A Mighty Fortress (94 page)

Which is rather the point,
the admiral thought wryly. “I expect we’ll be able to extend the range still farther once Master Howsmyn begins producing his ‘wire- built’ guns,” Seamount continued enthusiastically. “Of course, that’s still going to take some time. Not as much as I was afraid it would, though. His mechanics’ designs for the wire- drawing equipment have been completed and tested now. It’s coming up with a way to turn the gun and wrap the wire with sufficient precision and accuracy that’s taking the time at this point. Well, that and the power of the machinery we need. You see—”

“Ahlfryd.”

Seamount closed his mouth, and his eyes narrowed as he recognized the gentleness—and something very like . . . regret—in Rock Point’s tone.

“Yes, Admiral?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve just said Commander Mahndrayn’s gun crews scored eighty percent hits at a range of over three miles. Is that accurate?”

“Yes, Sir,” Seamount confirmed just a bit warily. “I assume this required favorable circumstances. I mean, clear weather for good visibility? A stable gun platform?”

“Well, yes, Sir. Of course. But even under less than ideal conditions, accuracy would obviously be greatly enhanced, and—”

“I realize that,” Rock Point said. “But, here’s the thing, Ahlfryd. We’re not going to have those ideal conditions at sea. Even under the best of conditions, both the ship and the target are going to be moving. In fact, they’re going to be moving in several different directions at once.”

“Of course, Sir. But as I was saying, even if conditions are less than perfect, we’d still—”

“Ahlfryd, who’s going to be more likely to have conditions favorable for long- range engagements with these rifled guns of yours? A fleet at sea—like, say,
ours
— or a nice stable, unmoving, solid stone fortress—like, say, one that belongs to the Group of Four? One that our ships might be
attacking
?”

Seamount sat very still for a moment. Then his shoulders slumped. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with one hand. At the end of his desk, Commander Mahndrayn looked equally crestfallen. If the subject matter had been even a little less deadly serious, Rock Point was fairly certain he would have found it very difficult not to laugh at their expressions.

“I suppose we should have thought of that, shouldn’t we?” Seamount said finally, his tone chagrined. “Obviously, this is something that’s going to favor the defense more than the offense, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know that that’s true in every case,” Rock Point demurred. “As you just pointed out, and as Dr. Mahklyn pointed out when he and High Admiral Lock Island and I first discussed this, your rifled guns are going to be more accurate at all ranges, including the ones at which naval artillery is already effective. That’s nothing to sneer at. The problem is that in order to deal effectively with this new navy the Church is building, we’re more likely to be attacking their anchorages than they are to be attacking ours. Or, to put it another way, if they
are
in a position to attack our anchorages, we’re probably already completely screwed. This is obviously something we want to pursue, but we’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not something we want to actually put aboard ship. Not yet.”

“I see.” Seamount’s disappointment was still obvious, but he gave himself a shake and managed to smile. “So what do you and High Admiral Lock Island—and Dr. Mahklyn, I’m assuming—want us to do with this, Sir?”

“We want you to continue to develop it,” Rock Point said crisply. “From what you’ve been saying, we wouldn’t be in a position to put these new guns into production for some time, anyway. It seems more likely to us from your reports that we’ll be able to provide shells for the smoothbores much more quickly. So our thinking at this point is that we press ahead as quickly as possible with the smoothbores. In fact, it’s been suggested that we look into producing Commander Mahndrayn’s proposed heavy shell guns, possibly something with an eight- or nine- inch bore, specifically to fire the most destructive shells possible. That should give us a decisive advantage at
sea
even without rifled artillery.

“At the same time, and under conditions of as much secrecy as possible, press the development of Master Howsmyn’s rifled pieces—hard. Go ahead and test them here, at King’s Harbor, where you can keep curious eyes at bay. Once you’ve come up with a workable model, we’ll go ahead and put it into production as a shore- defense weapon. If the gun proves practical as a seagoing weapon, as well, we’ll develop a naval carriage for it, too. But we’ll hold it in reserve until either we know we’re going to need it to defend ourselves, or we’re in a position of such strength that revealing it to the enemy isn’t going to be critical.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And in the
meantime,
Commander,” Rock Point went on with a flashing smile as he turned his attention to Mahndrayn, “High Admiral Lock Island and I have another little challenge for you and your purveyors of destruction.”

“Yes, Admiral?”

If Seamount had sounded a
bit
wary a few moments before, there was downright trepidation in Mahndrayn’s tone, and Rock Point’s smile broadened.

“Oh, it’s nothing
too
complicated, Commander,” he assured the younger man. “It’s just that, as your tests have so thoroughly demonstrated, explosive shells are going to be extremely destructive. That being the case, and since your tests were so thorough and so professionally executed, it seems to the High Admiral and myself that you’re the perfect man for our next project—figuring out how to protect or armor a ship’s hull so that shells
don’t
tear it apart.”

His smile turned positively beatific at Mahndrayn’s expression. “I’m sure you’ll find it no challenge at all, Commander.”

Manchyr Cathedral,

City of Manchyr,

Princedom of Corisande

Sir Koryn Gahrvai stood as the organ prelude soared like the wings of the Archangels themselves and the vast doors of Manchyr Cathedral swung open. The procession started up the aisle behind the scepter- bearer and the thurifer. Ropes of sweet- smelling smoke trailed the jeweled thurible as it swung on its golden chain, and the thurifer was followed by a half- dozen candle-bearers, then a solid phalanx of acolytes and under- priests. Behind that, however, came the true reason the cathedral was so densely packed on this particular Wednesday.

Archbishop Maikel Staynair, Primate of the Church of Charis, followed those acolytes, those under- priests. As the cathedral choir’s massed voices rose in glorious song, those close enough to the archbishop could see his lips moving as he sang along with them. The rubies of his crown glittered like fresh hearts of blood in the morning sunlight spilling through the cathedral’s stained glass, and he was a full head taller than Klairmant Gairlyng, who walked at his side.

They paced steadily through the tumultuous waves of music and voices, and Gahrvai wondered how hard it was to do that. Despite the serenity of the archbishop’s expression, the memory of the Temple Loyalists who’d attempted to assassinate him in his own cathedral had to be floating about in his mind, especially in light of what had happened to Tymahn Hahskans.

If it was, there was no sign of it in Staynair’s demeanor, and Gahrvai discovered he wasn’t really surprised by that.

His lips twitched as he remembered Staynair’s initial meeting with his own father and the rest of the Regency Council—minus Earl Craggy Hill, who’d been rather conveniently (in Gahrvai’s opinion) recalled to Vahlainah by some purely local affair. Although he supposed it was undutiful of him, Gahrvai had decided his father’s attitude towards the archbishop had been remarkably similar to a stiff- legged hunting hound whose keen sense of smell suggested he was about to come face- to- face with a slash lizard. Tartarian had been less overtly stiff, though even his manner had been more than a bit wary, and the rest of the Regency Council’s reactions had ranged downward from there.

Yet there was something about Maikel Staynair....

Sir Koryn Gahrvai couldn’t put a label on that “something,” but whatever it was, it was potent stuff. It was less what the archbishop had said than how he’d said it, Gahrvai decided. He’d obviously simply decided to assume the members of the council were men of goodwill. That, despite the fact of Cayleb’s—and, for that matter, his own—excommunication, they’d given their oaths in good faith. That he understood their first concern must be the welfare of the Corisandians who looked to them for protection. That he took it for granted that when men of goodwill recognized a problem, they would seek its solution.

And it had been equally evident that if there was a single intolerant, bigoted, zealotry- ridden bone anywhere in his entire body he was a wizard at concealing it.

That’s his real secret weapon,
Gahrvai thought now.
He genuinely is a man of God. I don’t think there’s an ounce of weakness anywhere in him, yet it’s obvious—to me, at least—that it’s
gentleness
that drives him.
Outraged
gentleness, perhaps, but still gentleness. No one can spend twenty minutes in his presence without realizing that. He may be
wrong,
but there’s no question that he’s motivated by genuine love for God and his fellow man. And what makes that “secret weapon” so effective is that it’s not a weapon at all. It’s simply the way he
is.
Of course, there’s also.
...The general’s eyes drifted upward to the royal box. As in every cathedral, it was close enough to the sanctuary to be certain its occupants saw and heard everything clearly. With Prince Daivyn and Princess Irys in exile in Delferahk, the box was rather conspicuously unoccupied. Which only made the single Imperial Guardsman standing in front of its closed wicket gate even more noticeable.

He wore the black armor and the black, gold, blue, and silver of the Charisian Empire, but what everyone seemed to notice about him first were those strange sapphire eyes. Unlike the vast majority of Corisandians, Gahrvai had met
Seijin
Merlin Athrawes before. Indeed, every member of the Regency Council had met him, in passing, at least, and the Earls of Anvil Rock and Tartarian had spent quite a bit of time in his company, since he’d been the only armsman Cayleb had allowed to be present during the surrender negotiations. Sir Alyk Ahrthyr knew him even better, in some ways—or knew the
seijin
’s handiwork better, at any rate, since it was the only thing that had kept him alive at the Battle of Green Valley.

But everyone in the entire princedom knew his reputation. Knew he was the most deadly warrior in the entire world . . . and that he’d personally killed all three of the assassins who’d attacked Staynair in Tellesberg Cathedral. So knowing he was there, alert eyes sweeping back and forth constantly over the packed cathedral, probably contributed at least a little bit to the archbishop’s serenity.

The opening hymn carried Staynair and Gairlyng to the sanctuary, and Gahrvai settled back in his own pew once both archbishops had seated themselves in their waiting thrones and the congregation was free to sit, as well.

The service flowed smoothly. There’d been virtually no changes to the longstanding and much beloved liturgy. Indeed, the only substantive change was the omission of the pledge of loyalty to the Grand Vicar as the head of God’s Church on Safehold. Which, Gahrvai suspected, probably struck the Group of Four as a
very
“substantive change.”

But, eventually, they reached the point for which every person in that cathedral had been waiting, and the enormous structure was hushed, so silent the faint sounds of Staynair’s footsteps were clear and distinct as he crossed to the pulpit.

He stood for a moment, gazing out across the cathedral, then traced the sign of the scepter over the enormous bound volume of the
Writ
before he opened it. The sound of the turning pages whispered through the cathedral’s listening silence, and when he cleared his throat gently, it seemed almost shockingly loud.

“Today’s scripture,” he said, his deep voice carrying to every ear, “is taken from
The Book of Chihiro,
Chapter Nine, verses eleven through fourteen.

“Then said the Lord to the Archangel Langhorne, ‘Behold I have created my Holy Church to be the mother of all men and women on the face of this the world I have made. See to it that she nurtures all of My children. That she teaches the young, supports the footsteps and wisdom of those who are grown, cares for the elderly. And, above all, that she trains up all of My children in the way they should go.

“ ‘Find men worthy of this great charge among My priests. Instruct them in all of their duties, examine them and mea sure their souls, weigh them in the scales of My balance, fire them in the furnace of My discipline, hammer them upon the anvil of My love.

“ ‘And when you have done these things, when you are confident that
these
are the priests fit to lead and feed My sheep, set them in places of authority. Give them that which they need to do My will, and remind them, and the priests who will come after them, and all the priests who shall follow them, that their purpose, and their charge, and their duty is to
do
My will and always and everywhere, in every way, to serve My people.’

“And the Archangel Langhorne listened to all of these instructions from the Most High and Holiest, and the Archangel bowed his face to the earth, and he said unto the Lord his God, ‘Truly, it shall be as You have commanded.’ ”

The archbishop laid his hand on the opened book, looking out across the cathedral.