Hammer Of God (34 page)

God, God, how is it they still distrust me? What must I do to prove I have no sinister intent?

She pushed to her feet. “This is madness. I did not request your presence here today that we might bicker and squabble while Mijak's deadly shadow creeps ever closer to my kingdom. I need your help in the defence of this realm. I want to know how you will help us!”

“You and your privy council, you talk and you talk,” said Istahas of Slynt. He gestured at his fellow ambassadors, save Lai of Tzhung. “We talk also.”

She knew that, of course. Those quiet men and women paid to watch the ambassadors discreetly had told her of the flurried comings and goings between their residences.

“I understand that, sir,” she said. “Our last meeting was full of incident. But—”

“We wish to see this prince of Mijak,” said Istahas. “We wish to talk to him alone. No Queen of Ethrea. No council. No burning men to make fear. You bring us this Zandakar, we talk. Then we talk, Queen Rhian of Ethrea.” He gestured again at his fellow ambassadors. “We talk armies. We talk armadas. We talk Mijak. After the prince of Mijak tells us things alone.”

Oh, Rollin help me. Let them not call my bluff.

“Ambassador Istahas,” she said coldly, “your tone is discourteous, your insinuations insulting. Allies do not treat one another like enemies. If you wish, you are free to withdraw from the league of trading nations. Of course, that means you'll forfeit all ties with Ethrea. Your ambassadorial residence will be closed, the contents of your warehouses and treasury vaults confiscated, all your citizens now present in the kingdom collected and escorted into open waters and Slynt's access to Ethrea revoked in full.” She stabbed each staring ambassador with a look. “The same choice is open to each and every one of you. Mijak is coming. Do you stand with Ethrea against it, or do you stand alone…and risk a great fall?”

Uproar.

Papa used to say, A cornered stag will always charge, and a huntsman unready is a huntsman empty-handed – or dead.

Well, this stag might be a doe…but that didn't mean she was meek and helpless. Impetuous, arrogant, haughty…but never meek. Never helpless.

She stood, raking them with her most imperious glare. “You dare come to me and make petty demands? You may leave my castle, gentlemen! Return to your residences and ponder my words! The next time I request your attendance here do not come if you lack the will or intent for an honest alliance. You have wasted my time – and I am most displeased! Now get out.”

Turning her back on them, she faced her astonished privy council, one hand on the back of her throne. Ignored the rabble of voices as they protested their dismissal. To a man, her council engaged with them, refuting their arguments, supporting their queen.

Someone stepped around the side of the dais. She let her gaze slide right. “Ambassador Lai.”

“You play a dangerous game, Majesty,” Han's man said in an undertone.

“As does Han.” She turned her face a little, so he might see her eyes. Took a dangerous leap. “I have a message for your emperor. Tell him this: I want them back.”

So swiftly, a betraying flicker in the ambassador's dark eyes. Blood pounding, Rhian stared at him. I was right. I was right. And then Lai had himself in hand again.

“Majesty, I fail to—”

“You heard me. Don't pretend to misunderstand.”

Lai bowed. “Majesty,” he said quietly, and quietly withdrew.

The ballroom emptied of shouting ambassadors. As the rest of her council discussed events, excited, Alasdair joined her beside her throne. “So you called their bluff: That was—” He hesitated.

“Foolish?”

His eyes warmed. “No. I think it was…brave.”

“Perhaps it was both,” she murmured. “Oh, Alasdair. Hold my hand.”

He did so, swiftly, then pulled a comical face. “Look on the bright side, my love. At least we didn't have to tell them about Tzhung-tzhungchai's meddling.”

Almost, almost, she laughed aloud.

“Icthia,” said Sun-dao, his voice a croaking whisper. “Jatharuj.”

“You mean we're here?” said Dexterity. He sounded amazed. “And still in one piece? God be praised. I never expected it.”

As the toymaker leaned over the small boat's side, staring across the dark shifting water at the lights dotted here and there around the distant harbour and above it, Zandakar pressed his palm to Sun-dao's chest. There was a heartbeat, but it was weak and uneven. Salt air rasped in the witchman's throat. His eyes remained open, filmed with exhaustion. His amber skin had paled to dirty yellow, he was stinking with rank sweat. Every bone and muscle in him trembled. Had Sun-dao killed himself to bring them here?

Zandakar bent close. “You die now, witch-man?”

Sun-dao did not answer, he stared at the sky.

“I can't believe we're here and not drowned at the bottom of the ocean,” said Dexterity. “My head's still spinning from that last whirlwind.” He scrambled closer, and pressed his hand to Sun-dao's sweaty face. “He's fevered. Will he be well enough to get us home again, do you think?”

He shrugged. “Wei know. You ask Hettie, maybe she send witch-man strength.”

“Tcha,” said Dexterity, pulling a face. “I suppose I can try. Though she practically never comes when I call.” The toymaker looked up again, across the water. Inky black, no reflection of moonslight. The godmoon and his wife were in their shy time, hiding in the vast sky's shadows. “As far as I can tell we're just outside the harbour's mouth. How do you propose we reach dry land? I hope you're not thinking to swim, Zandakar.”

He shook his head. “Wei swim.”

“Oh,” said Dexterity. “Good.” He looked around. “Then we'll have to row. Do you know what rowing is?”

“Zho. Boats on river in Targa. I see rowing.”

“Good, good,” said Dexterity vigorously. “Except – are there any oars? I never thought to ask. I suppose there must be, though I can't recall seeing them. But every boat has oars, doesn't it?”

Dexterity was nervous. When he was nervous his words ran like water, he chattered and chattered. Ursa would snap at him, Ursa would say Hold your frippery tongue, Jones, we've enough on our plates without you rattling on. That was Ursa, when Dexterity was nervous.

I cannot say that. How can I chide Dexterity when I am nervous too?

“Wei know, Dexterity. I travel slave ship. I travel Tzhung boat. That is what I know.”

Dexterity huffed out a frustrated breath. “Well, that's twice the boating experience I've got, Zandakar.” He shivered. “I can't believe we've reached Icthia. How long has it taken us to get here, can you tell?”

The journey from Ethrea had passed in a blur, in a whirling of cold wind and a wheeling of stars, in snatched mouthfuls of dried salt fish from clay pots and warm brackish water. “Wei.”

“No. Neither can I. Rhian must be beside herself by now: poor child. Unless that Emperor Han's told her what he's done. Do you suppose he's told her? Or has he let her wonder, and worry? I'll bet he has, you know. I don't think Emperor Han is a very nice man.”

Sprawled on the boat's deck, the witch-man Sun-dao stirred and whispered something in the Tzhung tongue. “Emperor Han great,” he added in Ethrean. “Emperor Han in the wind.”

Zandakar frowned. Was that the same as being in the god's eye? Aieee, tcha, life was simpler in Mijak. In Mijak there was one god, it was the god, there was no thought of other gods. Out in the world every man had his own god, and the god of Mijak was nowhere. It was wrong, it was confusing. Vortka could explain.

Vortka.

Not answering the witch-man, he looked across the water to the lights of Jatharuj. Vortka was there, in that sleeping place. Aieee, god, to see him again. To see Dmitrak, and Yuma.

His heart pounded, shaking him.

If I see them, will I die? I did not come here to die, I am come to save Mijak. Am I in your eye, god? Will you see me save Mijak?

The god did not answer.

Slowly he let his body drop to the deck, till he was no longer kneeling but sitting. Pulling one knee to his chest he rested his elbow on it and pressed a hand to his face. In that darkness of his own making he felt Dexterity's hand come to rest on his shoulder, felt the toymaker's warm regard like sunlight.

“Oh dear,” said the toymaker, his voice gentle. “Yes, it is all rather overwhelming, isn't it? But…it's all right to be frightened, Zandakar. Rollin knows I am.”

“Wei frightened,” he whispered, and knew it for a lie. “Thinking, to find Vortka. Save Mijak. Save Ethrea.”

“Do you truly think that's possible?” In the darkness Dexterity sounded so sad, without hope. “Tell me honestly, Zandakar.”

Slowly he lowered his hand from his face, met Dexterity's anxious gaze without flinching. “Wei know. Must try.”

“Yes. You must try,” said Dexterity, sighing heavily. “But if you fail, what then? If you fail and you're taken, you know you'll be killed. If you fail and we somehow escape Icthia, if we by some miracle get home to Kingseat, then what? Will you fight your family, Zandakar? Will you pick up a sword and try to kill your mother? Your brother? I know you're a blooded warrior, Zandakar, but could you really do that?”

Yuma. Dimmi. Both deaf to the god, both blind in its eye though they could not see that. I can see it, the god has shown me, how can I show them? Can I show them? Must they die? Must Vortka die if I cannot make him see?

He was oathsworn to Ethrea, he would do what he must. He looked at Dexterity and nodded, slowly. “For Rhian? Zho.”

“Oh, Zandakar,” said Dexterity, and took away his warm hand. “I don't know whether to be relieved or sorry.”

Neither did he. “Find oars, Dexterity.”

“And if there aren't any?”

He snorted. “You know swim, Dexterity? I wei swim. Wei oars, you swim with me to Jatharuj.”

Dexterity's mouth dropped open in horror. “What? Oh no, I don't think so. Just you wait. I'll find the oars.”

The Tzhung boat rocked without purpose on the water's gentle swell. So much water, they were small in the god's eye beneath the endless sky. The night was warm and peaceful, silent except for the ocean's soft song. Once in the strange journey here, when Sun-dao was again forced to drop them out of the otherness they travelled through so he might recapture his strength, they returned to a world lashed by a towering storm. Great walls of water. Lumps of ice. Howling wind. Dexterity was nearly washed right over the side to die.

Sun-dao, his head cut and bleeding, his eyes alive with a dreadful black flame, had called on the wind's strength to fill him with power. Into the living air he had risen, arms spread wide, black eyes burning. An anguished scream was ripped from his mouth. He seemed to grow bigger, to spread thin on the wind. A light had shone in him, he glowed in the storm ridden darkness like Dexterity.

And in a blink, in a heartbeat, they disappeared from that place.

That was two leaping whirlwinds ago. Now Sun-dao looked emptied, a tired old man wrapped in yellow skin and black silk. Looking at him, Zandakar felt his belly clutch tight. Did the witch-man have the strength to return them to Ethrea?

The god see him in its eye and give him that strength. The wind blow in his bones, make him strong in his power.

Was it wicked and sinning, to call on the wind?

Let Vortka tell me when I see him again.

Across the dark water the lights of Jatharuj flickered. Closer now, for the swelling ocean carried them towards land. Closer to Vortka, to Dimmi, to Yuma. Closer to the warhost, to the warriors he once had known and loved, taught and tamed and cherished and chastised.

Closer to the life he had left so far behind.

“Zandakar! I've found them!”

Startled, and startled to be caught by surprise, he turned to look at Dexterity. “Oars?”

“Yes,” said the toymaker, his hands full of wood. “And do you know, I'm remembering something. An old smuggler's tale. Something about muffling the sound of oars in the water…” Dexterity frowned, unsteady on his feet as the small boat rolled on the waves. “We need to wrap the oar blades with sacking and tie it on, so they don't splash so loudly. At least, I think that's how they did it. I don't suppose it can hurt, either way.”

Sacking? Was there sacking? What was sacking? He thought some kind of material. The Tzhung boat that had carried them here was mostly empty. The witch-man Sun-dao had told them it must be so, or he could not move it so far in the wind. Small, cramped, so very uncomfortable, it had not been a pleasant journey from Kingseat to Jatharuj.

“Is there sacking, Dexterity?”

“No,” said the toymaker, sounding fretful. “I'd say use our blankets, but they're shredded to pieces after all that travelling in the wind. I suppose we could rip down the sail, but I don't think that's a good idea.”

Zandakar looked at Sun-dao, listless on the deck. “He has clothes, we take them.”

“Take them?” said Dexterity. “Strip him, you mean? Should we do that?”

His answer was to pull the silk tunic and trousers from Sun-dao's flaccid body. Beneath them the witch-man wore a loincloth, he could keep it.

“Zandakar, what if he catches cold?” said Dexterity. “Do we really want a witch-man like Sun-dao cross with us?”

He looked up. “You want Mijak warrior cross with us?”

Dexterity winced. His face bristled with hair, his rust-red and grey beard grown back unchecked. In the lamplight his eyes were tired, he was a very tired man. “Give his clothes here. I'll do my best to tie them onto the oars.”

Sun-dao's eyes were half closed, he did not seem to notice he was almost naked. His skin beneath his black silk was covered in tattoos, red and black and green and blue, as though he wore a second skin made of ink. Some were pictures: wide-winged birds, snarling striped cats, strange beasts with talons and tails and scales. Words too, Tzhung writing, the letters were strange. Zandakar felt his skin crawl, to see them.

Dexterity finished his task and handed over one silk-wrapped oar. “There you are. If we pull together I'm sure we'll reach the port.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, he did not sound sure. “I suppose we should douse the lamp. We don't want anyone seeing us. Best get the oars put in place first, though.” He pointed to holes cut into each side of the boat. “These slots. That's where they go.”

Zandakar hefted his oar. “Zho.”

With the oars fitted he shifted to douse the lamp, but Dexterity grabbed his arm. “No. Wait. Zandakar – what if dousing the lamp's not enough? Even with the oars muffled we're going to make noise. There are bound to be sentries at the harbour. If they hear us…”

If a warrior found them, they would be dead. Dexterity's eyes were wide with worry.

“Han said Sun-dao could hide us in the wind. But Sun-dao looks three-quarters dead to me. What shall we do?”

Zandakar looked at the witch-man. It was true, he hardly seemed to breathe. He leaned over Sun-dao, pinched the witch-man's earlobe hard until the witch-man moaned and opened his eyes.

“Oh, be careful, Zandakar!” said Dexterity. “Don't hurt him.”

Tcha, Dexterity. Soft, kind man. “Sun-dao,” he said. “You wake. You hide us in wind.”

So slowly, making little noises of pain, Sun-dao sat up, looked around at the boat, the water, the distant harbour's lights. At the great, spreading shadow that must be the warship fleet of Mijak. “Icthia?”

“Yes. Jatharuj,” said Dexterity. “Don't you remember?”

Sun-dao was shivering, he was a sick man. “Yes.”

“Sun-dao, we don't dare go into the harbour unless we're sure we won't be seen,” said Dexterity. “Can you do what the emperor said? Can you hide us in the wind?”

The witch-man took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”

“And when we want to be seen? How does that work?”

“Touch,” said Sun-dao. His teeth were chattering.

“All right,” said Dexterity. “Then you'd best do it, quickly. I want this nonsense over and done with so we can get home to Ethrea.”

Sun-dao's eyes narrowed, and he hissed. “Respect Han's witch-man!”

Dexterity snorted. “I see you're feeling well enough to scold.”

“Tcha,” said Zandakar. “Sun-dao. You hide.”

The shivering witch-man closed his eyes, he tipped his head back and spread his naked arms wide. He sang in a harsh voice, he called on the wind. It seemed to Zandakar the witch-man's tattooed skin was writhing, his tattoos were living, they crawled like living things upon his flesh. He heard Dexterity's choked gasp and knew the toymaker saw it too. In the boat's meagre lamplight they saw Sun-dao's tattoos come to life.

A teasing, swirling breeze sprang up, it rattled the boat's sail and tugged at their clothing. The boat rocked on the water, waves slapped and splashed its hull. The warm night air chilled, it grew suddenly cold.

Then the world disappeared.

“Oh!” cried Dexterity. “Zandakar, I'm—”

In a blink, a heartbeat, the vanished world returned.

Dexterity was gasping. “Rollin's mercy. What was that?”

The boat's lamp still burned. In its weak light, Sun-dao shuddered. His tattoos had died, his skin was unmoving, his witch-man power slept.

“Han,” he said, his eyes wide, his stare blank. “Han – I must – I must—”

With a rattling exhalation he slumped to the deck.

“Oh, no,” said Dexterity. “Zandakar, is he—”

Hand pressed to the witch-man's chest, he shook his head. “Wei. He lives.”

But Sun-dao's heartbeat was feeble. He did not say that to Dexterity. The toymaker was already nervous enough.

“Thank God,” Dexterity whispered. “We might still get home.” In the lamplight his tired eyes were bright. “Oh, Zandakar. Are we really here? Is this really happening?”

Puzzled, he nodded. “Zho.”

Dexterity smoothed a shaking hand over his beard. “It's just…this isn't supposed to be my life, you see. I'm a plain, ordinary man. I'm a toymaker. Yet here I am, in a boat on the ocean with a sorcerer and a heathen warrior, about to row into an enemy port. And if that's not bad enough, after that I'll be walking right into the lion's den! I'm mad. I must be.”

Walking? Walking where? “Dexterity, you wei walking. You in boat with Sun-dao.”