The Godspeaker Trilogy (123 page)

The duke nodded. “All right. I’ll hold my questions. Mr Jones, your explanation.”

Dexterity glanced at Ursa, who nodded once in support. Helfred was staring at the faded carpet. No help there. Zandakar stood in a corner, his hands clasped before him and his extraordinary eyes half closed. With them but not with them. As usual, apart.

“Go on, Dexterity,” said Rhian. Her expression was serious but her eyes were warm. “Just tell him. You’ll be fine.”

So he told his ridiculous, unbelievable story. True to his word Duke Alasdair stayed silent. When the tale was told he sat quietly behind the library’s desk, his brown eyes staring at his folded hands.

“You believe him, Rhian?” he asked at last, looking up.

“I do, Alasdair,” she said firmly.

He looked at Ursa. “And you, Madam? You believe this?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And you, Chaplain Helfred? How does the prolate’s nephew feel about this?”

“I told His Grace the truth,” said Rhian. “It was needful. Say what you like, Helfred. Let conscience be your only constraint.”

Helfred released a cautious breath. “My feelings are divided, Your Grace. To all outward appearances Mr Jones is an honest upright man, though his carelessness of scripture must be a cause for concern. I do not doubt his care for Her Highness. I do not doubt he believes what he says. Nor can I deny that some of what he says has come to pass. I am less convinced, however, that we deal with benign forces.”

Duke Alasdair nodded. “And what do you make of Zandakar?”

“What can I make of him?” said Helfred, his face pinched. “He is mysterious and dangerous, Your Grace. An unsavoury combination. To be blunt, I have deplored Princess Rhian’s easy acceptance of the man. He is a brute, from what I suspect must be a brute race. If you had seen his killing of those unfortunate men …”

“Unfortunate?” said Rhian, temper kindling. “They were footpads set on violence, Helfred! Would you rather now be lying dead in a ditch?”

“I would rather not have witnessed such a casual slaughter!” Helfred retorted. “I do not say the men shouldn’t have been stopped. But there are ways of stopping men short of death, Highness! And if, God save us, there must be death, do you call it seemly to revel in it after? And Zandakar revelled in it! You were there! You saw him! You know he did!”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Rhian, her voice tight in her throat. “You’re letting your dislike of him colour your opinion. Hardly scriptural, Chaplain. Doesn’t Rollin say in Eighth Admonitions that no man is perfect, therefore can render no perfect judgement? Or have you conveniently forgotten what transpired in the clerica?”

Helfred pushed to his feet. “You would throw the shame of Todding at me again ? When will that business be laid to rest between us, Highness?”

“I have no idea, Helfred!” said Rhian, leaping to face him. “I suggest you ask me this time next year!”

The duke sighed. “Rhian—”

“Zandakar can’t remember where he comes from!” she said, searing them all with her blazing stare. “He was sold like an animal, chained on board a stinking, filthy slave ship surrounded by disease and slow death, carried across countless leagues of ocean, and somehow, somehow, did not go mad or die. And we are told in no uncertain terms, by ways that are surely miraculous, that he is the key to Ethrea’s safety. And let us not forget he saved our lives . Would you have me throw Ethrea’s key away, would you have me question the miracle, all because he is strange to our eyes? Tell me! Would you? ”

Dexterity watched as Helfred slowly sat down. “I do not know,” the chaplain sighed. “I can only speak what is in my heart. Zandakar frightens me. I fear he is not safe.”

“Your shadow frightens you, Helfred,” said Rhian. “You must learn not to fear.”

The duke looked at Ursa. “Madam? What are your thoughts on this foreign man?”

“Contradictory,” said Ursa, after a moment. “For he’s a living contradiction. But the princess is right about one thing, at least. He surely saved our lives.”

“Do you believe him a miracle, sent to us by God?”

She frowned. “I believe God can send us miracles, Your Grace, often unawares. I don’t know if Zandakar is one. In my experience God is usually more … subtle.”

“And you, Mr Jones?” said the duke, shifting his regard. “It seems you and Zandakar are the most intricately linked. You rescued him. You nursed him to health. Who is right, here? Her Highness or the chaplain?”

“No disrespect intended, Your Grace,” he said, sitting straighter, “but I’m guided by Hettie. She says we need Zandakar. She says we’re doing God’s work.”

“I say so too,” said Rhian. “And if you oppose me …”

Dexterity held his breath. The princess and the duke were staring at each other, so many complications in their eyes. Zandakar said nothing. It seemed he was content to stand in his corner and let them argue without him.

If he even understands what we’re saying. He might not … but I think he does.

The duke drummed his fingers on the library desk, thinking, then nodded sharply. “Very well. We trust … for now. Chaplain Helfred …”

“Your Grace?” Helfred looked and sounded exhausted.

“Princess Rhian has asked me to be her king consort. I’ve accepted the honour. But without dispensation of her wardship she cannot wed. If she does not wed she cannot be queen. And if she is not queen, Ethrea falls into darkness … or so we are told. Chaplain, our fate is in your hands.”

Helfred stood. “Your Grace, I could wed you and still not save Ethrea from darkness. The prolate will not accept the marriage. He will never accept a woman as ruling queen.”

“I understand we would earn Prolate Marlan’s enmity,” said the duke. “But am I mistaken to think it would be a marriage sound in law?”

“No, Your Grace. You are not mistaken,” said Helfred heavily. “I have the power to make Princess Rhian our queen.”

“And will you do it, Helfred?” asked Rhian. “Though we share bitter memories. Though we anger each other almost beyond reason. Will you wed us for Ethrea’s sake?”

Dexterity held his breath. Oh Hettie, give him a nudge, would you? For if he says no we’re wrecked upon the rocks!

Helfred nodded. “Your Highness, I will.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T
he first dawn after they reached the home of Alasdair Linfoi, Zandakar danced his hotas alone.

After rising and dressing and going downstairs he’d waited a little time for Rhian to join him in the manor house garden. When she did not come he shrugged, and danced without her.

See me dancing with my knife for you, god. See me in your silent eye. Here am I in another strange place, surrounded by more strange people of Ethrea. Why am I here, god? What is my purpose?

The god did not answer. An empty man, he danced for no-one.

The sun climbed higher, cresting the tops of the distant trees. His hotas flowed like a river, deep and strong. He felt strong. He felt rested. Last night he’d eaten his fill of rich meat for the first time since being sent away from Mijak. He’d drunk wine with the rich meat, it was not as good as Et-Raklion wine. When the talking was over he’d been shown to a solitary room, no snoring Helfred. He’d smiled at that and slept the night through in a bed so soft it almost killed his memories of the slave ship. But only almost.

I think I will not forget that ship until I die.

After the cramped peddler’s van, his bones and muscles in the soft bed almost wept with relief. His eyes almost wept. It was good to be still. Good to be silent. Good to be apart from the others, away from tension and unhappiness and glowering Helfred.

He does not trust me. He is afraid. He should be afraid. He is a small soft man.

Hot blood pounded through his veins. He leapt, he spun, he watched the rising sun flash crimson on his knife. A straight blade, no sinuous curve, but it had killed wicked sinners just the same.

I have kept that much purpose. I slay wicked sinners.

Without Rhian to teach in the hotas he could dance much faster and harder, the way he used to dance when training with Dimmi and his warhost. When training with his mother when she could still dance. It felt good in his body to knifedance hard and fast. Sometimes he was afraid he would never be a true warrior again, after his time on the slave ship and his time in chains before that, and fever, and woundings, and so long spent in this soft green land.

Soft lands breed soft people. Mijak’s warriors will devour Ethrea. It will fall, their God will not save it.

The thought dismayed him. Was that a sin?

Tell me what you want, god. Do you want Ethrea thrown down? Am I here to help its falling? Dexterity does not think so. He thinks I am here to save his country, save his people. What do you want, god? Why am I here?

Silence. Silence. Nothing but silence.

I am tired, god. I am tired and alone. If I have no great purpose you must let me die.

Prickling skin told him someone was watching. He turned in his dancing but it was not the princess come late to her hotas . It was Alasdair duke, ruler of this land. This duchy . The duke stood in the archway leading into the gardens and watched in silence as the hotas flowed.

Dexterity had told him a duke was an important man. Below the king, the most important. So a duke was like a warlord in Mijak. But this Alasdair duke looked nothing like a warlord. He looked young and uncertain. Dexterity had told him the man had twenty-five seasons. If that was true he was the same age as Dimmi.

Aieee, the god see him. Dimmi will eat this Alasdair alive.

Dexterity had also told him Rhian loved this young, uncertain duke. He did not see that. Love was what he’d felt for Lilit, slender and beautiful in the sunshine, in his bed. Love was the light in her eyes for him, love was the painful pleasure of her touch. Love was her sweet smile, her soft laugh, her brave heart beating in time with his. That was love, he did not see it between Rhian and this duke.

A sharp pain pierced him. Aieee, Lilit. Lilit .

He stumbled, then, and missed his footing. If his mother had been here she would have shouted and slapped him. His warhost would have pointed and scoffed. Dimmi would have scoffed loudest of all.

Stupid, Zandakar. Do not be stupid. They are the dead past, do not think of them. Do not think.

His naked chest was running with sweat. His muscles ached, they begged for rest. He had danced enough. It was time to stop and bathe and eat.

And wait to be told what I can do, like a slave.

After dancing it was important to stretch, warriors must have limber muscles. So he breathed deeply and stretched and thrust the dead past behind him.

Seeing the hotas were finished, Alasdair duke stirred from the archway and came forward, slowly.

“Is it true you’ve lost your memory?”

Sweating, breathing, he pressed his forehead to his knees. “Zho.”

“And yet you recall these hotas of yours. Curious.”

He straightened. “Zho.”

The duke looked at him closely, arms folded. “A man of few words, I see. Because you don’t know them? Or because you prefer to remain unknown …”

Ah. Like Helfred, this Alasdair duke suspected him of hiding truths. Breathing lies. On the surface his voice was pleasant. Underneath, it had sharp teeth. So perhaps he was not quite as young and uncertain as he seemed.

“So …” The duke folded his arms. “You recall your hotas … and that you had a wife. She died?”

Like all the men he had seen in Ethrea, this Alasdair duke was pale of skin. He had mud eyes and mud hair. His nose was crooked, with a bump in the middle. His face was long and narrow, he had a pointed chin. His clothes were plain, there were muscles beneath them. Was he counted beautiful in this soft land? In Mijak he would not be beautiful. In Mijak he would be a slave.

He is warlord here, I must not anger him. I must not strike him. I must lie down before him like a dog. Aieee, this dog’s life, where no man lies down before me.

With a conscious effort he loosened his muscles. His blade was in his belt, he must leave it there. “ Zho . Lilit.” He felt his heart hitch. “Lilit is dead.”

Something flickered in the duke’s mud eyes. “I’m sorry.”

In his own tongue he said, “Do I care for your sorry? I think I do not.”

Alasdair duke raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t quite catch that. Your language is strange to me.”

“ Zho. Yatzhay . You want of me, duke?”

“You didn’t defend or explain yourself last night. In the library,” the duke said. “When we were talking about you to your face. Why is that? Did you not understand?”

He’d understood enough. “Zho.”

“Yes, you understood, or yes, you didn’t?”

What? “I hear words. I know Ethrean now. Some Ethrean.”

“Obviously,” said Alasdair duke. “But do you know enough to know why we were discussing you?”

“ Zho . Dexterity friend. Rhian friend. Ursa friend. Helfred wei friend.”

“Yes. That sums it up,” said the duke. “If I understand you correctly. But what about Zandakar? Is Zandakar friend?”

If he said no he was a dead man. If he said yes he’d live, for now. Yes would be a lie if the god’s purpose for him was to smite Ethrea. This Alasdair duke was looking for lies.

What do I say, god? What do you want?

Alasdair duke stepped back, his arms unfolding. “You don’t answer. That’s an answer in itself.”

Aieee! “I am friend to Rhian, duke. I am friend to Dexterity. Ursa.” And if I sin for that, god, tcha. I sin .

“I see,” said the duke. He was poised like a sandcat, ready to strike. “But not friend to Helfred?”

Helfred was a godspeaker. Helfred sensed things the others did not. Helfred was dangerous. “ Wei Helfred.”

Muscle by muscle, the duke relaxed. “Hmm. Well. If you understood what he said last night I don’t suppose I can blame you. But hear this, Zandakar. Likeable or not, Chaplain Helfred is a man of God, a guest in this duchy and under my protection. I give you fair warning: harm him at your peril. Do you understand that ?”

He nodded. “ Zho . I understand.”

“Yes.” The duke smiled thinly. “I thought you might.”

This man was a warlord. A kind of warlord. A warlord without weapons but still, he had power. I am alone. I do not need a warlord enemy . “Question, Alasdair duke.”