The Godspeaker Trilogy (189 page)

“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.”

Emperor Han's eyes were half-lidded, considering. “You will not be caught. Sun-dao will see to that. Prince of Mijak, you are in exile but still, you are a prince. The warriors who will die in the coming battle are your people. Your mother and brother have led them into darkness, but you have the power to save them. To save them and your family. You have the power, but do you have the courage? Are you their chotzu in deed, as well as name?”

“Zandakar…” Dexterity whispered, but was terribly afraid he'd already lost. Emperor Han was clever. He knew exactly what to say to convince Zandakar to go.

“You are wrong in trying to stop him, toymaker,” said Han. “You said you'd do what you could to help Ethrea. This will help Ethrea more than any burning miracle.”

“You don't know that either!” he retorted. Oh, Hettie, this man . “For all you know you're sending Zandakar to his death!”

Han smiled. “The wind does not say so.”

“Oh – oh – drat you and your wretched wind!”

“Tcha, Dexterity.” Zandakar shook his head. “Han chotzu is right.” His fist struck his chest. “I am Zandakar chotzu . I know chalava's want. I must save Mijak, zho ? Yuma. Dimmi. Vortka. I must save.”

“And what am I supposed to tell Rhian?”

Zandakar pushed up his sleeve and looked at the fading pink knife-scar on his forearm. The physical reminder of his bloodsworn oath. “You say I save Ethrea, too. Zho ?”

“Oh, Zandakar …”

Perilous close to tears, aware of Han's silent scrutiny, of Zandakar's iron determination, Dexterity turned his back on both of them and pressed his hands to his face.

Oh, Hettie. Hettie. This is a nightmare. What do I do? How do I stop him? If I go back to Rhian and tell her I let him go…

He felt sick, and suddenly frightened. If Zandakar was whisked away, what would happen afterwards? Dexterity Jones would be a nuisance. A stumbling block. The emperor would have to keep him silent. Oh, Hettie!

“I want to talk this over with Zandakar,” he said abruptly, lowering his hands and turning round. “Just the two of us. Will you permit it?”

Han considered him coldly. “You wish to dissuade him?”

“I wish to be certain he's doing the right thing.”

Han stood. “Very well. But speak swiftly.”

Dexterity watched Han cross to a panel in the lacquered wall behind the throne and pass his hand across it. A hidden door slid open. The emperor stepped through it and the door closed again, sealing them within the chamber.

“ Well! ” he said as soon as they were alone. “And what do you have to say for yourself, O mighty Prince of Mijak!”

Zandakar said nothing, his gaze resting on the nearest flickering candle-flame. His face was calm, like an unstirred millpond. Only his eyes held emotion; they were bright and full of pain.

“ Zandakar ,” he persisted. “Do you really think you can convince this Vortka to then convince your mother and brother to turn tail and go home? I mean, from what you've told me of them it doesn't sound likely. It sounds most unlikely. Surely you'll end up dead…or worse!”

“ Wei ,” said Zandakar. “Vortka wei kill. Vortka gajka .”