The Godspeaker Trilogy (183 page)

“I know it's awkward, but I want to detain them just a little while longer,” said Alasdair. “I want to give Her Majesty all the help I can.”

Duke Edward grunted. “To my mind you'd be better off getting Helfred to start praying.”

Dexterity saw the fear flash across Alasdair's face, and could have kicked the thoughtless duke. “Majesty, I have travelled with witch-men, remember?” he said, as firmly as he could without seeming to chastise Edward. “I came to no harm. Her Majesty is quite safe.” He nearly continued, “ And don't forget she has Zandakar with her .” But that might not be as reassuring as he wanted it to sound. “God will protect her, Majesty.”

Alasdair nodded, but he didn't look convinced. “What hope does she have, I wonder, of convincing Harbisland's slainta? What if he looks on her unannounced arrival as a deadly insult? What if he attempts to arrest her, or worse? What if—”

“Come now, Majesty, you mustn't work yourself up like this,” Dexterity said quickly. “Remember what our prolate said? We must have faith.”

“Faith,” said Alasdair. It was almost a sigh. “My faith has been more tested since Eberg's death than in all the years of my life before it. I swear, I begin to think—”

A cold wind, swirling. A tang of pine and salt water. A splatter of rain, falling beneath the ballroom's ceiling. Rhian stepped out of the unseen air with five men in tow.

Every sibilant conversation died.

Dexterity watched as Alasdair broke the frozen moment, walking across the parquetry floor to greet his wife. He halted before her, and bowed his head.

“Majesty. God be thanked for your safe return.”

“Yes,” said Rhian. She sounded faint, as though exhausted, or overcome with pain. The self-inflicted wounds in her cheeks were savage. “It was a fruitful endeavour.”

Han and Zandakar had stepped aside, and so did Voolksyn, allowing the rulers of Harbisland and Arbenia to occupy the centre of attention. Dexterity thought Tzhung's emperor looked even more exhausted than Rhian. Han's battle with the trade winds and his grief over losing Sun-dao had already taxed his strength; what it had cost him to travel so far in the wind, with so many others…

Frankly, Hettie, I don't want to think.

Rhian stood straight and tall, calling upon some hidden reserves to keep her from appearing weak before so many vital men. “King Alasdair, I present to you Dalsyn, the Slainta of Harbisland, and Count Ebrich of Arbenia. Welcome allies in the fight against Mijak.”

As the dukes and Helfred murmured, and the ambassadors stared, even Sere Gutten struck dumb with surprise, Dexterity folded his arms and hugged himself tight.

Oh, Hettie. She's done it. Our girl's done it, my love.

“Your excellencies,” said Alasdair. “Welcome to Ethrea. It is an honour to receive you, and a sadness that calamity must be the cause.”

“King,” said the slainta, staring down from his great height. “Your little queen is mighty.”

“She is,” said Alasdair. “All of Ethrea lives in her heart.”

Like Gutten, the Count of Arbenia was wrapped in bearskin, and like his ambassador he was squat and aggressive. “We must talk,” Ebrich announced, as though he declared war.

Rhian nodded. “Agreed. We've no time to waste.”

“I think we'll acquit ourselves most comfortably here, Majesty,” said Alasdair. “And while your council oversees the transformation of this ballroom into a chamber of war, might I suggest you have your wounds tended?”

Dexterity stepped forward. “Can I offer my ser-vices, Majesty? No guarantees, of course, but—”

“No,” said Rhian flatly. “When you heal you leave no memory of the wound, Mister Jones. There is value in a scar, I've found.”

“Then allow me to escort you to Ursa,” he replied. “And she can stitch you as untidily as you please.”

“Very well. One moment—”

While Rhian had swift, private words with Emperor Han, and the king consulted with Helfred and the dukes, Arbenia's count and his unpleasant ambassador drew aside to converse. The ambassadors of Icthia, Slynt and Dev'karesh, with ties to Harbisland, gathered round the slainta and Voolksyn to hear their low-voiced opinions. The Barbruish and Keldravian ambassadors, beholden to Arbenia but excluded from consultation, milled like twin sheep bereft of their shepherd.

Ambassador Lai stood alone, his dark gaze resting on his emperor. Not even his exquisitely polished public mask could successfully hide that he was deeply worried.

Dexterity sidled over to Zandakar. “There was no trouble?” he asked softly.

“ Wei ,” said Zandakar, equally soft. “They believe now. They will fight Mijak.”

Oh, Hettie . “Largely because of you, Zandakar. Ethrea owes you a great debt, my friend.”

“ Wei ,” said Zandakar. “Debt is mine, zho ?”

In his eyes and voice, that burden of guilt. Memories of the dead that he couldn't escape.

“Zandakar—”

“Mister Jones?” said Rhian, turning. “Shall we go?”

“Congratulations, Majesty,” said Dexterity, puffing a little as they hurried through the castle. “A job well done.”

“It wasn't easy,” she replied. “Arbenia's count is as brutish as Gutten. I'd not have succeeded without the slainta…and Han.”

“And Zandakar?”

“Fortunately, Zandakar scared them stupid.”

“And you, Rhian?” he asked, because the corridor they travelled was empty of servants and courtiers. “Are they sufficiently frightened of you?”

She glanced at him sidelong. “If they're not, they soon will be.”

They reached the infirmary, only to be told Ursa was tending a castle groom kicked by a horse.

“I'll send for her,” said the clerk, who was attempting to transcribe Ursa's notes, the poor man. “I believe the lad's bruised, not broken.”

Restless, Rhian paced the herb-scented chamber. Dexterity perched on a stool and watched her, torn between pride and worry.

“Are you sure you want scars, Majesty? It's dreadful to think of your beauty spoiled.”

“If I thought beauty was the key to keeping the trading nations in my pocket, I'd care,” she replied. “But it's not, so I don't.”

He pulled a face. “Their leaders are all men. I don't know a man who's not moved by beauty.”

“Tcha,” she said. “Beauty may get their trousers stirring, but it won't keep them by my side. Fear and blood will do that – and the visible reminder I'm a warrior queen, not a simpering miss. They'll see the scars before they see me, and they won't look any further.”

He doubted that: scars or no scars she was a striking young woman, and in her supple leather doublet and leggings a shocking sight for men used to women wrapped in brocade.

But if lust can inspire them to follow her, can I complain? We need all the followers she can get.

Ursa returned. “I'm told you're hurt, Majesty,” she said, marching through the open door. “You must have a greater care of your person, for – tcha !”

“No scolding, Ursa,” said Rhian, unsmiling. “I've not the time or the patience. Stitch me quickly so I can get back to work.”

Ursa blinked, taken aback. “Majesty,” she said, and did as she was told.

Rhian refused a poppy potion when the stitching was done. “I need a clear head.”

“Majesty,” said Dexterity. “I know I'm wanted in council, but if I might take a moment?”

“A moment only,” she replied.

“Jones?” said Ursa, when they were alone.

“She's talked Harbisland and Arbenia to our cause, Ursa,” he said quickly. “Looks like we'll have our armada. But if that should fail—”

Ursa nodded. “I know. We'll be fighting Mijak in Ethrea. I've already started a list of the physicks I think will make the best leaders. And another of all the supplies we'll need if, God forbid, it comes to that. Another day or so, I'll have it ready for the council.”

He kissed her cheek. “God bless you. Rhian will be pleased to hear it.”

“Rhian.” Ursa snorted. “There's a change come over that girl, and I'm not sure I like it. Are you going to tell me she didn't use a blade on herself?”

“No,” he said, sighing. “She's got the bit between her teeth, Ursa. All we can do is hold on.”

“God help us,” muttered Ursa. “What have we started, Jones?”

“Whatever it is, we must help her to finish it,” he said, and with a strained smile hurried after their queen.

Her stitched face burning, and regretting the refusal of something to dull the pain, Rhian strode into the ballroom to find the platter-laden trestles gone, and in their place a square of tables around which sat her council, the slainta, the count, and the ambassadors. Han was there too, having returned from Lai's residence after briefly withdrawing to set in motion plans for his witch-men. He'd used the time to change, as well. His tunic now was shaded deep violet. She hoped he'd healed the wound in his chest. Ven'Cedwin sat apart at his own little table, poised to record this historic meeting.

“Gentlemen,” she said, taking her seat. “Allow me to formally welcome you to our first council of war. Ethrea appreciates your attendance.” She bared her teeth, not quite smiling. “Let us first admit the obvious: we are not all friends here. Even now some of you are involved in disputes. They do not matter . All that matters is Mijak. It does not care if you are friend or foe. It cares only for how swiftly you die.”

A stirring around the table, as the trading nations swallowed her unpalatable truths. A stirring at the ballroom door, as Mister Jones finally joined them. She gave him a sharp look, and waited for him to take his seat.

“And now,” she continued, “let us devise our war.”

With an ease she hadn't expected, terms for a new charter were teased out and settled.

In the end it was decided Han's witch-men would take the slainta, the count and the various ambassadors to meet with the rulers of the lesser trading nations. They would carry with them a new treaty to be signed, outlining what was required from each nation in quantities of ships, sailors, weapons and soldiers. Once the letters were delivered and ratified, the trading nations would meet in Kingseat to draw up plans for the armada. And once those plans were ratified, Han's witch-men would see each nation's fleet brought to Ethrea, ready for sailing out to meet Mijak.

“We must not delude ourselves, gentlemen,” Rhian told them in closing. “The battle at sea will be desperate. We won't escape unscathed. But no matter how dire that prospect, it pales before the losses we'll face should Mijak conquer Ethrea and have a safe haven from which to sail to your lands.”

As they broke for refreshments, waiting for Ven'Cedwin and his clerks to return with the copies of the new treaty to be signed, she took Han aside.

“Your witch-men are ready?”

He nodded. “Even now, those I can spare from Tzhung-tzhungchai ride the wind to Ethrea. In the morning they will do their part against Mijak.”

She wished she could embrace him. “Thank you, Han.”

“There's no debt,” he said. “You're the only one who could unite the trading nations.”

It was reassuring, and frightening, to hear him say it. Somehow the support of Tzhung-tzhungchai increased her burden, instead of easing it.

Ven'Cedwin returned then, and the three great trading nations signed the new treaty. The council of war ended with an agreement to resume again at first light – when Han's witch-men would join them, and the hard work would truly begin.

Once she and her council were alone, she at last let a little of her weariness show.

“So, gentlemen,” she said. “Here we stand. Prolate Helfred, it's time for your venerables and chaplains to preach courage in the face of terror. Alasdair, my lord dukes, the garrisons must be told the truth now too, and recruiting among the duchies undertaken. Those soldiers you've selected for personal training by Zandakar must be brought to the castle within the next two days. I take it plans for converting our grounds to a barracks are in hand?”

“They're completed,” said Alasdair. “Work can commence immediately.”

“See it done. Zandakar—”

“Rhian hushla .”

“You're ready to begin this intensive training?”

He nodded. “ Zho .”

“Dexterity—”

“Majesty?”

She smiled at him, even though the pain in her face was now ferocious. “I have a special task for you. It's past time Zandakar was made fluent in Ethrean. Most of us understand him well enough but with what we'll soon be facing, well enough won't be good enough.”

Dexterity nodded. “Yes, Majesty.”

She looked at Zandakar. “He will train you to speak Ethrean as you have trained me in the hotas, zho ? And when you're not training your tongue, or my soldiers, you and I will dance?”

“ Zho ,” said Zandakar. “We will dance.”

She looked around the table. “Are there any questions?”

No. Not even Adric had anything to say. Helfred and her dukes were subdued. Stunned, even, that after so much talking the time for action had arrived.

“Come,” said Alasdair, his fingers warm around her wrist. “You need rest, and one of Ursa's potions.”

Even if she'd wanted to argue, she was too tired. They left the ballroom together, returned to their apartments, and she let sleep claim her for too short a while.

That night she and Alasdair went to Litany in Kingseat's great chapel. She wore her leathers again which Dinsy, cursing, had cleaned of the blood spilled upon them from her cut face. The people of Kingseat murmured to see her martial attire, and the two neatly stitched wounds in her face.

Helfred's sermon that night was taken from Admonition 12: God in his greatness places great burdens upon us. Trust in his mercy and be brave in the face of all dangers . When he was finished, he addressed the congregation.

“Good people of Kingseat, this night shall our sovereign queen complete our sermon, with solemn speech and a dire prediction.”

Startled, Rhian looked up at him. “Prolate—”

He stepped down from his pulpit, leaving her no choice.

The faces of her people, so innocent and trusting, looked up at her from the great chapel's pews. The chapel was crowded, with many folk standing round the walls and by its closed doors.

“People of Kingseat,” she said, her voice slurred a little from weariness and pain. “It has of late come to the crown's attention that a darkness rises against us in the east. A nation known as Mijak, hidden for many lifetimes, has stirred from its slumber and bends its dread gaze upon Ethrea. Already nations have fallen to its ravages. Thousands are slain. Thousands more are enslaved. But we must not despair. An armada is being gathered, that will sail out to meet the warriors of Mijak and, with God's grace, destroy them before they set one foot on Ethrean soil.”