Off Armageddon Reef (21 page)

Nahrmahn plucked at his lower lip, then nodded.

“A good point,” he agreed. “I'd really prefer to tie off that particular loose end ourselves, if it becomes necessary, but I think we'll have to rely on the Duke to worry about that for us. Of course, that leaves the problem of the Duke himself, doesn't it?”

Shandyr's eyes widened ever so slightly at the prince's biting tone, and Nahrmahn chuckled coldly.

“It's not as if I've ever
trusted
him, Hahl. And we both know that, even now, he could probably make some arrangement with Haarahld if it came to it. Which, given how much he knows, could be…unfortunate for our other arrangements in Charis.”

“My Prince,” Shandyr began very carefully, “are you suggesting—?”

He broke off, allowing the question to hover, and Nahrmahn snorted.

“Part of me would like nothing better, but, no,” he said. “Not yet, at any rate. And at least”—he smiled thinly and coldly—“if the time
does
come, we already have our own man in place to do the job.”

He considered for several more seconds, then sighed.

“All right. I suppose that's about all we can decide right now. In the meantime, however, I want you to brief Trahvys and Gharth, as well.”

Shandyr nodded. Trahvys Ohlsyn, Earl of Pine Hollow, was Nahrmahn's cousin and chief councillor, and Gharth Rahlstahn, the Earl of Mahndyr, was the commander of the Emerald Navy.

“Shall I brief them
fully
, My Prince?” the baron asked, arching one eyebrow, and Nahrmahn frowned.

“Tell Trahvys everything we know or suspect,” he directed after a moment. “Tell Gharth that we have to assume Haarahld will suspect we were involved, whether or not we actually were, and that I want him to be thinking about ways we can improve our own preparedness just in case.”

“Yes, My Prince.”

“In addition, I want you to put together reports for Tohmas and Hektor, as well,” Nahrmahn continued. “In Tohmas' case, I'll write a letter of my own to go with it. For Hektor, though, I think, we'll just let you send your own report—purely as a professional courtesy, since we obviously don't have any firsthand information—to Coris.”

Shandyr nodded again. Grand Duke Tohmas of Zebediah was the closest thing Prince Hektor of Corisande had to a rival for control of the League of Corisande. Unfortunately for Tohmas' dreams of glory, he wasn't very much of a rival. Although he was the preeminent noble of the island of Zebediah and the hereditary leader of the Council of Zebediah, the entire island was firmly under Hektor's thumb. Tohmas functioned as little more than the governor of Zebediah in Hektor's name, and however much he might aspire to greater heights, it was most unlikely he would ever attain them. Still, Nahrmahn had been careful to cultivate the man. One never knew when one might need any counterweight one could get, after all.

Phylyp Ahzgood, the Earl of Coris, on the other hand, was Shandyr's own counterpart in Hektor's service. Shandyr had a lively respect for Coris' native ability, and he didn't for a moment think the earl would believe Nahrmahn hadn't been a primary mover behind the attempt on Cayleb. Still, appearances had to be maintained, and Hektor was scarcely likely to press the point as long as Nahrmahn chose to maintain the fiction. After all, Hektor wouldn't exactly have shed any tears if the assassins had succeeded.

“Of course, My Prince,” he murmured aloud, and Nahrmahn grunted in satisfaction.

“In that case, I think you should probably be on your way,” he said, and Shandyr rose, bowed respectfully, and backed his way out of the dining parlor.

Neither he nor his prince had noticed the almost microscopic “insect” hanging from the ceiling above the table. Even if they had noticed it, they would have paid it no attention, of course, for neither of them had ever heard of something called a SNARC, and certainly not of the remote sensors one of them could deploy.

“Seijin
Merlin, Your Majesty,” the chamberlain said quietly as he stepped through the open doorway and bowed. Merlin followed him into the small presence chamber—more of a working office, really, it seemed—and bowed a bit more profoundly than the chamberlain. King Haarahld's court was looked down upon by the courtiers of such sophisticated lands as Harchong because of its casual informality and ability to get along without a veritable horde of servitors. Still, Haarahld was a king, and one of the more powerful ones on the face of Safehold, whatever others might think.

“
Seijin
,” Haarahld said, and Merlin looked up.

He saw a man of middle years, stocky, for a Charisian, and taller than most, although shorter than his son and considerably shorter than Merlin. Haarahld wore the traditional loose-cut breeches and thigh-length linen over-tunic of the Charisian upper class, although
his
tunic was bright with bullion embroidery and beadwork. The belt about his waist was made of intricately decorated, seashell-shaped plaques of hammered silver, the golden scepter badge of one who'd made his required pilgrimage to the Temple gleamed on his shoulder brooch, and the glittering fire of the emerald-set golden chain which was his normal badge of office glowed upon his chest. He had a neatly trimmed beard, somewhat more luxuriant than Merlin's own, and the slight epicanthic fold common to most of Safehold's humanity.

Haarahld VII was fifty-two local years old, just over forty-seven standard, and he'd sat on his throne for just over twenty local years. In that time, he'd come to be known—by his own subjects, at least—as “Haarahld the Just,” and his level eyes considered Merlin thoughtfully. He was putting on a bit of extra flesh these days, Merlin noticed. Judging from his chest and shoulders, he'd been a man of heroic physique in his youth, but maintaining that sort of fitness, especially at his age, must have been the next best thing to impossible given his immobile right knee. His leg stretched out straight in front of him, his heel resting on a footrest, as he sat in a comfortable but not particularly splendid armchair behind a desk cluttered with documents and slates.

One other person was present. A bishop of the Church of God Awaiting with silvering dark hair and a splendid patriarchal beard stood at the king's right shoulder. His three-cornered cap bore the white cockade of a senior bishop, but lacked the ribbon of an archbishop. His eyes were bright as they considered Merlin, and his white cassock bore the oil-lamp emblem of the Order of Bédard.

The sight of that lamp set Merlin's teeth instantly on edge, but he made himself suppress the instinctive reaction firmly. Much as he hated to admit it, the order which bore Adorée Bédard's name had changed over the years into something far different from anything its ostensible patron would have wanted to see. Besides, he'd “seen” this bishop often enough through his SNARCs to strongly suspect what impelled Haarahld to trust him so totally.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured in reply to the king's greeting after only the briefest of pauses. “You do me honor to receive me privately.”

“Perhaps,” Haarahld said, studying his visitor intently. “Some might feel I've slighted you by not greeting you and thanking you for my son's life in a more public audience.”

“But at that more public audience, Your Majesty, I would undoubtedly have been uncomfortably aware of all of the spanned crossbows watching me so alertly. Here,” Merlin smiled charmingly, “I need worry only about the two bodyguards behind that screen.”

He nodded towards the exquisitely detailed lacquered Harchongese screen behind the king, and Haarahld's eyes narrowed. The bishop's, however, only considered Merlin with a sort of calm curiosity.

Interesting, Merlin thought, but his attention was mainly focused on the king, waiting for
his
reaction. Which came after a heartbeat in a single word.

“Indeed?” Haarahld said, and Merlin smiled again.

“This is Thursday, Your Majesty. Assuming you've stuck to your regular duty schedule, it should be Sergeant Haarpar and Sergeant Gahrdaner.”

The chamberlain stepped quickly to one side, right hand falling to the dagger sheathed at his hip, the bishop touched the golden scepter of Langhorne hanging upon his breast, and even Haarahld sat up straighter in his chair. But the king also raised one hand, and shook his head sharply at the chamberlain.

“No, Pawal,” he said. “After all, our guest
is
a
seijin
, is he not?”

“Or something else, Sire,” the chamberlain said darkly. He glowered at Merlin with eyes full of suspicion, and his hand left his dagger hilt only reluctantly.

“Your Majesty,” Merlin said, “my weapons have all been left in my chamber. Your guardsmen were extremely courteous, but they also searched me very carefully before permitting me into your presence. Surely, one unarmed man is no threat to a monarch whose servants are as loyal to him as yours are to you.”

“Somehow,
Seijin
Merlin, I doubt a man such as you is ever unarmed, as long as he has his brain,” Haarahld said with a slow, appreciative smile of his own.

“One tries, Your Majesty,” Merlin conceded.

The bishop's lips twitched in what might almost have been a stillborn smile, and Haarahld leaned back in his chair once more, considering the blue-eyed stranger even more thoughtfully than before. Then he nodded and looked at the chamberlain.

“Pawal, I believe we might offer
Seijin
Merlin a chair.”

Pawal Hahlmahn looked moderately outraged, but he also carried a straight-backed but upholstered chair from the corner of the room and set it down facing Haarahld's desk.

“Please,
Seijin
,” Haarahld invited. “Be seated.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Merlin settled into the chair and cocked his head, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes,
Seijin
,” Haarahld said with a suspiciously grin-like smile, “the interrogation will now begin.”

“I'm at your service, Your Majesty.” Merlin inclined his head again, politely, and Haarahld chuckled.

“I find that difficult to believe,
Seijin
,” he said. “Somehow, I have the distinct impression that it's more a case of Charis finding herself at
your
service.”

Merlin smiled, but behind that smile he winced. Haarahld VII, in person, was even more impressive than he'd been observed from afar via SNARC.

“Before we begin,” Haarahld said more seriously, “allow me to extend my personal thanks for your intervention on Cayleb's behalf. Without you, he would be dead, and for that I and my house stand in your debt. How may I reward you?”

“Your Majesty,” Merlin said with matching seriousness, “while I'm sure some token of your gratitude is in order, it might be as well to draw as little attention to me as possible.”

“And why might that be?” Haarahld asked.

“Because I'll be far more useful to Charis if my presence here doesn't become general knowledge.”

“And why should you care to be of use to me?”

“Your pardon, Your Majesty,” Merlin said almost gently, “but I didn't say of use to
you.
I said of use to
Charis.
The two are closely related, but not, I fear, identical.”

“The King
is
the Kingdom!” Hahlmahn snapped, then flushed darkly as he realized he'd spoken out of turn. But despite the flush, there was no hiding the fresh anger in his eyes.

“No, My Lord Chamberlain,” Merlin disagreed. “The King is the heart and soul of the Kingdom, but he is
not
the Kingdom itself. Were that true, then the Kingdom would perish with his death.”

“The Church teaches that King and Crown are one,” the bishop observed, speaking for the first time, and his voice and expression were both carefully neutral.

“And I don't dispute that point with the Church, Bishop Maikel,” Merlin said, and the priest's head cocked to one side as the stranger named him correctly. “I simply observe that the King who is the heart of the Kingdom isn't merely a single individual, but all individuals who hold that office and discharge those duties in the name of the Kingdom. And so, while the King and the Kingdom are one, the mortal man who holds that office is but one man in an endless chain of men who hold their crowns in trust for those they are charged to guard and protect.”

Haarahld glanced up at Bishop Maikel, then returned his attention to Merlin and gazed at him without speaking for the better part of a full minute. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“A valid distinction,” he said. “Not one all monarchs would agree with, but one I can't dispute.”

“And the fact that you can't, Your Majesty, is the reason I'm here,” Merlin said simply. “While all kings may be ordained by God, all too few prove worthy of their coronation oaths. When one sees the visions which I've been given to see, that fact becomes sadly evident.”

“Ah, yes, those ‘visions' of yours.” Haarahld pursed his lips, then chuckled and raised his voice slightly. “Charlz, you and Gorj may as well come out and join us.”

A moment later, the lacquered screen shifted to one side, and two Royal Guard sergeants stepped out from behind it. Both wore black cuirasses, the breastplates emblazoned with the golden kraken of Charis. They also carried spanned, steel-bowed arbalests, and they regarded Merlin warily as they took their places at their king's back.

“I must admit,” Haarahld said, “that I found your performance rather impressive,
Seijin
Merlin. As, no doubt, you intended I should. Of course, it's always possible sufficiently good spies could have provided you with that information. On the other hand, if my personal household is that riddled with spies, my house is already doomed. So, since you obviously want me to ask the question, I will. How did you know?”

Despite his whimsical tone, his brown eyes sharpened and he leaned slightly forward in his chair.

“Your Majesty,” Merlin replied, “these three men”—he waved one hand, taking in the two Guardsmen and the chamberlain—“are, I believe, loyal unto death to you, your son, and your house. I trust them as fully as I trust you, yourself. And Bishop Maikel has been your confessor for—what? Fifteen years now? But while what I'm about to tell you may prove difficult to believe, I hope to be able to offer you proof I speak the truth. And I believe that if I can prove that to you, you'll understand why it must be kept as secret as possible for as long as possible.”

He paused, and the king nodded without even glancing at his retainers. The three of them continued to regard Merlin with wary eyes, but Merlin saw how their shoulders straightened and their expressions firmed at the king's obvious confidence in their trustworthiness. Bishop Maikel simply moved a half-step closer to Haarahld's chair and rested one large, powerful hand lightly on its back.

“As I'm sure Prince Cayleb and Lieutenant Falkhan have already told you, Your Majesty,” he began, “I've lived for many years in the Mountains of Light, and in the process I've developed some, though far from all, of the reputed powers of the
seijin
. It isn't a title I would lightly claim for myself, yet it may be that it fits.

“At any rate, it's been given to me to see visions of distant places and events, to hear the voices of distant people. It's as if an invisible bird perched on the wall there,” he pointed at a spot on the plastered wall not far from an open window, “or on the branch of a tree, and I saw through its eyes, heard through its ears. I've never seen the future, and I can't call up the past. I see only the present, and no man can see
all
that transpires everywhere in the entire world. But the things which I have seen have focused more and more tightly upon Charis, upon your house, and upon Cayleb. I don't believe that would happen by accident.”

Haarahld's eyes seemed to bore into Merlin's. The King of Charis had a reputation for being able to pull the truth out of any man, but Merlin gazed back levelly. After all, everything he'd said was completely truthful. If eight standard centuries at the same address didn't count as “living for many years” in the Mountains of Light, he couldn't imagine what would. And his “visions”
had
focused more and more upon Charis, and definitely not by accident.

“What sorts of visions?” Haarahld asked after a long, still moment. “Of whom?”

“As I've said, I see and hear as if I were physically present. I can't read a page, if it isn't turned; I can't hear a thought, if it isn't spoken. I can't know what passes in the secret places of someone's heart, only what they say and do.

“I've seen visions of you, Your Majesty. I've seen you in this chamber with your personal guards, seen you with Chamberlain Hahlmahn. I've seen you discussing the Hanth succession with Cayleb and matters of policy with Earl Gray Harbor. I saw and heard you discussing the new patrols off Triton Head with High Admiral Lock Island when you instructed him to reinforce
Falcon
and
Warrior
with
Rock Shoal Bay
and her entire squadron.”

Haarahld had been nodding slowly, but he froze abruptly at the mention of Lock Island. Not surprisingly, Merlin thought, given that he and the high admiral had discussed those reinforcements—and the reasons for them—under conditions of maximum security. None of their precautions, however, had been directed at a SNARC which could deploy reusable parasite spy bugs.

“I've seen visions of Cayleb,” Merlin continued. “Not just in conversation with you, but riding to the hunt, with his arms master, even at his books.” Merlin smiled slightly and shook his head at that. “And I've seen him sitting in council with you, and on shipboard.