Hammer Of God (31 page)

“I think—” Zandakar hesitated. “Zho.”

Dexterity turned on him. “No, Zandakar, they wouldn't. They won't. I know you want to think so, I know you want to fix this, but you can't. They banished you. You're dead to them. Stay dead, I beg you.”

But Zandakar shook his head. “Zho – if I find Vortka. He is gajka. He will listen. He and I will make Yuma and Dmitrak stop Mijak.”

Han's eyes were narrowed. “You're sure of this?”

A long silence. Then Zandakar nodded. “Zho.”

“Good. Then I will send you to Icthia.”

“I'm sorry,” said Dexterity, “but that's out of the question. Her Majesty can't have Zandakar gone for weeks on end. She relies on him.”

“It is true that for ordinary men, the journey to Icthia takes weeks,” replied Han. “But Sun-dao can shrink that time to days.”

“Days? That's impossible!”

“Not for Sun-dao,” Han said simply. “He lives in the wind.”

Oh dear. “And when he gets there? Zandakar's not precisely inconspicuous, you know. He's not a nobody. He'll be recognised by someone, and then what? His brother's sworn to kill him! And his mother – his mother—” He had to stop for a moment before he lost his temper entirely. “It's too dangerous.”

Han's eyebrows lifted. “Dangerous? No. Sun-dao will hide Zandakar in the wind.”

Hide him in the— “And what does that mean?”

“It means he won't be seen unless he wishes to be seen.”

Dexterity didn't dare look at Zandakar. “Even so – no. It's out of the question, Emperor Han. And what's more, this entire conversation is unseemly. You've no business making such an offer without Rhian's knowledge. This clandestine behaviour is – is – it's dishonourable!”

The emperor stood, his face dark with anger. “You presume too far, toymaker!” The chamber's scented air writhed gently, hinting at storms. The candle-flames flickered, dancing shadows up the walls. “In another place, another time, your words would be an act of war.”

“Well, what you're proposing is equally provocative!” he replied. “Zandakar has sworn an oath to Her Majesty, he—”

“Dexterity. Wei,” said Zandakar, quietly. “I decide. I am Zandakar chotzu, zho?”

He turned. “Yes, yes, but you can't seriously be thinking to – you can't possibly – Zandakar, be sensible. Rhian will never let you go.”

“This is not the Queen of Ethrea's decision,” said Han. “If Zandakar wishes to do this, I will help him.”

“And in doing so, Emperor Han, you'll hurt Rhian terribly. Why would you do that? I thought you respected her!”

Han nodded. “I do. Mister Jones, my purpose here is not to hurt your little queen. She is a sweet child who might yet grow to fit her crown. I seek peace, not strife. I am here, in Ethrea, not in my airy palace where I long to be. But I cannot go home until Mijak is defeated.”

“Is that what the wind tells you, Emperor Han?”

“It does. And I suspect this venture is our only hope. The league of trading nations will never agree to an armada.”

“You don't know that! You have to give them time!”

“There is no more time. Mijak is coming.”

“But – but—” Dexterity turned. “Zandakar, you can't. Rhian trusts you. She – she—” Cares for you. And you care for her. You can't do this, you'll break her heart.

“He can do what he likes, toymaker,” said Emperor Han. “He is a free man. He is no slave.”

Oh be quiet, be quiet, you meddlesome man! “Of course he's a slave!” Dexterity retorted. “He's a slave to his honour!” Again he turned to Zandakar. “You've sworn an oath in blood to serve Ethrea. If you leave without telling Rhian, without asking her permission, you'll be forsworn. And if you're caught trying—” He shook his head, appalled. “There'll be no mercy, Zandakar. You'll be struck down like a froth-mouthed dog.”

Emperor Han's eyes were half-lidded, considering. “You will not be caught. Sun-dao will see to that. Prince of Mijak, you are in exile but still, you are a prince. The warriors who will die in the coming battle are your people. Your mother and brother have led them into darkness, but you have the power to save them. To save them and your family. You have the power, but do you have the courage? Are you their chotzu in deed, as well as name?”

“Zandakar…” Dexterity whispered, but was terribly afraid he'd already lost. Emperor Han was clever. He knew exactly what to say to convince Zandakar to go.

“You are wrong in trying to stop him, toymaker,” said Han. “You said you'd do what you could to help Ethrea. This will help Ethrea more than any burning miracle.”

“You don't know that either!” he retorted. Oh, Hettie, this man. “For all you know you're sending Zandakar to his death!”

Han smiled. “The wind does not say so.”

“Oh – oh – drat you and your wretched wind!”

“Tcha, Dexterity.” Zandakar shook his head. “Han chotzu is right.” His fist struck his chest. “I am Zandakar chotzu. I know chalava's want. I must save Mijak, zho? Yuma. Dimmi. Vortka. I must save.”

“And what am I supposed to tell Rhian?”

Zandakar pushed up his sleeve and looked at the fading pink knife-scar on his forearm. The physical reminder of his bloodsworn oath. “You say I save Ethrea, too. Zho?”

“Oh, Zandakar…”

Perilous close to tears, aware of Han's silent scrutiny, of Zandakar's iron determination, Dexterity turned his back on both of them and pressed his hands to his face.

Oh, Hettie. Hettie. This is a nightmare. What do I do? How do I stop him? If I go back to Rhian and tell her I let him go…

He felt sick, and suddenly frightened. If Zandakar was whisked away, what would happen afterwards? Dexterity Jones would be a nuisance. A stumbling block. The emperor would have to keep him silent. Oh, Hettie!

“I want to talk this over with Zandakar,” he said abruptly, lowering his hands and turning round. “Just the two of us. Will you permit it?”

Han considered him coldly. “You wish to dissuade him?”

“I wish to be certain he's doing the right thing.”

Han stood. “Very well. But speak swiftly.”

Dexterity watched Han cross to a panel in the lacquered wall behind the throne and pass his hand across it. A hidden door slid open. The emperor stepped through it and the door closed again, sealing them within the chamber.

“Well!” he said as soon as they were alone. “And what do you have to say for yourself, O mighty Prince of Mijak!”

Zandakar said nothing, his gaze resting on the nearest flickering candle-flame. His face was calm, like an unstirred millpond. Only his eyes held emotion; they were bright and full of pain.

“Zandakar,” he persisted. “Do you really think you can convince this Vortka to then convince your mother and brother to turn tail and go home? I mean, from what you've told me of them it doesn't sound likely. It sounds most unlikely. Surely you'll end up dead…or worse!”

“Wei,” said Zandakar. “Vortka wei kill. Vortka gajka.”

“You don't know that's still true!” he said, desperate. “Zandakar, you don't even know if Vortka's still alive. What if he's perished? What if there's a – a new chalava-hagra for Mijak? One who doesn't know you, or isn't gajka. If you show your face to your brother or your mother they will kill you. You can't go. You can't.”

Zandakar shrugged. “I must.”

Oh, for pity's sake. Dexterity stamped around the candlelit room, and came to a halt on its far side. This was ridiculous. He couldn't let Zandakar go.

Dexie, love, you have to. And you'll have to go with him.

What? What? Was that Hettie's voice? Was she here? Startled, he stared around the lacquered chamber, but could see only Zandakar. And then he caught an elusive hint of lavender and roses. Her favourite scents.

Hettie.

Dexie, go with him. You'll be all right.

He wanted to stamp his feet and wave his arms. He wanted to shout, Go with him? Go with him? Hettie, are you mad? I have a donkey, I have a cottage, I have a business on its last legs. I can't go traipsing off to Icthia to Zandakar's family.

Dexie, it's important. Trust me. Go.

What? Why? Why was it important?

But Hettie was gone again. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

He looked at Zandakar, still feeling sick. His heart was threatening to shatter his ribs. Say it, say it, before you change your mind. “So you're set on this? There's nothing I can say to keep you in Ethrea?”

Slowly Zandakar shook his head. “Yatzhay.”

Oh dear, oh dear…“Then, if you're going, Zandakar, I'm going too.”

Zandakar stepped back, shocked. “Wei!”

“You leave me no choice!” he replied, almost breathless. “I'm responsible for you, Zandakar. Like you, I gave Rhian my word. You might be comfortable going back on it, but I'm not!”

“Dexterity—”

The door in the wall slid open again, and Han returned. Sun-dao was with him.

“Well, Zandakar?” said the emperor.

“I go,” said Zandakar.

Dexterity wiped his sweaty palms down his front. “Actually, Emperor Han, we both go.”

Han and his witch-men exchanged startled glances. “Mister Jones—”

“I'm sorry, I have to,” he said quickly. “I can't let Zandakar go alone.”

“He won't be alone,” said the emperor, displeased. “Sun-dao will be with him.”

“That's not the same and you know it!”

Zandakar was shaking his head. “You stay, Dexterity. You safe in Ethrea.”

“While you're risking your life in Icthia?” he retorted. “I hardly think so. Are you mad? I didn't rescue you from that slave ship and traipse from one end of the kingdom to the other with you under my feet to let you out of my sight now. Besides. You'll need me as a witness. Even if I do explain to Rhian that you had to go, that you're not betraying her, who knows what kind of mischief ambassadors like that Gutten will look to make? If I'm with you, if I can swear that all you did was try to stop Mijak in Icthia, well…” he sighed gustily. “We might manage to keep the league of trading nations in one piece.”

Emperor Han tapped a slender finger against his lips. “You are determined, toymaker?”

He nodded. “I am.” Thanks to Hettie.

“And yet I could deny you. It's within my power to keep you here, and let Zandakar go.”

On a deep breath Dexterity made himself meet Han's intimidating eyes. “You could,” he admitted. “But I promise it'll be far less troublesome if you don't.”

Han's gaze chilled. “Truly.”

With a glance at Zandakar, Dexterity took a step closer to him. “Emperor Han, believe me. I don't want to go. I don't want Zandakar to go. This is a fool's errand, I'm sure. But if I can't convince him to refuse you, then I must go with him. I gave Rhian my word to keep him safe. Would you have both of us forsworn?”

“You are a harsh man, toymaker,” said Han.

No, I'm a madman. Just you ask Ursa.

“Well?” he demanded, folding his arms. “Is it settled?”

Han nodded. “It is settled. Sun-dao will take you and Zandakar to Icthia. You have earned the thanks of Tzhung-tzhungchai.”

“Get us to Icthia and back in one piece and you can keep your thanks,” he said, not caring in the least it was a rank discourtesy, or that a man from Tzung would likely die for such words. This wasn't Tzhung, it was Ethrea, and this wretched emperor was swiftly proving a thorn in the kingdom's side.

Han considered him. “You are not pleased, toymaker.”

“No. And neither would you be, Emperor Han, were you in my place. Now if you'd be so kind as to supply me with pen and paper I'll write a note for Her Majesty, that you can see deliv—”

“A note?” Emperor Han shook his head. “Alas. Informing Rhian of this venture would…complicate matters. They are complicated enough as it is.”

“No note?” Dexterity gaped at him. “You expect Zandakar and me to simply…disappear? Vanish without explanation? Emperor Han, that could be seen as treason.”

“But it is not treason,” said the emperor calmly. “We know you go to save Ethrea, Mister Jones. And when you return, your little queen will know it too.”

He turned to Zandakar. “We can't go, Zandakar. Not like this. She'll think we've betrayed her. How will she explain our disappearance to the dukes? To the ambassadors? We'll make her look a fool. We'll weaken her position. We can't.” He turned back to Han. “We can't.”

“Dexterity is right,” said Zandakar. “Rhian hushla must know.”

So tall, so elegant, Emperor Han clasped his hands and sighed. His dark eyes were shadowed with many thoughts. “Your devotion to Queen Rhian is moving. How hard it is to fault men who honour their sovereign with such passion.” He smiled, an ambiguous curve of thin lips. “I am an emperor of Tzhung, with imperial ancestors as numerous as there are stars in the night sky…and yet you have humbled me. You, a toymaker, and a brute, bloodsoaked savage from the far east. The wind whispers its praise, gentlemen. It honours your hearts.”

Taken aback, Dexterity watched as Han approached, Sun-dao a pace behind him. Flinched, a little, as an imperial hand came to rest coolly on his shoulder. Zandakar didn't flinch but his blue gaze sharpened as Han touched him too.

“Yes, I am humbled…” Han murmured. “And yet, alas…unmoved.”

The lacquered room disappeared in a howling storm of wind.

When Dexterity opened his eyes again he saw a ceiling of silver stars and two moons overhead, one plump and one slender. Groggy and groaning, he shoved aside the blanket covering him, sat up—and promptly wished he hadn't.

“Be still,” said Zandakar, taking his elbow. “Witch-man power strong. Hurt belly, hurt head.”

Yes, it certainly did. Nauseous, his head pounding, his mouth dry, Dexterity waited for the world to stop spinning. When at last it settled he took a deep breath and looked around. A brisk salt breeze blew directly in his face. A sloshy, wet sound was all he could hear. The wooden floor beneath him moved disconcertingly up and down.

“God save us! We're at sea?”

They were. At sea on a very small boat. A lamp had been lashed to the vessel's single mast. Its flame burned steadily, edging Zandakar's face in golden light. “Zho.”

“Where at sea? Where are we?”

Zandakar shrugged. “Wei know.” He nodded. “Witch-man know. Witch-man sleeping.”

Sun-dao. Dexterity shifted, feeling splinters even through his trousers. An arm's length away Han's witch-man was sitting upright, eyes closed, hands clasped in his lap. Breathing in, breathing out, oblivious to his surroundings.