Hammer Of God (42 page)

Two witch-men stood a few paces away, dressed in black silk, arms folded, faces impassive. They saw her but made no formal acknowledgement. As though she were a peasant girl, and they breathed the air of Tzhung-tzhungchai. Then they noticed the knife sheathed at her hip. Hissing like geese they stepped towards her, teeth bared.

“Hold!” called Han, climbing out of the palanquin.

When the witch-men saw their emperor they bowed low, moustaches swinging.

“What is it?” demanded Alasdair, climbing out in Han's wake.

“A misunderstanding,” said Han, then spoke to his witch-men. The lilting tongue of Tzhung sounded soft in the torch-chased shadows. They bowed, and he turned. “Come, Queen Rhian. Come, King Alasdair. We will return to Kingseat before the sunrise, you have my word.”

“With my people?” she said. “You promise?”

He nodded. “I do.”

It was an awkward clamber from the dock into the Tzhung boat, but she made a point of not needing any man's assistance. The witch-men took an oar each and rowed them steadily out of the harbour. She thought they must be using their witch-power. The boat was too cumbersome for ordinary rowing. Seated on a round leather stool, Alasdair on his own beside her, Rhian stared at Han's back as he stood in the bow, his gaze resting on the dark shifting water.

Once they'd passed from the harbour to the open sea the witch-men secured their oars, lit the boat's running lamps, ten in all, and lastly let down the boat's single black sail. Then they stood with their emperor, one at his left hand, and one at his right. Without a word, without a gesture, all three of them summoned the wind. The sail bellied, the boat lifted…and they were racing over the waves as swift as a gull.

“You don't know where we're going?” said Alasdair.

In the glow from the running lamps his face was grave, his eyes shuttered. Whatever he was feeling, he wasn't inclined to share it with her.

She shook her head. “I haven't a clue. But not all the way to Icthia, I hope.”

“No,” said Han, without turning. His long hair, unbound, whipped in the wind of his calling. “Not so far.”

After that there was only the sound of the boat skimming the water, faster than any boat had a right to sail, and the mournful keening cry of the wind. Kingseat harbour swiftly fell behind them.

Glad of her huntsman's leathers, Rhian sat beside Alasdair and strained her eyes to see ahead. Never in her life had she been sailing at night time. She'd never before sailed on the open ocean, that kind of adventure was reserved only for boys. For royal princes, who defied advice and a father's begging, sailed to foreign lands and then came home to die.

She'd boated on the Eth River, of course. That was decorous enough for a princess. But the Eth was tame water. It ran obediently between its banks, locked and canalled and suffocated with barges. The ocean was alive. It was untamed and untrammelled. It would kill them if the mood struck, witch-man wind or no.

The freedom of the ocean was a glorious thing. Seductive.

The witch-man at Han's right hand stretched out his hand, pointing, and said something. Han nodded. Replied. The wind stopped.

“What?” said Rhian, leaping up from her stool. “What is it? Have you found them?”

“We have found something,” said Han, and nodded at his witch-men. They returned to their oars, and stroke by stroke the boat crept sluggish through the waves.

Without waiting for Alasdair, she rushed to the bow to stand beside Han. Gripping its spray-soaked sides, leaning perilously forward, she tried to see through the darkness. To see what they'd found.

A stuttering glimmer in the distance. A sputter of yellow light, dying even as she found it.

“There!” she shouted. “There! I see them! Is that a boat? There!”

“Hello?” a plaintive voice called out in the darkness, drifting towards them over the ocean's choppy swell. “Hello, can you help us? Can you understand me? Can you speak Ethrean? My name is—”

“Dexterity!” Rhian shouted. “Dexterity, we're here!”

A startled silence.

“Rhian? I mean, Your Majesty?” Dexterity shouted back, his surprise almost comical. “What in Rollin's name are you doing in the middle of the ocean?”

There were tears on her cheeks, blown cold by the salt breeze. “Rescuing you, it seems.”

“Rollin's mercy! How did you know we—”

“I'll explain later,” she said, smearing one hand across her face. Alasdair, beside her now, had hold of her other hand; his grip was almost painful. Glancing at him, she saw his fierce joy. “Dexterity, is – is Zandakar with you? Is he all right?”

“Oh, yes, Zandakar's here! He's fine. We're both fine. Except – oh dear…”

“Sun-dao?” She looked sideways at Han. Tall and silent, his face flickered with shadows, he showed no sign of emotion. The distressed and ordinary man in her privy chapel had disappeared entirely. Han was an emperor again, remote and unreadable. “Yes, Dexterity. I know Sun-dao's with you. The Tzhung emperor brought us to you, me and King Alasdair.”

“Oh,” said Dexterity. “Good evening, Your Majesty! And you, of course, Emperor Han.”

Han said nothing.

“It's good to know you're safe and sound, Mister Jones,” called Alasdair. “I look forward to hearing your tale.”

“Yes, yes,” said Dexterity. He sounded…doubtful. “It's out of the ordinary, I'll say that much. Majesty, there's just one thing – about Sun-dao—”

She sighed, tightening her hold on Alasdair's hand. “Yes, Dexterity. We know.”

“Oh.”

He sounded much closer now. Han's witch-men were slowing the boat, oars digging deep, nudging it around like a carter turning a bolshy draft horse.

And then she saw him. The running lamps tied to the railing of Han's boat splashed yellow light on the black water between them, and on Dexterity's face as he hung over the side of his own boat which was lit by one meagre lamp, almost burned out. The stink of its faltering wick smothered the fresh saltiness of the air. Zandakar stood beside him, his hair in their running lamps glowing like blue flame.

Rhian felt a shudder race through her, relief and anger combined in a rushing pain. You're safe…you're safe…no thanks to Han. Alasdair let go of her hand and slipped his arm round her shoulders, holding her steady as beneath their feet the Tzhung boat shifted and rocked. She let herself lean against him, let his weight take her weight.

There are so many questions to ask, and be answered. So many reasons to shun the Tzhung after this. But right now, in this moment, I don't care. I don't care.

“Mister Jones,” she said, looking down at her toymaker. Hearing the quaver in her voice, she had to bite her lip hard before she could continue. “Have you been travelling without the proper paperwork?”

In the fitful light, beneath its scruffy beard, Dexterity's anxious face twisted. “Er – well – that's to say – oh, sweet Rollin, Your Majesty. It's wonderful to see you!”

She cleared her throat. “And you. Are you sure you're all right? Are you hurt?”

He glanced at his left hand, then tucked it behind his back before she could see it closely. “No, I'm fine. Fine. A few blisters. I'm not much for rowing. In fact I think it's safe to say I'm not cut out to be a sailor. And I'm a little peckish, truth be told. We ran out of salt fish day before yesterday. Not to mention I could do with a long hot bath.”

Alasdair chuckled, sounding only a little amused. “Don't worry, Mister Jones. Hot food and hot water await you in abundance, back in Kingseat Castle. You've been sorely missed.”

“Ah,” said Dexterity. “Ursa's been raising a ruckus, has she?”

“Not just Ursa,” Rhian said. “We've all been worried, Dexterity.”

“Yes…well…” said Dexterity, and flicked a hard glance at Han. “There's been this and that to worry about, as it happens.”

For the first time Rhian let her gaze dwell on Zandakar. Terrifyingly self-contained, he stood a pace behind Dexterity, hands clasped behind his back. His pale blue gaze was fixed to Han's face.

“And you, Zandakar?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

He nodded once. “Zho.”

She felt her heart thud too hard. Felt Alasdair's arm tighten around her. You're lying. Something's happened. “Good,” she said, sounding curt. But better curt than emotional, for so many reasons. She turned to Han. “Well, what happens now? Do we bring them on board and abandon their boat? Take them in tow? What?”

Han was staring back at Zandakar, his dark eyes opaque. Rhian felt her skin crawl, felt sudden tension in the air. Alasdair, just as sensitive to atmosphere, released his hold on her and stood aside half a pace. Ready to act, as she was, if action was required.

Though what he or I can do against three witch-men with only a single knife between us, I'm sure I don't know.

Slowly, deliberately, Han turned his head to look at her. “We bring them on board,” he said softly. “Mister Jones – Zandakar – and Sun-dao.”

There was a tone in his voice, saying his dead brother's name, that crawled her skin even colder. Meanly, unkindly, she felt a flash of resentment. Damn you, Sun-dao. Could you be less convenient?

“If we're doing this, we should work quickly,” said Alasdair. “We mustn't be away from the castle all night. People will notice. There will be an outcry.”

“Agreed,” said Han, and nodded to his witch-men.

The Tzhung boat carrying Dexterity, Zandakar and Sun-dao was grappled alongside Han's larger vessel. Zandakar tossed Dexterity from one to the other with careless ease, the toymaker flailing between the two boats like a protesting bag of wheat. Then he vaulted over the railings and gap himself, as easily as he danced through the air in his hotas.

Working silently, swiftly, supple as the wind, Han's witch-men retrieved Sun-dao's ungainly, unclothed body and laid it on the deck beside their boat's mast. Then they stepped back, and Emperor Han approached. For a long time he stood over Sun-dao in silence, his face obscured by shadows.

At length he dropped to his knees on the tilting deck, and bowed his head until his face was hidden. His witch-men bowed their heads after him, their long plaited moustaches swaying.

“I'm so sorry, Majesty,” Dexterity whispered, standing between Alasdair and Zandakar. His lips were chapped, his eyes rimmed with redness. He looked exhausted. “I hope this doesn't cause trouble for you with the Tzhung.”

She nearly laughed, though she was awash with despair. “Oh, Dexterity. Sun-dao was Han's brother.”

Alasdair's lips pinched tight, and she thought she saw him swallow a curse. Dexterity flinched, his gaze darting to Zandakar and back again. Something – a thought, a feeling – flickered deep in Zandakar's eyes, but he said nothing.

“Truly?” said Dexterity, eventually. “Oh dear.”

She nodded. “No-one outside of Tzhung knew. Perhaps few within the empire. I don't know. But you're not to repeat it. Consider it…a state secret.”

“Yes, of course,” said Dexterity, distracted. “Oh dear. I do wish I had known who Sun-dao was. I'd have tried to wash him clean. Before he died, there was blood, you see—”

Yes, there was. She could see it in the gentle lamplight, caked dry on Sun-dao's mouth and chin. And there was more than blood. He'd sustained some kind of fearsome injury, half of his face was brutally charred. The sight turned her stomach. What must it do to Emperor Han? She remembered, too vividly, how it had felt to look at Ranald and Simon's plague-disfigured bodies…

Dexterity was tugging at his beard. He always did, when he was upset. She touched his arm, gently. “Don't fret yourself. You weren't to know. Dexterity, what happened?”

“To Sun-dao?”

He sounded almost…hopeful. As though Sun-dao's demise was the only thing he wished to discuss.

And if that's so, what don't you want to tell me?

“To begin with,” she replied, letting her tone warn him. “But then I want to know how this started. I want to know why you let the emperor send you and Zandakar to Icthia.” She glanced at Han, still on his knees and silently grieving. “Or were you indeed kidnapped, and sent against your will?”

Dexterity came very close to squirming. “Not…precisely, Majesty.”

Damn. Alasdair was staring at her, she could feel the weight of his gaze. “I see,” she said softly, and let all her disappointment colour the words.

“Oh dear,” Dexterity said again. “Majesty, it's not a simple story.”

Of course it wasn't. Swallowing more resentment, she folded her arms. “We'll discuss this once we've returned to the castle. For now tell me what happened to Sun-dao. All of it, Mister Jones. No matter how…awkward.”

Dexterity flicked another glance at Zandakar. Did he realise? “Well, Majesty, I'm no Ursa. I can't tell you for certain why he died, but I can hazard a guess.”

“Hazard away,” said Alasdair. “Swiftly.”

“Yes, of course,” Dexterity muttered. “I think Sun-dao overtaxed himself shifting our boat from Kingseat harbour to Icthia. It was…” He shook his head. “Remarkable. But he was spent when we got there. I thought he was dying then. And getting us home again, oh dear. And something else happened, too. Something about Mijak, and the trade winds. Sun-dao spoke, before the end, but I'm afraid I didn't understand what he was trying to say.”

On his knees beside dead Sun-dao, Han stirred. “His words, toymaker?”

Rhian nodded as Dexterity looked to her. “Tell him.”

“He said, Blood, blood, blood in Mijak. My brothers have failed. Then he called for the emperor. And then…he died.” Dexterity shuddered. “You should know, Majesty…Mijak's empress planned on slaughtering ten thousand slaves to give her priests more power.”

“Ten thousand?” she whispered, appalled. “Are you sure, Dexterity?”

“That's what Vortka said, Majesty.” Dexterity shuddered again. “Terrible. And she must have done it. I think the shock of all those deaths is what finished Sun-dao. He was already so weak, you see.”

“Not even Tzhung's witch-men could stand against so much spilled blood,” said Han. His hands were in his lap. He didn't touch his brother.

“No,” she said. “Of course they couldn't, Han. The blame's not yours.” Then she looked at Dexterity. “Did you say Vortka told you? Who's Vortka?”

“The highest priest of Mijak,” said Dexterity, suddenly cautious. “Zandakar and I met with him in Jatharuj. You know, Icthia's main seaport.”

She stared. “You met – Dexterity, how is that possible? Icthia is full of Mijaki warriors, isn't it?”

“Oh yes. But Sun-dao hid us in the wind.”

More witch-man sorcery. Helfred would have a spasm when he learned of all this. If the ambassadors found out, they'd likely do worse. She raised an eyebrow at Alasdair, who offered a small shrug, then turned back to Dexterity.

“And why did you and Zandakar meet with this high priest of Mijak?”

Dexterity glanced at Zandakar. “We…hoped to convince him that Mijak was wrong. We thought if anyone could change Empress Hekat's mind about conquering the world, it would be Vortka.”

What? She stared from Dexterity to Zandakar, whose stolid silence was starting to unnerve her. “You idiots – what were you thinking? God save us, you could've been killed.”

Still Zandakar said nothing. Dexterity sighed. “I know, Majesty,” he said. “But we thought it was worth the risk. We thought—” His gaze shifted to Han, and again she saw his smouldering anger. “We thought Emperor Han believed we had a chance to save lives. We thought that was why he was willing to risk Sun-dao in getting us to Icthia.”

We thought. Rhian felt her body tense. Every instinct was prickling and her skin crawled with foreboding. “But?” she said delicately. She didn't dare look at Han, for fear of losing her temper. “That wasn't the case?”

“No. It wasn't.”

“What went wrong, Mister Jones?”

“Answer your queen, toymaker,” said Han as Dexterity hesitated. His gaze did not lift from his dead brother's face. “The Tzhung empire wishes to know how its most revered witch-man was so grievously hurt. For it is surely possible he would not have died, if he'd been whole.”

Both Dexterity and Zandakar glared at him, openly hostile now. Dexterity took a step forward, his hands clenched. “I'm not inclined to take commands from you, Emperor Han. And I think you know why.”

“He may, but I don't,” said Rhian. “Mister Jones, enlighten me. How was Sun-dao burned?” Swift as a striking snake hota she seized Dexterity's left hand and examined it in the lamplight. It was seared, blistered and bubbled. Suspicions confirmed, she released him. “How were you burned?”

Dexterity looked to Zandakar. Something complicated passed between them. As one man they looked at Han, and this time Han did look up. The silence stretched out, full of complications…

“Ah – I thought you wanted to discuss this in the castle?” Dexterity said.

Suddenly she was angry. Frightened, and angry.

All these men with their secrets, all these wretched men. First Zandakar and Dexterity, now Han. Everywhere I turn, secrets, and yet I'm expected to prevail.

“I've changed my mind!” she snapped. “If what you wish to tell me is politically sensitive – and I just know that it is, I can see your faces, gentlemen – then what better place to discuss it than in the middle of the night, on a boat, on the ocean? It seems unlikely we'll be interrupted or overheard. Tell me what happened! Or do you long for a cell again, and a witch-man to keep you company?”

Even as she made the threat, some small part of her regretted it. Dexterity flinched, his eyes widening. Alasdair touched her arm with his fingertips, silently urging restraint.

Then Dexterity sighed. “No, Your Majesty. I'll tell you. I'm afraid there was a slight disagreement. An…altercation, if you will.”

“Why?” said Alasdair. “You were in enemy territory. Your lives were in danger. What was so important you'd risk fighting over it, and being discovered?”

Dexterity's eyes grew colder. “Emperor Han lied to us, Your Majesty. He wasn't interested in seeing Mijak change its mind. He wanted to use us to get Sun-dao close to the empress so the witch-man could murder her and Dmitrak.”