A Mighty Fortress (101 page)

“Rash and impetuous youngsters who point out holes in their elders’ logic come to bad ends,” Tartarian observed to no one in particular, and Doyal (who wasn’t all that many years younger than the earl) chuckled.

“Still, Taryl, he has a point,” Anvil Rock said.

“Of course he does. If he didn’t, I’d simply annihilate him with the deadly force of my own logic and be done with it. As it is, I’m forced to admit I have no idea why the
seijin
has waited this long to discuss what ever it is with us. There!” He began working on the nails of his other hand. “I’ve admitted it. I’m fallible.”

“Be still my beating heart,” Anvil Rock said tartly, and it was Gahrvai’s turn to laugh.

The truth was that
none
of them had any idea what Captain Athrawes wanted to speak to them about. Except, of course, that Tartarian was almost certainly correct about who the
seijin
would be speaking
for
. On the other hand, the atmosphere in the council chamber was enormously more relaxed—and confident—than it had been only a few months ago.

Gahrvai still bitterly regretted Father Tymahn’s murder, yet Waimyn’s decision to have him killed had clearly been the turning point here in Manchyr. Gahrvai wasn’t about to issue any overly optimistic proclamations of triumph, but the incidence of violence had plummeted following Waimyn’s arrest, and the ex- intendant’s execution had evoked not protests and riots, but something much closer to a huge sigh of relief. Anti- Charis broadsides were still being tacked up on doors throughout the city. Temple Loyalists continued to gather in their own churches, following their own priests. Parties of Charisian Marines continued to draw glowers, even the occasional catcall, but no one actually threw dead cat-lizards any longer. In fact, they didn’t even throw overripe tomatoes.

The Charisian occupation was still a source of resentment, yet most Corisandians—in the southeast, at least—seemed prepared to accept, if only grudgingly, that the Charisians were doing their best to avoid walking all over them.

The fact that Viceroy General Chermyn had been scrupulous about observing both local law and customary usages wherever possible hadn’t hurt. And the fact that the Charisians obviously trusted Gahrvai’s guardsmen to serve as the princedom’s primary peacekeeping force hadn’t been lost on Corisandians, either. The acid test, in many ways, had come when three Charisian Marines raped a young farm girl. Gahrvai had gone straight to Chermyn, and the viceroy general’s response had been quick and decisive. He’d ordered the suspected rapists’ arrest, impaneled a court- martial, and had Gahrvai’s guards-men bring in the Corisandian witnesses. The defense counsel’s questioning had been sharp, but those witnesses had been given full credence, and the court’s verdict had been swift. The Articles of War set only one penalty for forcible rape, and the guilty parties had been marched to the very farm where the crime had taken place for execution.

That hadn’t been the only incident of swift, impartial justice, either. To be fair, there’d been far fewer such incidents than Gahrvai would have expected. In fact, he was unhappily aware that his own army, when he’d been resisting the Charisian invasion, had committed more crimes against Prince Hektor’s subjects than the invaders had. There’d been additional infractions, of course—Charisians might be well behaved, but they were scarcely saints! Theft, looting, the occasional fistfight or beating, and at least two deaths, one of which had clearly been a matter of self- defense on the Charisian’s part. Yet the prince-dom’s subjects had been forced, many against their will, to concede that “the occupation” truly was determined to enforce
justice
and not just Charisian authority.

And then there’s Staynair
, Gahrvai thought.
That man is
scary.
It’s just not natural. He’s a Charisian
and
a heretic . . . and I think he could probably talk a slash lizard into eating out of his hand
.

His lips twitched a half- smile, yet he wasn’t certain the thought was entirely hyperbole. Maikel Staynair had never once apologized for the Church of Charis’ schismatic fervor. He’d drawn the line between the Church of Charis and the Temple Loyalists as unflinchingly in every sermon he’d given as in the very first, and no one who’d seen and heard him preach could doubt his unswerving devotion to that schism for a single moment. And yet, for all the adamantine power of his personal faith and bitter defiance of the vicarate and the Group of Four, he radiated a gentleness, a kindliness, only the most bigoted could deny.

Many of those bigots did just that, but Gahrvai had watched Staynair walk down the nave of cathedrals and churches throughout the capital. He’d seen the “foreign Archbishop,” the “apostate heretic” and “servant of Shan- wei,” pause to lay his hand on children’s heads, speak to those children’s parents, stop entire processions for a word here, a blessing there. It must have been a living nightmare for the people responsible for keeping him alive, because there was no way anyone could have guaranteed there were no hidden daggers in those houses of God.

Yet he’d done it anyway. He’d reached out, embraced, welcomed. And everyone in each of those cathedrals and churches had heard the tale of what had happened to him in Tellesberg Cathedral. They knew that
he
knew, from direct and personal experience, how easy it would have been for someone to repeat that attack. And, knowing that, still he chose to walk among them, risk exactly that.

Archbishops weren’t supposed to be like that. They were supposed to be regal. They were supposed to visit their archbishoprics once a year. They might celebrate mass in the cathedrals adjacent to their palaces, but they didn’t go to small churches—like Saint Kathryn’s, or the Holy Archangels Triumphant. They passed through congregants like the princes of Mother Church they were, not stopping to bounce a baby in their arms, or lay a soothing hand on an ailing toddler, or bestow a gentle blessing on a bereaved widow. They dispensed Mother Church’s rulings and justice, and they governed, but they didn’t scoop a grubby six- year- old up in their arms, laughing and tickling, heedless of their exquisitely tailored cassocks, when they went to visit one of Mother Church’s orphanages.

Corisande had no idea what to make of him. For that matter, Gahrvai wasn’t certain what to make of Staynair himself. He wasn’t accustomed to encountering saints . . .
especially
, he thought more grimly, in an archbishop’s vestments.

Of course, he’s
not
a saint—he’d be the very first to insist on that! But until something better comes along
....The sound of an opening door pulled him up out of his reflections, and his eyes narrowed as Merlin Athrawes stepped into the council chamber.

The
seijin
crossed to the conference table and bowed courteously. “My Lords, thank you for allowing me to speak to you,” he said. “I don’t really think there was ever much probability that we wouldn’t ‘allow’ you to speak with us,” Anvil Rock said dryly.

“Perhaps not.” Merlin smiled. “Still, there
are
appearances to maintain.”

“Indeed there are.” Anvil Rock cocked his head thoughtfully. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to discover that we’ve been speculating amongst ourselves on exactly why it was you wished to speak with us,
Seijin
Merlin. Am I correct in assuming you’re here on the Emperor and the Empress’s business?”

“You are, of course.”

“In that case, I suppose we ought to invite you to sit down,” the earl said, pointing at an unoccupied chair across the table from his son and Doyal.

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Merlin unhooked the scabbard of his katana, laying it on the table in front of him, then sat and folded his hands on the tabletop.

“Very well,
Seijin
,” Anvil Rock invited. “You have our attention.”

“Thank you,” Merlin repeated, then smiled slightly. “My Lords,” he began, “by this time, I’m sure, the entire world knows the Emperor has his own personal
seijin
bodyguard. As you may have heard, however, I’ve never actually claimed to be a
seijin
. The truth, so far as I know, is that there
are
no true
seijins
in the sense of all the old fables and folktales.”

He made the admission calmly, and his audience stirred. Anvil Rock leaned forward, one elbow propped on his chair arm, and Tartarian frowned thoughtfully.

“If you go back to the tales of
Seijin
Kohdy, for example,” Merlin continued, “you’ll find he’s capable of all sorts of magical, mystical feats, from mind reading to levitation to talking to great lizards. And let’s not forget his magic sword and his ability to walk through walls, either.” He smiled crookedly. “Trust me, My Lords, there have been quite a few times I’ve wished I
could
walk through walls. Unfortunately, I can’t.

“Yet that isn’t to say that there’s not a certain core of truth in those fairy tales.” His smile vanished. “And, while I’ve never actually claimed to be a
seijin
, I have to admit I do have
some
of the capabilities ascribed to
seijins
. As such, the label has a certain applicability, and it provides a convenient . . . handle. Or perhaps it would be better to say a mental pigeonhole people can tuck me into.”

He paused for a moment, studying his audience, then shrugged. “The reason I’ve brought this up, My Lords, is because I may not be so unique as you’ve assumed. Or, to put it another way, there may be more ‘
seijins
’ around than you might have guessed.”

All of his listeners stiffened. They looked at one another quickly, then leaned towards him as one, and his smile was back, a bit fainter and even more crooked than before.

“When I first offered my ser vices to King Haarahld, and then, later, to Emperor Cayleb, it wasn’t on a whim, My Lords,” he told them flatly. “I won’t pretend I foresaw everything that’s happened since, but I did see which way the wind was setting, and I knew where I stood. Yet when I offered Charis my sword, that wasn’t all I brought to Tellesberg with me, nor did I truly come alone. If it’s accurate to call me a
seijin
at all, because of the abilities I possess, then I’m not the only
seijin
on the face of Safehold.”

“You’re not?” Anvil Rock said quietly, when Merlin paused once more.

“Of course not, My Lord.” Merlin shook his head. “Of course, even the fables insist not all
seijins
are warriors. They may also be councilors, teachers, mentors, even spies.”

“Yes, they do say that,” Doyal said slowly, and Merlin smiled at him.

“Indeed, they do, Sir Charlz. And it happens there are quite a few ‘
seijins
’ right here in Corisande.”

“There are?” Anvil Rock sat up very straight, and Merlin nodded.

“Yes, My Lord. In fact, Sir Koryn’s already had evidence of that.”

“I have, have I?” Gahrvai considered Merlin across the table.

“Assuredly.” The
seijin
’s smile turned into something remarkably like a grin. “It came in the form of a rock tossed through your study window.”

“That was a
seijin
?” Gahrvai’s eyebrows rose, and Merlin chuckled.

“If
I’m
a
seijin
, that was most definitely a
seijin
, too, General. This entire Princedom’s been under observation, My Lords—starting even before the Emperor invaded.” He shrugged at their incredulous expressions. “Obviously, not even our network can see everything. If it could, we’d know who ordered Prince Hektor’s assassination, and we don’t.”

His unearthly sapphire eyes hardened as he made that admission. Then he inhaled deeply.

“We can’t see everything, but we see a great deal, and as Sir Koryn can attest, we’re quite good at getting information into the hands of the authorities when it seems appropriate. Which is the reason I asked to speak to you today. I’ve received several reports while here in Corisande confirming something Their Majesties have expected for some time. Since Archbishop Maikel is scheduled to leave the Princedom at the end of next five- day, and I’ll be leaving with him, my... contacts here in Corisande will probably need to provide information directly to you after I’ve left. Specifically, to Sir Charlz and Sir Koryn. Since those contacts’ effectiveness depends on their anonymity and unobtrusiveness, any reports from them will be in written form, and they’ll find their own ways into your hands.”

“By flying through windows?” Gahrvai asked sardonically, and Merlin chuckled.

“We’ll try to be a bit less destructive than that,” he said.

“I hope none of your fellow
seijins
come to grief trying to creep through our sentries,” Anvil Rock said a bit tartly. The earl clearly found the concept of overly clever spies sneaking about in black, hooded cloaks less than amusing.

“I think that’s . . . unlikely to happen, My Lord.”

“You mentioned you’ve received reports confirming something the Emperor and Empress have been expecting?” Doyal said slowly, and Merlin nodded, his expression sobering.

“I have, indeed,” he said. “Specifically, I’ve received this.”

He produced an envelope, laying it on the table in front of him.

“All jesting aside, My Lords, our agents here in Corisande have confirmed that Earl Craggy Hill, among others, is engaged in an active conspiracy against both the Empire and this Council.”

Every face around the table tightened, less in surprise than with tension.