A Mighty Fortress

by David Weber

  Are you certain about this, Your Eminence?”

  Father Gharth Gorjah couldn’t quite keep his own reservations out of his tone, and Zhasyn Cahnyr smiled. Gorjah was little more than half Cahnyr’s own age, and he’d been with the archbishop literally since leaving seminary. He was adept at all the skills a proper secretary required, and Cahnyr had no doubt any number of other bishops or archbishops would cheerfully have hired the younger man away from him. Gorjah had never shown the least interest in any of the offers which had come his way, however. Cahnyr hoped and believed much of that was because Gorjah enjoyed working for him. He certainly treasured the under- priest’s ser vices, although he supposed it was selfish of him not to have nudged the boy into taking one of those competing offers. An archbishop with more powerful alliances could probably have moved Gorjah’s career along more rapidly, after all. By now, he would undoubtedly have been at least an upper- priest if he’d been in the ser vice of one of those better connected prelates.

  But another aspect of his secretary’s loyalty, as Cahnyr was well aware, was the fact that he’d been born and raised right here in Glacierheart. His father and older brothers had all gone into the mines in late boyhood, but his parents had decided young Gharth would aspire to greater things, and his entire family had shouldered the sacrifices to make it so.

  The Church provided five years of schooling to all God’s children at no charge (as well she should, Cahnyr thought now, sourly, thinking of how many marks the tithe squeezed out of them every year), but it was a rare Glacierheart family who could spare a potential laborer long enough for a child to acquire anything greater than basic literacy. Gharth’s parents had been determined to do better than that, and, somehow, they’d managed to keep him out of the mines and in school. Their local priest had seen something in the lad, as well, which had earned Gharth more attention from his instructors, who, in turn, had discovered that this short, stocky coal miner’s son had a first- rate mind.

  From there, the youngster’s path had been pretty much preordained. Mother Church always needed talent, and it had become apparent early on that Gharth had a true vocation. That had brought him to the attention of Cahnyr’s predecessor in Glacierheart, and with his archbishop’s sponsorship, he’d attended seminary in Zion itself. The previous archbishop had intended to employ the young seminarian on his staff, and when Cahnyr was elevated to his see following his unexpected death, the new archbishop had taken an instant liking to newly ordained Father Gharth.

  Which probably explains why the young sprout feels qualified to look at me as if I were a slightly addled uncle,that archbishop reflected now.

  “If you mean am I certain this is a good idea,” he said out loud, his tone thoughtful, “the answer is yes. If you mean am I certain this is going to be the most pleasant time of the year for a retreat, the answer is no. If you mean am I certain the instructions I just gave you were the ones I meant to give you, then, again, the answer is yes.”

  He scratched his chin in obvious rumination for a moment, then gave the younger man a glower. It was fierce, that glower, a thing of majesty and power... slightly flawed by the humor gleaming in his eyes.

  “Over all, I believe the ‘yesses’ have it. Don’t you?”

  “Of course, Your Eminence!” Gorjah actually blushed a bit, but he also shook his head with true Glacierheart stubbornness. “It’s just that, as you say, this isn’t the best time of the year for a retreat. Especially not to Summit House. I don’t even know what shape the house is in, and it’s entirely likely we’ll get a blizzard through here with little warning. If you’re up there with no one but Fraidmyn to look after you and the weather turns really bad. . . .”

  He let his voice trickle off, and Cahnyr smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Gharth—really I do. But I’m fairly confident even a pair of old dodderers like Fraidmyn and me can survive a few days of isolation. And Summit House has been perched on that peak for over a hundred years, so I doubt any storm is likely to knock it down around our ears. And, finally, if conditions are going to be a little austere, that’s scarcely a minus for a spiritual retreat, now is it?”

  “No, Your Eminence. Of course not. It’s just—”

  “Just that you don’t want me out of your sight where I might get myself into trouble?” Cahnyr finished dryly, one eyebrow cocked.

  Gorjah blushed again, then laughed. “Guilty, Your Eminence—guilty!” he confessed with a smile. But then his expression sobered, and his eyes looked searchingly into his superior’s.

  Cahnyr returned that look levelly, steadily, but without answering the questions it asked. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—give Gorjah those answers. Not now. He’d decided long ago that the less young Gharth knew about his archbishop’s riskier activities, the better. It hadn’t been easy keeping the under- priest outside so much of his life, but he’d been active in the Circle long before Gorjah entered his ser vice. His conduits to the Wylsynns and the Circle had already been in place, and he’d simply declined to make his new secretary aware of them.

  There’d been times he’d questioned that decision, and not just because of how it made his own life more difficult than it might have been. He’d recognized the kindred spirit inside Gharth Gorjah, and he’d had little concern—not no concern; no man could ever be absolutely certain of anything before the test—that the young man would have betrayed him or the Circle. For that matter, he’d been confident his secretary would have promptly agreed to join the Circle’s activities. But he’d declined to allow the youngster to make that decision at such an early stage in his own life. It wasn’t the sort of thing a man could simply walk away from if he later decided he’d made a mistake, and he’d been more than half- afraid Gorjah would have agreed at least in large part simply because of his respect and liking for Cahnyr himself.

  By the time a few years had passed, and he’d been more confident Gorjah would have made an informed decision for the right reasons, there’d been other factors. Clyntahn had become Grand Inquisitor, which had raised the stakes starkly. The Circle itself had decided it would henceforth restrict all knowledge of its activities and its very existence to the ranks of the episcopate. Only a limited number of junior clergy already knew about those things, and the Circle had judged it best to keep it that way, both for security and to protect their juniors. And, finally, Gorjah had married his childhood sweetheart and the first of their (currently) three children had already been on the way.

  Given all of that, Cahnyr had decided it was his duty to keep Gorjah away from that part of his life. In fact, for the last five years, Gorjah hadn’t even accompanied him back to the Temple between pastoral visits. Cahnyr had engaged another secretary—one he was confident was an Inquisition in formant, in fact—in Zion while he delegated more and more of the routine duties here in Glacierheart to Gorjah. When Bishop Executor Wyllys Haimltahn’s secretary, who’d been much more elderly, died of pneumonia three years before, Gorjah had slipped into the secretary’s role for Haimltahn, as well, so it had never been as if there weren’t plenty of legitimate duties to keep him fully occupied here in Tairys.

  There’d been times, especially over the past few months, when Cahnyr had felt profoundly guilty over not telling Gorjah about the Circle. He was far from certain Clyntahn would believe Gorjah had known nothing about his superior’s activities. Worse, he suspected Clyntahn wouldn’t care whether or not Gorjah had been actively involved. The Grand Inquisitor might well decide that, guilty or not, Gorjah would make another excellent pointed example, and it wasn’t as if there weren’t plenty of under- priests to replace him, after all.

  Yet, in the end, the archbishop had held fast to his resolve against entangling the younger priest in his own fate. His Zion secretary saw every bit of his correspondence with Gorjah, which was one reason Cahnyr had kept him on even after he’d become confident the man was making regular reports to the Inquisition. That correspondence had never so much as hinted at anything concerning the Circle or its activities, and h
is only real hope was that its routine nature, coupled with Gorjah’s genuine ignorance of his superior’s “disloyal” activities, would be his secretary’s best defense.

  Poor as it may prove in the end, Gharth,the archbishop thought, it’s the best I can do for you. He smiled a bit sadly. I can’t even invite you to run with me—assuming I ever actually get the chance to run. A desperate flight through the teeth of a mountain winter with three small children and a pregnant wife is the last thing you need.

  “Very well, Your Eminence,” Gorjah said finally. “I won’t say I think you’re being foolish, since I’m far too dutiful to ever harbor such disrespectful motions. And perish the thought that a pair of... esteemed gentlemen, neither of whom will ever see sixty again, aren’t perfectly capable of looking after themselves under even the most primitive of conditions.” He gave Cahnyr a stern look, then sighed and shook his head when the archbishop returned it blandly. “I’ll make the arrangements. And if you’ll give me a five- day, I’ll see to it the coal bins are full and the pantry’s properly stocked, as well.”

  “Thank you, Gharth.” Cahnyr patted the younger man gently on the shoulder. “That’s very thoughtful of you. I appreciate it.”

  Which was true, he thought. And even better, the delay the secretary had asked for would be almost exactly the right length.

  .VIII.

  The Duke of Eastshare’s Headquarters,

  Maikelberg,

  Duchy of Eastshare,

  Kingdom of Chisholm

  If he’d still been a flesh- and- blood human being, Merlin Athrawes reflected as his most recent remount trotted briskly along under him, he’d really be getting tired of this particular exercise. Or of making this particular trip, at any rate.

  The city of Maikelberg had been built by Sharleyan’s father, King Sailys. It lay just under a hundred and fifty miles north of Cherayth on the narrow neck of land between Lake Morgan and Cherry Bay, and it had been intended from the outset as a fortress city.

  The three true keys to King Sailys’ success in breaking the power of the nobles who had marginalized his father and grandfather had been, first, the Royal Army, which had been commanded by his brother- in- law, the Duke of Halbrook Hollow; second, the Crown’s alliance with the Commons, which had been arranged and orchestrated by his boyhood friend, Mahrak Sahndyrs, Baron Green Mountain; and, third, geography. Well, geography coupled with more of Green Mountain’s astute diplomacy.

  Green Mountain had been very careful to enlist the support of the Duke of Lakeshore, the Duke of Broken Rock, and the Earl of Helena, although he’d had to do rather more dragon- trading than he’d really liked, especially in Broken Rock’s case. Coupled with the fervent support of the free city of Port Charlz (which had been renamed Port Royal by its citizens as a token of its enthusiasm for the Crown), their backing had given Sailys (who was himself the Duke of Cherayth) a solid territorial base of his own. Protected by Lake Morgan and Lake Megan, to the west, and by the sea to the east and south, he had commanded the kingdom’s best ports and most productive artisans, which had constituted a major advantage over his fractious, internally bickering opposition.

  Maikelberg had been built on the territory of the then- Duke of Eastshare, who had not been one of Sailys’ greater admirers, to protect that advantage. It had been designed to keep Eastshare on his own side of Lake Morgan, thus freeing Sailys to concentrate on the more dangerous, broader approaches across the Duchies of Lakeshore and Windshore. And the king had been careful to extend his control gradually, working westward, without ever uncovering his back.

  The old Duke of Eastshare had been considerate enough to get himself killed in battle before producing an heir of his own body. At that point, the title had passed to a collateral line, and the new duke—the current duke’s father—recognizing which way the wind was setting, had become one of the Crown’s loyal adherents. Despite that, Sailys had kept the walls of Maikelberg in excellent repair, and Sharleyan had followed suit. Of course, Sharleyan had also completed her father’s plans for Lake Morgan and Lake Megan, linking Lake Morgan to Cherry Bay by way of the King Sailys Canal and Lake Megan to Lake Morgan via the Edymynd Canal. The canals had stimulated the economy of the area around Cherayth still further, and it was no coincidence that the King Sailys Canal had been placed in a perfect location for Maikelberg to protect.

  Maikelberg’s proximity to Cherry Bay and to Lake Morgan gave it excellent waterborne communications, which had made it a logical place for the present Duke of Eastshare to go about organizing the new Imperial Army. It was also connected to Cherayth by a carefully maintained high road, and as a member of Emperor Cayleb’s personal guard, Captain Athrawes had priority for fresh horses from the posting stations the Crown maintained along the way. All of which meant he could make the journey between the two cities by horse back in about two of Safehold’s long days. If he pushed the pace a bit, he could have made the same trip in a day and a half, or even a little less.

  Of course, if I were able to use theskimmer, I could make it in about ten minutes , couldn’t I? he reflected dryly as he (finally) saw the walls of Maikelberg rising before him. He grimaced only half- humorously at the thought.

  At least it’s not as if the time is wasted,he reminded himself.

  Nimue Alban had been an indifferent equestrienne, at best. She’d learned to ride, more or less, as a little girl, only because her wealthy father—himself a world- class polo player—had insisted. Her own interests had lain elsewhere . . . a point which had obviously perplexed her father, who had been firmly convinced that every girl child ever born idolized horses. Maybe every other girl child ever born had, but Nimue had been much more interested in sailboats.

  As a consequence, however, Merlin Athrawes’ riding skills had been less than stellar, as well. Fortunately, the preferred style on Safehold was what had been called “Western- style” (in remarkably disapproving tones) by young Nimue’s riding instructors. Also fortunately, Merlin had a PICA’s reactions, strength, and ability to literally program his artificial body with “muscle memory” skills. With those advantages, his per formance on horse back had improved dramatically, which had been fortunate for his seijin’s reputation.

  By now, Merlin was capable of setting himself on autopi lot once he climbed into the saddle and performing there with a polished skill few breathing humans could have bettered. In fact, with the situational awareness provided by his artificially enhanced senses, and the reaction speed provided by his fiber- optic nervous system, he could readily afford to multitask during the lengthy rides between Cherayth and Maikelberg, which gave him the opportunity to catch up on some of the unending data dumps coming to him from Owl’s remotes.

  That was precisely what he’d been doing ever since he’d left the palace, and as usually happened when he had uninterrupted opportunities to examine the data, he’d discovered a few previously unsuspected alligators crawling out of the swamp. Most of those alligators had not yet reached the potentially disastrous stage, but at least one of them was likely to lead to an “interesting” conversation with Archbishop Maikel.

  Under the circumstances, I think I’d better postpone that until I can get home and have it in person, though.

  That reflection carried Merlin and his present mount to Maikel’s Bridge, the largest of the three drawbridges across the King Sailys Canal. Iron- shod hooves sounded with a dull hollowness on the bridge’s timbers, and Merlin shifted mental gears as he shook himself fully back into the moment. Conversations with Staynair could wait until he got back to Cherayth; the one he was here to have with Duke Eastshare was likely to prove quite “interesting” enough to be going on with.

  “Seijin Merlin.”

  Ruhsyl Thairis, the Duke of Eastshare, was forty- five years old, brown-haired and brown- eyed, a couple of inches under six feet tall, and stocky for his height. Although he was one of the Kingdom of Chisholm’s highest- born noblemen, he came to his feet as Merlin was ushered into his office.

&nbs
p; “Your Grace,” Merlin replied, and bowed deeply. “It’s good to see you again,” Eastshare continued, extending his hand. They clasped forearms, and the duke smiled a bit crookedly.

  “It’s good to see you,” he repeated, “but I can’t help wondering exactly why I’m seeing you. Or, rather, seeing you again this soon.”

  “Actually, Your Grace, there are several reasons, but one of them is more important than any of the others.” Merlin’s answering smile was rather more crooked than his host’s had been. “In particular, Their Majesties have a message for you which they thought should probably be delivered in person.”

  “Ah?” Eastshare raised one eyebrow. “And, to be honest, Your Grace, it’s also a bit . . . complicated. I think it’s going to take me a little time to explain things properly.”

  “I see.”

  Eastshare regarded his visitor thoughtfully. Despite his own loyalty to the Crown and, specifically, to Sharleyan Tayt Ahrmahk, the duke was every inch a Chisholmian noble. Since the Duke of Halbrook Hollow’s treason, Merlin had satisfied himself (both from personal contact and from the recordings of Owl’s SNARCs) that Eastshare’s allegiance to the Empire—and, despite a few initial reservations, to the Church of Charis, as well—was genuine. Despite that, Eastshare was one of those people who had trouble truly grasping the concept that the majority of commoners were just as much people as he was. It wasn’t even arrogance, in his case; it was simply incomprehension. The natural and innate superiority of the nobly born was so much a part of the world in which he had been raised that it was literally impossible for him to make that leap on anything except a purely intellectual basis.

  Yet there was one area in which that was clearly not the case, for he had no difficulty at all accepting commoners who also happened to be Army officers as the equals of their more aristocratic fellows. In fact, he was well known for ruthlessly quashing any efforts to establish “old boy” networks of aristocratic patronage when it came to promotions and assignments.