By Heresies Distressed (23 page)

Somehow, I don't think the Inquisition is going to accept the theory that the Charisian marksmen concentrated on shooting down just the Guardsmen
, he reflected sardonically.
Especially not when all of the bullets seem to have miraculously struck them from
behind.
And when you add that to all the money we've got onboard, they're bound to consider the possibility that it was an inside job. Maybe even that we never met up with any
Charisian
thieves at all
.

It irritated him that, in fact, it
wasn't
an inside job. If he was going to be suspected of making off with the Church's money, then he would have preferred at least to actually be guilty!

Well, he'd just have to see. Fortunately, he himself had no immediate family waiting for his return, and most of his seamen were unmarried. So was Hairaym, for that matter. He could always ask if the Charisians would be interested in acquiring one slightly used Desnairian galleon. They might even be willing to part with enough of
Wind Hoof
's cargo to allow the crew of the galleon in question to begin new lives under new names somewhere far, far away from the Desnairian Empire.

Or we might be able to get them to agree to let us take to the boats long enough for them to put a couple of broadsides—hopefully
nonfatal
broadsides—into the ship. Then anyone who wanted to go home could sail her back, while those of us more interested in seeing the world shipped along with the Charisians. That should provide enough other “buried at sea” fatalities to keep anyone from commenting on the fluke of Charisian accuracy that hit only Guardsmen
.

He shrugged. There was only one way to find out what sort of arrangement might be possible, and he raised his leather speaking trumpet.

“Ahoy, there!” he bellowed across the tumbled waste of water. “We're ready to receive a boat!”

Lamps burned late in the small council chamber as Prince Hektor walked through the door, followed by two of his bodyguards. As usual, Hektor was impeccably attired, yet something about his appearance suggested he'd dressed rather more rapidly than usual this time. Or perhaps it was merely that the men awaiting him already knew he had.

He walked across to the head of the conference table with a quick, determined stride, and settled into the chair waiting for him there. Then he looked around the table with hard, grim eyes.

The Earl of Anvil Rock, Admiral Tartarian, the Earl of Coris, and Father Mahrak Hahlmyn, one of Bishop Executor Thomys' senior aides, were already seated there, waiting for him. The prince's eyes might have hardened briefly as they brushed across Hahlmyn, but if they did, he banished the hardness quickly and nodded respectfully to the upper-priest.

“I'm sorry to have summoned you on such short notice, Father,” he said.

“Don't be concerned about it, Your Highness,” Hahlmyn replied, his expression and tone both grave. “Shan-wei's machinations wait on no man, and the
Writ
tells us news of them has a habit of coming at inconvenient moments. I only regret that the Bishop Executor and Father Aidryn are both away from the city tonight. I have, of course, informed them of your message by carrier wyvern. And the Bishop Executor has asked me by return wyvern to tell you he and Father Aidryn will set out on their return at dawn. In the meantime, I am instructed to offer whatever assistance Mother Church can provide at this time.”

“Thank you, Father.” Hektor gave him a brief smile, then inhaled deeply. “The first thing I believe Mother Church could do for us this evening would be for you to ask the intervention of God and the Archangels on our behalf.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Hahlmyn made the sign of Langhorne's Scepter, then bowed his head. “O God, we beseech You in the name of Your Holy Archangels to grant us Your strength and the true knowledge of Your will in this hour of trial. As the Holy Langhorne taught us, You and You alone are the true refuge of the righteous. Defend us from the malice and poison of Shan-wei, and strengthen us as we put upon us the armor of Your champions against those who would defile and defy Your Holy Church in the Evil One's dark name. There is no day so dark Your light cannot fill it, no enemy so powerful Your strength cannot subdue it. Lead us, guide us, and make us your sword against the powers of Hell. In Langhorne's holy name, amen.”

“Thank you, Father,” Hektor said again, his voice a bit softer, as he raised his head once more. His eyes circled the table again, then settled on Earl Coris.

“I take it you've already seen Taryl's dispatch, Phylyp?”

“I have, My Prince.” Coris' expression was grim.

“And your thoughts on the matter?”

“My Prince, Admiral Tartarian's judgment would be far more reliable than mine in a matter such as this, I'm sure.”

“That's probably true. However, I'd like to hear your thoughts before we hear from him. I have the greatest possible respect for the Admiral's judgment, and for Rysel's, but they're both professional military men. I think it's at least possible something will occur to you which might not occur to them precisely
because
they're professional military men. If that should happen to be the case, I'd like to hear it before something they say sends all our minds in another direction.”

“Of course, My Prince.” Coris pursed his lips for a moment, obviously marshaling his thoughts, then leaned forward slightly.

“The first thing that occurs to me, My Prince, is that the sighting report put the Charisians off Cape Targan, not Tear Island. From the report, it sounds as if they were making for either Tralmyr Passage or Coris Strait.” The earl grimaced at the thought of how close to his own earldom the Charisian Navy was about to pass. “That's scarcely the most direct route from Charis, but it would make sense if Cayleb came by way of Port Royal to make rendezvous with Sharpset and what's left of the Chisholmian Navy, I suppose. Somehow, though, I don't think the answer is quite that simple . . . or palatable.”

“Why not?” From Hektor's tone, he already knew where his spymaster was headed.

“Because Sir Farahk Hyllair is Grand Duke Zebediah's brother-in-law, My Prince,” Coris said in a flat voice, and Hektor grimaced. Sir Farahk Hyllair was the Baron of Dairwyn, and there were times the prince regretted the marital connection he'd urged Dairwyn to form with Grand Duke Zebediah. At the time, like a great many things, it had seemed like a good idea to anchor Zebediah to one of his more trusted barons. And one whose relatively lightly populated barony needed all of the royal patronage it could get.

“The fact that Cayleb has chosen to circle all the way around into the Chisholm Sea to come at us from the north, instead of the south, could mean several things, of course,” Coris continued. “The most likely, though, I'm afraid, is that he stopped off at Carmyn en route.”

“Do you really think Dairwyn would betray you, Your Highness?” Anvil Rock asked quietly.

“Frankly? I don't know.” Hektor shrugged. “Ordinarily, I'd say no. For several reasons. But these aren't exactly ordinary conditions, are they? Much as I hate to admit it, almost everyone has to be looking over his shoulder at the moment, wondering what's going to happen to
him
if we lose to Cayleb. And as Phylyp has just pointed out, Dairwyn is Zebediah's brother-in-law.”

“We've had no indications that Sir Farahk might even be contemplating anything of the sort,” Coris said. “What I'm afraid of is that Zebediah's turned
his
coat. If he has, it would be just like him to send letters along with Cayleb urging his brother-in-law to do the same thing.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Tartarian said, entering the conversation for the first time, “I know Baron Dairwyn. I don't believe he'll be that easily swayed into betraying his loyalty to you.”

“I think you're probably right,” Hektor replied thoughtfully. “On the other hand, if Zebediah did send a letter like the one Phylyp is suggesting, then Cayleb may have decided it would be worth trying to get Dairwyn to come over to his side. Dairos is a good, relatively deepwater port right there on White Sail Bay. It's a bit on the cramped size for a really large fleet, but it's big enough to provide a decent anchorage at a pinch if his fleet's still tied down when the storm season really picks up in the next month or two . . . and it's only about two hundred miles overland from Manchyr. Admittedly, the Dark Hills are between Dairwyn and Manchyr, but that works both ways. If they'd be an obstacle for his army moving west against Manchyr, they'd also give his own base of operations some protection if we manage to concentrate our own forces against him. But the key point is that he's going to need a port
somewhere
at this time of year. If there's even a chance that Dairwyn might give him Dairos intact and without a fight, it's probably worth his while to at least give it a try.”

“And if Dairwyn doesn't go over to him, Dairos isn't anywhere nearly as heavily defended as the ports along the Margo Sound coastline,” Tartarian agreed unhappily.

“We had to prioritize our forces and the new artillery somehow, Taryl.” Hektor waved one hand. “You and Rysel were right when you pointed out—as I just did—that the Dark Hills cover Manchyr from the east. So it made sense to concentrate on fortifying the southwestern ports, instead.”

“Which could also be another indication Cayleb has been in contact with Zebediah,” Coris pointed out. “Zebediah's had plenty of time to discover where we were concentrating our forces. I expect it's exactly the kind of information he would have been gathering up to offer Cayleb as proof of his value.”

“It could indicate that,” Hektor acknowledged. “By the same token, it's hard to hide new coastal batteries, Phylyp. Any one of the merchant ships passing through the Sound could have reported the information to Cayleb.”

“And even if that isn't what happened, it probably wouldn't have required a military genius to figure out the way we'd approach the problem,” Anvil Rock added.

“Exactly.” Hektor nodded. Then he grimaced. “All right, I think all of that was worth thinking about, but now we have to concentrate on what we're going to do if they
are
headed for Dairwyn.”

“I wish we had a better estimate of their total strength, My Prince,” Tartarian said. “The good news is that, thanks to the semaphore, we know they're coming at least a five-day before something as slow as an invasion fleet can reach Dairos. The bad news is that we really don't know how much fighting strength they're bringing with them when they come. I know what Phylyp's reports have been telling us about the size of their fleet, the hundreds of galleons they've been assembling to send after us with every man in the Kingdom embarked as elite Marines. But as I've been saying all along, I don't trust our sources at this point.”

“With good reason, I'm afraid,” Coris muttered, and Hektor's mouth tightened slightly.

It was always difficult managing spies at distances as great as the one between Manchyr and Tellesberg, yet the fiendish effectiveness Charisian security had developed over the past couple of years was still something of a sore point. He'd been forced to accept that it wasn't really Coris' fault, since Nahrmahn and all of Cayleb's other enemies appeared to have been experiencing precisely the same sort of difficulties. Despite which, the fact that they were forced to rely upon secondary sources, the kinds of intelligence Coris' agents could pick up by questioning merchant captains or frequenting taverns in other realms' seaports to listen to sailors' gossip, left him feeling off-balance and half-blind.

“I'm prepared to admit that the Charisians—especially now that Chisholm has thrown in with them—can put together an impressive fleet and find the transports they need to lift a fairly substantial army as far as Corisande,” Tartarian continued. “I'll believe he has two hundred war galleons and a hundred thousand men when I actually see them, though. Assuming we're actually facing a merely mortal foe, I don't see how he could have as many as
one
hundred war galleons, and I'd be astounded if he'd been able to find the troop lift for more than fifty to sixty thousand men. Not to mention the fact that he's had to raise and train his army virtually from scratch. That's going to limit the total manpower he can actually deploy here in Corisande just as effectively as his troop lift will.”

“I agree,” Anvil Rock said, nodding vigorously. “Another thing to consider is that after a voyage as long as the one between here and Charis—or even between here and Chisholm—his cavalry mounts and draft animals are going to need at least a five-day or two on land before they're going to be ready for any sort of serious campaigning.”

“Against which he'll have the advantage of offshore mobility,” Tartarian pointed out. “We still don't have the naval strength to face him, which means he can use his transports as aggressively as he likes. And, frankly, he'll be able to move his troops faster and farther than Rysel and Koryn can possibly march
our
troops overland.

“Having said that, though, he's not going to want to try anything too tricky right away,” the admiral continued. “He's going to make sure he has a solid foothold here in Corisande before he does anything else. So, wherever he ends up going ashore—and, like you and Phylyp, My Prince, I think Dairos is his most probable immediate objective—he's going to spend at least some time establishing a solid defensive perimeter. The point Rysel just made about the condition of his cavalry mounts and draft dragons is also valid, and I suggest we do what we can to make it worse by ordering every horse, mule, and dragon in the Dairos area swept up and moved west, out of easy reach from the coast, before his first Marine hits the shore. Let's keep him from impressing any of
our
animals to make up any deficits. That should slow him down some. In fact, I believe we can probably count on at least another two or three five-days, even after he reaches Dairos, before he starts sending any spearheads off to find a way across the Dark Hills.”