How Firm a Foundation (40 page)

That was an interesting choice of phrasing, Sharleyan thought wryly as she joined the others in touching fingertips first to her heart and then to her lips. The tightrope here in Corisande was more complicated than almost anywhere else in the youthful Empire of Charis, and Gairlyng clearly understood that. He’d managed to avoid calling
Sharleyan Corisande’s ruler, and she’d noticed the “royal visitor,” as opposed to the possible “imperial visitor.” At the same time, he’d adroitly avoided calling her an interloper, either, and no one could very well take offense at his request for God’s blessing on young Daivyn. And the “resolve and compose the differences between Your children” was straight out of the Church of God Awaiting’s
most ancient liturgy. Of course, the people who’d written that liturgy had never envisioned a situation quite like this one.

The stir and shuffle of feet, the rustle of clothing and clearing of throats, which always followed a moment of prayer in Sharleyan’s experience whispered through the throne room. Then Anvil Rock turned towards her and bowed, wordlessly offering her the opportunity to speak
without any awkward little formalities which might have conceded—or denied—her authority to do so.

“I thank you for the welcome I received at dockside this morning,” she said, and saw one or two people look up sharply when she avoided the royal “we.” Well, there’d be time enough for that later.

“A Charisian monarch—and such I find I’ve become, much though the idea would have astounded me as
little as three years ago”—she smiled and a chuckle ran through the watching courtiers—“appreciates a welcoming port, especially at the end of a winter voyage which took rather longer than I might have wished. More than that, I realize how many difficult issues remain between the Princedom of Corisande and the Crown of Charis, and I take it as a favorable sign that so many turned out to wish me well
upon my arrival here.

“At the same time,” she allowed her expression and her tone to become more serious, “it’s obvious not everyone here in Manchyr was equally happy to see me.” She shook her head. “Under the circumstances, I can scarcely blame anyone who might continue to cherish reservations about the future, and it’s only natural such reservations should express themselves in reservations
about
me,
and about Emperor Cayleb. One of the reasons for Cayleb’s visit here last year was to attempt to put some of those reservations to rest. That’s also part of the reason for my visit this year. Of course”—her expression became grimmer—“there are other and less happy reasons, as well.”

It was very quiet in the throne room, and she turned her head, surveying them all and letting them see
her level eyes and firm mouth.

“It’s never pleasant to be required to yield to force of arms,” she said quietly. “Cayleb and I understand that. At the same time, I believe any fair-minded person must admit we were left very little choice. When five princedoms and kingdoms—including, I would remind all of us, my own—were required by ‘the Knights of the Temple Lands’ to league together against
Old Charis, even though that kingdom had committed no crimes or offenses against any of them, Charis had no choice but to defend herself. And when it became evident that the corrupt vicars who’d seized control of Mother Church intended to continue their efforts to exterminate not just the Kingdom of Charis but any vestige of freedom of thought, the
Empire
of Charis had no choice but to carry the
war to its enemies. And so that war came to your shores behind the banners of my Empire.”

The quiet grew more intense, and she met it squarely, her shoulders straight.

“I won’t pretend Chisholm lacked its own reasons for enmity with the House of Daykyn. I’m sure everyone in this throne room knows what they were and why they existed. But I will say that my enmity—and Cayleb’s—was directed against
the
head
of that house, and it stemmed from his actions, not from any ingrained hatred of Corisande or all things Corisandian. We had specific reasons to confront Prince Hektor on the field of battle, and so we did, openly and directly, with none of the diplomatic fictions, lies, and masks the ‘Knights of the Temple Lands’ had employed to hide their crimes.”

She saw shoulders tighten as she took
the bull firmly by the horns.

“I realize many continue to believe Cayleb ordered Hektor’s assassination, and I suppose I can even understand why that belief should have gained such currency. But my husband is not a stupid man, my lords and ladies. Do any of you believe for one instant that the son of Haarahld of Charis could have failed to understand how Prince Hektor’s murder on the very eve
of his surrender would poison the hearts and minds of Corisandians against him? Can any of you think of an action better calculated to make the peaceful, orderly inclusion of Corisande in the Empire of Charis more difficult? Having sailed thousands of miles, having won his cause on the field of battle with one overwhelming victory after another, what could possibly have motivated anyone but a bloodthirsty
monster to have not only Prince Hektor but his elder son murdered?”

She paused once more, for only a heartbeat this time. Then—

“You’ve had the opportunity to see the policies General Chermyn has administered here on our behalf, and you know that at the core of those policies lies our desire to demonstrate that the Empire of Charis respects the rule of law and has no desire to rule through terror
and the iron fist of oppression. Many of you have had the opportunity to meet personally with Emperor Cayleb, and those who have must surely realize that however resolute he may be, however dangerous in battle, he is not and never has been a man who relishes the shedding of human blood. I ask you to ask yourselves if the Crown which dictated those policies and the Emperor you met would have
resorted to the murder of a foe who had been vanquished and was prepared to offer honorable surrender. An honorable surrender which would have been of far more value to the Empire politically, both here in Corisande and abroad, than his murder—his martyrdom—could ever have been.”

A half-heard susurration, like a sharp breeze across a sea of reeds, ran through the throne room as more than one
of those nobles and prelates realized exactly what she was implying. No one dared speak out in open rejection, however, and she sat silently, letting the thought sink home for a full ten seconds before she resumed.

“I fully realize that the Group of Four has excommunicated both me and Cayleb and laid the entire Empire of Charis under the interdict,” she said then. “As such, in the eyes of Temple
Loyalists, any oaths you may swear to us or to the Church of Charis have no force. Obviously, we disagree, and we have no option but to hold those who swear to the terms of that to which they have sworn. No ruler, even in time of peace, can accept anything less; no ruler, even in time of war, has the right to demand anything more.

“I’m here in Corisande, in no small part, because of that. All
of you know what I refer to when I say that. I regret that such a reason should have brought me here, and I regret that many whose only crime was loyalty to Corisande, to the House of Daykyn, and to the clergy they’d been taught to revere were caught up in the treachery and plotting of a handful of individuals who saw the opportunity to take power into their own hands for their own uses and their
own purposes. I have no choice—Charis has no choice—but to exact justice, yet I will endeavor as Charis has always endeavored to mitigate justice with mercy wherever that may be possible.”

She paused yet again, the quiet so intense she could hear the surf once more, and the instincts developed in so many years on a throne tried to parse the mood of the people in the throne room. At least some
of them seemed to be genuinely trying to reserve judgment, she thought. Others, however assiduously they might try to hide it, had clearly made up their minds already and weren’t about to be swayed by anyone’s words … especially hers. She couldn’t tell how many fell into which camp, but it seemed to her that the balance was tilted ever so slightly against those who had already committed themselves
to hostility.

“We’ve made it clear we aren’t prepared to cavalierly strip Prince Daivyn of his birthright and inheritance,” she said finally. “Obviously, when a minor prince is in exile in a foreign court, far from his own lands, we can’t simply resign into his hands that which we’ve won on the field of battle. By the same token, we can understand why Prince Daivyn and those who genuinely have
his best interests at heart should hesitate to deliver him back into the power of those many believe had his father and older brother murdered. Whether we did or not, simple prudence would dictate that he not be brought back into our reach until those responsible for guarding his life and well-being are fully satisfied it would be safe to do so. I don’t pretend we like the situation, yet I’m also
well aware no one here in
Corisande
likes it, either.

“It was the need to bear all of those factors in mind which led Emperor Cayleb to recognize the Regency Council as representing
Prince Daivyn
, not the Charisian Crown. Obviously, the Regency Council must accommodate itself to the demands of Charis, just as Prince Daivyn would be required to do were he here and ruling in his own right. That,
unfortunately, is the way things work in a world where disputes between realms are too often settled upon the field of battle. It’s our hope that in the fullness of time, and preferably sooner rather than later, all these issues will be resolved without further bloodshed here in Corisande, and we earnestly desire to find in that resolution a way to finally end the anger and distrust, the hostility,
which has lain between Charis, Chisholm, and Corisande for so long. In the meantime, we have no intention of expropriating Prince Daivyn’s lands, whether as Prince or as Duke of Manchyr. Aside from the abolition of serfdom, we have no intention of interfering with Corisande’s traditional law or the traditional rights of her aristocracy or her commons. And aside from those actions necessary to
purge Mother Church of the corruption which has infected and poisoned her, the lies which have been told in her name, we have no quarrel with her, either … and certainly not with God.

“And that, my lords and ladies, is what I’ve come here to Corisande to demonstrate for all to see. I will make no deals in secret. There will be no secret arrests and executions, just as there have been none yet.
We will not torture confessions out of those we suspect of wrongdoing, and if we must inflict the death penalty, it will be carried out quickly and cleanly, without the torture in which Zhaspahr Clyntahn delights.

“In the end, you—as all of God’s children—have a choice to make. You may choose to align yourself with the Empire and Church of Charis against the evil threatening to twist Mother Church
and all we believe in into something vile and dark. You may choose to stand with Corisande and the rightful Prince of Corisande, and it’s our hope that in the fullness of time Prince Daivyn will choose to stand with us. You may choose to reject the Empire and Church of Charis and fight them with all your power and all your heart, and that, too, is a choice only you can make. No Charisian monarch
will ever seek to dictate your final choice to you, but we will do whatever we must to protect and nurture the things in which
we
believe, the causes for which
we
choose to fight and, if necessary, die. If our choices bring us into conflict, then so be it. Charis will not flinch, will not yield, and will not retreat. As my husband has said, ‘Here we stand; we can do no other,’ and stand we will,
though all the forces of Hell itself should come against us. Yet whether you make yourselves our friends or our foes, I will promise you this much.”

The stillness was absolute, and she swept the listening throng with that level brown gaze yet again.

“We may fight you. We may even be forced to slay you. But we will never torture or terrify you into betraying your own beliefs. We will never convict
without evidence. We will never ignore your right to trial and your right to defend yourself before God and the law, never capriciously sentence men and women to die simply because they disagree with us. And we will never dictate to your conscience, or murder you simply for daring to disagree with us, or torture you vilely to death simply to terrify others into doing our will, and call that
the will of God.”

She looked out at those silent, listening faces, and her voice was measured, each word beaten out of cold iron as she dropped her sworn oath into the silence.

“Those things are what the Group of Four does,” she told them in that soft, terrible voice, “and we will
die
before we become them.”

.V.

Imperial Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis

“I’m going to strangle that parrot,” Cayleb Ahrmahk said conversationally. “And if I weren’t afraid it would poison me, I’d have the cook serve it for dinner.”

The parrot which had just stolen a pistachio out of the silver bowl on the wrought-iron table landed on a branch on the far side of the terrace, transferred the stolen nut
from its beak to its agile right foot, and squawked raucously at him. Obviously no respecter of imperial dignities, it proceeded to defecate in a long gray and white streak down the lime tree’s bark, as well.

There were quite a few similar deposits decorating the terrace, Cayleb noticed. In fact, there were enough of them for at least two heroic sculptures. Probably even three, unless they were
equestrian
sculptures.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Prince Nahrmahn said, reaching out and scooping up a handful of the same pistachios, “first you’d have to catch it.”

“Only if I insist on
strangling
it,” Cayleb retorted. “A shotgun ought to do the job permanently enough, if a little more messily. It might even be more satisfying, now that I think about it.”

“Zhanayt would be less
than amused with you, Your Majesty,” Earl Gray Harbor pointed out from his seat beside Nahrmahn. The first councilor shook his head. “She’s turned that dratted bird into her own personal pet. That’s why it’s bold enough to swoop down and steal your nuts. She’s been hand-feeding them to it for months now to get it to ride on her shoulder when she comes into the garden and it thinks it owns all of
them. She’ll pitch three kinds of fits if you harm a single feather on its loathsome little head.”