A Mighty Fortress (17 page)

“No, it doesn’t,” Staynair agreed. “In fact, sheer distance—and how long it takes for messages to cross between its various parts, openly, at least—is the Empire’s biggest weakness, and we all know it. I’m pretty sure the Group of Four does, too, and I imagine anyone as smart as Trynair and Clyntahn is going to do his best to take advantage of it. Of course,” Staynair showed his teeth in a most un- archbishop- like smile, “they don’t know quite everything, do they? We may be sitting here fretting about how to ‘steer’ Rayjhis, but
they
don’t have a clue of the fact that you or I can discuss a situation ‘face- to- face’ with Cayleb and Sharleyan anytime we have to!”

“Which only makes it even more frustrating when we can’t talk to someone
else
anytime we have to,” Wave Thunder growled, and the archbishop chuckled.

“The
Writ
says patience is one of the godly virtues,” he pointed out. “Interestingly enough, so do all of the other religions Owl and I have been reading about. So you’re not going to get a lot of sympathy from me just because it’s a virtue which
you
notably lack, Bynzhamyn!”

“I hope you still find it humorous when you’re sitting on a becalmed galleon in the middle of the Chisholm Sea,” Wave Thunder replied, dark eyes gleaming. “
Patience,
I mean.”

“Somehow I suspect being becalmed in the Chisholm Sea is going to be one of the least of my problems in the middle of the winter,” Staynair said wryly. “I’ve been advised to pack a lot of golden- berry tea, for some reason.”

The gleam in Wave Thunder’s eyes turned into a snort of amusement. Golden- berry tea, brewed from the leaves of the golden- berry tree, which grew to a height of about ten feet and thrived in almost any climate, was the standard Safeholdian treatment for motion sickness.

“
You
may find the thought amusing,” Staynair said severely, “but I rather doubt I’m going to feel the same way when we’re looking at waves as high as a cathedral spire!”

“Probably not,” Wave Thunder acknowledged with a grin. He leaned back in his own chair and sipped more brandy for several moments, then looked back across at Staynair.

“And Nahrmahn?” he asked. “Have you pressed Father Zhon about
that
recently?”

“Not really,” Staynair confessed. “I’m still in two minds, myself, if the truth be told. I understand how valuable Nahrmahn could be, but I don’t really have a good enough feel for him yet—as a man, and not just a prince—to feel comfortable predicting how he’d react to the complete truth.”

“He’s handled the ‘Merlin has visions’ version of the truth well enough,” Wave Thunder pointed out.

“So has Rayjhis,” Staynair countered. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Bynz -hamyn. If there’s anyone who’s . . . mentally flexible enough, let’s say, to accept the truth, it’s got to be Nahrmahn. And I’m very much inclined to believe Merlin—and Cayleb, for that matter—are correct about where he’s placed his fundamental loyalties now. Maybe the problem’s just that Emerald was the enemy for so long. I mean, it’s possible I’m carrying around some kind of automatic prejudice towards all things Emeraldian, including the
Prince
of Emerald, myself. I don’t
think
I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m not. I’m just . . . uncomfortable in my own mind about how . . . stable his loyalties are. That’s not the right word.” The archbishop waved one hand, his expression that of a man unaccustomed to being unable to express himself with precision. “I guess what it comes down to is that I haven’t really been able to spend enough time with him to feel I truly
know
him.”

“Well, that’s fair enough,” Wave Thunder conceded. Prince Nahrmahn had spent no more than a month and a half in Tellesberg before departing for the Corisande campaign with Emperor Cayleb. He’d returned to Old Charis two months ago, but he’d stayed in Tellesberg for less than two five- days before departing for Emerald. No reasonable person could have complained about his priorities, given the fact that he’d seen neither his wife nor his children in the better part of a year, but it did mean that Staynair—and Wave Thunder, for that matter—had enjoyed precious little opportunity to truly get to know him.

“Maybe you’ll have the opportunity to get better acquainted during your pastoral visit,” the baron pointed out, and Staynair nodded.

“I plan to make a point of it,” he said. “For that matter, I think it’s entirely possible he may end up sailing back to Chisholm with me, as well. And as you so tactfully pointed out a few moments ago,” the archbishop grimaced, “that ought to give me
plenty
of time to get ‘acquainted.’ ”

“I understand ocean cruises are supposed to be an excellent opportunity to make lifelong friendships,” Wave Thunder observed, and Staynair snorted. Then the archbishop’s expression turned a bit more thoughtful.

“Actually,” he said in the tone a man used to admit something he found at least mildly surprising, “I think a genuine friendship with Nahrmahn is definitely a possibility.” He shook his head with a bemused air. “Who would’ve thought that a year or two ago?”

“Not me, that’s for sure!” Wave Thunder shook his own head rather more forcefully, then glanced at the clock. “Well,” he set his brandy snifter back down, “I suppose I ought to be getting back home. I’d like to say Leahyn is going to be wondering where I am. Unfortunately, the truth is that she already
knows
where I am, and she’s probably got a pretty fair idea of what the two of us have been up to.” He grimaced. “I don’t doubt that she’s going to give my breath the ‘sniff test’ as soon as I come in the door.”

Staynair chuckled. Leahyn Raice, Lady Wave Thunder, was sometimes described as “a redoubtable female,” which was accurate enough as far as it went. She was almost as tall as her husband, and no one had ever accused her of being frail. She also had strong opinions on quite a few subjects, a sharp tongue she wasn’t at all afraid to use, and a keen intelligence which had quite often helped her husband solve a particularly perplexing problem. She was also warmhearted and deeply caring, as the priest who’d been her bishop for so long knew better than most. She went to considerable lengths to disguise the fact, however. She wasn’t really all that good at it, though. She and Bynzhamyn had been married for the better part of twenty- five years, and while Staynair knew it amused Wave Thunder to play the “wyvern- pecked husband” to his friends, everyone who knew them recognized that the truth was distinctly different. Still, there was no denying that Leahyn Raice had a distinctly proprietary attitude where the care and feeding of her husband were concerned.

“The real reason she picks on you is that heart attack, you know,” the archbishop said now, mildly.

“Of course I know that!” Wave Thunder smiled wryly. “On the other hand, that was six
years
ago, Maikel! The healers have all said a little wine now and then—or even whiskey, in moderation—won’t hurt me a bit. In fact, they say it’s probably good for me!”

“If I didn’t know they’d given you permission, I wouldn’t have invited you to deplete my stock,” Staynair pointed out.

“Well, I just wish one of them would have another talk with
her!
”

“Nonsense!” Staynair shook a finger at him. “Don’t try to mislead
me
. This is part of the game you two have been playing for years, and I’m really not sure which of you enjoys it more.” He eyed Wave Thunder shrewdly. “Most of the time, I think it’s
you,
actually.”

“That’s ridiculous.” The spymaster’s voice was less than fully convincing as he pushed himself up out of his chair, Staynair noticed. “But, in any case, I do need to be getting home.”

“I know,” Staynair replied, but something in his manner stopped Wave Thunder halfway to his feet. The baron’s eyebrows rose, and then he settled back again, his head cocked.

“And what did you just decide you were going to mention to me after all, Maikel?” he asked.

“We
have
known each other for quite a while, haven’t we?” Staynair observed a bit obliquely.

“Yes, we have. And I know that expression. So why don’t you go ahead and tell me instead of sitting there while I pull something you already know you’re going to tell me about out of you by inches?”

“Actually,” Staynair’s voice was unwontedly serious, almost hesitant, “this is a bit difficult for me, Bynzhamyn.”

“Why?” Wave Thunder asked in a markedly different tone, his eyes narrowing with concern as the archbishop’s genuine—and highly unusual—discomfort registered.

“Tomorrow morning,” Staynair said, “Father Bryahn will be at your office bright and early to deliver a half- dozen crates to you. They aren’t very large, but they’re fairly heavy, because they’re packed almost solid with paper.”

“Paper,” Wave Thunder repeated. He leaned back in his chair again, crossing his legs. “What
sort
of paper, Maikel?”

“Documents,” Staynair replied. “Files, really. Collections of memoranda, depositions, personal letters. You can think of them as . . . evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” Wave Thunder asked intently. “Something like twenty years’ worth of documented corruption within the vicarate and the Inquisition.” Staynair’s voice was suddenly very flat, his eyes cold. “Evidence of specific acts of extortion, blackmail, theft—even rape and murder. And evidence that Zhaspahr Clyntahn, at least, knew about quite a few of those acts and conspired to conceal them.”

Despite his many years of experience, Wave Thunder felt his jaw drop. He stared at his old friend for several seconds, literally speechless, then shook himself violently.

“You’re not joking, are you? You really mean it!”

“I do.” Staynair sighed. “And I really wasn’t going to tell you I had it, either. Unfortunately, accidents do happen, and I am going to be making some rather lengthy voyages in the next few months. So I decided I had to hand it to someone before I sail, just in case.”

“And how long have you had it?” Wave Thunder asked in a careful tone.

“I’ve been examining it for about a month now,” Staynair admitted. “It took a while to get here from—Well, never mind about that.”

“And you weren’t going to tell anyone about it?” Wave Thunder shook his head slowly. “Maikel, if your description of what you have is accurate, then you have to realize even better than I do just how critical that sort of evidence could be. Especially if we can
document
it.”

“To be honest, that’s part of the problem.” Staynair leaned back in his own chair. “What I have are
duplicates
of the original evidence. I’m personally completely convinced of its authenticity, but there’s no way I could prove all of it isn’t simply a clever forgery, and that definitely makes it a double- edged sword. Frankly, I think we could do ourselves enormous damage in the propaganda war between us and Zion by publishing allegations we can’t
prove
.”

“Maybe,” Wave Thunder conceded. “On the other hand, no matter what kind of ‘proof’ we had, the Group of Four and its mouthpieces would swear up and down that it was all a forgery, anyway. I mean, it doesn’t matter how much
genuine
proof we have; people on both sides are going to make their minds up based on what they already believe. Or what they’re
willing
to believe, at any rate.”

“I know. And I thought about that. But there’s another issue involved, as well.”

“What sort of ‘issue’?” Wave Thunder asked warily.

“This information was delivered to me under the seal of the confessional,” Staynair said. “The person who delivered it to me agreed to trust my discretion about the use I might choose to make of it, but I was told the source of the documentation in my role as a priest. And the person who gave it to me doesn’t wish the identity of the source to become known.”

“Not even to Cayleb or Sharleyan?”

“Not to
anyone
.” Staynair’s expression was somber. “I think the person who delivered this to me is probably being overly cautious, Bynzhamyn, but that isn’t my decision to make. And I have to agree, given what I’ve been told—and what I’ve already seen of the documentation itself—that if the Group of Four should suspect, even for a moment, that we have this information and—especially!— how it came into our possession, the consequences for a very courageous person would be devastating. For that matter, the consequences would be fatal, and quite probably for a large number of other people, as well.”

The archbishop’s eyes, Wave Thunder realized, were as troubled as the baron had ever seen them.

“In many ways, I really ought to hand this over to Hainryk for safekeeping, I suppose,” Staynair said slowly. “I thought about that . . . hard. But in the end, I decided this was an occasion where finding the best way to balance my responsibilities to the Empire and my responsibilities to God required very careful consideration. I’m not fully satisfied with the answer I’ve come to, but it’s the best I’ve been able to do after praying and meditating about as hard as I’ve ever prayed or meditated in my life.”

Wave Thunder nodded slowly. Hainryk Waignair, the Bishop of Tellesberg, was the second- ranking member of the Church of Charis’ episcopate here in Old Charis. In fact, Waignair would be the acting Archbishop of Charis until Staynair returned. He was also a Brother of Saint Zherneau, which meant that—like Wave Thunder and Staynair—he knew the truth behind the lie of “the Archangel Langhorne” and the Church of God Awaiting. He and Staynair were very old friends, as well as colleagues and brothers of the same order, and Wave Thunder knew that Staynair trusted Waignair implicitly, both as a man and as a priest. The baron had no doubt that it must have taken a great deal of prayer and meditation, indeed, to bring the archbishop to the point of leaving this with him, and not with Waignair.