A Mighty Fortress (14 page)

Although,
he admitted to himself a bit grudgingly,
this “Viceroy General” Chermyn’s Marines have been a lot “gentler” than I would have expected . . . so far, at least. Musket butts and bayonets are bad enough, but bullets are worse, and he’s been mighty sparing with
those,
under the circumstances
.

“And maybe Gairlyng, Anvil Rock, and Tartarian all see an opportunity to feather their own nests, and Shan- wei while heading off any ‘pogroms,’ ” Larchros said bitingly in response to the earl’s last observation.

“And maybe that, as well,” Storm Keep conceded.

“You said over a third of the bishops have accepted Staynair’s authority, My Lord,” Yair said to Larchros. “What’s happened to those who refused?”

“Most of them have gone into hiding like Bishop Amilain, I imagine,” the baron replied, and this time there was at least a hint of genuine humor in his thin smile.

Amilain Gahrnaht, the Bishop of Larchros, had “mysteriously disappeared” before Larchros set out for Cherayth. The baron didn’t officially know exactly where Gahrnaht had taken himself off to, but he knew Father Airwain did. So did Storm Keep. That, in fact, was the main reason the earl was prepared to speak so frankly in front of a mere chaplain he scarcely knew personally.

“With the semaphore stations in the hands of Gairlyng’s sycophants,” the baron continued more somberly, “it’s hard to know what’s really going on, of course. A lot of bishops and upper- priests refused—like Bishop Amilain—to obey Cayleb’s summons at all. In the case of bishops who refused, he and Gairlyng appointed replacements before he left, and ‘Viceroy General’ Chermyn’s announced his intention to send troops along with each of those replacements. He
says
there will be no mass arrests or persecutions of ‘Temple Loyalists’ as long as they refrain from acts of ‘rebellion.’ ” Larchros snorted viciously. “I can just imagine how
long
that’s going to last!”

“But . . . but Cayleb and Staynair have been excommunicated!” Yair protested. “No oath to either of them can be binding in the eyes of God or man!”

“A point I bore in mind myself,” Larchros agreed with a grim smile.

“And I,” Storm Keep said. “In fact, I imagine quite a few of Prince Daivyn’s nobles were thinking about that. For that matter, I’m quite certain Bishop Mail-vyn was, as well.”

“Indeed?” Yair perked up noticeably. Mailvyn Nohrcross was the Bishop of Barcor. Unlike Gairlyng, he was a native- born Corisandian. In fact, he was a cousin of the Baron of Barcor, and his family wielded considerable influence both within the Church and in secular terms, as well.

“I wouldn’t say we’ve actually discussed it, you understand, Father,” Storm Keep said, “but from a couple of ‘chance remarks’ he managed to let fall in my presence, it’s my belief Bishop Mailvyn believes it will be wiser, for now, to pay lip ser vice to this Church of Charis. At any rate, I feel reasonably confident he’ll do his best to... buffer the blows to those who remain privately loyal to Mother Church.”

“In fact,” Larchros looked at his chaplain rather pointedly, “if anyone were to have the opportunity to discuss it with Bishop Amilain, I suspect Bishop Mailvyn would be prepared to quietly extend his protection to a fellow prelate unjustly deprived of his office.”

Yair looked back at him for a moment, then nodded, and Storm Keep shrugged.

“The truth is, Father Airwain, that no one really knows what’s going to happen. My understanding is that Cayleb intends to leave affairs here in Corisande in the hands of the Regency Council . . . ‘advised’ by his Viceroy General Chermyn, of course. Apparently he cherishes the belief—or the
hope,
perhaps—that now that he’s taken himself off to Chisholm, people may forget he had Prince Hektor murdered. That’s the real reason we all spent so many five- days parked in Manchyr even after he sailed for Cherayth. Anvil Rock, Tartarian, and the others were busy hammering all of us over the head with how deeply committed they are to doing their best to preserve the Princedom intact and defend its ancient prerogatives. They
say
Cayleb has promised them he’ll leave Corisande as much self- rule ‘as possible.’ I leave it to you to judge just how much ‘self’ there’s going to be in
that
‘rule’!”

The priest’s nostrils flared with contempt, and the earl nodded.

“Precisely,” he said. “For now, at least, though, he’s left Anvil Rock and Tartarian to deal with maintaining order while he dumps the . . . thorny problem, shall we say, of settling the Church’s affairs into Gairlyng’s hands. There were rumors swirling around Manchyr that Staynair himself may be visiting us in a few months’ time. For now, two or three upper- priests from Charis are playing the part of Gairlyng’s intendants, and no doubt keeping an eye on him for Staynair’s version of the Inquisition. Unless I’m seriously mistaken, Cayleb figures his best chance is to at least pretend he plans to ride Corisande with a light rein, if only we’ll let him.”

“You think that’s why he’s agreed to accept Daivyn as Prince Hektor’s heir, My Lord?”

“I think that’s part of it, certainly.” Storm Keep waved one hand slowly, like a man trying to fan a way through fog. “To be honest, though, I don’t see what other option he had. He’s made it clear enough that whether we want it to or not, Corisande’s just become part of this ‘Charisian Empire’ of his. That would have been a hard enough pill to force down the Princedom’s throat under any circumstances; after Prince Hektor’s murder, it’s going to be even harder. If he’d set straight out to put one of his favorites in the Prince’s place, or claimed the crown directly in his own name, he knows the entire Princedom would have gone up in flames. This way, he and the ‘Regency Council’ can hide behind Daivyn’s legitimacy. He can even pretend he’s looking out for the boy’s best interests, since, after all,
he
never had anything to do with Prince Hektor’s assassination, now did he? Oh, no, of
course
he didn’t!”

The earl’s irony was withering.

“And then there’s the consideration that with Daivyn safely out of the Princedom, he’s neatly deprived any potential resistance of a rallying point here in Corisande,” Larchros pointed out. “Worse, Anvil Rock and Tartarian can claim they’re actually looking after Daivyn’s claim to the crown when they move to crush any resistance that
does
arise! Look at the cover it gives them! And if Daivyn is ever foolish enough to come back into Cayleb’s reach, he can always go the same way his father and older brother did, once Cayleb decides he doesn’t need him anymore. At which point we
will
get one of his damned favorites on the throne!”

“In a lot of ways, I don’t envy Cayleb the mouthful he’s bitten off here in Corisande,” Storm Keep said frankly. “Murdering the Prince and young Hektor was probably the stupidest thing he could have done, but Langhorne knows enough hate can make a man do stupid things. I can’t think of any two men who hated one another more than he and Prince Hektor hated each other, either, especially after Haarahld was killed at Darcos Sound. And let’s not even get started on how
Sharleyan
felt about the Prince! So maybe he simply figured the personal satisfaction of vengeance was going to be worth any political headaches it created. And if he didn’t know Daivyn was already out of the Princedom, he probably figured controlling a little boy would be easier than controlling someone young Hektor’s age, so killing the Crown Prince may have seemed sensible to him, too... at the time. For that matter, as you just pointed out, Rahzhyr, he could always have had Daivyn suffer one of those ‘childhood accidents’ that seem to happen to unwanted heirs from time to time.” The earl’s expression was grim, and he shrugged. “But now he doesn’t have Daivyn in his hands, after all, and that leaves the entire situation in a state of flux.”

“What do you think is going to happen, My Lord?” Yair asked quietly. “In the end, I mean.”

“At this point, I truly don’t know, Father,” the earl said. “If the Regency Council can keep a lid on things for the next several months, and if Gairlyng and the other Church traitors can cobble together some sort of smooth- seeming transition into this Church of Charis, he may actually make the conquest stand up. I think the odds are against that, and to be honest,” he showed his teeth in a smile which contained absolutely no humor, “I intend to do everything I can to make them worse, but he
might
manage to pull it off. For a while, at least. But in the long run?”

He shrugged.

“In the long run, as long as Daivyn stays free, there’s going to be a secular rallying point for resistance. It may be located somewhere else, and any sort of direct contact between us and him may be all but impossible to maintain, but the
symbol
will still be there. It doesn’t matter if the ‘Regency Council’ claims to be acting in his name or not, either. As long as he’s outside the Princedom and ‘his’ council is obviously taking its orders from Cayleb, its legitimacy is going to be suspect, to say the very least. And the same thing is true for Bishop Executor Thomys, as well. As long as the true Church’s hierarchy remains, even if it’s driven underground, then any effort to replace it with the ‘Church of Charis’ is going to be built on sand. Eventually, Cayleb and his cat’s paws are going to find themselves face- to- face with a genuine popular uprising, Father. When that happens, I think they’ll find their authority runs a lot less deeply than they thought it did. And it’s the nature of that sort of thing that one uprising plants the seeds for the next one, whether
it
succeeds or not. So when the day comes that Cayleb is forced to pull his troops off of Corisandian soil, and recall his ships from Corisandian waters, to deal with threats closer to home, I think those of us who have been planning and working and waiting for that day will be in a position to give him a
most
unwelcome surprise.”

King Ahrnahld’s Tower,

Royal Palace,

City of Gorath,

Kingdom of Dohlar

Lywys Gardynyr, the Earl of Thirsk, was in a less than cheerful mood as the guardsmen saluted and their commanding officer bowed him through the open door.

Langhorne, how I
hate
politics—especially
court
politics,
he thought harshly.
And
especially
court politics at a time like this!

Of course, he admitted a bit grudgingly as one of the Duke of Fern’s innumerable secretaries met him with a deep bow, just inside King Ahrnahld’s Tower, it could have been worse. In fact, for the last two years or so, it
had
been worse—a lot worse. Things were in the process of looking up enormously, at least for him personally, and he was grateful that was true. On the other hand, he could have wished they’d started looking up a bit sooner... and at not quite so cataclysmic a cost for everyone else.

The secretary led him down a short, broad hall, turned a corner, ascended a shallow flight of stairs, and knocked gently on an ornately carved wooden door.

“Enter!” a deep voice called, and the secretary pushed the lavishly decorated panel wide.

“Earl Thirsk is here, Your Grace,” he announced.

“Excellent. Excellent! Come in, My Lord!”

Thirsk obeyed the deep voice’s invitation and stepped past the secretary into a luxurious, sunlit office. The walls of King Ahrnahld’s Tower were over three feet thick, but some remodeler had laboriously cut windows, reaching almost from floor to ceiling, through the thick masonry. They filled the chamber with light and at least the illusion of warmth. It was a welcome illusion, given the icy weather outside. The reality of the fire crackling on a wide hearth did considerably more to hold off the chill, however, and he was grateful for it, even if the chimney did seem to be smoking just a bit.

“Thank you for coming so promptly, My Lord,” the owner of the deep voice said, rising to stand behind his desk.

Samyl Cahkrayn, the Duke of Fern, was a man of medium height, thick-chested, with still- powerful arms and hands, despite the years he’d spent in offices very like this one. His hair had silvered with age, yet it was still thick and curly, despite the fact that he was several years older than the grizzled, gray Thirsk. Those sinewy hands were soft and well manicured these days, though, without the sword calluses they’d boasted when he was younger, and he’d discovered that a quill pen was a far more deadly weapon than any blade he’d ever wielded.

“My time is His Majesty’s, Your Grace,” Thirsk said, bowing to the Kingdom of Dohlar’s first councilor, “and sea officers learn early that nothing is more precious than time.” He straightened once more with a smile which was decidedly on the thin side. “Changing tides have little compassion, and winds have been known to shift whenever the mood takes them, so a seaman learns not to dawdle when they’re favorable.”

“I see.” Fern returned the earl’s smile with one which was even thinner, then gestured gracefully to the other man who’d been waiting in the office. “As a matter of fact,” he continued, “Duke Thorast and I were just discussing that. Weren’t we, Aibram?”

“Yes, we were,” Aibram Zaivyair, the Duke of Thorast, replied. There was no smile at all on his face, however, and the “bow”
he
bestowed upon Thirsk was far closer to a curt nod.

“You were, Your Grace?” Thirsk asked, raising one eyebrow slightly in Thorast’s direction. It probably wasn’t wise of him, yet under the circumstances, he couldn’t quite refrain from putting a certain innocent curiosity into his tone.

“Yes, we were,” Fern said before his fellow duke could respond. The words were identical to Thorast’s, but there was a small yet pronounced edge to them. Thirsk heard it, and met the first councilor’s eyes. The message in them was plain enough, and the earl nodded in acknowledgment and acceptance.