The Godspeaker Trilogy (68 page)

As the seasons passed peacefully he grew soft in his heart. I planned for conquest, he built schools for the poor. He let slaves earn their freedom, if they were old and could not breed. He said the god desired it, why would I disbelieve him? We are both godtouched, we both hear the god.

She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, the long hard ride from Et-Raklion had tasked her severely. It was her punishment, demons had risen and she did not see them, her body’s pain was her sorrow to the god.

It is a small failure, I will soon make it right. When these rebels are cast down, when their sinning blood waters the ground, when their heads are cut off and carried home on our spears, the god will see me again in its eye. Then will I lead my warhost from Mijak, then will the god be seen in the world.

“Yuma?” said Zandakar, and touched her arm.

He was worried for her, there was no need. “Lowsun approaches, Zandakar, we will camp behind this rise and smite Jokriel city after newsun sacrifice,” she told him. “Walk among the warhost once it is settled. Show them your hammer, let them see the god in you. Drink their praises, eat their love. That will sustain you in any battle.” She had learned that from Raklion, knowing him had not been a complete waste of her life.

Zandakar nodded. “Empress, I will.”

They returned to the warhost, Zandakar saw to their camping and their comfort, Hekat withdrew with Vortka for a private sacrifice. As he cut their flesh and caught the blood in his gold cup, Vortka said quietly, “We are alone now, I will say it once more. You should not do this, Hekat. You have misread the god’s desire.”

She watched the blood drip from her sliced arm, watched it mingle with his. When the cup was a finger full she took off her scorpion amulet and poured that mingled blood upon the stone. Then she held the amulet high in the air and watched the drips fall on the bare ground, watched them splash and splatter. “There is an omen, Vortka, I will read it to you . I will give the god victory, Jokriel city will weep for its sin. This faceless warhost will weep out its blood, I will send those thwarting demons back to hell. Zandakar will stand beside me, I tell you this is his blooding. This will see him smite with his hammer, he will be the god’s hammer, as the god decreed.”

Vortka said nothing, he healed her with his godstone, he healed himself and stared at the bloody ground. After a moment, she realized he was weeping.

“I have failed you, Hekat. I have failed the god.” Water trickled down his thin, lined cheeks. In the fading light she saw silver in his godbraids. “You always heard its voice more clearly, you always stood tallest in its hidden eye. I am at fault here, that I did not see these rebels rising. My sin has placed you in danger, placed Zandakar in danger. Aieee, sweet Hekat, if he should fall . . .”

“ Zandakar fall ?” she said, and slapped him lightly. “ Tcha , stupid Vortka, what nonsense is this? Zandakar is the hammer, how can he fall? He is the god’s child, he lives in its favor. Raklion knew this, the god told him in a vision. My son is the future. The whole world will know him. His name will be legend. So said the god, the god does not lie.”

Vortka looked at her, such fear in his eyes. “You promise, Hekat? Zandakar will not fall?”

She was always the strong one. She cupped her palm to his cheek. “I promise, Vortka. It is my word.”

The godmoon and his wife had walked almost to mid-sky by the time Zandakar finished wandering among his warriors. When the last words of praise were drunk, when his belly was full of his warhost’s love, he joined his mother by her small, smokeless fire and dropped to the grass with a sigh of relief.

“Have you let Vortka heal you, Empress?” he asked, reaching for the pouch of dried corn left near the heat. “You say you are strong, I know you are, but I am not blind. Our pace was relentless. You are tired, you are hurting. Tomorrow will be battle. If I am to see the great Hekat knife-dance, if I am to have a story to tell my son, you must be rested, you must be well.”

She threw a clod of dirt at him. “First you must have a son to tell. To have a son you must have a wife, do you have a wife, Zandakar? I think you do not.”

Aieee, god. This again. “I will have a wife when the god sends her to me,” he said, brushing bits of soil from his linen tunic. “The god has not sent her, what can I do?”

“You can agree to see the girls I find for you,” his mother retorted. “I have found you seven, you refused them all unseen.”

He smiled at her frowning, he shook his head. “Within a godmoon we ride out of Mijak, Empress. Can I take a wife with me? I think I cannot. You say I am godchosen, I believe you. I say a wife will come in the god’s time. I wish, precious Yuma, you would believe me.”

“Tcha,” she said. “Stupid boy.”

For once she used those words without anger, her eyes were smiling, they were full of love. Though she was often harsh, he knew she loved him. She wanted his excellence, it made her strict.

He said, “Dimmi is sorry that he misses this battle.”

Her lips thinned, and her eyes went cold. “He is a child, Zandakar, he has no place here.”

Aieee, if only he knew why she would not love his little brother. It was more than her damaged body, instinct told him that, but he could not ask her, it would be his ruin. “He is growing fast, Yuma. He will be a mighty warrior. The other warriors admire him, they see his proud heart.”

“You should sleep, my hammer,” she said, gaze fixed on the fire’s glowing coals. “Newsun will bring us a busy task for the god.”

He looked down at his gold-and-crystal weapon, so comfortable against his skin. He had used the long journey here to let its presence seep through him, to ride in silence and commune with the god. Its power slept sweetly now, he controlled it like breathing. It did not wake unless he woke it, did not rise without his summons.

A day from now I will be blooded in battle, blooded for the god, a true warlord at last. A day from now I will be different. I will be a man, no longer a boy.

He kissed the Empress his mother on the hand, then he kissed the scars on her cheek. It did not make her godbells ring, for she wore no godbells and neither did he, or the warhost, or even Vortka high godspeaker. This would be a war without singing.

His mother smiled. “The god see you sleeping, Zandakar warlord. The god see you sleeping, and when you are awake.”

“The god see you, Yuma,” he replied, and left her to seek his rest beneath the stars.

Newsun broke, the godspeakers sacrificed, and the warhost rode upon Jokriel city. Vortka and his three high godspeakers stayed behind upon the rise, they sacrificed their last doves that the god might see them and their victory.

His mother rode grim-faced and silent beside him, her eyes were full of shadowed pain. She was angry at this smiting of her, as well as pain there was blood in her eyes. He was angry too, that she was subjected to this.

Give me the strength to avenge her, god. Give me the strength to smite her enemies.

As the warhost swept down on sinning Jokriel city, the rebel warhost rode out to meet them. It was a small band of warriors, he thought it less than three thousand, they rode skinny horses and camels, their tunics were torn. Compared to his warhost they were pitiful, pathetic, they were defeated before the first blow was struck.

What are they thinking, god? Why would they do this? They must know we will slaughter them, they are demonstruck, they must be.

Then he saw the rebel’s leader raise his clenched fist. The rebel warriors slowed towards halting, their leader rode forward without them. Zandakar was startled.

“Do you think he surrenders, Empress?” he shouted above the thunder of galloping hooves.

“He wishes council,” she shouted back. “I am willing to talk. If this unknown demonfucker throws his knife at my feet I will kill him quickly, that much will I do for the sinning sinner. If he does not I will kill him slowly, the god will grow fat on his cries of woe.” She held up her clenched fist, signaling their own warhost to slow. “Come,” she added, glancing at him. “Let us meet this dead man, let us show him the god.”

They kicked their horses, they galloped to meet him. The plain before Jokriel city was flat and dry, dust kicked up around them and stuck to their skin. Dust covered his hammer, that did not matter. The hammer would strike when he called on its power.

The riding rebel came closer, closer. He was old, he was work-shrunk, his godbraids were thin. Closer, closer, his face was revealed to them—

“ Hanochek!” said the Empress. Her voice crawled with loathing, there was also surprise.

Hanochek warleader eased his rawboned brown horse to a halt. One eye was clouded, he had lost some teeth. Zandakar saw that because he was smiling, smiling, there was demonstruck laughter in the man’s ravaged face.

“Aieee, Hekat. Dirty barracks-bitch. I knew if I waited, you would come to me.”

Zandakar stared at the shriveled old man, he heard his heart beating, felt tears burn his eyes. Hano ? This was Hano ? The friend from his childhood that his sin sent away, whose death he’d wept for in secret for so long? Hano conspired with demons against them?

God, god, this is not fair. Living Hano fallen to demons? How much better if he were dead.

His mother pointed to Jokriel city, to the ragged warband behind him. “This is your doing, Hanochek? You have enticed these stupid slaves to sin, to their deaths? Aieee, a blessing that Raklion is ashes, you would kill him with your treachery, with your sin against his son!”

“ My sin?” said Hano, his face full of hate. “ You are the sinner, Raklion’s death is in your eye, bitch! Hold your tongue or I will cut it out.” He swung his horse sideways, he held out his hand. “Zandakar, Zandakar, have you no words for me? Your beloved father’s beloved friend? Your friend, too, if you can remember.”

He had never forgotten. “You call Raklion your friend yet you raise a warhost against his son?” Zandakar blinked hard, willed away the pain behind his eyes. “If you can do this, Hano, then I never knew you. I do not know you now. We were never friends.”

The Empress his mother laughed softly beside him. Hanochek ignored her, he nudged his tattered horse closer and pressed a scarred, scabby fist to his heart. “Zandakar, listen. I am not your enemy, I tell you, believe it. What I have done is done for you and your brother, to save you from this demon-bitch who destroyed your father.”

Pain turned to rage in a blink, in a heartbeat. He backed his stallion three paces, if Hanochek touched him he would vomit blood. “You corrupted a godhouse to save us? You slaughtered faithful godspeakers to save us? You consort with demons , Hano, to save us? May the god save us all from friends such as you!”

“I did not kill godspeakers, I killed demons in human flesh!” Hano shouted. “ Her creatures, summoned from hell to do her bidding, and the bidding of her tame high godspeaker Vortka!”

Zandakar felt his fingers tighten, felt the power surging in his blood. On his arm the god’s hammer heated. “Do not speak of the Empress like that. Do not speak of Vortka high godspeaker like that. They are godchosen and precious, they are in the god’s eye.”

“Aieee, Zandakar, listen to me!” Now there were tears on Hano’s old cheeks. “I loved Raklion warlord more than my life. When I heard he was dead I swore I would save you and your brother. I gave my life to you both from that moment on. Every breath since that day has been for you. This warhost behind me, I created it for you. I harvested the savage north and made warriors for you.”

“ Tcha !” said Hekat, she spat upon him. “How well do I know the savage north! Goat men, lizard men, men who are blinded to the god. If those men fight for you, Hano, you are dead in my eye!”

Hanochek ignored her, to him she did not breathe. “Zanda, little Zanda, not only warriors from the savage north fight for me in Raklion’s name. Others have joined me, from all over Mijak. Throughout this brown land there are men and women who do not worship your Empress, they remember their dead or thrown-down warlords and their slain high godspeakers. They chafe for release from their cruel Et-Raklion chains. For season after season I have worked, I have waited, I have drawn these people to me, I have promised them relief. They want their freedom, I will give them you ! In the god’s nameless name I beg you, Zandakar, do not cross the Sand River. It will be your undoing. Stay here, in Mijak. Save your people from hell.”

Shaking his head, Zandakar backed his stallion two more paces. “Your heart is eaten by demons, Hano. You are deaf to the god, you are blind in its eye.”

“I know this is difficult, I know my words hurt you,” said Hano, still weeping. “I am sorry for it, I hurt you for love. Turn your back on this Empress, Zanda, throw down your mother so Mijak might live. The god requires it, Mijak will die if you do not throw her down.”

Who was this man, this demoncrazed jabberer who wore the face of a loved, dead friend? “I will never do that, I will never turn against the Empress. Hano, this is madness.” Zandakar shook his head. “If you are truly a warleader do not spend your warriors’ lives for nothing . You cannot defeat us. Your rebellion is finished.”

Hano’s wet eyes opened wide. “Not if you join me! If you join me, Zanda, the victory will be ours. Mijak’s warhost will follow you, it will follow Raklion’s son.”

Helpless, Zandakar glanced at his mother. Her face was peaceful, Hano’s death was in her eyes. “Stupid Hanochek,” she said, her voice was a knife. “You think you can cajole Zandakar from my side? You think he will turn on me, his Empress, his mother? The savage north has rotted your brain. You knew Raklion all his life, he did not choose you over me. And now you think to steal my son ?”

“Zandakar!” cried Hano, and kicked his horse close. “You cannot follow her, she did not love your father, she cursed him with demons, Zanda, she ruined Raklion. Jokriel’s godspeakers tell me she fucked outside his bed, she—”

Before he could strike the man for his wicked lies, the Empress his mother screamed and threw herself on Hano. Her snakeblade was unsheathed, her godbraids were flying, she leapt from her mare’s back as though she were a lithe girl of twelve. Her knife flashed in the red newsun, it plunged into Hanochek, her arms were around him, they crashed to the ground.