A Mighty Fortress (47 page)

Rayno nodded slowly. That was an excellent point, and the fact that Seablanket had made it was another indication of the man’s intelligence and general capability. And his suggestion that Zhames might not be the most reliable of guardians . . . that might be distressingly well taken, given what had already happened with certain other rulers (Prince Nahrmahn of Emerald came rather forcibly to mind) who’d found themselves in Cayleb of Charis’ path. Still . . .“I don’t think we need concern ourselves too deeply with King Zhames at the moment,” he observed, half to Seablanket and half simply thinking out loud. “I doubt very much that he’s likely to disregard any directives from the Temple where Daivyn is concerned.”

“I’m certain he wouldn’t, Your Eminence,” Seablanket agreed, yet there was something about his tone, a slight edge of... something. Rayno cocked his head, frowning, and then his own eyes widened. Could the Corisandian be suggesting—?

“Naturally,” the archbishop said, “we have to be at least a bit concerned about Daivyn’s current security. After all, his father’s security in Manchyr seemed quite adequate. And I suppose we really ought to be thinking in terms of multiple layers of protection for the boy. It’s sadly true that human nature is easily corrupted, and the possibility always exists that someone responsible for protecting him might be suborned by those more interested in
harming
him. Or in... transferring him to someone else’s custody, shall we say.”

“Exactly so, Your Eminence.” Seablanket bowed once more. “And, if I may be so bold, it couldn’t hurt to be doubly certain the man in charge of the Prince’s security sees his own first and primary loyalty as belonging to Mother Church.”

Rayno’s eyes narrowed again, this time with more than a little surprise. Seablanket hadn’t been chosen for his present assignment solely because he was a Corisandian who could be placed in Yu- Shai in time to be hired as Coris’ valet. He’d handled more than one politically sensitive mission for the Inquisition over the years, but the archbishop hadn’t expected him to be quite so willing to bring up that particular point.

“And do you believe Coris’ ‘first and primary loyalty’ is to Mother Church?” the adjutant general asked softly.

“I believe the Earl’s first and primary loyalty
was
to Prince Hektor,” Seablanket replied with the air of a man choosing his words very carefully. “I’m not prepared to speculate on how much of that loyalty might have been owed to his own ambition and the power he enjoyed as one of Prince Hektor’s closest advisers, but I believe it was genuine. Prince Hektor is dead now, however, Your Eminence, and the Earl’s lands in Corisande have been seized by Cayleb and Sharleyan. He’s a man accustomed to wielding power, and that’s been taken away from him with the fall of Corisande and his own exile. He’s not foolish enough to believe Cayleb or Sharleyan would ever trust anyone who was as close to Hektor as he was, so even if he were tempted to try to reach some sort of an arrangement with them—and I don’t believe for a moment that he is—he’d know the effort was probably pointless, at best. At worst, Cayleb might happily agree to give him what ever he asked for... until, at the least, he could get the Earl within reach.

“More than that, Your Eminence, it seems apparent to me that the Earl recognizes that, ultimately, Charis can’t possibly win. I don’t think he’s likely to be very tempted to sell his allegiance to the side which is bound to lose in the end. That being the case, I can’t escape the feeling that worldly ambition—in addition to spiritual loyalty—would incline him towards casting his lot with Mother Church. And he’s a very pragmatic man.” Seablanket shrugged very slightly. “I’m sure that as Hektor’s spymaster he came to realize long ago that sometimes certain... practical accommodations have to be made.”

“I see.”

Rayno considered Seablanket’s words for several seconds. He’d been a bit concerned himself, from time to time, about the possibility of Coris’ seeking some arrangement with Cayleb. After all, the earl was in a position to deliver Prince Daivyn to Charis, and Cayleb—and Sharleyan, damn her soul—had to be aware of how valuable a counter Daivyn had become. On the other hand, any attempt to hand the youthful prince over to Charis would be fraught with difficulty and danger, and Coris couldn’t possibly be unaware of what Mother Church would do to him if he made such an attempt and failed.

Yet Rayno hadn’t fully considered the other two points Seablanket had just raised. It truly was unlikely Cayleb, and especially Sharleyan, would ever repose an ounce of trust in the Earl of Coris. For one thing, Sharleyan was never going to forget that Coris had been Hektor’s spymaster when her father was killed—that it was Coris who’d actually arranged to hire the mercenary “pirates” responsible for King Sailys’ death. And even leaving that consideration aside, there was Seablanket’s assessment of Coris’ estimate of who was ultimately going to win this war. Unless something happened to catastrophically shift the balance of power between the two sides, Charis couldn’t possibly win against Mother Church. It was conceivable, little though Rayno liked to admit it, that an in de pen dent Charis might
survive
Mother Church’s ire, but nothing short of divine intervention could create circumstances under which Charis could actually
defeat
the Church and its effectively limitless resources. From everything he’d ever seen or heard about the Earl of Coris, the man was certainly smart enough to have reached the conclusions Seablanket had just ascribed to him. And a man who’d lost everything he’d spent his life building had to be thinking in terms of restoring at least a little of what had been taken from him.

It’s certainly worth bearing in mind,
the archbishop told himself.
All my reports on Coris suggest Seablanket’s right when he says the Earl is far smarter than Zhames. Which means he’s a lot less likely to be tempted to do something outstandingly stupid. Leaving him right where he is as Daivyn’s guardian could be the smartest thing we could do. Always assuming Seablanket’s reading of his character is reliable
.

He thought about it for a few more moments, then gave a mental shrug. Trynair and Clyntahn would undoubtedly be forming their own opinions about Coris and his reliability over the next few five- days. They’d probably rely more on their own judgment than on any outside advice, but it would be a good idea for Rayno to have his own recommendation ready if it should be asked for.

He put that consideration aside, tucking it into a mental pigeonhole for future contemplation, and returned his attention to Seablanket.

“Those are some very interesting observations, Master Seablanket,” he conceded. “However, there are several other points I need to discuss with you, and I’m afraid time is pressing onward. So, bearing that in mind, what can you tell me about Prince Daivyn’s own attitude towards Charis?”

“As I’ve already said, Your Eminence, he’s a very young boy whose father has been murdered, and what ever denials Cayleb and Sharleyan may have issued, I don’t believe there’s any doubt in Daivyn’s mind who was responsible. Under those circumstances, I don’t think it’s very surprising that he hates and distrusts—and fears—Cayleb with every fiber of his being. It hasn’t been difficult for Earl Coris and King Zhames to encourage those emotions, either.” Seablanket gave another of those tiny shrugs. “Under the circumstances,” he said, his tone ever so slightly edged with irony, “encouraging him to feel that way can only contribute to his own chances of survival, of course.”

He met Rayno’s gaze yet again, and this time the archbishop found himself unable to totally restrain an unwilling smile. He was definitely going to have to find future employment for Seablanket, he thought. The man was even more perceptive and (even more valuable in an agent) willing to share those perceptions than Rayno had expected.

“Having said that,” the Corisandian continued, “Daivyn’s also angry enough to be looking for any possible way to hurt Cayleb or Charis. Admittedly, he’s only a boy, but that won’t be true forever. By the time he comes to young manhood—assuming he can avoid Charisian assassins long enough for that—he’s going to be fully committed to the destruction of this ‘Charisian Empire’ and all its works. In fact, I think—”

Wyllym Rayno sat back in his chair, listening attentively. He might well have to cancel his next appointment after all, he thought. Given the acuity of Seablanket’s insight into the inner workings of the Corisandian court in exile in Talkyra, it might be very much worthwhile to get the man’s impressions of the cities and provinces through which he and Coris had passed on their way to the Temple. Rayno had plenty of reports from Inquisitors and intendants throughout all of the mainland realms, but Seablanket clearly had a sharp and discerning eye, and Coris’ rank had been high enough to get Seablanket inside the highest circles of the lands through which they had traveled. True, he was only the earl’s valet, but any spymaster knew servants made the very best spies. They saw and heard everything, yet their betters tended to think of them as part of the landscape, little more than animate furniture. All of which meant Seablanket’s perspective on the reports from Rayno’s agents in place could be extremely valuable.

I really have to keep an eye on this one,
the archbishop told himself, listening to Seablanket’s report.
Spies who can actually
think
are too rare—and valuable—to waste on routine duties
.

Rhobair Duchairn sat back, rubbing his forehead wearily. Another half hour, he thought, and they could finally break for lunch. He was looking forward to it, and not just because he’d skimped on breakfast that morning. His head throbbed, the congestion in his ears was worse than ever (the clerk who was currently speaking sounded as if he were in a barrel underwater), and he dearly wanted a little time in privacy to consider his unexpected encounter with Hauwerd Wylsynn.

Not that he expected to feel a great deal of comfort after he’d done the considering, he thought.

He felt his nose start to drip and muttered a short, pungent phrase which went rather poorly with the dignity of his august office. He
hated
blowing his nose in public, but the alternative seemed worse. So he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief—

—and froze.

For just an instant, not a single muscle moved, and then he forced himself to relax, one nerve at a time. He hoped no one had noticed his reaction. And when he thought about it, there was no reason anyone should have, really. But that didn’t prevent him from feeling as if he had somehow, in that instant, pasted an enormous archer’s target onto his own back.

Or, perhaps, had someone else paste it there.

His fingertips explored the small but thick envelope which had somehow come to be nestled under his handkerchief. It hadn’t been there when he left his suite this morning, and he knew
he
hadn’t put it there since. In fact, he could think of only one person who’d been close enough to find the opportunity to slide anything unobtrusively into his pocket.

And just at this moment, he couldn’t think of a single gift that person could have given him that wouldn’t be at least potentially more deadly than its own weight in cyanide.

Odd,
a corner of his brain thought.
For someone who was so hungry a few seconds ago, I seem to have lost my appetite remarkably quickly
.

Royal College,

Tellesberg Palace,

City of Tellesberg,

Kingdom of Old Charis

Baron Seamount is here, Doctor.”

Rahzhyr Mahklyn looked up from the notes in front of him as Dairak Bowave poked his head through the office door. Bowave was a cheerful young man, not that many years older than Emperor Cayleb, and when he wasn’t working directly with Mahklyn, he tended to spend his time with Mahklyn’s son- in- law, Aizak Kahnklyn, in the Royal College’s library. There was certainly plenty to do there, Mahklyn reflected grimly. They’d accomplished a lot since the College’s original home had been burned to the ground eleven months earlier, yet their current collection remained little more than a shadow of what it had been, and organizing the new material as it came in was a huge task.

Of course, even though Aizak and Bowave didn’t know it, what Mahklyn now had access to dwarfed everything they’d lost.

Not that he could tell either of them.

“Ask the Baron to come in, please, Dairak,” he said out loud.

“Of course.” Bowave smiled, nodded, and disappeared, and Mahklyn started jogging the handwritten pages neatly together.

The notes in question were from Sahndrah Lywys. He’d been scanning them in preparation for this very meeting, and he was amused by how easily he’d been able to follow them . . . now. Dr. Lywys’ writing style had always been clear and concise, even elegant, but her handwriting was also what might charitably be called “spidery,” and Mahklyn’s nearsightedness—“myopia,” as Merlin Athrawes called it—had been getting steadily worse for years. Despite the best lenses which could be ground, he’d found it harder and harder to read even the printed word. Until very recently, that was. Now the “contact lenses” Merlin had provided to go with Mahklyn’s “com” had also corrected his vision to miraculous clarity. In fact, Mahklyn suspected it was better than it had been even in the days of his now- distant youth. Of course that youth had been long enough ago the golden glow of memory could well be playing tricks on him, but he
knew
his ability to see things in poor light had improved enormously. He still didn’t have the low- light acuity Merlin Athrawes did, yet he saw far better than anyone else could.