How Firm a Foundation (14 page)

“And how realistic is that?” Clyntahn’s question was marginally less caustic. “We’re going to have to rebuild—there’s no question
of that, if we’re ever going to take the war to them the way God demands—but how likely are we to be able to build enough of a replacement fleet quickly enough to keep them from raiding our coasts whenever they want?”

Maigwair’s unhappy expression was answer enough, but Duchairn shook his head.

“I think Allayn may be worrying a bit too much about that, for the moment at least,” he said. The
others looked at him, and he shrugged. “They can probably raid the coast of Desnair if they really want to, but unless they go after one of the major ports—which would take more troops than they’re likely to have—simple raids aren’t likely to hurt us very much. The same is true of Delferahk.”
Now, at least,
he added silently.
After all, Ferayd was the only “major port” Delferahk
had,
and it’s
gone now … thanks to you and your inquisitors, Zhaspahr
. “Dohlar is a long way from Charis and well protected, especially with Thirsk’s fleet still intact to hold the Gulf of Dohlar. And even though I know you’re not going to want to hear this, Zhaspahr, no one’s going to be raiding Siddarmark or Silkiah as long as both of them are trading with Charis.”

He paused, looking around their faces,
then shrugged again.

“I agree we need to rebuild, but I also think we’ve got some time in hand before we’re really going to
need
a fleet for anything except offensive operations. Just manning all the ships they’ve got now is going to be a huge drain on their manpower. As you say, Zhaspahr, they aren’t going to be able to build an army large enough for any serious invasion of the mainland, so
if their raids can only inconvenience us without really hurting us, I don’t see any need to panic over the situation. Yes, it’s serious, and we’re going to have our work cut out for us to recover from it, but it’s a long way from hopeless.”

“That’s sound reasoning,” Clyntahn said after a moment, bestowing a rare look of approval on the Treasurer.

“Agreed.” Trynair looked happier as well, and
he nodded firmly. “Panic isn’t going to help us, but clear thinking may.”

“I agree, too,” Maigwair said. “Of course, one thing we’re going to have to do is figure out how this new weapon of theirs actually works. Until we know that and produce similar weapons of our own, meeting them at sea would be a recipe for disaster. And it’s probably going to have a lot of implications for battles on
land,
too, for that matter.” He looked at Clyntahn. “Do I have permission to begin work on that, Zhaspahr?”

“The Inquisition has no objection to your at least putting people to work thinking about it,” the Grand Inquisitor replied, his eyes opaque. “I’ll want to be kept closely informed, of course, and I’ll be assigning one or two of my inquisitors to keep an eye on things. But as I said before, our
own artisans have been able to accomplish many of the same things the heretics have done without violating the Proscriptions. I’m not prepared to say
they’ve
managed it entirely without violations, but we have, and I’m sure we’ll be able to continue to do so.”

Oh, I’m sure we will, too
, Duchairn thought even as he and the other two nodded in grave agreement.
Your inquisitors are going to approve
anything you tell them to, Zhaspahr, and you’ll tell them to approve whatever Allayn comes up with even if it smashes right through the Proscriptions. After all, who’s a mere Archangel like Jwo-jeng to place any limits on
you
when it comes to smiting your enemies? In God’s name, of course
.

He wondered once again where all this madness was going to end. And, once again, he told himself the one
thing he knew with absolute certainty.

Wherever
it ended, it was going to get far, far worse before it got better.

APRIL,
YEAR OF GOD 895

.I.

HMS
Dawn Star
, 58, Chisholm Sea

Crown Princess Alahnah Zhanayt Naimu Ahrmahk wailed lustily as another sea rolled up under HMS
Dawn Star
’s quarter and sent the galleon corkscrewing unpleasantly. Despite her parentage, the infant crown princess was not a good sailor, and she obviously didn’t care who knew it.

It was chilly in the large after cabin, despite the small coal stove securely affixed
to the deck, and a warmly dressed Empress Sharleyan sat in a canvas sling-chair. The chair was adjusted so that its swinging movement could minimize the ship’s motion as much as possible, and she cradled the blanket-cocooned baby on her shoulder, crooning to her.

It didn’t seem to help a lot.

“Let me fetch Glahdys, Your Majesty!” Sairaih Hahlmyn, Sharleyan’s personal maid, said yet again. “Maybe
she’s just hungry.”

“While I’ll admit this young monster is hungry
most
of the time, Sairaih, that’s not the problem right now,” Sharleyan replied wanly. “Believe me. I’ve already tried.”

Sairaih sniffed. The sound was inaudible against the background noise of a wooden sailing ship underway in blowing weather, but Sharleyan didn’t need to hear it. Glahdys Parkyr was Alahnah’s wetnurse, and as
far as Sairaih was concerned, that meant Mistress Parkyr should be the crown princess’
only
wetnurse. She’d made no secret of her opinion that Sharleyan had far too many pressing demands on her time to do anything so unfashionable as breast-feeding her daughter.

There were times Sharleyan was tempted to agree with her, and there were other times when she had no choice but to allow Mistress Parkyr
to replace her. Sometimes that was because of those other pressing demands, but she’d also been forced to admit that her own milk production wouldn’t have kept pace with Alahnah’s needs without assistance. That bothered her more than she wanted to admit even to herself, which was one reason she was so stubborn about nursing the baby whenever she could.

In this case, however, that wasn’t the problem.
In fact, her breasts felt uncomfortably full at the moment and Alahnah was too busy protesting her universe’s unnatural movement to care. Of course, Alahnah being Alahnah, dire starvation was going to redirect her attention sometime in the next half hour or so, Sharleyan thought wryly.

“You need your rest, Your Majesty,” Sairaih said with all the stubbornness of an old and trusted retainer gamely
refusing to give up the fight.

“I’m stuck aboard a ship in the middle of the Chisholm Sea, Sairaih,” Sharleyan pointed out. “Exactly what do I need to be resting up
for
?”

The unfair question gave Sairaih pause, and she looked reproachfully at her empress for sinking so low as to actually use
logic
against her.

“Never mind,” Sharleyan said after a moment. “I promise if I can’t get her to settle
down in a little bit, I’ll let you get Glahdys or Hairyet to see what they can do. All right?”

“I’m sure whatever Your Majesty decides will be just fine,” Sairaih said with immense dignity, and on that note, she swept a rather deeper curtsy than usual and withdrew from Sharleyan’s cabin.

“Have you ever considered how the rest of your subjects would react to the knowledge of how ruthlessly you’re
tyrannized in your own household?” a deep voice asked in the empress’ ear, and she chuckled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied to the cabin’s empty ear, and it was Merlin’s turn to chuckle.

He stood alone on
Dawn Star
’s sternwalk, gazing out over the endless ranks of white-crested waves sweeping down on the ship from the northwest. There was enough flying spray, and the
weather was cold enough, that no one seemed inclined to dispute his possession of the sternwalk at the moment. Of course, the fact that he was Emperor Cayleb’s personal armsman and currently attached to Empress Sharleyan in the same role probably had as much to do with it as the weather did. Then there was that minor matter of his
seijin
’s reputation. Even most of those who knew him well were
disinclined to crowd him when they didn’t have to.

“No idea at all,” he said now. “That’s what you want me to believe?”

“I’ll have you know,
Seijin
Merlin, that I rule my household with a will of iron,” she told him firmly.

“Oh, of course you do.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen the way they all jump to obey your orders in obvious terror.”

“I should certainly hope so.” She elevated her
nose with a sniff Sairaih couldn’t have bettered, but a sudden, renewed complaint from Alahnah spoiled her pose.

“There, baby,” she murmured in the child’s delicate ear. “Momma’s here.” She nuzzled the side of the little girl’s neck, inhaling the scent of her while she patted her back gently.

Alahnah’s protests died back to a more sustainable level, and Sharleyan shook her head.

“How much longer
until that wind change gets here?” she asked.

“Another seven or eight hours yet, I’m afraid,” Merlin replied, watching the real-time weather map from Owl’s sensors.

“Wonderful,” Sharleyan sighed.

“At least we’ve got better weather than Cayleb does,” Merlin pointed out. At that moment,
Empress of Charis
was battling headwinds and high seas as she fought her way steadily westward. “And we’ll
be heading into even better weather in the next few days. Of course, it’s going to get a lot hotter.”

“Fine with me,” Sharleyan said fervently. “Don’t tell any of my Chisholmians, but this northern girl’s been spoiled by Charisian weather.”

“Would that have anything to do with the fact that the snow was three or four feet deep when we left Cherayth?” Merlin asked mildly.

“I think you can safely
assume it factors into the equation.”

“I thought it might. Still, you might want to remember that too much heat’s as bad as too much cold, and the last time Cayleb and I were in Zebediahan waters, it was hot enough to fry eggs on a cannon’s breech. I thought it was going to render that toad Symmyns down into candle fat right on the quarterdeck.”

“And it would’ve saved all of us—including him—a
lot of grief if it had,” Sharleyan said, her voice and expression much grimmer than they had been. “That’s another part of this trip I’m not looking forward to, Merlin.”

“I know,” Merlin agreed soberly. “And I know it probably doesn’t help, but if anyone’s ever had it coming, it’s certainly him.”

Sharleyan nodded. Tohmys Symmyns, Grand Duke of Zebediah, was presently ensconced in a reasonably
comfortable cell in what used to be his own palace in the city of Carmyn. He’d been there for four months now, awaiting the arrival of Cayleb or Sharleyan, and he’d probably have preferred to go on waiting a lot longer. Facing the emperor or empress against whom one had committed high treason wasn’t something to which most self-serving, treacherous schemers looked forward. Unfortunately for Symmyns,
he was going to have the opportunity to do precisely that—briefly, at least—in another seven or eight days. And while Merlin knew Sharleyan wasn’t looking forward to the meeting either, he also knew she would never flinch from what her duty required.

“I’m not looking forward to Corisande, either, for that matter,” she said now. “Well, not most of it, anyway. But at least there’ll be some good
news to go along with the bad in Manchyr.”

“Would it happen that Hauwyl’s reaction is one of the things you
are
looking forward to?” Merlin inquired dryly.

“Absolutely,” Sharleyan replied smugly.

“I still say it was a nasty trick for you and Cayleb to keep him entirely in the dark about it.”

“We’re cunning, devious, and underhanded heads of state engaged in a desperate struggle against an
overwhelming foe,” Sharleyan pointed out. “It’s one of our responsibilities to keep our most trusted henchmen alert and on their toes, ready for anything which might come their way.”

“Besides which you both like practical jokes.”

“Besides which we both like practical jokes,” she agreed.

.II.

Royal Palace, City of Talkyra, Kingdom of Delferahk

Thunder rumbled far out over Lake Erdan, and multi-forked tongues of lightning glared down the heavens. Heavy waves broke on the reed-grown shore far below the hanging turret, and Princess Irys Daykyn propped her elbows on the windowsill as she leaned out into the rough-armed wind. It slapped at her cheeks and whipped her hair, and she
slitted her hazel eyes against its exuberant power.

The rain would be along soon. She could already smell its dampness and a hint of ozone on the wind, and her gaze searched the heavy-bellied clouds, watching them flash as more lightning danced above them without ever quite breaking free. She envied those clouds, that wind. Envied their freedom … and their power.

The air was chill, cool enough
to be actively uncomfortable to her Corisandian-trained weather sense. March was one of the hot months in Manchyr, although the city was so close to the equator that seasonal variations were actually minimal. Irys had seen snow only two or three times in her entire life, on trips to the Barcor Mountains with her parents before her mother’s death. Prince Hektor had never taken her back there after
her mother died, and Irys wondered sometimes if that was because he’d had no heart to visit his wife’s favorite vacation spot without her … or if he’d simply no longer been able to find the time. He’d been busy, after all.

Thunder crashed louder than before, and she saw the darkness in the air out over the lake where a wall of rain advanced slowly towards the castle and the city of Talkyra. It
was rather like her life, she thought, that steadily oncoming darkness moving towards her while she could only stand and watch it come. This castle had been supposed to be a place of refuge, a fortress to protect her and her baby brother from the ruthless emperor who’d had her father and her older brother murdered. She’d never wanted to come, never wanted to leave her father’s side, but he’d insisted.
And it had been her responsibility, too. Someone had to look out for Daivyn. He was such a little boy, so young to be so valuable a pawn and have so many deadly enemies. And now the refuge felt all too much like a prison, the fortress too much like a trap.