Karen Miller - Hammer of God

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2008 by Karen Miller

Excerpt from The Accidental Sorcerer copyright 2008 by Karen Miller

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Originally published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited: 2008

First eBook Edition: January 2009

ISBN: 978-0-316-04079-2

Contents

Alasdair felt a flood of relief, and was ashamed. Zandakar would push Rhian, Zandakar would bully and berate and cuff her on the side of her head until she was ready to meet and defeat the dukes. He need never say another word on it. Zandakar would say it all.

He will earn her wrath and our marriage will be safe.

It occurred to him, then, so his hot blood turned cold, that he wasn't doubting Zandakar's intentions. Wasn't doubting the man would do everything in his power to keep Rhian alive and victorious. He was trusting her life to Zandakar's bloodsoaked hands without a moment's hesitation.

Because he loves her. This murderous man is in love with my wife. I wonder what it says about me, that I'll use his love like a weapon to shield her. That I'll use him until he's all used up.

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Rhian prevailed.

Come then, Zandakar, he said, and moved to the chamber door. Let us find Rhian a sword worthy of her, so she might take her place in history.

Praise for Karen Miller

Adventure, magic, friendship, love, and a battle of good versus evilI can see this tale becoming a classic.

Scifichick.com on The Awakened Mage

A skillfully created world of ritual and tradition provides a stunning backdrop for her exciting adventures.

Romantic Times on Empress

Books by Karen Miller

Kingmaker, Kingbreaker

The Innocent Mage

The Awakened Mage

The Godspeaker Trilogy

Empress

The Riven Kingdom

Hammer of God

Writing as K. E. Mills

The Rogue Agent Trilogy

The Accidental Sorcerer

For Elaine, whose friendship kept me going when the going got really tough.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

D mitrak. Dmitrak kept his gaze pinned to the conquered harbour of Jatharuj, where the warships of Mijak clustered thicker than ticks on a goat. It was the time for highsun sacrifice. Ant-people swarmed down there, gathering for blood, his warriors and his slaves and all the godspeakers the empress insisted must remain. The township was over-ripe and full to bursting. Half its surviving original inhabitants had been sent to other conquered settlements, just to make room for Mijak's warhost.

My warhost. I am their warlord, they belong to me.

He did not turn. Vortka high godspeaker.

Warlord, you are absent from sacrifice.

He shrugged. So are you.

A sigh. Dmitrak

Did the empress send you?

The god sends me, Dmitrak.

Too busy to come itself, high godspeaker?

Dmitrak! Vortka's voice grated with displeasure. You desire another tasking, is that why you spit your words in the god's eye, do you think the god is blinded by words?

Dmitrak swung round sharply enough that the silver godbells in his scarlet godbraids woke from slumber, clamouring his anger. I am weary of taskings, Vortka. I will have no more of them.

It is not your place to decide who is tasked, warlord, the old man said, severe. It is not your place to say I will not come to sacrifice. You are the warlord. Your place is at the altar when the god receives its blood.

He turned back to the wide, shallow harbour and the wider ocean beyond it. Yes, I am the warlord. I am the god's hammer, I can strike down a godspeaker if I wish. Be careful, old man. My place is where I say it is.

Your place is where the god puts you, Dmitrak, said Vortka, his voice cold. By its want, you are its hammer. For as long as the god sees you and no longer than that.

Old man. Old fool. Like the empress he clung to the hope that one day the god's other hammer would return.

Zandakar is gone, Vortka. Zandakar is most likely dead. I am the only hammer in the world.

He almost choked on the name, to say it aloud. Thinking the name made the world shimmer red. Rage shivered a harsh keening from his godbells. His skin felt hot, his blood surged hot in his veins.

He was my brother; he turned his face from me. How dare he do that? How dare he dare?

So much time gone by, and still he could weep and kill to think of Zandakar.

He loved you, Dmitrak, Vortka said. His voice was cracked and chasmed with pain. Your brother loved you. How can you doubt it? The world saw his love. He loved you in the god's eye.

Why would Vortka say such a thing, did he think talk of Zandakar would please Dmitrak warlord? He had never said such a thing before, they had never talked of Zandakar. Nobody dared talk of Zandakar in his hearing.

You defend him, Vortka? You defend him to the man he wronged most? Tcha, you are blind, you tell yourself lies.

Vortka's defence of treacherous Zandakar pricked him to speak, when silence would be better. He loved his stinking piebald bitch more.

And for that you tried to kill him? said Vortka, angry again. Aieee, warlord, you do not understand. A man may love a brother and also a wife. Even if He sighed, a sound of sorrow. Even if the wife was a mistake. He loved that wrong woman, he did not stop loving you. He begged I never tell the empress you attempted his life, he spoke of you every highsun he was kept by my hand. Grieving and desolate, sometimes close to losing his mind, still he thought of you. Warlord, you should have a softer heart.

Dmitrak raised his right arm, let his gold-and-crystal fingers fist. Summoned the power so the crimson stones glowed. You should guard your old man's tongue, I will burn it in your mouth if you do not take my advice.

Dmitrak

Vortka sounded sorry again. Sorry, but beneath the regret a thread of fear. Good.

You cannot hate forever, said the foolish old man. Hate will shrivel your heart, it will poison your godspark.

Dmitrak grimaced into the wind. The high godspeaker was wrong, hate was more potent than the date wine of Icthia. Hate filled a man's belly, it strengthened his bones.

Tcha, Vortka, you are stupid. The god hates. The god hates its enemies and tasks me to smite them, the god hates demons and weaklings. I am its hammer born to break them apart.

The god hates its enemies, yes, agreed Vortka. If we see the god in our hearts we must hate its enemies also, this is a true thing. Dmitrak, Zandakar was never your enemy.

Zandakar again! Was the old man eager to lose his tongue? Did I ask you to come here and grind your teeth on that name? I think I did not, Vortka. I think you think I will not smite you. I will.