A Mighty Fortress (6 page)

Merlin nodded in agreement. He’d been a bit more optimistic about the Royal Chisholmian Army’s willingness to adopt the new weapons and tactics than some Charisians had been, but even he had been pleasantly surprised by the Chisholmians’
enthusiasm
for the changes.

And, the
seijin
thought, Green Valley had an even better point than the baron himself might realize about the Army’s importance in the eyes of the Empire’s Chisholmian subjects.

By and large, the majority of Chisholmians appeared firmly united behind the decision to fuse the kingdoms of Chisholm and Charis (now almost universally referred to as “Old Charis,” just to keep things straight) into the new Charisian Empire. Not all of them were, however. Some—and especially those who were most prone to think in terms of their own power and influence—doubted that the promised equality between Chisholm and Old Charis could (or would) truly be maintained. Old Charis boasted half again the population of Chisholm, and its economic wealth was at
least
four times that of Chisholm. Its manufactories and merchants had held a dominant position in
Chisholm
’s economy even before the two kingdoms had united, the Charisian merchant marine dominated all the seas and oceans of Safehold, and the Royal Chisholmian Navy had disappeared—almost without a trace—into the much larger Royal Charisian Navy, even if the resulting union was officially called the
Imperial
Navy.

Under the circumstances, it probably wasn’t unreasonable for at least some Chisholmians to nourish a few doubts about how long it would be before Chisholm openly became the junior partner—one might almost say the
second-class
partner—in the imperial relationship.

Cayleb and Sharleyan were determined to prevent that from happening. The fact that Sharleyan was Cayleb’s
co
- ruler, that she had governed the entire Empire in her own name from Tellesberg while Cayleb was off at war in Corisande, and that it was
she—
not Cayleb—who had overseen the creation of the new Imperial Parliament had gone quite some way towards accomplishing that goal. The fact that the imperial capital would be located in Cherayth, the capital of the Kingdom of Chisholm, for half the year, and in Tellesberg, the capital of the Kingdom of Charis, for the other half of the year, went even further. It assured the citizens of Chisholm that Charisian viewpoints would not be allowed to dominate the imperial government simply because the people arguing for those viewpoints enjoyed a far better, far closer, and uninterrupted access to the emperor and empress.

The formation of the Imperial Army was intended to be yet another reassurance. The Chisholmian Crown’s two great supports under King Sailys and Queen Sharleyan had been the fierce loyalty of the Chisholmian Commons and the Royal Army. As Green Valley had just pointed out, it had been the Army, backed by the political and financial support of the commons and with its ranks filled primarily by commoners, with which King Sailys had broken the arrogant power of the Charisian aristocracy’s great magnates. It was that same Army and the even fiercer loyalty—the love—of those same commoners for the dauntless courage of the child- queen who had succeeded Sailys after his untimely death which had allowed Sharleyan to survive. And those same deep reservoirs of support were what had carried them with her in her decision to wed Cayleb and create the Empire.

She and Cayleb were both fully aware of that, which was why, just as Cayleb had insisted Chisholmian merchants and manufacturers must have equal access to the Empire’s markets, both foreign and domestic, the two of them had decreed that it was Chisholm which would take the lead in the formation of the Imperial Army. There were those among the Royal Charisian Marines who had objected (although they’d been wise enough to do it quietly, in most cases) to that decision. Whose sense of pride in their own organization, in the way it had grown so explosively, the fashion in which it had smashed its opposition in Corisande, was deeply offended by the notion that the Marines should not only go back to being purely a shipboard and amphibious force but also transfer the majority of the Corisande campaign’s veterans to the Army.

Those who’d been sufficiently foolish to make an issue of their objections had been... found other duties, however.

“I think probably still another part of it,” the
seijin
said out loud now, “is the fact that Cayleb and Sharleyan have made it so abundantly clear that whereas Charis is reasonably going to take the lead where naval affairs are concerned, it only makes sense to give that same role to Chisholm where the
Army
is concerned. Which is why
you’re
an Army officer now, of course. The decision to fold the bulk of the Imperial Marines over into the Army—and respect the seniority of the Army’s existing officers in the process—wasn’t an easy one, but Cayleb and Sharleyan were right to insist on it, I think.”

“Absolutely!” Green Valley’s nod was more vigorous and emphatic than Merlin’s had been. “The officers I’m working with obviously see that decision as proof Their Majesties meant what they said about the organization of the Empire’s armed forces. Especially after—well ...”

The baron’s voice trailed off on a most unusual note of something that was almost—not quite, but
almost
— embarrassment, and Merlin smiled without any trace of humor.

“Especially after the Army’s top commander conspired with the Temple Loyalists to murder—or at least kidnap—Sharleyan, you mean?”

“Well, yes, actually,” Green Valley admitted. He shook his head slightly. “Hard to blame them for worrying about it, really. In their place,
I’d
certainly have been afraid the Crown would entertain serious doubts about the Army’s basic reliability. Especially given how popular Halbrook Hollow was—with the common troopers, not just the officer corps. He’s the one who
built
this entire Army, Merlin. He shaped it, he commanded it in most of its critical battles, and he led its soldiers to victory in every campaign. How could they not have worried about whether or not the Crown would feel it couldn’t afford to trust their loyalty after something like that? For that matter, a lot of them felt
shamed
by his actions.
They
hadn’t done anything wrong, but he was their
commander,
and at least some of them feel his treason has stained them, as well.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Merlin said soberly.

And the truth is,
he told himself silently,
that at least some of the Army’s officers
do
entertain the same doubts Halbrook Hollow did. Like the noble Earl of Swayle, for example.

Barkah Rahskail, the Earl of Swayle, was young, only thirty- seven Safeholdian years old. He was also very tall for a Safeholdian, within an inch or so of Merlin’s own height, and rakishly good- looking with his fair hair, dark eyes, and sun- bronzed complexion. Back when Merlin Athrawes had been Nimue Alban, she would definitely have given Swayle a close look.

But in addition to his good looks and noble birth, Swayle was a dyed- in the- wool Temple Loyalist. He’d done a better job of hiding it than quite a few of his fellows, including Halbrook Hollow, but Merlin had no doubts about his fundamental beliefs. What he didn’t know yet was where Swayle’s ultimate loyalties lay. Would his repulsion against the Church of Charis’ “apostasy” and “heresy”— and, quite possibly, the death in disgrace of an army commander he’d deeply admired and respected—drive him into treason of his own? Or would his and his family’s long- standing loyalty to the House of Tayt—unusual, actually, among the high Chisholmian nobility—and his oath as an officer of the Royal Army hold firm against those forces?

Merlin was afraid he could guess which way Swayle would jump in the end. But he hadn’t jumped yet, and neither Cayleb nor Sharleyan was in the habit of punishing people for what they
might
do.

Which suited Merlin Athrawes just fine, when it came down to it.

I’m keeping an eye on all of the ones we know shared at least some of Halbrook Hollow’s doubts,
he reminded himself
. And if Cayleb and Sharleyan aren’t going to hammer anyone until and unless someone decides to emulate Halbrook Hollow, they won’t hesitate if the time ever comes to bring that hammer down, either. I know they hope they won’t have to, but they’ll do it if they
do
have to. And at least it looks like the ones with Temple Loyalist leanings are definitely in the minority . . . for now
.

“And Duke Eastshare?” he asked out loud. “What’s your read of how
he
feels about all this, My Lord?”

“You’re asking me to comment about my commanding officer,
Seijin
Merlin,” Green Valley said with a sudden—and unaccustomed—edge of severity, and he frowned. “I understand why you’d be concerned, but, to be honest, I don’t think it’s really appropriate for me to be passing judgment on His Grace’s loyalty to the Crown.”

Merlin allowed one of his eyebrows to arch in mild surprise. He started to respond, then stopped.

Actually, he thought, Green Valley’s . . . stiffness
was
a judgment on Eastshare’s loyalty. Particularly since it clearly didn’t stem from any reluctance to risk antagonizing a powerful noble in the extraordinarily unlikely event that word of any criticism on his part would ever make it back to Eastshare.

What it
is,
is an indication of just how much he’s discovered he
respects
Eastshare,
Merlin told himself.
If he had any doubts about Eastshare’s loyalty, he
wouldn’t
respect him, either, no matter how flexible the Duke might be in a professional sense. So the fact that he doesn’t want to answer
is
an answer
.

“I understand, My Lord,” he said out loud, rather more formally than had become the norm for his conversations with Green Valley. The baron looked at him for a moment, then gave an almost imperceptible nod, and his frown vanished.

“So, overall, you’re satisfied?” Merlin continued in a more normal tone, and Green Valley nodded again, more firmly.

“Overall, I’m very satisfied. I wish—and so does Duke Eastshare—that we could have provided even more Marines as cadre, but we both understand why Their Majesties had to leave General Chermyn a big enough garrison force in Corisande. I also wish we could get the new rifle shops and cannon foundries set up here in Chisholm more quickly, but Chisholm simply doesn’t have the pool of experienced mechanics and craftsmen Old Charis does. At least the first couple of shipments of rifles have already come in, so not
everyone
is drilling with broom handles.

“On the plus side, in addition to everything else we’ve just been talking about, I have to admit that the Duke and his officers seem to have a better grasp of the realities of fighting on land than we do—than
I
do, and I’m the fellow who developed all our new infantry tactics.” He snorted. “They pay me a flattering amount of attention, and they listen damned carefully to everything I say, particularly given the fact that, unlike them, I actually have field experience with the new weapons. But the truth is, they’ve already pointed out a lot of places where my ideas—and not just about tactics, either; they’ve got a lot more experience with army
logistics
than we have—could stand some improving. In some cases, a
lot
of improving.”

And it says very good things about
you,
My Lord, that you not only recognize the truth when you see it but that you’re willing to admit it—to
others,
and not just yourself, too,
Merlin thought.

“So you think I’ll be able to go back to Cherayth and tell Their Majesties the great army integration project is going well?” he said out loud.

“Yes,” Green Valley said, looking steadily into the
seijin
’s blue eyes, making it plain just how many levels he was actually speaking on. “Yes, I think you can tell them it’s going
very
well.”

Royal Palace,

City of Talkyra,

Kingdom of Delferahk

What do you think they really want, Phylyp?”

Irys Daykyn’s tone was calm as she gazed across the dinner table’s empty plates at her legal guardian, but the hazel eyes she’d inherited from her dead mother were darker than could have been explained solely by the lamps’ dimness.

“Mostly, I think, what they’ve said, Your Highness.” Phylyp Ahzgood, Earl of Coris, shrugged. “Oh, I don’t doubt they’ve got more in mind than they’ve actually said so far. But as far as what that ‘more’ might be, your guess is almost certainly as good as mine,” he said. And he meant it, too. Irys Daykyn might be only seventeen years old—not quite
sixteen,
in the years of the planet upon which humanity had actually evolved—but she was scarcely a typical seventeen-year- old. Not even a typical seventeen- year- old princess.

“I don’t expect they’ve issued their . . . invitation, let’s call it, because of their vast concern for Daivyn, though.” Coris’ tone was biting. He wouldn’t have let anyone else hear him using it about the Group of Four, but neither he nor Irys had any illusions about that particular quartet, and no one else was present. “At the same time,” the man who had been Prince Hektor of Corisande’s spymaster for so many years continued, “I think it could probably be worse than it actually is. At least they’re not insisting the two of you accompany me!”

“Why should they bother to invite
me,
what ever their motives?”

Irys’ face had tightened, and Coris found himself nodding in acknowledgment. He’d meant his final sentence at least partly as an attempt at humor, but he wasn’t really surprised, after the fact, that it had fallen flat. And he no more doubted than Irys did that, as far as the Group of Four was concerned, she herself had very little value. Her little brother Daivyn was the legitimate Prince of Corisande—even Cayleb and Sharleyan of Charis acknowledged that much—even if he was currently in exile. But Irys? She was simply a sort of unimportant second thought. She had no intrinsic value as a political pawn in the Group of Four’s eyes, and they certainly weren’t going to waste any time worrying about what a fugitive princess in exile, subsisting solely (so far as they knew, at any rate) upon the niggardly generosity of distant relatives, might think.