The Godspeaker Trilogy (230 page)

“You fucked me, Vortka, it does not make him your son! You sowed the seed, the god and I raised him.” Her fists were clenched, she struck his scorpion pectoral, she pounded his stone chest, she was so angry she could weep. “You are nothing to him, he is everything to me. He was in Jatharuj and you held your tongue . And now you shout that you fucked me, was the world meant to know? Was Zandakar meant to know? I think he was not!”

“Yuma,” said Zandakar. “Vortka told me in Jatharuj he is my father. Do not be angry, I am pleased he is. Come home with us to Mijak, the god is waiting there.”

So much rage in her blood, it was burning her alive. “You told him? Was that your business? I think it was not! You sinning man, you wicked sinner! You saw him in Jatharuj, you kept him a secret! You told him the secret he was not meant to know !”

Vortka was angry, she had never seen him angry. She had never seen him like Nagarak, so angry in his eyes.

“He is my son , Hekat, I wanted him to know me. He was sailing away, what if he died and I never saw him again? You love him? I love him. All your life you kept him, you would not share him with me. You are a selfish bitch, Hekat. I wanted my share of him, it was time, it was time ! I wanted to know him as my son, I wanted—”

She stepped back, her heart beating. She stepped back, she could not breathe.

Where did that come from? Who put that there? Who put my snakeblade through Vortka's sinning throat?

Vortka was staring, he was dead in his eyes. Someone was laughing…and someone else wept.

Zandakar watched, disbelieving, as Vortka's body slumped to the ground. The sound it made was like any dead man's body, falling, but that was not right. This was not any man, this was Vortka.

My father. He was my father, how is he dead?

Shouting broke the silence, and the drumming of many feet on wood, on stone. The warhost's godspeakers were leaping from the warships to the docks, rushing towards their fallen high godspeaker. Many were clutching their sacrifice knives. It was nearly lowsun, they prepared for the god. They were shouting, they were weeping, they knew Vortka was dead.

Dmitrak killed them with his gauntlet.

Zandakar barely noticed them dying, he did not care if they were dead. The scorpion knife slipped from his fingers and he dropped to the dock, he gathered Vortka in his arms. Vortka was his father, and Hekat had killed him.

Oh, Yuma, Yuma. What have you done?

He could not look at his mother, he did not dare to see her face. He could not breathe, he could not weep, he could not make a sound. In his heart the god was screaming, he screamed with it in his heart.

Dmitrak started laughing again. “You killed the old fool, Hekat, you killed the sinning old man! Aieee, the god sees Mijak's empress, the god sees her in its eye! Vortka was a sinner, he did not hear the god, the god did not see him, he was swallowed by demons!”

Zandakar stared up at him, Vortka so quiet against his chest. So quiet in his arms, he was holding his dead father. “Be quiet ! What do you know?”

“What do I know?” said Dimmi, he was laughing so hard. “I know you are not the warlord, you were never the warlord. She fucked with that old man, you are his son. You are demon-born , Zandakar. No brother of mine.”

Yuma spun and struck Dimmi, with her open hand she struck him, with her closed fist she struck him harder, it was a miracle he did not fall. Her godbraids flew about her head, her godbells were raucous, they were shrieking, she screamed.

“Zandakar is the god's get, he was born by the god's want! You are the evil spawn of demons, Dmitrak!”

As Dimmi stared, his laughter dying, Zandakar kissed his father, he kissed Vortka, he pulled out the knife. There was so little blood, there was just a wound, a little wound. A wound so large it must kill the world.

Yuma was weeping, she was beating her breast. She was staring at Vortka but she did not take a step.

“ Bitch !” Dmitrak snatched her godbraids, he pulled her to him as her godbells shouted. His eyes were wide and black with rage. They were Nagarak's eyes, it was Nagarak's rage, he was Nagarak's son…and he did not know. “Bitch, bitch, you were always a bitch !”

“Dimmi,” said Zandakar. “Dimmi, let her go.”

He could not release Vortka, the old man was so light. He was so light he might float away, and where would he go?

Dimmi was not listening, he was glaring at their mother. “How can I be born of demons, Hekat? I am the warlord, I am Raklion's son, I am—”

“Raklion?” said Yuma. Her scars were slick with tears. If she felt Dimmi's fist in her godbraids she did not show it. She looked so small, so empty, with Vortka dead. “Raklion never sired one living brat in his life. You are Nagarak's spawn, Dmitrak, rotten in your bones.”

“Nagarak?” said Dimmi. “Bitch, you lie. I am Raklion's son, I am the warlord of Mijak like my father before me!”

“You are Nagarak's !” cried Yuma. “You are warlord by mistake! I was tricked by demons to fuck that high godspeaker. You think that I wanted you? I hate you, Dmitrak, you should have died at birth! You crippled me, you nearly killed me, you stole my warhost, you stole my son! He married that piebald bitch because you did not stop him!”

Spittled with fury, Dimmi pushed her away. “My fault? You make it my fault? I never said Zandakar should marry that Harjha bitch. I said to fuck her, I never said she was a wife!”

Yuma was a knife-dancer, she did not stumble when he pushed. She stayed on her feet and waved a fist in Dimmi's face. “Tcha!” she spat. “You knew I would be angry if he married that piebald, you wanted him to marry her, you wanted my rage. I would have killed him for marrying her but Vortka stopped me. You tried to kill my son, you are demon-spawn .”

“No!” shouted Dimmi. “ Zandakar is demon-spawn. He turned from the god in Na'ha'leima, Hekat, now he tries to turn you. I hear the god, I know it wants the world, I give you slaves to kill and I conquer countries. Zandakar and that old fool, that old Vortka, they are eaten by demons, they would see demons conquer you .”

Yuma was shaking, she was shaking and weeping. She slapped at Dimmi, she slapped him and slapped him, she was a wild woman slapping, the empress was gone.

“You do not say that of Vortka, he was a good man! Vortka was godchosen, we were godchosen together! Vortka and I lived in the god's choosing eye! Oh, Vortka – Vortka – you are dead, I have killed you—”

Zandakar stared, breathless, as his mother threw herself to the ground, as she crawled on her hands and knees to weep over his father. She was moaning, she was sobbing, she rocked on her knees, she clawed at her silver scars until her face ran with blood.

Reaching over Vortka, he took hold of her hands, he kept her fingers from clawing. “Yuma, no, Yuma don't, it was an accident, you did not mean it!”

She fell against him across his dead father, she hid her torn and bleeding face against his chest. “Zandakar, my son, my only true son. You are come back to me, the god has seen me, it sees you, we are together. This is the god's want, Vortka could not hear it. His ears were stopped by demons, you must know that, Zandakar. I am Hekat, the god's empress, I hear its voice in my heart. Listen to me and you will live in the world. You are my warlord, you are warlord of Mijak, you are the god's hammer, you will never leave again!”

“No !” shouted Dimmi. “You bitch, I am the hammer! ”

Zandakar tried to push Yuma behind him, he tried to protect her, to push Dimmi away. But Dimmi stood above him, he was strong, he was angry. He took Yuma by the godbraids and hauled her to her feet.

“Say it, bitch! Say it!” he screamed, his eyes were mad with fury. He shook her and shook her, her godbells cried her pain. “I am Dmitrak, I am Hekat's son! I am warlord of Mijak and hammer of the god!”

Zandakar did not move, he did not dare provoke his brother more. He did not even dare to speak, for Dimmi wore the gauntlet.

I had the scorpion knife, I let him keep the gauntlet. I did not want to make him small. I was stupid to do that. Aieee, the god see me, I am a fool.

Dimmi was still shouting, there was foam on his lips. “Say the words, bitch! Say them ! Dmitrak is warlord, hammer of the god!”

The blood was drying on Yuma's beautiful, scarred face. Her blue eyes were unfocused, she did not defend herself. “Zandakar,” she murmured. “Zandakar, my son.”

Weeping and howling, Dimmi released her. He struck her with the gauntlet as he wept and howled his pain. He struck her so hard he burst her beautiful blue eye. He struck her so hard he broke her slender neck.

Yuma fell to the dock like one of Dexterity's puppets. She fell to the dock, she did not move again.

Dimmi stared at Yuma as though he could not believe her dead. As though he could not remember killing her. As though none of this was real.

Zandakar felt the grief in his throat. But it is real, it is real. Here is my father, dead in my arms. There is my dead mother, all of this is real .

On the dock beside him lay the scorpion knife, abandoned. On the dock before him, rejected, his murdering brother.

He eased himself free of Vortka, he closed his fingers on the scorpion knife. Its power trembled through him as he got to his feet. He saw the knife's blade run blue, it shone blue with power.

Dimmi saw it. He lifted his fist. The gold-and-crystal hammer shimmered with red lights, it pulsed the colour of blood. Zandakar faced him, he faced his little brother, the only breathing family he had left in the world.

I must save him. I must save him. If I lose him…what do I have?

“Enough. Enough . We must end this,” he said, pleading. “The god is not the god. We should not have left Mijak, we serve demons by mistake. We must take the warhost home to Et-Raklion, we must free those nations we conquered and never again cross the Sand River. Dimmi, little brother, we were wrong. We were wrong .”

Dimmi's lips pulled back in a snarl. “Did you never listen, Zandakar? My name is Dmitrak .”

And with a bold leap and a screamed curse, Nagarak's son attacked.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

T
hey were losing the light when Rhian found Alasdair, wounded and bleeding in a sprawl of dead soldiers on the doorstep of a burned-out potter's shop in Gimcrack Lane.

By that time her personal army had dwindled to three, and they were the only living soldiers she'd seen in some time. Kingseat's air remained thick with smoke. The fading blue sky was hazed with it, and the cooling autumn air stank of burned wood and flesh. Mijak's warriors still roamed the streets, chanting, though she'd not seen any for perhaps half an hour, and not killed one for longer than that. She'd seen glimpses of survivors: Ethrean faces pressed to windows and swiftly withdrawn, a flash of skirts whisking round a corner, a voice in an alleyway, hurriedly hushed.

Well. Mijak had been in Kingseat for less than a day. They couldn't kill a whole city in less than a day…could they?

Maybe not, but God knows they're trying.

She found Alasdair by accident. Stumbling with exhaustion, hurting so badly from her own wounds, half-blind with thirst and hunger, she was leading her three men by touch and luck down the dark lane, and so was the first to trip over the bodies. When one moaned, she nearly screamed. When she discovered it was Alasdair, she nearly screamed again.

“Oh, dear God,” she said, hauling the corpses off him as though they were so many broken tiltyard mannikins. “Alasdair! Alasdair !”

Mijak's warriors had left him for dead. Rollin's mercy, he looked dead, he was stabbed through his arms and legs and chest. He was covered in blood, hardly breathing at all.

Oh, no. Oh, Alasdair. No no no no…

Weeks of coolness. Estrangement. Hurt feelings on both sides. Misunderstandings, frustration. Marriage was hard. And then their fight at the harbour, only this morning. This morning? It felt a lifetime ago. The look in his eyes when he'd begged her to leave.

I told you to go but, Alasdair, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. Are you listening? Can you hear me? You have to stay.

She looked at Revin, the oldest of her soldiers. Sixteen or seventeen, if he was a day. “He's not dead. We can save him.” I hope we can save him . “But he needs a physick, he needs—”

Ursa. He needs Ursa. He needs Dexterity. He needs a miracle.

But here was Alasdair living, when she'd given him up for dead so perhaps she could hope.

“Take his shoulders, Revin,” she said curtly. “Bothy, take his legs. Be careful. Don't drop him.” She looked at her third soldier, a mere child of twelve. One of the harbour taverns' cheeky cellar brats, rough as guts and twice as tough as nails. He'd killed six Mijaki warriors all by himself. “Tob, do you know Ursa the physick? Do you know her clinic on Foxglove Way?”

Tob nodded, so solemn. “Aye, Majessy. Ursa's allus physickin' us cellar brats. Foreign sailors get rough when their beer's slopped too slow.”

Really? She didn't know that. Something to frown over, when this day was done. “I've no idea if she's dead or alive. But if she's alive, Tob, she'll save the king. Run to her. Tell her we're coming. And be careful , you hear me? Avoid any warriors you see.”

Tob scarpered, and she led the others with their precious burden, scouting ahead to be sure the way was clear.

God granted another miracle. They reached the clinic safely to find Ursa and Tob waiting, and nearly two score of townsfolk huddled in fear. Along one clinic wall marched a line of sheet-covered bodies.

For some reason Rhian found them more upsetting than any pile of hacked limbs.

“Mind now, mind now!” Ursa scolded, as they laid Alasdair on a pallet. “Rollin's mercy, those heathens have made a collander of him.”

“Maybe, but he's breathing,” snapped Rhian. “So you have to—”

“Ah,” said Ursa turning to follow her stare. “Jones. Yes. That's a story.”

Dexterity stood in the corner, gently wreathed in golden flames. His eyes were open but he seemed to see nothing. He didn't move, he didn't speak, he didn't come to greet his queen.

“He's been like that for hours,” said Ursa, briskly tallying Alasdair's wounds. “Killed a band of Mijaki warriors, healed everyone here who could be saved, killed two more bands of warriors, and hasn't said a word since.” She shrugged. “I can't explain it. It's like he's…gone away.” And then she sighed. “Majesty – Rhian—”