By Schism Rent Asunder (9 page)

Staynair's certainly right about that,
Merlin reflected.
It would be so much simpler if we knew which Clyntahn is going to turn up at any given moment. Is it likely to be the self-indulgent glutton? Or the undeniably brilliant thinker? Or the religious fanatic zealot Grand Inquisitor? Or the cynical schemer of the Group of Four?

“And Sharleyan and Green Mountain are going to recognize exactly the same thing,” Gray Harbor pointed out. “That's going to be a factor in how they may react to your … modest proposal. Turning up the pressure on them may not have put them in the most receptive possible state of mind.”

“From what I've seen of Queen Sharleyan and Baron Green Mountain, I wouldn't think that would be too much of a problem,” Merlin said. “Both of them understand the sorts of constraints we're facing. I won't say they're likely to be delighted by any effort on our part to manipulate them, but they're certainly going to realize there was nothing personal in it.”

Both Gray Harbor and Staynair nodded in acceptance of his observation. They were well aware that Merlin's “visions” had allowed him to follow the inner workings and private discussions of Queen Sharleyan of Chisholm and her own most trusted advisers in a way no one else could have.

“Having said that,” Merlin continued, “I don't have the least idea how she would react to what you have in mind. I don't think the possibility's even crossed her mind. Why should it have?”

“That's certainly a reasonable question,” Gray Harbor said wryly. “On the other hand, there was the way she reacted to your father's proposal for a more formal alliance, Cayleb.”

“The situation's changed just a bit since then,” Cayleb replied. “And let's not forget who Father chose as his ambassador.”

The youthful monarch's jaw tightened in briefly remembered pain. Kahlvyn Ahrmahk, the Duke of Tirian and his own cousin, had represented King Haarahld in his effort to secure a defensive alliance against Corisande with the Kingdom of Chisholm. Of course, when Haarahld selected Tirian, he hadn't realized that the cousin he loved like a brother was already plotting against him in cooperation with Prince Nahrmahn of Emerald. Nor had Haarahld even begun to suspect that Kahlvyn intended to assassinate both Haarahld and Cayleb.

“There is that,” Gray Harbor acknowledged in a painfully neutral voice, and his own eyes were dark and shadowed. Kahlvyn Ahrmahk had been Cayleb's magnificent older cousin, far more of an uncle and almost a second father than a mere cousin, but he had been Rayjhis Yowance's son-in-law, the husband of Gray Harbor's daughter, and the father of his two grandsons.

And it had been Rayjhis Yowance's thrown dagger which had ended the Duke of Tirian's traitorous life.

“So, bearing that in mind, who would you choose for your ambassador this time?” Merlin deliberately made his own voice a bit brisker than usual. “I assume you've given some thought to that?”

“I have, indeed.” Cayleb smiled. “Given the nature of the proposal—and, ungentlemanly though it may be, the desirability of maintaining enough pressure to … encourage Sharleyan and Green Mountain—I thought we might send them a truly senior representative. Someone like”—he turned his smile on Gray Harbor—“my esteemed First Councilor.”

“Now, just a minute, Cayleb!” Gray Harbor twitched upright in his chair, shaking his head. “I see where you're headed, but I couldn't possibly justify being absent long enough for a mission like this! It's the next best thing to ten thousand sea miles from Tellesberg to Cherayth. That's better than a month and a half's voyage just one way!”

“I know.” Cayleb's smile faded into an entirely serious expression. “Believe me, Rayjhis, I know, and I've thought long and hard about it. Unless I miss my guess, you'd be gone for at least three or four months, even assuming everything went perfectly. And you're right, the prospect of having you out of the Kingdom for that long isn't likely to help me sleep soundly. But
if
we could possibly make this work, it would go an enormous way towards determining whether or not we manage to survive, and you know it. God knows how much I'd miss you, but Maikel could substitute for you as First Councilor while you were gone. He knows everything you and I have discussed, and his position would put him above the normal political dogfights someone else might have to referee if they tried to temporarily take your place. In fact, he's the only other suitable candidate for ambassador I've been able to come up with, and to be totally honest, we can afford to have you out of the Kingdom at this particular moment far more than we can afford to have
him
out of the
Archbishopric
.”

Gray Harbor had opened his mouth as if to argue, but he closed it again, his expression thoughtful, with Cayleb's last sentence. Then, despite manifest reservations, he nodded slowly.

“I see your reasoning,” he acknowledged, “and you're right about Maikel covering for me. I don't think a single king or prince in the entire world has ever asked his archbishop to act as a mere first councilor, you understand, but I can see quite a few advantages to the arrangement—especially in our present circumstances. Having the Church and the Crown genuinely working in tandem certainly isn't going to
hurt
anything, at least! And he does know all of our plans, and Zhefry could handle all of the routine documents and procedures under his direction.” The first councilor's lips twitched. “God knows, he's been doing that for
me
for years!”

“The key points are that we can manage without you if we have to,” Cayleb said, “and that I can't think of anyone who'd have a better chance than you of convincing Sharleyan. And the more I've thought about it, the more I think convincing her is probably at least as important as making Hektor of Corisande a foot or two shorter.”

“And the prospect of getting to help you make Hektor shorter would probably be one of the major attractions of the scheme, as far as she's concerned,” Gray Harbor agreed.

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Cayleb gazed at the first councilor for another second or two, then cocked his head. “So, are you ready to go play envoy?”

.V.

HMS
Destroyer,
Eraystor Bay,
Princedom of Emerald

“Admiral Nylz is here, Sir. Captain Shain is with him.”

Admiral Sir Domynyk Staynair, the newly created Baron of Rock Point, looked up from his examination of the double-barreled flintlock pistol as his flag lieutenant poked his head respectfully through the flag cabin door aboard HMS
Destroyer
.

“Thank you, Styvyn,” he said. “Ask them to join me, please.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Lieutenant Styvyn Erayksyn bowed very slightly before he withdrew, and Admiral Rock Point smiled. Young Erayksyn was connected to at least two-thirds of the aristocrats of the Kingdom of Charis. Indeed, he was far better born than his admiral, despite the recent creation of Rock Point's own title, although that sort of thing was less uncommon in Charis than in most other Safeholdian kingdoms. And, Rock Point supposed, the fact that he himself was the younger brother of the Archbishop of Charis would normally have been more than enough to offset Erayksyn's bluer blood. Of course, in this case, given the … irregularities of Maikel's elevation to his archbishopric, that was a bit more problematical than usual.

If Erayksyn was remotely aware of the superiority of his birth he gave absolutely no sign of it. It did, however, grant the efficient, intelligent lieutenant a certain undeniable comfort level when it came to dealing with superior officers in general.

The admiral set the pistol aside rather regretfully, settling it back into its fitted velvet nest beside its mate in the hand-rubbed wooden case on his desk as the door closed behind the flag lieutenant. That brace of pistols was one of the latest brainstorms from Baron Seamount's fertile imagination, and Rock Point had always appreciated the baron's ever-active approach to life and to his duties. It was an attitude which would have served him poorly in many navies, but not in the Royal Charisian Navy—or, at least, not in the
current
Royal Charisian Navy—and the new weapon was typical of Seamount's efforts.

Before the introduction of the flintlock, firearms like the pistol Rock Point had just been examining would have been impractical, at best. Now, they were completely practical … aside from the diversion of manufacturing capability they represented, at least. Rock Point suspected that it had been difficult for Seamount to sit on the artisan who'd built the matched set of pistols in their box on the desk. Traditionally, presentation weapons were seen as opportunities to show off the maker's artistic talents, as well as his practical ability. Under those rules, the pistols ought to have been finely engraved, and—undoubtedly—inlaid with gold and plaques of ivory. This time, the only decoration lay in the small golden medallions set into the pistols' butts, bearing the crossed cannons and kraken of the coat of arms his monarch had awarded to him with his title.

I guess Ahlfryd knows me better than most
, Rock Point told himself with a fond smile.
He knows how little use I have for wasted finery
.

Even more than that, the admiral thought as he closed the box and latched it, Seamount knew how much he treasured functionality and practicality, and the sleek, beautifully blued pistols had both of those in abundance. They cocked with a glassy-smooth, satisfying “click,” the triggers broke cleanly and crisply, and the rich scent of gun oil clung to the pistol case like subtle perfume. With rifled, side-by-side fifty-caliber barrels, an admiral who no longer possessed two working legs would still hold four men's lives in his hands, even if his footwork was no longer up to the highest standards of swordsmanship.

“Admiral Nylz and Captain Shain, Sir,” Erayksyn murmured as the cabin door opened once more and he ushered the visitors into Rock Point's flag cabin.

“Thank you, Styvyn,” Rock Point said, then smiled at his two subordinates as the flag lieutenant disappeared once more.

“Kohdy, Captain Shain,” he said then. “Please, sit down.” He waved one hand at the chairs waiting for them. “I'm sorry I wasn't on deck to greet you.”

“No apologies are necessary, My Lord,” Admiral Kohdy Nylz replied for both of them as they sat down, and Rock Point smiled again, this time a bit more crookedly, as he glanced down to where the calf of his right leg used to be.

“How
is
your leg, Sir?” Nylz asked, following the direction of his superior's eyes.

“Better.” Rock Point looked back up with a small shrug. “They've fitted me with my peg, but they're still tinkering with it. Trying to get the angle right on the foot pad, more than anything else.” He raised his truncated leg from the footstool on which it had rested and flexed the knee. “I'm lucky to still have the knee, of course, and the stump is healing well, but I'm getting a lot of irritation from the peg itself. I understand”—he shrugged again, this time ironically—“that Earl Mahndyr is having some of the same difficulties.”

“So I've heard,” Nylz acknowledged with a slight smile of his own. Rock Point's shattered lower leg had been amputated after the Battle of Darcos Sound, in which the fire of his flagship had already removed the
left
leg of Gharth Rahlstahn, the Earl of Mahndyr, who had commanded the Emeraldian Navy at the same battle. Rock Point's flagship in that battle, HMS
Gale
, had been damaged even more severely than her admiral, and would remain in dockyard hands undergoing repair for at least several more five-days yet.

“All things considered, I'm happier losing a leg than an arm,” Rock Point said. “A sea officer doesn't spend a lot of time running foot races, anyway.”

Nylz and Shain chuckled politely, and Rock Point snorted at their dutiful response to his minor jest. Then his expression sobered.

“So, what's this about young Hywyt?”

“I have his written report, Sir,” Nylz said, opening the bulky dispatch case he'd brought with him and extracting a thin sheaf of paper. “It contains all the details, but the gist is simple enough. A Church dispatch boat tried to get past him to Eraystor. When it refused to halt, he fired a single shot across its bow, at which point its commander was wise enough to haul down his flag and surrender.”

He makes it sound so simple
, Rock Point thought.
And, really, I suppose it is. Of course, the
consequences
aren't going to be
.

“So there were no casualties?” he asked aloud.

“No, Sir,” Nylz replied. “Not this time.”

Rock Point grimaced at the qualifier, but he couldn't object to it. There
was
going to be a next time, after all, and eventually some stubborn, stiff-necked, intransigent Church courier was going to refuse to strike his flag and there were going to be quite a lot of casualties.

“Well,” he observed, “it sounds like Hywyt did exactly what he was supposed to do. I'm assuming from what you've said, and the way you said it, that you agree with that conclusion?”

“Completely, Sir,” Nylz said firmly.

“How did his people take it?”

“Well, overall, Sir.” Nylz twitched his shoulders slightly. “Most of them appear to have taken it pretty much in stride. In fact, some of them seemed disappointed that they didn't get to fire into Father Rahss' ship after all. I got the impression when Hywyt delivered his personal report to me that at least one of his officers was … less excited, let's say, about the possibility, but if Hywyt had ordered them to fire, they would have.”

“Good,” Rock Point said, and wondered as he did whether or not he truly meant it.