The Godspeaker Trilogy (44 page)

Raklion slid between two laughing warriors, held his finger to his lips so they would not betray his presence. He did not wish to distract his son.

Zandakar danced like his beautiful mother, he was light on the green grass, he leapt without weight. Hano was strict with him, he did not make exceptions for Zandakar’s age or his father. Twice Zandakar misjudged Hano’s movements, once he went sprawling hard on the ground when Hano caught him a sharp blow on the rump. Below his blinded eyes Zandakar’s face twisted with anger, he spat out a curse and bounced to his feet.

“Again, warleader! Come at me again!”

Aieee, he was a brave boy, he was a warrior bred in the bone. Raklion held his breath as his small son flew at Hanochek, tapping him smartly with his blunted blade, he did not make a single mistake. He caught Hano in all his vulnerable places, his belly, his hamstring, the soft inner elbow. Hano dropped to his knees, crying surrender.

“You defeat me, I am beaten, see me cowed before you!” he declared.

Zandakar tore off his blindfold, laughing. “I have beaten the warleader! I am Zandakar the mighty!”

Hano snatched him into a crushing embrace, saluting his grimy cheek with a kiss. “Yes, you are mighty! I am defeated by a mighty warrior!” Standing easily, sweeping Zandakar up and over and onto his feet, his head turned. “Warlord!”

Raklion came forward. “Hanochek warleader, I see you train a mighty warrior.”

Zandakar pulled himself to attention, he bowed his head and pressed his fist to his heart. “Warlord.”

He returned the salute with a small ache in his heart. He was always the warlord. Hekat was Yuma , he was never Adda . Hekat knew it bothered him, she called him stupid. He will be the warlord, he shows you respect. You fret because he respects you? How foolish are men . She was right, of course. She was always right.

Reading him as he always did, Hanochek dismissed the watching warriors with a gesture and stood with his hand on Zandakar’s shoulder. “You need me?”

“Where is Hekat?”

“She trains with the new recruits on the horse-field, warlord. Shall I send a—”

He shook his head. “No. It is you I need.” But it was better that Hekat was safely somewhere else. Her voice added to his would not make this easier. “Zandakar, lowsun approaches. Return to the palace, bathe and don clean clothes. We attend special sacrifice in the godhouse this night.”

“Special sacrifice?” said Hano, as Zandakar departed. “What do you pray for, Raklion?” Then his face changed. “Aieee . . . it is time, warlord? It is time to take Mijak in your fist?”

Raklion cast a swift look around them, they were alone but even so. “Not here,” he said sharply. “Walk with me, Hano.”

On the far side of the warhost field grew an expanse of woodland, where warriors practiced stealth among the trees. It was quiet, private, they could talk in that place undisturbed. Raklion led Hanochek there, and when they were swallowed by leaves and shadows he stopped.

His warleader eyed him warily. “You are making me nervous. Whatever you must say, I wish you would say it.”

Hano was not the only man with sweaty palms. “You are right, my friend. The god’s time is come. Five highsuns from now, at the next fat godmoon, it sends me to Mijak’s Heart to change the face of Mijak forever. The warlords are called to meet me there with their high godspeakers in attendance, so they might learn their fate: to kneel before me in submission, to lose their autonomy, to be cast down.”

“Tcha!” said Hano. “They will not be pleased to hear that news.” He frowned. “Are you certain you must tell them at Mijak’s Heart? If you tell them elsewhere, if you summon them to Et-Raklion and meet them with every warrior in your warhost—”

Raklion shook his head, his godbells sang. “This is not warlord’s business, Hano. This is the god’s will, it is given through Nagarak, the god’s voice in the world. They can be told nowhere but in the Heart of Mijak.”

Hano did not like to hear it, but he swallowed his protest. “You are permitted to take ten warriors, that is true?”

“Yes. It is true.”

“Have you chosen who will ride with us, or do we meet now to—”

“Hano.” He lowered his hand, it hurt to breathe. “We meet so I might tell you of the god’s desire, and also that you will not ride with me to Mijak’s Heart.”

“ Not ride . . .” Hano was puzzled. “Raklion, you cannot ride to tell the warlords such a thing without a sharp blade at your side, you—”

“I will have a sharp blade, Hano. I will have Hekat.”

Hano’s face stilled, like a lake unstirred by any breeze. In the woodland’s hush his breathing was loud, almost labored. “Hekat is not your warleader, warlord. I am your warleader, the snakeblade at your side.”

Aieee, god, the pain in him. He and Hekat were not easy together. It was a grief to him, he could not change their hearts. “She is more important than my warleader,” he said gently. “She is Zandakar’s mother. After me he will be the warlord of Mijak, greater than any warlord in our history. The god has said so, and I know it in my heart. Hekat is a part of this, she must be witnessed by the other warlords, they must see her beside me and know she is chosen by the god as the mother of my living son who will be warlord after I am dead. The god desires I heal bleeding Mijak and lead it kindly into peace, to make of it a gift for Zandakar. I will do that, you will help me. In truth, I will not do it without you. But for the throwing down of the warlords, there I must have Hekat. I am sorry, Hano. This is not my will, but the will of the god.”

“She tells you that?” Hano demanded, vicious. “Is this her doing?”

“Hano, Hano . . .” He took his warleader’s shoulders in a biting grip. “Would you have me choose between my knife-brother and my son’s godchosen mother? Are you so cruel? Is your heart so small?”

Hano tensed, he did not pull away. “This is not about my heart, Raklion. I think only of you, and keeping you safe. The warlords will not greet your message with a smile, they will foam at the mouth, they will spit on you in fury. The warlords know me, seasons of fighting have burned my name into their flesh. When they see me beside you they will know better than to challenge your might.”

“They will know not to challenge when they see Nagarak,” he said. “And when they see Hekat, Bajadek’s doom.”

Now Hano did pull away, he thudded his fist into a tree. “ Raklion —”

“I will be safe in the Heart of Mijak, Hano,” he said. “That place is sacred, there can be no bloodshed there. Not even a warlord as hungry as Banotaj, as angry as Tebek, would dare thwart the god’s will in that place.”

“I think the warlords would dare anything if they think their days of power are come to an end!”

Raklion stepped back, he stiffened his spine. “Hanochek, you risk the god’s wrath. It has chosen me, I am in its eye. No harm can come to me in the Heart of Mijak. Nagarak will be with me, he too is the god’s chosen. He will be high godspeaker of Mijak.”

Hano’s eyes were bright. “I am sorry, Raklion. I do not mean to doubt the god, or you.” He heaved a sigh. “Aieee, my warlord, the warlord of Mijak. What a thing that is. How deep are you in the god’s great eye.”

“So deep I think I cannot see,” he confessed. “If I tell you I am afraid, Hano, will I seem less than a man to you?”

“You are the greatest man I have ever known!” said Hano, swiftly. “And while you are with the god in the Heart of Mijak I will be here in Et-Raklion, warlord, I will guard your city and your warhost. I will guard your son, he will live in my eye.”

Raklion embraced him. “I trust Zandakar with you as I trust him to no other, not Nagarak himself. Hano, if I were free to choose you would ride with me. You know that. You must.”

“I know it,” Hano whispered.

Raklion swallowed. “If you love me, Hano, never tell Nagarak what I said about not trusting him with Zandakar.”

Hano eased free, and took a step back to look at him. “I keep your secrets, Raklion. You know how well I keep them.”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “I do.”

“Have you chosen the other warriors you wish to ride with you to Mijak’s Heart?”

“Not yet. I thought perhaps we could choose them now.”

Hano nodded. “As the warlord desires.”

“Then let us go to the warlodge, we can take our ease with mugs of ale and choose who is most worthy of the honor.”

“Tcha!” said Hano, and fell into step beside him. “Worthiness is a thing for godspeakers to decide. You should be concerned for the speed of their kills!”

It was the kind of bold thing Hekat might say. Raklion laughed, and nodded, and let his hand fall on Hano’s shoulder.

My friend, my friend. I would be lost without you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

S
o, Vortka,” said Brikin novice-master. “You are returned from the wilderness, a tested godspeaker.”

Exhausted, filthy, scoured hollow with hunger, Vortka nodded. “Yes. What should I do now? Should I clean myself and attend a sacrifice or go to the high godspeaker as I am?”

It was a finger after highsun. They stood in the godhouse vegetable garden, where Brikin supervised a new crop of novices, most of whom hardly knew one end of a hoe from the other. As he waited for Brikin to advise him, despite his weariness and discomfort Vortka released a rueful smile. He was tested in the wilderness, transformed by the god and its infinite mysteries, yet part of him still felt like a novice, felt he could easily join the young men and women on their bare knees in the dirt as they grubbed up weeds and wondered why the god had called them for this.

Brikin said, “Nagarak high godspeaker is not free to see you. At newsun he rides with the warlord to Mijak’s Heart. He is secluded till then, seeking guidance in the godpool.”

Vortka felt his heart thump, hard. “Novice-master?”

“The god has chosen us for great things, Vortka,” said Brikin, smiling fiercely. “In time you will be told what you must know of them. Until then, go about your business. Bathe, godspeaker. Attend sacrifice, and eat. The god is not served if you fall stinking and starved on the godhouse floor. Nagarak will see you upon his return.”

Bathe, godspeaker . Vortka felt a surge of warmth. He was tested, he was returned, he had earned the right to be called godspeaker . He did not show his pleasure to the novice-master, such feelings of pride were strictly frowned upon. Instead he looked down at his unfortunate attire, leggings too short for him, a threadbare sleeveless vest. “Brikin, I have no clothing but what I was given by villagers upon the road.”

Brikin snorted. “See Oolikai provisioner on your way to the bath-house, he will give you a godspeaker robe and what else you may require. Once you are presentable and not likely to collapse, report to Peklia in the Sacrifice chamber. You must receive your sacrifice blade and make your first sacrifice under her exacting eye.”

And then what? What did the god expect of him then? He had asked, it had not answered.

“Brikin—”

But Brikin was no longer paying attention, he had noticed a sin in the vegetable garden. Leaping on the sinner he cuffed her smartly on the back of the head. “That is not a weed , fool, that is a seedling ! Do you desire your fellow novices to starve to death? Ten stripes in the tasking house for not paying attention! Go now! Run! Come back when you are smitten and can tell the difference between liver -rot and car -rot!”

Fighting tears, the sinning novice ran. Brikin continued to rant at his charges, Vortka withdrew quietly and presented himself to the godhouse provisioner, who made no comment on his newly won status, just handed him a robe, new sandals and an untied loincloth.

The bath-house water was hot and welcome. He eased himself into the communal stone tub and let the dirt and dried blood soak free of his weathered skin. The several godspeakers bathing at the same time nodded politely, they did not address him. They did not know each other, and idle chatter was strictly discouraged.

Alone with his thoughts, he considered what it meant, that he was back in the godhouse possessed of strange knowledge and those stranger crystals. Well, possessed of one. He had not brought the large crystal back to the godhouse with him, he had buried it in woodland beyond the Pinnacle’s base, where it would remain hidden until the god desired its unearthing. The small crystal was wrapped safe in the pocket of his gifted clothes, he would carry that with him, it seemed to him safest.

I must show it to Hekat, the god will tell her for what purpose it must be used.

It had not told him. That was the only thing about the crystal the god had not shared in the wilderness.

His aching body eased a little, Vortka found a brush and scrubbed himself to respectability. Clean and refreshed, he climbed from the bath and dressed like a godspeaker. The small crystal he slid discrectly into his robe pocket, the gifted clothes he bundled for burning, they could not be salvaged even by Oolikai.

I will make a sacrifice for the family who gave me them, I could have walked naked all the way here but I am glad I did not have to. Even though it means I must suffer in the tasking house.

He had no choice in that. Godspeakers did not possess money, they could not purchase a godhouse sacrifice. All he possessed in this life was his body, the only thing he could give the god in thanks for that family’s kindness was his pain.

So I will give the god my pain, and pray it gives them good fortune in return.

They had fed him, too, those traveling villagers who took pity on him, the poor naked godspeaker stumbling out of the wilderness. He had lost his strikestone and could not start a fire. After highsuns of raw meat and bird eggs and gnawed sour roots, their dry bread and old cheese had seemed a feast fit for a warlord.

Warlord.

Raklion and Nagarak rode to Mijak’s Heart at newsun. Only the gravest of matters could prompt such an action. Was it chance that had him tested at this time, sent into the wilderness to find the red crystals, just as Nagarak and Raklion were bent upon some great and secret task?

I do not think so. I think I am part of the god’s plan, as they are, and Hekat. I think change is upon us, I feel its winds blow.