1 - Empress by Karen Miller

Author:Karen Miller [Miller, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Book Group USA
Published: 2008-05-16T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A godspeaker was waiting at the barracks gates when Raklion led his warriors home, Hanochek dirty and tired by his side. It was a finger past highsun, the sky was blue and bright. Hanochek saw her first.

“Warlord, it seems we are expected.”

“I see that,” said Raklion, and held his stallion to its slow jog. In his breast, his heart was beating.

Is it Hekat? Has she fallen on the border? Let it not be Hekat, god, I am lost without her.

When they reached the gates he drew rein and stared down from his horse at the patient godspeaker. “You wait for me?”

“Warlord,” she said, wrapped throat to ankle in a soft wool robe. “Nagarak high godspeaker sends for you to join him.”

“Sends for me?” he echoed. These past seasons, as Zandakar grew tall and beautiful, the high godspeaker had chosen his summoning words more carefully, he had no whip of failure for beating his warlord now. “How sends for me?”

The godspeaker bent her head, so all her godbells chimed in contrition. “Warlord, his purpose is not for me to know.”

“My son thrives? His mother?”

“Warlord, your son sits in the god’s eye. His mother is returned triumphant from war.”

Relief was a pain, sharp in his side. “Returned when?”

“Eight highsuns ago,” said the godspeaker. “She was cleansed in the godhouse, sacrifice was made and accepted. Warlord, Nagarak high godspeaker waits.”

Raklion sighed and slid from his saddle. His bones creaked, his muscles groaned in chorus. Twenty-two suns hard riding from Et-Raklion’s far border took its toll on a man, even if he was a warlord. Tossing his reins to Hano he said, “See my warriors praised on the warhost field, warleader. Tell the barracks godspeakers I wish two hundred bull-calves sacrificed to the god in thanks for our victory, then have the meat roasted for a feast. Ale and sadsa for all, without measure.”

“It shall be done, warlord,” said Hano, tactfully sympathetic for the groaning muscles and the summons, and led the warhost into the barracks proper.

No mere man might approach the godhouse on horseback, his feet must tread upon the ground. Bruised and aching, longing keenly for a bath, Raklion trudged up the winding Pinnacle Road to meet with Nagarak, the messenger godspeaker toiling in his wake. He passed a handful of city supplicants walking up, walking down, they stopped and bowed their heads to see him, he noticed them with a swift “the god see you’ but said nothing further, Nagarak was waiting and he wanted this done. After three godmoons away, patrolling, fighting, he yearned to see Zandakar, his loins burned for Hekat, but they would have to wait. Hiding his reluctance, he kept on walking.

He and the godspeaker reached the godhouse. “I will tell the high godspeaker you are come,” she said, hands meekly hidden inside her wool sleeves. “Please wait for me, warlord.”

She disappeared into the godhouse, he remained outside. The godhouse stank of old, cold blood. Releasing a sigh, Raklion clasped his hands behind his back and let the stirring air caress his face and coax his godbells to whispered song.

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