A Mighty Fortress (85 page)

“That doesn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t any, Your Eminence,” Mahrak Hahlynd pointed out diffidently, looking up from his notes. Shylair’s secretary had been close to Waimyn, and there was a stubborn light in his eyes. “This came over the
official
semaphore,” he reminded his superior now. “You don’t think Anvil Rock, or Gahrvai, or—especially—Gairlyng would
admit
to any such thing in an official communiqué, do you?”

“I’d like to think you might have a point, Father Mahrak,” Craggy Hill said before Shylair could respond. The secretary looked at him, and the earl shrugged. “The message wasn’t sent for general dissemination, Father,” he explained almost gently. “It was sent to me, for my information as a member of the Regency Council, and it specifically reported that the capital was calm following the execution.”

Hahlynd’s face tightened, and Shylair felt his own trying to do the same thing.

“So,” Earl Storm Keep said after a moment. “It sounds as if they’ve managed to turn the situation around, at least in Manchyr.”

“I’m afraid they have,” Craggy Hill confirmed. He was the only member of the Regency Council who was an active party to the resistance, and all of the others watched his expression carefully.

“I don’t think Anvil Rock and Tartarian really trust me,” he began, “and I
know
that bastard Gahrvai and his arse- licker Doyal don’t. On the other hand, if they had any concrete evidence against me, they would’ve acted on it by now. And what ever else we can say, Anvil Rock and Tartarian have been scrupulous about keeping all the members of the Council fully informed when we can’t be personally in Manchyr.” He grimaced. “They don’t have much choice, given the terms of their authority under Parliament’s grant, but I have to admit they’ve been more forthcoming in their reports than I would have anticipated. Because of that, I’m pretty sure they aren’t lying, or even misrepresenting their view of the situation, when they say the arrest of Father Aidryn and his associates seems to have broken the back of any effective resistance in Manchyr itself.”

The earl paused for just a moment, gazing at Shylair with oddly opaque brown eyes, then shrugged.

“The truth is, Your Eminence, that Father Aidryn seems to have badly underestimated Father Tymahn’s popularity in Manchyr. We knew he’d always been popular with the riffraff, the common city trash, but it would appear a sizable percentage of the better sort were listening to him, too. I don’t say they
agreed
with him, but it seems pretty evident that his . . . execution has inspired a general sense of outrage. And when Gahrvai followed that up by arresting Father Aidryn and virtually his entire leadership group—and when he managed to turn up so much evidence, completely exclusive of any confessions, of all they’d already accomplished and of their future plans, as well—it was fairly decisive.”

“Wahlys is right about that, Your Eminence, I’m afraid,” Storm Keep said heavily. The bishop executor raised an eyebrow at him, and the earl shook his head. “Having the arrests follow so quickly on Hahskans’ execution, especially when there’d been so
few
arrests prior to that, made Gahrvai look not simply decisive, but
effective
. A lot of people who’d been trying to decide where their true loyalties lay were wavering in large part because of uncertainty, the question of whether or not the Regency Council could provide stability. Whether its legs had the strength to stand. Well,” he raised his right hand, palm uppermost, “the verdict seems to be in, now. At least as far as Manchyr is concerned. And, to be brutally honest, the restraint Gairlyng’s shown is working in favor of a general acceptance of the authority of both the Regency Council and the ‘Church of Charis.’ ”

“ ‘Restraint’!”
Amilain Gahrnaht repeated, gazing incredulously at Storm Keep. “He’s had five priests of Mother Church, including the archbishopric’s
legal
Intendant, and twenty- one brothers from Saint Zhustyn’s
hanged
, My Lord. Hanged by the
secular
authorities, in direct contravention of the
Writ
! Another twenty- five or thirty priests and brothers are still in custody—
secular
custody—to serve prison terms.
Prison terms
for consecrated priests of God!”

“That’s true, Bishop Amilain.” Storm Keep’s voice was rather colder than the one in which he usually spoke to the bishop. “On the other hand, assuming he’s serious about claiming authority in the name of the Church in Corisande, Gairlyng could just as easily have had all of them put to the Question and sentenced to the full Punishment of Schueler. As it happens, there’s no evidence any of them, including Father Aidryn, were even interrogated under duress. You and I may be aware of the enormity of Gairlyng’s offense against Mother Church and God,” from his tone, Shylair thought, the earl was rather less impressed with the gravity of that offense than Gahrnaht was, “but the majority of the common folk aren’t. They regard Church law as the Church’s business, and what
they
see is that ‘Archbishop Klairmant’ could have had every single one of his prisoners put to the Question for the murder of a priest before they were executed themselves. They may not be aware of everything
else The Book of Schueler
prescribes for that sort of an offense, but they know that much, and they know Gairlyng didn’t do it. And the rest of the clergy, at the very least,
do
know that
Schueler
decrees the Punishment for anyone convicted of priest- killing. As far as the people who see those things are concerned, My Lord, that
is
restraint, and there’s no point pretending otherwise. We have to deal with what
is,
not what we’d like to be, and deceiving ourselves is the best way I can think of to fail in our efforts to undo this entire abomination.”

Gahrnaht started to reply hotly, but Shylair held up a restraining hand. “Peace, Amilain,” he said, quietly but firmly. “Earl Storm Keep’s spoken nothing but the truth, I’m afraid. And he’s right about the common folk leaving matters of Church law to the Church. For that matter, that’s exactly what they
ought
to do. It’s simply... unfortunate that, in this case, the men claiming to speak for Mother Church actually serve Shan- wei.”

Gahrnaht’s expression was manifestly unhappy, but he settled back in his chair, obedient to Shylair’s gesture. The bishop executor gazed at him for a moment, then turned his attention back to Craggy Hill.

“It would seem from what you’ve said, and what Sahlahmn’s said,” he nodded at Storm Keep, “that for now, at least, we have no choice but to abandon any hope of a popular rising in Manchyr. Would you agree?”

“I’m afraid so, Your Eminence.” Craggy Hill leaned back in his own chair, tugging at an earlobe. “It was always going to be difficult to coordinate Father Aidryn’s efforts with our own. And, to be frank, the southeastern part of the Princedom seems increasingly inclined to follow the capital’s example. I tried to talk Anvil Rock and the others out of concentrating their efforts south of the Barcors, but I couldn’t push too hard, and, unfortunately, they were too smart to spread their forces and their efforts as thinly as I wanted them to.” He shrugged. “As a result, they’ve been able to build themselves what amounts to a secure base extending outward from the capital. I’m not trying to say they’re
entirely
secure, but they do have Rochair, Tartarian, Airyth, Coris, Dairwyn, and Manchyr itself pretty much in their pockets. The northwest and west are more of a toss- up—they could go either way. Wind Daughter would probably break for the Regency Council at this point in any open confrontation, but the islanders don’t have very much population. And that leaves us, up here in the north, where at the moment Anvil Rock’s and Tartarian’s authority is shaky, to say the very least.”

“So what do you think they’re planning, My Lord?” Shylair asked. “I know exactly what they’re planning, Your Eminence. I’ve sat in on enough of their meetings for that! In essence, their strategy is to continue to gradually expand their area of control, working outward from Manchyr. It’s not going to be quick, but they’ve decided that steady—and successful—is more important than quick, and they’re not about to overreach themselves.”

“Which gives us at least a little more time,” Baron Larchros observed. “Yes, but we can’t afford to squander it,” Storm Keep said forcefully. Heads nodded around the table. Things had moved with frustrating slowness, despite their very best efforts, and every one of them was acutely aware of the hours and days trickling away.

“Well, the good news is that we may be able to begin moving after all,” Craggy Hill said. The others looked at him, and he smiled sourly. “Zebediah’s finally ready to stop dancing around. Oh, he’s still holding out for our guarantee of the recognition of complete Zebediahan independence—under him, of course—but I think it’s a formality at this point. At any rate, he’s committed himself to providing us with the new- model muskets we need. Or some of them, at least.”

“He has?” Shylair straightened in his chair, eyes brightening.

Although his secular associates had been steadily increasing their manpower, they were all only too conscious of their lack of weapons. They were too ill- supplied in that regard to arm the men they’d already raised even with swords and pikes, and all of them combined had less than four hundred muskets—all of them old- fashioned smoothbore matchlocks. Against Gahrvai’s forces, alone, they would be totally outclassed; once Viceroy General Chermyn put his Marines, with their rifles and artillery, into the field in support, any form of armed uprising would be futile. It could result in nothing but a bloodbath for the resistance, especially now that the southeastern portion of the princedom was accepting the Regency Council’s authority, and the bishop executor knew it.

But now.... “Is it just the rifles, Wahlys?” Storm Keep asked. “Let’s not pooh- pooh rifles, Sahlahmn,” Craggy Hill replied with a sour smile. Storm Keep nodded in acknowledgment, and Craggy Hill shrugged. “At the moment, he’s promising only the rifles. He says we can have the first four or five hundred within a month or so of reaching an actual agreement. Ar-tillery’s going to be harder, because Cayleb’s being so coy about making it available to Zebediah. Apparently, for some strange reason, he doesn’t quite
trust
Zebediah.”

From the expressions of his fellow conspirators, that didn’t exactly come as a stunning revelation.

“That raises an interesting point, My Lord,” Gahrnaht observed. “If Cayleb’s watching Zebediah, will he actually be able to divert enough rifles to make a difference?”

“I don’t know,” Craggy Hill said frankly. “I do know that, according to his envoy, he’s already creatively ‘lost’ somewhere around two hundred rifles which were passing through Zebediah. Apparently, no one in Cayleb’s quartermaster’s corps even noticed. However, the majority of the arms he’s proposing to deliver to us will never officially enter Zebediah at all.”

“I beg your pardon, My Lord?” Gahrnaht’s eyebrows rose, and Craggy Hill snorted.

“I don’t know how he’s planning to manage it, either, Bishop Amilain, but his envoy seems confident. Apparently, Zebediah hasn’t lost any of his penchant for sneakiness. As nearly as I can put it together from what his envoy’s let slip, he’s got a contact in Chisholm who’s in a position to divert arms and material from their new ‘Imperial Army.’ As fast as they’re expanding, and with every-thing that has to be going on while they worry about the Church’s counterattack, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone with big enough balls—if you’ll pardon the language—could manage to ‘lose’ quite a few rifles, or even artillery pieces, if he were in the right position. And from what Zebediah’s envoy is saying, it sounds like his contact in Chisholm
is
in the right position.”

Once again, heads nodded all around the table, this time with varying degrees of profound satisfaction. If Craggy Hill was right, then they were finally in a position to begin serious planning. If they had the weapons and the fire-power to stand up to Gahrvai long enough, there were plenty of Temple Loyalists who’d rally to their colors, and for the first time in far too long, they shared a sense of actual confidence.

None of those nodding heads, however, were aware of the tiny, almost microscopic, sensor remote clinging to the underside of one of the chamber’s ceiling beams while it eavesdropped on their entire conversation.

Imperial Palace,

City of Cherayth,

Kingdom of Chisholm

Merlin!”

An Empress Sharleyan whose pregnancy was just beginning to show leapt to her feet as the tall, black- haired guardsman stepped through the door. It wasn’t the way a crowned head of state normally greeted a mere captain of the Imperial Guard, but no one in the council chamber appeared conscious of any irregularity.

Edwyrd Seahamper, Sharleyan’s personal armsman, had the duty inside the chamber. His face looked as if it were about to split in two around the fracture line of his enormous grin, and Emperor Cayleb was no more than a step or two behind his wife as the two of them closed in on Captain Athrawes. Prince Nahrmahn of Emerald sat back in his own chair with a smile of welcome whose genuine warmth would have astounded even Nahrmahn as recently as a few months ago, and Archbishop Maikel’s smile was almost as broad as Seahamper’s.

“Your Majesty,” Merlin replied as Sharleyan threw her arms around him in a hug which would have threatened the structural integrity of a mere fleshand- blood rib cage, even if he
was
wearing a cuirass. His tone was matter of fact, almost bland, but it didn’t fool any of those present, and he hugged her back carefully.