by David Weber
“The best we can do is the best we can do,” Cayleb said philosophically. “Unless we want to start using seijin-style techniques to drop something like Kartyr Sulyvyn’s second set of books on Brygs’ desk in the middle of the night, we can’t do a lot more than we already have. And to tell the truth, Ehdwyrd, Archbahld and Sulyvyn aren’t remotely number one on my list of concerns. I mean, all of that’s important, and so is encouraging the rule of law any way we can, but at the moment Trans-Siddarmark’s pushing the Nahrmahn Plan harder than any other single non-Charisian entity on the entire planet. Could I could wish the rest of the Republic’s economy was taking off the same way? Of course I could! But let’s be grateful for what we’ve got, because it’s one hell of a lot better than what we had a couple of years ago. And while I could wish we were already digging canal bed in Silkiah, at least we’ll be starting on it by the beginning of next year. But let’s be honest here. I think all of us are finding things to worry about—maybe even obsessing about things to worry about—where things like the Canal are concerned to help us avoid another time limit we don’t much like to think about.”
Silence fell on the com net, and Sharleyan reached across to squeeze her husband’s forearm. He put his free hand over hers and smiled crookedly at her while they listened to that silence.
“You’re right,” Delthak acknowledged finally. “That doesn’t mean what we’re worrying about isn’t valid, but it does kind of put things into perspective, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe. And maybe I’m just feeling a bit … frazzled at the moment. But the truth is, we’re headed into the final stage of the first phase of the Nahrmahn Plan, one way or the other. And I think we’ll just have to let the Republic take care of itself. It only has to hold together for another two years and then we’re either golden or it doesn’t matter for at least another seventy years.”
MAY YEAR OF GOD 914
.I.
Zhutiyan, Chynduk Valley, Tiegelkamp Province, North Harchong.
“—so I don’t think Qwaidu and Spring Flower’re going poke their greasy fingers at the Valley again this year after all,” Major Fraidareck Bulyrd said with a broad grin, leaning back on the other side of the trestle table with his mug of beer. “By now, they have to know the United Provinces’re on their way. If Qwaidu was coming, he’d’ve been here already, trying to beat them, but the truth is he’s already missed the turnip wagon.”
Tangwyn Syngpu sat on the other side of the table. It stood on the veranda of the sturdy cabin which had been run up to give him a proper headquarters building, and he waved his own mug of beer in agreement. Of course, the Charisian sitting across from him was one of the main reasons that was true. Bulyrd had been a guest here in the Chynduk Valley for over seven months, ever since he’d shinnied down a rope from the enormous airship floating overhead. He’d overwintered in the Valley—which, he’d explained, hadn’t been as severe hardship for him as for some of his fellows, since he’d actually been born in northern Chisholm—and Syngpu was the first to admit how much he and his militia had learned from their Charisian advisors.
And Bulyrd and Sergeant Major Rahdryk Hamptyn had managed to do it all without ever “talking down” to the ex-serfs and ex-peasants they were teaching about modern weapons and tactics.
Bulyrd had spent even more time with Syngpu, in deep, private conversations which had taught the ex-sergeant of the Mighty Host just how big a difference there was between the knowledge of an experienced field grade officer and a sergeant. Looking back from what he knew now, some of his own earlier decisions appalled him, but Bulyrd had waved away his self-criticism.
“Something Duke Serabor’s always emphasized, Tangwyn,” the Charisian had said. “If it’s stupid and it works, then it wasn’t stupid in the first place. What we’re talking about now—the stuff you and I are discussing—that’s the icing on the cake. That’s what helps you do in the other guy quicker, with fewer of your guys getting hurt in the process. And it does help with the logistics and the planning and all that crap. But what you’ve demonstrated you had from the beginning was the instinct and the common sense. Give me a good, solid sergeant who knows his troops, knows his weapons, knows his ground, and is bloody-minded enough to break the neck of anyone who comes at him over an ‘educated’ officer who runs from the smell of gunsmoke any day. Langhorne’s honest truth, I’d be totally satisfied serving under your command, and I’m not just blowing smoke up your arse when I say that.”
Over the months, Syngpu had been forced to accept that Bulyrd actually meant that, but that didn’t change his own profound gratitude for everything the major and his cadre of experienced noncoms had taught them.
And, of course, for the weapons the Charisians had provided without even discussing a price tag.
“I’ll agree the two of them have missed the wagon,” Syngpu said now, “but I’m less convinced they’ll realize that. We know they’ve been recruiting, and the Emperor’s been shipping in every gun he could lay hands on. Don’t they almost have to make another try to keep him happy?”
“No,” the woman at the end of the table said. He looked at her, and she shook her head. “What they’re going to do is to not try again … and tell Zhyou-Zhwo they did. Oh, they’ll probably march up and down and make a lot of smoke firing off a couple of tons of ammunition at nothing in particular so it’ll look good, but they aren’t going to screw around with your boys again.”
“If you say so, Seijin Merch.” Despite himself, Syngpu couldn’t quite keep all of his doubt out of his voice, and she rounded her eyes at him and stuck out her lower lip. She even got it to quiver.
“Don’t you love me anymore, Tangwyn?” she asked sadly.
Major Bulyrd hid his face behind his beer stein with commendable speed, although his shoulders did quiver just a bit.
“Were you my daughter,” Syngpu told her, “the seat of your breeches and a birch wand would be old, old friends by now.”
“Bully!” she said, and grinned impishly at him. “Bet you were a strict father, though. You know I’ve been talking to Pauyin, too, don’t you?”
“Near as I can tell, you talk to everyone,” he said philosophically. “How you find time to get any seijin-ing done is more’n I can say.”
“There’s something they teach us seijins to do. It’s called ‘multitasking.’ And one reason I talk to so many people is because that’s one way you learn things. Frankly, I enjoy it a lot more than I do creeping around in the shrubbery and spying on people. Not that I don’t like to keep my hand in on the creeping around in the shrubbery bit.”
“That much I believe,” he said with feeling.
To this day, no one had ever seen Merch O Obaith arrive in the Chynduk Valley, and she’d become a fairly regular visitor. Including during the very heart of winter, when Cliffwall Pass was head-high on a dragon with snow. Clearly, she was no respecter of weather. The fact that she obviously found it child’s play to evade his sentries didn’t bother him. Or, rather, it didn’t bother him as much as it once had. Figuring out how she danced through the blizzards without ever even catching a cold was something else.
“But getting back to unimportant things, like, oh, Baron Qwaidu’s army,” the major said, lowering his beer mug once he was certain it was safe. “I’d be inclined to think the same thing, Tangwyn, even without the reports from the seijin’s spies. And one thing I can tell you for certain is that we never got bad information from a seijin during the Jihad. Nobody’s spies get everything right, but if a seijin—even Seijin Merch—tells you he or she knows something, you can put it in your lockbox under your bed.”
“My head knows that,” Syngpu said. “It’s the rest of me’s having a little trouble with it. Sort of got into the habit of expecting the worst. Comes natural to a peasant, I guess you’d say, but it also meant I was never surprised when it happened anyway.”
“Not a bad attitude, as long as you don’t let it paralyze you,” Bulyrd said, and Seijin Merch nodded in agreement.
>
“No it isn’t,” she said, “and as far as I can tell, you never did, Tangwyn. But the main point right now is that between your boys and what the Major and his boys could teach them, I’m pretty sure you’ve convinced Qwaidu, at least, that he never wants to come back to the Chynduk Valley. And if he did,” her kraken-like smile was not in the least impish now, “he’d probably get to stay this time. At the bottom of a nice, deep hole. If we’re feeling generous, we might even put a marker on it. Probably not, though.”
There was no mistaking the satisfaction in her voice, and Syngpu smiled at her across the table while the breeze played with loose strands of auburn hair which had escaped her braid.
And she was right about what would happen if Qwaidu was stupid enough to try again, he thought.
He’d come to the Valley with just over four thousand men, and over six hundred of them had died defending it. Despite that, his present roster strength when the militia was fully mobilized was up to almost nine thousand. Of course, he couldn’t keep all of the men under arms, because most of them were also the farmers who kept the Valleyers fed, but they worked their farms cooperatively so that he could keep a minimum of six thousand ready for service on fifty-two-hours’ notice.
And thanks to Charisian generosity, every single one of those nine thousand men was now equipped with a Mark IV Mahndrayn rifle with bayonet. The Charisians had delivered five hundred revolvers, as well, and thirty-eight “mortars”—what the Host had called “angle-guns.” That was enough to equip three complete mortar platoons with a couple of spares in case they were needed. Then there were the sixty-five tons of Lywysite and the “sweepers” and “fountains” which could be emplaced to cover the approaches to any position his militia took up. And the ammunition for all of it.
It had taken almost a score of airship deliveries to get all of that into Syngpu’s hands, but the Charisians had managed it before the treacherous winter weather of the Chiang-wus made flight too dangerous even for the lunatics in the Charisian Air Force. Air contact had been reestablished only two five-days ago.
Although—of course—that hadn’t prevented Seijin Merch from dancing in and out whenever the mood took her.
He looked at the slender seijin—she was more substantial than his own Yanshwyn, and there was nothing remotely fragile about her, yet she was definitely on the small side. She’d laid her gun belt and peculiar sword aside when they sat down at the table, and she was dressed in the sort of rough, serviceable garments any mountaineer might have chosen, although hers were far better made than most Harchongese mountaineers could have afforded. She didn’t look like a figure out of legend. Maybe that was the problem. But she reminded him strongly of the younger sister he’d never had.
“The other main thing is that ‘Baron Cliffwall’ has figured out which side of the bread his butter’s on,” she continued now in a tone of profound satisfaction. “The snow hasn’t completely melted in the higher stretches of the pass, but it shouldn’t be more than another few days now. And once that happens, Brigadier Zhanma’s column’s going to come knock on his front gate at Ky-su. And do you know what’s going to happen then?”
She smiled brightly as Syngpu shook his head with a resigned expression.
“What’s going to happen is that he’ll open that front gate, and he’ll explain how terribly sorry he is he ever closed it in the first place, and could he please join the United Provinces, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble? Pretty please, with briar berries on top!”
Syngpu had to chuckle at her expression, but he didn’t doubt she was right about Cliffwall. The only real question in his mind was whether or not they should let him, given what he’d been a party to.
“You really need to be as … generous with him as you can without compromising your own safety, Tangwyn,” Merch said, and there was no humor in her voice now. He looked at her, saw the understanding in those sapphire eyes. “I know what he tried to do, but he didn’t think he had a choice. I’m not nominating him for sainthood, because frankly, he’s about as far from a saint as anyone I could imagine. But he’s not an unmitigated monster, either. In fact, he’s a hell of a lot better deal than Spring Flower or Qwaidu! And something Cayleb and Sharleyan learned is that having a reputation as someone who keeps her word—for good or ill—is what makes people trust you when you give your word. The United Provinces need to remember that, and as the UP’s newest prospective member, you do, too. I know it would be a lot more satisfying to give him a fast horse and a twenty-six-hour head start, but you could be surprised. A lot of people who’ve been through what he’s been through turn over new leaves. And in his case, my friends and I will be keeping a very close eye on him. If he’s the same old leaf he used to be, you’ll know in plenty of time to snip it off the branch.”
He gazed at her for several seconds, then nodded.
“’Spect you’re right about that, too, Seijin,” he said. “Seems to be a habit of yours. Reminds me of—”
“Excuse me, Tangwyn!”
Syngpu paused in midsentence, looking over his shoulder at the young man who’d just arrived.
“Yes?”
“Sister Baishan sent me,” the youngster said, and Syngpu froze, his face suddenly expressionless. “She says it’s time!”
* * *
“You’re not going to make Boisseau tonight, you know.”
“What?” Syngpu stopped and turned. “What did you say?”
“I said,” Seijin Merch told him with a smile that mingled humor and sympathy, “that you’re not going to make Boisseau tonight. I figure you’ve already paced off most of the distance between here and Jai-hu, but I doubt you’ll make even Shang-mi before dark.”
Syngpu stared at her. Then he shook himself.
“Hadn’t planned on going anywhere,” he told her with a small, answering smile of his own. “’Sides, the healers tell me exercise’s good for a man. Specially when he’s got a lot on his mind.”
“I’m sure they do, but come over here and sit down,” Obaith said, patting the arm of the chair beside hers. “You’ve been pacing that same circle for almost three hours now. Give your poor feet a rest.”
He gazed at her for another moment or two, then shrugged and walked across to the indicated chair. He settled into it, his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees, and shook his head.
“Guess I am a mite … distracted,” he said. “Never took this long with Pauyin or Tsungzau or Fengwa. ’Course, the midwives always said Shuchyng had easy pregnancies.” He shook his head, his eyes filled with memories. “Never seemed like there was anything easy about it, though. She always fought hard for her kids. And now Pauyin’s the only one left.”
“She wasn’t the only one who fought hard for her kids,” the seijin said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You fought for them, too. And you’re the reason Pauyin’s ‘left.’ Don’t ever forget that.”
“What Yngshwan says, too. Reckon if the two smartest women I know both think so, I’d best pay attention.” He managed a quick, a fleeting smile. “It’s just … just the hole it leaves in your heart, Seijin.”
“I know.” Her voice was soft, her sapphire eyes deeper than the sea, and she shook her head. “Oh, trust me, Tangwyn, I know. If anyone on Safehold knows, it’s me. Me and Merlin.”
In that moment, she looked neither young nor impish. And she didn’t look like an invulnerable, superhuman seijin, either.
“Believe you do,” he said after a moment, reaching up one hand to cover the slender one on his shoulder. They sat for a moment, then he inhaled deeply.
“Not why I’ve been walking to Shang-mi today, though,” he said more briskly, and she laughed.
“No, really?” She shook her head. “There’s something else going on today?”
He suppressed an urge to smack her, and she smiled with a hint of penitence. Only a hint, of course.
“Tangwyn, she’s going to be fine. I promise you. Sister Baishan’s been delivering babi
es here in the Valley for almost fifty years. She knows what she’s doing, and Yanshwyn’s not the first late pregnancy she’s dealt with!”
“But she’s forty-six, Seijin. That’s not the age a woman should be having her first baby, and it’s my fault.”
“Oh, please!” Seijin Merch rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me Yanshwyn never wanted children of her own? That she and Zhyungkwan never tried? That this was all your idea and you made her get pregnant? For that matter, are you telling me anyone could make that woman do anything she didn’t choose to do?”
“No,” he said after a moment. “But—”
“No ‘buts’!” she interrupted. “Do I think one reason she was so happy when she found out she was pregnant was because she knows how much you loved the children you lost? Of course it was, you dummy! But she wants this child for herself, too. For the two of you to share and raise. And the reason she does—” those sapphire eyes looked straight across into his “—is because, first, she loves you, and second, Tangwyn, you were meant to be a father. That’s what’s driven every single thing you’ve done since the Jihad—do you think Yanshwyn didn’t realize that? She’s seen you—I’ve seen you—with Pauyin and your grandchildren, and this is what you do best in all the world. Mind you, you’re not too shabby when it comes to raising armies, fighting off invasions, all that minor, unimportant crap, too, but this … this is what you were born to be, and that’s why Yanshwyn wants you to be the father of her baby.”
