How Firm a Foundation (61 page)

It had all been most improper, of course, as Sharleyan was well aware. On the other hand, she didn’t much care. And, on a more pragmatic note, she knew the short shrift she and Cayleb often gave
protocol and formal state occasions was part of the legend that made them not simply respected but beloved by their subjects.

She knew Earl Gray Harbor had also decided yesterday belonged to them, not to the Empire, but that had been then. This was now, and she wasn’t looking forward to the news he’d delayed giving them that first, precious day.

They reached the council chamber door, Merlin
following at their heels, and Sergeant Seahamper saluted before he opened it for them and stood aside. Cayleb smiled at the sergeant, resting one hand briefly on his shoulder, then escorted Sharleyan into the chamber where the waiting ministers and councilors stood respectfully to greet them.

“Oh, sit back down.” Cayleb waved them back into their seats. “We can get all formal later, if we need
to.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.”

Gray Harbor managed to sound simultaneously patient, amused, and long-suffering, and Cayleb made a face at him while he pulled Sharleyan’s chair back from the table and seated her. The first councilor smiled back, although there truly were times when he found Cayleb’s informality—even by Charisian standards, which were far more flexible than most—a little
disconcerting.

All in all, he vastly preferred it to the sort of ego-aggrandizing formality, bowing, and scraping with which too many monarchs (and
far
too many lesser nobles, for that matter, in his opinion) surrounded themselves. It wasn’t that he had any objection to the way in which Cayleb and Sharleyan handled themselves; it was that the part of him which looked to the future worried, sometimes,
about the traditions they were establishing. The two of them had the strength of will, ability, and self-confidence—and the sheer charisma—to handle their roles and responsibilities without taking refuge in strictly regulated, well-worn formality, but what happened when the Empire found itself ruled by someone without those strengths? Someone who wasn’t able to laugh with his councilors without
undermining his authority? Someone who lacked the confidence to pick up his wife in public or make jokes at his own expense in formal addresses to Parliament? Someone who couldn’t
allow
herself to be scooped up without sacrificing one iota of her dignity when she needed it? Someone who lacked the focused sense of duty that prevented informality and tension-releasing humor from degenerating into
license and frivolity?

A kingdom was fortunate to have a single monarch of Cayleb or Sharleyan Ahrmahk’s caliber in a century; no realm could count on having two of them at the same time … still less on producing a third to follow in their footsteps. Indeed, much as Gray Harbor loved the baby crown princess, it had been his observation that the children of the towering rulers who dominated the
history books had a distinct tendency to disappear in their parents’ shadows. And what soul could have the hardihood to stand in the shadows of rulers like these two without feeling diminished—even angry—under the weight of their subjects’ expectations? No wonder the heirs of so many great kings and queens had ended up giving their lives over to dissolution and sensuality!

You
must
be feeling
more confident about the outcome of this minor war of ours if you’re wasting time worrying about things like
that
, Rayjhis
, he told himself dryly.
Cheerful, too. Alahnah’s just turned one and you’re already worrying about her having drunken orgies after her parents are gone? About the way the Empire’s going to fall apart after them? Neither of them is
thirty
yet, for Langhorne’s sake! It’s not
like
you’re
going to be around for the transition
.

No, he wasn’t—God willing—but it was one of a first councilor’s jobs to worry about things like that. Besides, he’d been making a conscious effort to stand back and consider the long view whenever he could. It was entirely too easy to get trapped up in the day-to-day concerns of simply surviving against an opponent the size of the Church of God
Awaiting, and when that happened, unhappy consequences could sneak up on someone.

And it also keeps you from thinking about what you’re going to have to tell them on their very first full day together in almost five months, doesn’t it?
he asked himself grimly.

Cayleb sat in his own chair, laid his folded hands on the table in front of him, and glanced at Maikel Staynair, sitting at its foot.

“Maikel?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Staynair looked once around the table, then bent his head. “Oh God, maker and keeper of the universe, author of all good things, our loving creator and father, bless these Your servants Cayleb and Sharleyan and all of their advisors. Let us all hear Your voice and be guided by Your council, and let our Emperor’s and Empress’ decisions be worthy of their responsibility
to the subjects who are also Your children, even as they are. Amen.”

No one seemed to notice the absence of any reference to the “Archangels,” Cayleb reflected as he opened his own eyes once more. Ever since he’d been elevated to archbishop, Staynair had focused even more directly upon every human being’s
personal
relationship with God rather than on the intermediary role of the Archangels. By
now, people scarcely noticed the subtle but deeply significant shift, and the majority of the Church of Charis’ clergy seemed to be taking their own stance and practices directly from their archbishop’s.

Maikel always did think in terms of long-term strategy, didn’t he? And speaking of long-term thinking
.…

The emperor looked directly across the table at Gray Harbor.

“Would you care to go ahead
and share with us what you were sparing me and Sharley yesterday, Rayjhis?” he asked dryly.

“Your Majesty?” Gray Harbor raised his eyebrows, and Cayleb snorted.

“I’ve known you since I was a boy, Rayjhis. I don’t want to get into anything about books and reading, but it was obvious to both me and Sharley that you had something on your mind yesterday. And since you didn’t bring it up, it seemed
equally obvious it had to be something you didn’t think was going to make us happy.” The emperor shook his head. “Trust me, we appreciate that. Still, it’s a new morning and we might as well get down to it.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Gray Harbor smiled involuntarily at Cayleb’s tone, but it was a fleeting smile, quickly faded, and he drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“I regret
to inform you, Your Majesty, that we’ve received letters from Admiral Manthyr. One contains a complete roster of the officers and men who surrendered to Earl Thirsk—and of those who died in captivity after surrendering.”

It was very quiet and still, the humor of only a moment before fading as quickly as the earl’s smile. No one else spoke, and he looked steadily at his monarchs as he continued.

“There’s also Sir Gwylym’s formal report. It’s very brief—he had none of his logs or records to consult when he prepared it, and for reasons his other letters make clear, very little time in which to write it. It confirms most of what we already knew and suspected about his final engagement … and also something we’ve all feared.”

Gray Harbor’s eyes flitted briefly aside to Captain Athrawes, standing
just inside the council chamber’s door. He’d been taking Merlin’s “visions” into his calculations for years now, but not everyone in the chamber was cleared for that information. And, of course, Merlin had been away from Tellesberg for the better part of a year, during which he’d been unable to provide any updated reports on Gwylym Manthyr’s situation.

“King Rahnyld has formally surrendered custody
of Sir Gwylym and all of his officers and men to the Inquisition.” The earl’s voice was flat and harsh now. “They left Gorath overland for Zion either late in May or in the first five-day of June. Given the length of the journey and the quality of mainland roads, they must have already reached the Temple.”

The stillness became absolute. Every man and woman in that chamber knew what that meant,
and most of the councilors turned their heads to look at Maikel Staynair. By any traditional reckoning, he was the senior member of the Imperial Council as Charis’ archbishop. His should have been the most important of the opinions offered on any subject, and especially anything touching upon the Church and religion. But Staynair had worked hard to make the Council as independent of the Church of
Charis as it possibly could be in what was, after all, a religious war. His position throughout had been that the Church’s proper role was to
teach,
not to enforce, and more than one of them wondered how he would react to news of this fresh atrocity decreed in God’s name.

He sat motionless for several seconds, then sighed and shook his head heavily, his eyes dark with sadness.

“May God have
mercy on them and gather them in arms of love,” he said softly. A quiet chorus of amens ran around the table, and then the others sat respectfully waiting while the archbishop closed his eyes in brief, silent prayer, took a deep breath, sat back in his chair, and looked at his old friend.

“May I ask how these letters come into our possession after all these months of silence, Rayjhis?”

“I can’t
answer that question—not completely, at any rate,” Gray Harbor replied. “As nearly as I can tell, they must have traveled by courier from Gorath to Silk Town, where they were handed over to one of the ‘Silkiahan’ merchantmen to be delivered to us here. That part’s fairly obvious. What I
can’t
tell you is who authorized their delivery, although I have my suspicions.”

“Sir Gwylym didn’t say?” Baron
Ironhill asked.

“Reading between the lines, he was very careful
not
to say, Ahlvyno.” Gray Harbor smiled tightly. “No doubt he knew what would happen to anyone who’d ‘aided and abetted heretics’ if his letters should fall into the Inquisition’s hands.”

“I’m sure he did,” Baron Wave Thunder said. “Of the other hand, I don’t think there’s any doubt your ‘suspicions’ are accurate, Rayjhis. The
only person who could have authorized it—who conceivably
might
have authorized it, from what we know of him—is Earl Thirsk.”

“Agreed,” Cayleb said. In fact, he and Wave Thunder knew perfectly well who’d arranged it. “I wish to God that man wasn’t on the other side,” the emperor continued soberly. “And I wish I hadn’t been quite so hard on him after Crag Reach.” He shook his head. “He deserved
better, even if there wasn’t any way for me to know it at the time.”

“I rather hate to suggest this, Your Majesty,” Prince Nahrmahn said delicately, “but if it should happen to leak back to the Inquisition that.…”

“No,” Cayleb said flatly, and Sharleyan shook her head firmly at his side. Then the emperor made himself sit straighter in his chair. “No, Nahrmahn,” he said in a more natural voice.
“Mind you, you’re not thinking anything that hadn’t already occurred to me. And I suppose from a proper cold-blooded, pragmatic perspective no ruler in his right mind could justify rejecting such a neat way of removing his most capable military opponent from play. But the man who risked sending us Gwylym Manthyr’s final letters deserves better of us than that.”

“I agree, Your Majesty.” Nahrmahn
nodded. “Such possibilities need to be considered; that’s why I mentioned it. But not only would it be wrong to betray the Earl to the Inquisition, it would be foolish. Whatever the advantages in removing him as a military commander, the long-term consequence would be to guarantee that there were no more Earl Thirsks within the ranks of the Temple Loyalists. Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s actions have blackened
the Group of Four beyond redemption in the eyes of any reasonable person. The last thing we need to do is to put ourselves into that same category by being no better than he is.”

“Cold-bloodedly but cogently reasoned, Your Highness,” Staynair said with a crooked smile. Nahrmahn looked at him, and the archbishop smiled more naturally. “I have no objection to considering the political advantages
of doing the right thing, Your Highness. I hope, however, that you’ll understand that from my perspective the fact that it’s the
right
thing takes precedence over the fact that it also happens to be politically expedient.”

“Your Eminence, I agree with you entirely,” Nahrmahn replied with a wry smile. “It’s simply that the right thing and the politically expedient thing are so seldom the
same
thing that I couldn’t let it pass without mentioning it.”

“We’re in agreement, then, that we won’t be publishing these letters abroad, Your Majesties?” Gray Harbor asked.

“Why do I seem to hear a little … hesitation in your voice, Rayjhis?” Sharleyan looked at him shrewdly, and the first councilor grimaced.

“There are also letters from others of his officers and enlisted men, Your Grace,” he
sighed. “The very last letters any of them will ever write. If we don’t admit we’ve received them, we can’t deliver them to their loved ones, either.”

There was silence again for several seconds. A lot of the people around the table were busy avoiding one another’s eyes, and Gray Harbor wondered how many of them found it as ironic as he did that this decision should arrive so close on the heels
of Staynair’s and Nahrmahn’s discussion of the difference between expediency and what was
right
.

“I believe there may be a solution,” Staynair said finally, and the eyes which had been studying the tabletop or the paintings on the council chamber’s walls swiveled to him. “By now, there’s been time for this same news to have reached Silk Town from Gorath by other means, and for us to have heard
of it from someone besides Sir Gwylym or Earl Thirsk. That being the case, I propose we announce it without mentioning the receipt of any formal reports from Sir Gwylym or, for that matter,
any
of the letters. Instead, in a short time—two or three five-days, perhaps—I’ll announce the
Church
has come into possession of final letters from many of the prisoners who were handed over to the Inquisition.
I’ll refuse to say how those letters reached me, but I’m sure everyone will assume it was courtesy of some Reformist member of the mainland clergy.” His lip curled, and his normally mild eyes glittered. “I rather like the thought that it may inspire the Inquisition to hunt for traitors among its own ranks.”