am just a toymaker, after all.”

But Han wasn't listening. His gaze was fixed to Zandakar, and though his face was smooth, in his dark eyes was a turmoil of emotion. “Prince of Mijak, what would you say if I told you I could send you to where your mother, Mijak's empress, and your warrior brother, now reside? If you could stand in a room with them, Zandakar, what would you say?”

Zandakar's eyes were wide. “I see Yuma? See Dmitrak? I say… stop .”

“And would they listen?”

“I think—” Zandakar hesitated. “ Zho .”

Dexterity turned on him. “No, Zandakar, they wouldn't. They won't . I know you want to think so, I know you want to fix this, but you can't. They banished you. You're dead to them. Stay dead, I beg you.”

But Zandakar shook his head. “ Zho – if I find Vortka. He is gajka . He will listen. He and I will make Yuma and Dmitrak stop Mijak.”

Han's eyes were narrowed. “You're sure of this?”

A long silence. Then Zandakar nodded. “ Zho .”

“Good. Then I will send you to Icthia.”

“I'm sorry,” said Dexterity, “but that's out of the question. Her Majesty can't have Zandakar gone for weeks on end. She relies on him.”

“It is true that for ordinary men, the journey to Icthia takes weeks,” replied Han. “But Sun-dao can shrink that time to days.”

“ Days? That's impossible!”

“Not for Sun-dao,” Han said simply. “He lives in the wind.”

Oh dear. “And when he gets there? Zandakar's not precisely inconspicuous, you know. He's not a nobody . He'll be recognised by someone, and then what? His brother's sworn to kill him! And his mother – his mother—” He had to stop for a moment before he lost his temper entirely. “It's too dangerous.”

Han's eyebrows lifted. “Dangerous? No. Sun-dao will hide Zandakar in the wind.”

Hide him in the— “And what does that mean?”

“It means he won't be seen unless he wishes to be seen.”

Dexterity didn't dare look at Zandakar. “Even so – no . It's out of the question, Emperor Han. And what's more, this entire conversation is unseemly. You've no business making such an offer without Rhian's knowledge. This clandestine behaviour is – is – it's dishonourable !”

The emperor stood, his face dark with anger. “You presume too far, toymaker!” The chamber's scented air writhed gently, hinting at storms. The candle-flames flickered, dancing shadows up the walls. “In another place, another time, your words would be an act of war.”

“Well, what you're proposing is equally provocative!” he replied. “Zandakar has sworn an oath to Her Majesty, he—”

“Dexterity. Wei ,” said Zandakar, quietly. “I decide. I am Zandakar chotzu, zho ?”

He turned. “Yes, yes, but you can't seriously be thinking to – you can't possibly – Zandakar, be sensible. Rhian will never let you go.”

“This is not the Queen of Ethrea's decision,” said Han. “If Zandakar wishes to do this, I will help him.”

“And in doing so, Emperor Han, you'll hurt Rhian terribly. Why would you do that? I thought you respected her!”

Han nodded. “I do. Mister Jones, my purpose here is not to hurt your little queen. She is a sweet child who might yet grow to fit her crown. I seek peace, not strife. I am here, in Ethrea, not in my airy palace where I long to be. But I cannot go home until Mijak is defeated.”

“Is that what the wind tells you, Emperor Han?”

“It does. And I suspect this venture is our only hope. The league of trading nations will never agree to an armada.”

“You don't know that! You have to give them time!”

“There is no more time. Mijak is coming.”

“But – but—” Dexterity turned. “Zandakar, you can't . Rhian trusts you. She – she—” Cares for you. And you care for her. You can't do this, you'll break her heart .

“He can do what he likes, toymaker,” said Emperor Han. “He is a free man. He is no slave.”

Oh be quiet, be quiet, you meddlesome man! “Of course he's a slave!” Dexterity retorted. “He's a slave to his honour!” Again he turned to Zandakar. “You've sworn an oath in blood to serve Ethrea. If you leave without telling Rhian, without asking her permission, you'll be forsworn. And if you're caught trying—” He shook his head, appalled. “There'll be no mercy, Zandakar. You'll be struck down like a froth-mouthed dog.”