A Mighty Fortress (55 page)

Green Mountain had been very careful to enlist the support of the Duke of Lakeshore, the Duke of Broken Rock, and the Earl of Helena, although he’d had to do rather more dragon- trading than he’d really liked, especially in Broken Rock’s case. Coupled with the fervent support of the free city of Port Charlz (which had been renamed Port Royal by its citizens as a token of its enthusiasm for the Crown), their backing had given Sailys (who was himself the Duke of Cherayth) a solid territorial base of his own. Protected by Lake Morgan and Lake Megan, to the west, and by the sea to the east and south, he had commanded the kingdom’s best ports and most productive artisans, which had constituted a major advantage over his fractious, internally bickering opposition.

Maikelberg had been built on the territory of the then- Duke of Eastshare, who had not been one of Sailys’ greater admirers, to protect that advantage. It had been designed to keep Eastshare on his own side of Lake Morgan, thus freeing Sailys to concentrate on the more dangerous, broader approaches across the Duchies of Lakeshore and Windshore. And the king had been careful to extend his control gradually, working westward, without ever uncovering his back.

The old Duke of Eastshare had been considerate enough to get himself killed in battle before producing an heir of his own body. At that point, the title had passed to a collateral line, and the new duke—the current duke’s father—recognizing which way the wind was setting, had become one of the Crown’s loyal adherents. Despite that, Sailys had kept the walls of Maikelberg in excellent repair, and Sharleyan had followed suit. Of course, Sharleyan had also completed her father’s plans for Lake Morgan and Lake Megan, linking Lake Morgan to Cherry Bay by way of the King Sailys Canal and Lake Megan to Lake Morgan via the Edymynd Canal. The canals had stimulated the economy of the area around Cherayth still further, and it was no coincidence that the King Sailys Canal had been placed in a perfect location for Maikelberg to protect.

Maikelberg’s proximity to Cherry Bay and to Lake Morgan gave it excellent waterborne communications, which had made it a logical place for the present Duke of Eastshare to go about organizing the new Imperial Army. It was also connected to Cherayth by a carefully maintained high road, and as a member of Emperor Cayleb’s personal guard, Captain Athrawes had priority for fresh horses from the posting stations the Crown maintained along the way. All of which meant he could make the journey between the two cities by horse back in about two of Safehold’s long days. If he pushed the pace a bit, he could have made the same trip in a day and a half, or even a little less.

Of course, if I were able to use the
skimmer,
I could make it in about
ten minutes
, couldn’t I?
he reflected dryly as he (finally) saw the walls of Maikelberg rising before him. He grimaced only half- humorously at the thought.

At least it’s not as if the time is wasted,
he reminded himself.

Nimue Alban had been an indifferent equestrienne, at best. She’d learned to ride, more or less, as a little girl, only because her wealthy father—himself a world- class polo player—had insisted. Her own interests had lain elsewhere . . . a point which had obviously perplexed her father, who had been firmly convinced that every girl child ever born idolized horses. Maybe every
other
girl child ever born had, but Nimue had been much more interested in sailboats.

As a consequence, however, Merlin Athrawes’ riding skills had been less than stellar, as well. Fortunately, the preferred style on Safehold was what had been called “Western- style” (in remarkably disapproving tones) by young Nimue’s riding instructors. Also fortunately, Merlin had a PICA’s reactions, strength, and ability to literally program his artificial body with “muscle memory” skills. With those advantages, his per formance on horse back had improved dramatically, which had been fortunate for his
seijin
’s reputation.

By now, Merlin was capable of setting himself on autopi lot once he climbed into the saddle and performing there with a polished skill few breathing humans could have bettered. In fact, with the situational awareness provided by his artificially enhanced senses, and the reaction speed provided by his fiber- optic nervous system, he could readily afford to multitask during the lengthy rides between Cherayth and Maikelberg, which gave him the opportunity to catch up on some of the unending data dumps coming to him from Owl’s remotes.

That was precisely what he’d been doing ever since he’d left the palace, and as usually happened when he had uninterrupted opportunities to examine the data, he’d discovered a few previously unsuspected alligators crawling out of the swamp. Most of those alligators had not yet reached the potentially disastrous stage, but at least one of them was likely to lead to an “interesting” conversation with Archbishop Maikel.

Under the circumstances, I think I’d better postpone that until I can get home and have it in person, though
.

That reflection carried Merlin and his present mount to Maikel’s Bridge, the largest of the three drawbridges across the King Sailys Canal. Iron- shod hooves sounded with a dull hollowness on the bridge’s timbers, and Merlin shifted mental gears as he shook himself fully back into the moment. Conversations with Staynair could wait until he got back to Cherayth; the one he was here to have with Duke Eastshare was likely to prove quite “interesting” enough to be going on with.

“
Seijin
Merlin.”

Ruhsyl Thairis, the Duke of Eastshare, was forty- five years old, brown-haired and brown- eyed, a couple of inches under six feet tall, and stocky for his height. Although he was one of the Kingdom of Chisholm’s highest- born noblemen, he came to his feet as Merlin was ushered into his office.

“Your Grace,” Merlin replied, and bowed deeply. “It’s good to see you again,” Eastshare continued, extending his hand. They clasped forearms, and the duke smiled a bit crookedly.

“It’s good to see you,” he repeated, “but I can’t help wondering exactly
why
I’m seeing you. Or, rather, seeing you again this soon.”

“Actually, Your Grace, there are several reasons, but one of them is more important than any of the others.” Merlin’s answering smile was rather more crooked than his host’s had been. “In particular, Their Majesties have a message for you which they thought should probably be delivered in person.”

“Ah?” Eastshare raised one eyebrow. “And, to be honest, Your Grace, it’s also a bit . . . complicated. I think it’s going to take me a little time to explain things properly.”

“I see.”

Eastshare regarded his visitor thoughtfully. Despite his own loyalty to the Crown and, specifically, to Sharleyan Tayt Ahrmahk, the duke was every inch a Chisholmian noble. Since the Duke of Halbrook Hollow’s treason, Merlin had satisfied himself (both from personal contact and from the recordings of Owl’s SNARCs) that Eastshare’s allegiance to the Empire—and, despite a few initial reservations, to the Church of Charis, as well—was genuine. Despite that, Eastshare was one of those people who had trouble truly grasping the concept that the majority of commoners were just as much people as he was. It wasn’t even arrogance, in his case; it was simply incomprehension. The natural and innate superiority of the nobly born was so much a part of the world in which he had been raised that it was literally impossible for him to make that leap on anything except a purely intellectual basis.

Yet there was one area in which that was clearly not the case, for he had no difficulty at all accepting commoners who also happened to be Army officers as the equals of their more aristocratic fellows. In fact, he was well known for ruthlessly quashing any efforts to establish “old boy” networks of aristocratic patronage when it came to promotions and assignments.

Some of that, Merlin suspected, was because Eastshare regarded “all” his officers, including the common- born ones, as members of his own extended family. Another part, however, was probably institutional, given the fact that the Army had been specifically created to break the aristocracy’s grip on Chisholm. It had been created around commoners, not aristocrats, and despite the towering nobility of his own birth, Eastshare had no problem maintaining that tradition. In the
Army
, at least;
outside
the Army, he seemed perfectly comfortable with the patronage- backed ascendancy of his fellow aristocrats.

In Merlin’s case, Eastshare had obviously decided he fell under the “soldier” heading, even if he had had the bad taste to be born somewhere besides Chisholm, and related to him accordingly. And although Merlin’s official rank was still only “captain,” Eastshare—who was no dummy—clearly realized some captains were more equal than others. In particular, a captain of the Imperial Guard, assigned to head the emperor’s personal detail, who’d first introduced himself to the emperor by foiling an assassination attempt when the emperor in question had been a mere crown prince, and who was routinely used by both the emperor and the empress as their personal messenger and troubleshooter, was one hell of a lot more equal than other captains. That, Merlin had decided some time ago, was the reason Eastshare habitually addressed him as
“seijin”
rather than using his official rank. And it was probably also the reason he treated a commoner—and a
foreign- born
commoner, at that—as something very close to an equal. Not quite, of course. But close.

“If Their Majesties think I need to hear something from you personally, why don’t you join me for supper?” the duke asked now. “Lady Eastshare is off visiting our newest grandchild, and she won’t be back until sometime late tomorrow, so I was planning on dining at headquarters, anyway, then turning in in my quarters here instead of riding all the way home. I’d intended to ask some of my staff to join me. Should I assume the nature of your message would make it more advisable for you and me to dine privately?”

“Actually, Your Grace,” Merlin murmured, “I think that might be a very good idea.”

“So,
Seijin
Merlin,” Eastshare said three hours later. “About that message?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Eastshare’s orderly had overseen the servants who had removed the dishes, then poured the wine, set the decanter on the table at Eastshare’s elbow, and withdrawn from the private dining room adjacent to the duke’s quarters here in the Maikelberg citadel. It had been an excellent dinner, Merlin thought appreciatively, and the wine was quite good, too. Fusion- powered PICAs didn’t require nourishment, although his internal arrangements were designed to scavenge the material he needed to produce his “naturally growing” hair and beard from the food he ingested. Most of that food simply had to be disposed of later, but PICAs had been designed to allow their owners to do anything they could have done in their own biological bodies. Merlin’s tastebuds were fully functional, although any Safeholdian healer would have gone off in gibbering madness if Merlin had tried to explain to him exactly
how
they functioned. He’d enjoyed the meal, and aside from a certain degree of tunnel vision resulting from that single blind spot where commoners were concerned, East-share was an incisive observer, with a trenchant wit. The table conversation had been just as enjoyable as the meal, and Merlin hoped that wasn’t going to change.

It’ll be interesting to see whether or not he goes ballistic,
the
seijin
thought. Cayleb and Sharleyan had a side bet going, and he suspected the two of them were watching through one of the SNARCs to see which of them had been right.
For that matter, Nahrmahn’s probably looking in, too,
he reflected.

Eastshare was looking at him across the table, he realized, and there was more than a hint of impatience in the duke’s steady regard.