A Mighty Fortress (54 page)

“I’m not surprised,” Nahrmahn said sourly. “In fact, I could probably hazard a guess at some of the ‘highly placed’ people in question. Those summaries you used to hand me contained a few of those names, for that matter. Should I assume someone in Maikelberg falls into that category?”

“There are several people in Maikelberg who fall into that category, as a matter of fact, Your Highness.” Merlin grimaced. “Fortunately, there are a lot more who might have fallen into it who don’t. Duke Eastshare, for example.”

“Really?” Nahrmahn gazed at Merlin intently, then nodded slowly. “Good. Good!” He nodded more firmly. “I thought that was probably the case, but I’m
delighted
to have it confirmed!”

“You’re not exactly alone in that,” Merlin said feelingly, then shrugged. “For obvious reasons, we can’t go around arresting people when we can’t possibly present the evidence—the proof—of their treason in an open court. We
can
use what we know to steer people out of particularly sensitive positions when we know we can’t trust them, and we do. But there are a relatively small handful who we know are traitors who we either can’t ease aside without some ironclad justification or who, for various reasons, we don’t
want
to ease aside.”

“Knowing who the traitor is allows you to control the information flow,” Nahrmahn said.

“Exactly.” Merlin nodded vigorously. “That’s the thinking behind most of Cayleb and Sharleyan’s decisions to leave people in those sorts of positions, and they’re going to ask you to take over on monitoring that information flow.”

Nahrmahn nodded again, still gazing thoughtfully up at Merlin. “In addition, though, there are a very few people—just a handful, actually—who have been left in place for very specific reasons. Reasons that don’t really have much to do with controlling the information they’re passing to someone else. Cayleb calls them our ‘Master Traynyr Specials.’ ”

He watched Nahrmahn’s expression expectantly. The prince frowned for a moment, then found himself nodding yet again at the reference to the legendary director of Safeholdian puppet theater.

“So your journey to Maikelberg has something to do with one of those puppets.” His tone was thoughtfully speculative. “Someone you’re maneuvering into doing something himself? Or someone you’re using to maneuver someone
else
into doing something?”

“Your Highness, watching you in action is one of my guilty pleasures,” Merlin told him with a grin. “For that matter, it was one of my guilty pleasures even when you were on the other side!”

“I’m enchanted to discover I’ve given you so many hours of amusement,
Seijin
Merlin.” Nahrmahn’s tone was dry, but his eyes twinkled, and Merlin snorted.

“Let me tell you about the noble Earl of Swayle,” he said. “He’s quite an interesting fellow. He has even more interesting friends, too, and Cayleb and Sharleyan—and I—would appreciate your perspective on him. And, for that matter, on exactly how I should go about . . . presenting myself in the course of that errand I mentioned a few minutes ago. You see—”

Archbishop’s Palace,

City of Tairys,

Province of Glacierheart,

Republic of Siddarmark

Are you certain about this, Your Eminence?”

Father Gharth Gorjah couldn’t quite keep his own reservations out of his tone, and Zhasyn Cahnyr smiled. Gorjah was little more than half Cahnyr’s own age, and he’d been with the archbishop literally since leaving seminary. He was adept at all the skills a proper secretary required, and Cahnyr had no doubt any number of other bishops or archbishops would cheerfully have hired the younger man away from him. Gorjah had never shown the least interest in any of the offers which had come his way, however. Cahnyr hoped and believed much of that was because Gorjah enjoyed working for him. He certainly treasured the under- priest’s ser vices, although he supposed it was selfish of him not to have nudged the boy into taking one of those competing offers. An archbishop with more powerful alliances could probably have moved Gorjah’s career along more rapidly, after all. By now, he would undoubtedly have been at least an upper- priest if he’d been in the ser vice of one of those better connected prelates.

But another aspect of his secretary’s loyalty, as Cahnyr was well aware, was the fact that he’d been born and raised right here in Glacierheart. His father and older brothers had all gone into the mines in late boyhood, but his parents had decided young Gharth would aspire to greater things, and his entire family had shouldered the sacrifices to make it so.

The Church provided five years of schooling to all God’s children at no charge (as well she should, Cahnyr thought now, sourly, thinking of how many marks the tithe squeezed out of them every year), but it was a rare Glacierheart family who could spare a potential laborer long enough for a child to acquire anything greater than basic literacy. Gharth’s parents had been determined to do better than that, and, somehow, they’d managed to keep him out of the mines and in school. Their local priest had seen something in the lad, as well, which had earned Gharth more attention from his instructors, who, in turn, had discovered that this short, stocky coal miner’s son had a first- rate mind.

From there, the youngster’s path had been pretty much preordained. Mother Church always needed talent, and it had become apparent early on that Gharth had a true vocation. That had brought him to the attention of Cahnyr’s predecessor in Glacierheart, and with his archbishop’s sponsorship, he’d attended seminary in Zion itself. The previous archbishop had intended to employ the young seminarian on his staff, and when Cahnyr was elevated to his see following his unexpected death, the new archbishop had taken an instant liking to newly ordained Father Gharth.

Which probably explains why the young sprout feels qualified to look at me as if I were a slightly addled uncle,
that archbishop reflected now.

“If you mean am I certain this is a good idea,” he said out loud, his tone thoughtful, “the answer is yes. If you mean am I certain this is going to be the most pleasant time of the year for a retreat, the answer is no. If you mean am I certain the instructions I just gave you were the ones I
meant
to give you, then, again, the answer is yes.”

He scratched his chin in obvious rumination for a moment, then gave the younger man a glower. It was fierce, that glower, a thing of majesty and power... slightly flawed by the humor gleaming in his eyes.

“Over all, I believe the ‘yesses’ have it. Don’t you?”

“Of course, Your Eminence!” Gorjah actually blushed a bit, but he also shook his head with true Glacierheart stubbornness. “It’s just that, as you say, this isn’t the best time of the year for a retreat. Especially not to Summit House. I don’t even know what shape the house is in, and it’s entirely likely we’ll get a blizzard through here with little warning. If you’re up there with no one but Fraidmyn to look after you and the weather turns really bad. . . .”

He let his voice trickle off, and Cahnyr smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Gharth—really I do. But I’m fairly confident even a pair of old dodderers like Fraidmyn and me can survive a few days of isolation. And Summit House has been perched on that peak for over a hundred years, so I doubt any storm is likely to knock it down around our ears. And, finally, if conditions are going to be a little austere, that’s scarcely a minus for a spiritual retreat, now is it?”

“No, Your Eminence. Of course not. It’s just—”

“Just that you don’t want me out of your sight where I might get myself into trouble?” Cahnyr finished dryly, one eyebrow cocked.

Gorjah blushed again, then laughed. “Guilty, Your Eminence—guilty!” he confessed with a smile. But then his expression sobered, and his eyes looked searchingly into his superior’s.

Cahnyr returned that look levelly, steadily, but without answering the questions it asked. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—give Gorjah those answers. Not now. He’d decided long ago that the less young Gharth knew about his archbishop’s riskier activities, the better. It hadn’t been easy keeping the under- priest outside so much of his life, but he’d been active in the Circle long before Gorjah entered his ser vice. His conduits to the Wylsynns and the Circle had already been in place, and he’d simply declined to make his new secretary aware of them.

There’d been times he’d questioned that decision, and not just because of how it made his own life more difficult than it might have been. He’d recognized the kindred spirit inside Gharth Gorjah, and he’d had little concern—not
no
concern; no man could ever be absolutely certain of anything before the test—that the young man would have betrayed him or the Circle. For that matter, he’d been confident his secretary would have promptly agreed to join the Circle’s activities. But he’d declined to allow the youngster to make that decision at such an early stage in his own life. It wasn’t the sort of thing a man could simply walk away from if he later decided he’d made a mistake, and he’d been more than half- afraid Gorjah would have agreed at least in large part simply because of his respect and liking for Cahnyr himself.

By the time a few years had passed, and he’d been more confident Gorjah would have made an informed decision for the right reasons, there’d been other factors. Clyntahn had become Grand Inquisitor, which had raised the stakes starkly. The Circle itself had decided it would henceforth restrict all knowledge of its activities and its very existence to the ranks of the episcopate. Only a limited number of junior clergy already knew about those things, and the Circle had judged it best to keep it that way, both for security and to protect their juniors. And, finally, Gorjah had married his childhood sweetheart and the first of their (currently) three children had already been on the way.

Given all of that, Cahnyr had decided it was his duty to keep Gorjah away from that part of his life. In fact, for the last five years, Gorjah hadn’t even accompanied him back to the Temple between pastoral visits. Cahnyr had engaged another secretary—one he was confident was an Inquisition in formant, in fact—in Zion while he delegated more and more of the routine duties here in Glacierheart to Gorjah. When Bishop Executor Wyllys Haimltahn’s secretary, who’d been much more elderly, died of pneumonia three years before, Gorjah had slipped into the secretary’s role for Haimltahn, as well, so it had never been as if there weren’t plenty of legitimate duties to keep him fully occupied here in Tairys.

There’d been times, especially over the past few months, when Cahnyr had felt profoundly guilty over not telling Gorjah about the Circle. He was far from certain Clyntahn would believe Gorjah had known nothing about his superior’s activities. Worse, he suspected Clyntahn wouldn’t
care
whether or not Gorjah had been actively involved. The Grand Inquisitor might well decide that, guilty or not, Gorjah would make another excellent pointed example, and it wasn’t as if there weren’t plenty of under- priests to replace him, after all.

Yet, in the end, the archbishop had held fast to his resolve against entangling the younger priest in his own fate. His Zion secretary saw every bit of his correspondence with Gorjah, which was one reason Cahnyr had kept him on even after he’d become confident the man was making regular reports to the Inquisition. That correspondence had never so much as hinted at anything concerning the Circle or its activities, and his only real hope was that its routine nature, coupled with Gorjah’s genuine ignorance of his superior’s “disloyal” activities, would be his secretary’s best defense.

Poor as it may prove in the end, Gharth,
the archbishop thought,
it’s the best I can do for you
. He smiled a bit sadly.
I can’t even invite you to run with me—assuming I ever actually
get
the
chance
to run. A desperate flight through the teeth of a mountain winter with three small children and a pregnant wife is the
last
thing you need
.

“Very well, Your Eminence,” Gorjah said finally. “I won’t say I think you’re being foolish, since I’m far too dutiful to ever harbor such disrespectful motions. And perish the thought that a pair of... esteemed gentlemen, neither of whom will ever see sixty again, aren’t perfectly capable of looking after themselves under even the most primitive of conditions.” He gave Cahnyr a stern look, then sighed and shook his head when the archbishop returned it blandly. “I’ll make the arrangements. And if you’ll give me a five- day, I’ll see to it the coal bins are full and the pantry’s properly stocked, as well.”

“Thank you, Gharth.” Cahnyr patted the younger man gently on the shoulder. “That’s very thoughtful of you. I appreciate it.”

Which was true, he thought. And even better, the delay the secretary had asked for would be almost exactly the right length.

The Duke of Eastshare’s Headquarters,

Maikelberg,

Duchy of Eastshare,

Kingdom of Chisholm

If he’d still been a flesh- and- blood human being, Merlin Athrawes reflected as his most recent remount trotted briskly along under him, he’d really be getting tired of this particular exercise. Or of making this particular trip, at any rate.

The city of Maikelberg had been built by Sharleyan’s father, King Sailys. It lay just under a hundred and fifty miles north of Cherayth on the narrow neck of land between Lake Morgan and Cherry Bay, and it had been intended from the outset as a fortress city.

The three true keys to King Sailys’ success in breaking the power of the nobles who had marginalized his father and grandfather had been, first, the Royal Army, which had been commanded by his brother- in- law, the Duke of Halbrook Hollow; second, the Crown’s alliance with the Commons, which had been arranged and orchestrated by his boyhood friend, Mahrak Sahndyrs, Baron Green Mountain; and, third, geography. Well, geography coupled with more of Green Mountain’s astute diplomacy.