How Firm a Foundation (88 page)

“The Charisians call it a ‘Shan-wei’s candle,’” the other man said in an amused tone. “Personally, I think they could’ve come up with a more tactful name, given Vicar Zhaspahr’s current attitude towards the Empire and the Church of Charis.” He shrugged. “On
the other hand, given how … enthusiastically it takes fire—and the stink—it
is
an appropriate name, don’t you think? Besides, I don’t think they’re especially concerned by the thought of hurting the Grand Inquisitor’s tender feelings these days.”

“Zhevons,” Coris said, eyes going wide as his orderly memory put a face—and a name—together with the oddly familiar voice. “Ahbraim Zhevons.”

“At your
service,” Zhevons acknowledged with a bow. It was clearly the same man and the same voice, but the accent and dialect had changed completely. Unlike the smuggler Coris had met earlier, this man could have stepped straight off a street—an
expensive
street—in Zion itself.

“What are you doing here? And how the
hell
did you get into my bedroom?” the earl demanded, his dagger still raised between
them.

“As to how I got in, let’s just say King Zhames’ guards aren’t the most alert lot in the world. In fact, they’re pretty pathetic,” Zhevons said in a judicious tone. “Sergeant Raimair’s lads are
much
better than that, but there aren’t very many of them. And, frankly, I’m a lot better at creeping around in the shadows than anyone else they’re likely to meet.”

“You are, are you?” Coris straightened
from his crouch, lowering the dagger. “Given the fact that you’re here, I’m inclined to take your word for that. On the other hand,” his eyes narrowed, “that doesn’t explain
why
you’re here.”

“You sent a message to Earl Gray Harbor last month,” Zhevons said, his voice suddenly flat and serious, without the edge of humor which had marked it. “I’m the response.”

The tip of an icicle ran down Coris’
spine. It was an instant, instinctive reaction, born of his awareness of just how precarious his position truly was. But he pushed the instant hollowness of his stomach aside quickly. If Zhevons were an agent of the Inquisition, there’d be no point in any sort of elaborate charade designed to entrap him. And he
was
the man who’d delivered the messenger wyverns in the first place.

“As it happened,
I was in a position to get to Talkyra rather more quickly than anyone else could have done it,” Zhevons continued. “So
Seijin
Merlin asked me to deliver the reply to your message.”

“Merlin?” Coris repeated.

He’d collected a great deal of information about Merlin Athrawes over the last three or four years. Most of it was preposterous and obviously grossly exaggerated. On the other hand, there
was so
much
of it he’d been forced to accept that as ridiculous as it seemed, Athrawes truly was a
seijin
. Of course, no one seemed to be exactly sure what a
seijin
really was, and the old fairy tales about them didn’t help a lot in that regard, so simply pinning a label on Athrawes didn’t accomplish a great deal. On the other hand, the fact that this Zhevons had slipped—apparently effortlessly—through
not simply Zhames of Delferahk’s admittedly inferior guardsmen but also past Tobys Raimair’s sentries, suggested—

“Should I assume you’re a
seijin
, too, Master Zhevons?”

“People keep
asking
me that,” Zhevons replied with an edge of exasperation. “They keep asking Merlin, too, I’m sure. And I think his response is probably the same as mine. I wouldn’t call
myself
a
seijin,
but I have to admit
that Merlin and I both have some of the abilities legend ascribes to
seijins
. So if you absolutely have to have a label, I guess that one’s as good as any.”

“I see.” Coris smiled thinly, only too well aware of the surreal quality of this entire conversation. “On the other hand, according to my research, very few supposed
seijins
have ever called themselves
seijins
during their own lifetimes.”

“So I’ve heard,” Zhevons agreed pleasantly. “Now, about that message I’m here to deliver—?”

“By all means.” Coris tossed the dagger onto the bed, where it settled into the soft mattress, then seated himself in his dressing-table chair and crossed his legs as urbanely as a man surprised in his nightshirt could manage. “I’m all ears.”

“So I see.” Zhevons smiled briefly, but then his expression
sobered. “First, the bad news: Earl Gray Harbor is dead.” Despite himself, Coris jerked upright, his mouth opening, but Zhevons continued speaking. “He was assassinated, along with several other members of the Imperial Council and prominent churchmen. Bishop Hainryk in Tellesberg, Archbishop Pawal in Cherayth, Bishop Stywyrt in Shalmar … they almost got Archbishop Fairmyn in Eraystor, too. And they
did
kill Prince Nahrmahn.”

Coris inhaled deeply, unable to hide his shock. He’d never met any of those men, but he’d corresponded frequently with Nahrmahn, back in the days when he and Hektor had been so consistently underestimating the little Emeraldian.

“How in God’s name—?”

“God had very little to do with it, although that probably won’t be Clyntahn’s version. Let’s just say there were several
very large explosions—explosions that killed well over fifteen hundred men, women, and children in addition to the men I’ve just mentioned.” Zhevons’ expression was cold and bleak now. “The youngest victim we’ve identified so far was eighteen months old. Or would have been, if she’d lived another five-day.”

“Langhorne.” Revulsion twisted Coris’ face. “The man’s completely mad!”

“I’m afraid he’s
just getting started, My Lord,” Zhevons said grimly. “Which is rather the point of this dramatic little visit, when you come down to it.”

“Yes, of course.” Coris gave himself a shake. “You say Earl Gray Harbor was killed. Obviously someone’s stepped into his shoes. May I ask who?”

“Earl Pine Hollow.”

“Ah!” Coris nodded. “An excellent choice, I think. I was always impressed by his correspondence.”

“My impression is that he’s more than competent,” Zhevons replied with a slight, amused smile. “At any rate, he’s read your message to Earl Gray Harbor, and he’s prepared to offer you, Princess Irys, and Prince Daivyn asylum. Obviously, there are going to be a few strings attached.”

“Obviously,”
Coris agreed rather sourly, and Zhevons chuckled.

“It’s only reasonable, My Lord,” he pointed out.

“Knowing a tooth has to be pulled doesn’t make the trip to the dentist enjoyable, however ‘reasonable’ it may be,” Coris responded, then inhaled. “What would the ‘few strings’ be in this instance?”

“First, Their Majesties will require you to ‘go public,’ as I believe Emperor Cayleb put it, about Clyntahn’s involvement in the effort to assassinate Prince Daivyn and hand over any evidence you might
have implicating him in Prince Hektor’s assassination.” He looked sharply at the earl. “Earl Pine Hollow and Their Majesties are assuming that since you’ve seen fit to request their protection for Irys and Daivyn against
Church
assassins you’ve come to the conclusion they didn’t have Hektor murdered after all.”

“To be honest,” Coris admitted with a sigh, “I’ve never thought Cayleb was behind
that assassination. For a time I thought it might have been someone—a particularly
stupid
someone—trying to curry favor with him, but the more I thought about it, the more unlikely even that seemed. And I know Anvil Rock and Tartarian. There’s no way they would have been party to Hektor’s murder, whatever the Church’s propagandists have said about them since they agreed to sit on Daivyn’s Regency
Council. Which only left one suspect, really, when it came down to it.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid, though, that I don’t have any
evidence
he ordered Hektor’s assassination. I do have the orders to … facilitate
Daivyn
’s murder which my valet, Rhobair Seablanket, and I were sent by Archbishop Wyllym. They’re a bit obliquely phrased, but their meaning’s clear enough if you read between the lines.
Of course, Rayno and Clyntahn are obviously going to denounce them as forgeries and us as paid liars.”

“Of course.” Zhevons shrugged. “On the other hand, given the way they’ve just assassinated over a dozen Charisians and murdered almost two thousand more of them, whereas Hektor is the
only
person Cayleb’s been accused of assassinating, I think you might say the preponderance of the evidence
is going to be on Charis’ side in the court of public opinion.”

“It damned well is for anybody with a working brain, anyway,” Coris agreed grimly. “Very well, I can agree to that ‘string’ readily enough. And the next?”

“Cayleb and Sharleyan personally undertake to guarantee Irys’ and Daivyn’s safety. In fact, they propose to place both of them in the personal care of Archbishop Maikel. I think
you know that, despite all the lies told about him by the Group of Four, Maikel would die himself before he permitted anyone under his protection to be harmed.”

Coris nodded silently.

“Whether or not Irys and Daivyn—especially Daivyn—will be allowed to
leave
Tellesberg is going to depend on a lot of different factors,” Zhevons continued. “According to the information I’ve received from Merlin,
Their Majesties, Earl Pine Hollow, and Archbishop Maikel would all vastly prefer to see Daivyn returned to his father’s throne in accordance with the terms of the peace settlement signed in his name by his Regency Council.” His eyes met the earl’s. “If he can’t accept that in good conscience, no one will attempt to compel him to do so. However, under those circumstances he’ll remain Their Majesties’
‘guest’ in Tellesberg indefinitely. I’ve been told to assure you he’ll be treated with all the respect his birth and title command, and that his person will be sacrosanct, but I’m afraid that stipulation is non-negotiable.”

“I assumed it would be,” Coris said heavily. “And I won’t pretend I’m delighted to hear it. Irys won’t like it, either. I think she’s genuinely accepted that Cayleb didn’t
order her father killed, but in many ways, she still holds him responsible for Hektor’s death. If Charis hadn’t invaded Corisande, he’d still be alive, after all. That’s how she sees it, at any rate. I think she’s probably even prepared to admit—intellectually, and only under duress, possibly, but to admit—that Cayleb didn’t have much choice about invading, but what the head understands is sometimes
difficult for the heart to accept, especially when you’re only twenty years old.”

“Trust me, if there’s anyone in this world who understands that, it’s Empress Sharleyan,” Zhevons said quietly. “I won’t presume to speak for the Empress, but I believe she’ll be as gentle with both Irys and Daivyn as she possibly can.”

“Despite our anti-Sharleyan propaganda in Corisande, that’s what I’d expect,
as well,” Coris admitted. “To be honest, it’s one reason I was prepared to approach her and Cayleb in the first place. Although, if I’m going to be
completely
honest, the fact that they were the only people in the world who
might
be able to protect my Prince and his sister from the people bent on murdering both of them was an even bigger factor in my thinking.” He smiled humorlessly. “What’s that
old saying about any port in a storm? Especially if it’s the
only
port available?”

“Then I should assume you—and Irys—are willing to accept the conditions I’ve just described?”

“You should,” Coris affirmed. “I’d already warned Irys that Cayleb and Sharleyan would require what you’ve just described at a
minimum
. Her brother’s all she has left, Master Zhevons. She’s prepared to swallow far worse
than that as the price of keeping him alive. In fact—”

He broke off, waving one hand in a dismissing gesture, and Zhevons cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You were about to say something, My Lord?”

“I was going to observe,” Coris said after a long, thoughtful moment, “that from everything I’ve ever learned of Empress Sharleyan, she and Irys have a great deal in common, including an absolute, unswerving
determination to avenge their fathers’ murders. I don’t say Irys is going to be prepared to accept Charisian dominion over Corisande, because, frankly, she
is
her father’s daughter and she’s thinking in terms of protecting her brother’s birthright. But I will say that in so far as she can without prejudicing Daivyn’s claim to the Corisandian throne, she’s probably at least as hungry to see Clyntahn’s
blood as any Charisian could possibly be. I think there’s at least the possibility of an … understanding in that.”

“That would be most welcome, My Lord,” Zhevons said frankly. “On the other hand, within the conditions I’ve already described, Their Majesties’ decision stands, whether she and Daivyn are ever prepared to accept an accommodation with the Charisian Crown or not.”

“And, to be honest,
those conditions are more generous than I would have anticipated,” Coris admitted. “I’m beginning to suspect that honesty, compassion, and fairness are much more dangerous weapons than most of us duplicitous diplomats have begun to realize even now. Probably because until Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan came along, we’d had so little exposure to them. It’s going to take a while for us to
develop proper immunity to them.”

“Their Majesties do seem to have that effect on people, My Lord,” Zhevons acknowledged with a grin. Then he turned serious again.

“The other message I’m here to deliver is that your proposed plan for getting Irys and Daivyn out isn’t going to work.”

“I realize it’s a little risky,” Coris began, “but I’ve done some preliminary spadework, and—”

“I’m aware of
that, My Lord. I’m afraid, however, that both Duke Perlmann and Earl Ashton have been more thoroughly infiltrated by the Inquisition than they realize. I’m also aware that neither of them knows at this point that they’re actually dealing with you or that the ‘two Delferahkan nobles’ you’re trying to sneak out are Irys and Daivyn. Once the hue and cry goes up after you disappear from Talkyra, however,
it isn’t going to take either of them long to realize who you—and the children—really are, and at that point even if
they
don’t decide to hand you over to the Inquisition—which, frankly, I think they probably would—you’re bound to be spotted by the Inquisition and taken into custody.”