by David Weber
“All right,” the Grand Inquisitor said again, after a moment. “I’ll accept that—for now. But I want every member of their families who didn’t flee with them. I want them here, in Zion, Wyllym. All of them, you understand me?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Rayno bowed slightly across the conference table. “In fact, I’d already anticipated your wishes. I’ve detailed a team of our most reliable inquisitors to oversee the process of taking them into custody.”
“Good,” Clyntahn grunted, then reached out and dragged the battered file away from Rayno.
He opened it, and the archbishop unobtrusively held his breath. This time, however, the Grand Inquisitor didn’t explode. His lips tightened and his brows lowered as he turned through the pages, yet he had himself back under control, and his eyes darted over the sentences of the various reports.
Clyntahn was a very fast reader. Even so, it took him the better part of twenty minutes to work through the file, during which Rayno sat quietly, his expression one of calm, attentive patience. Finally, the Grand Inquisitor finished, slapped the file shut again, and shoved it away from him.
“Well, that’s a fine pile of dragon shit,” he observed in something very like a calm voice. “Jahras was obviously trying to cover his own ass, but I notice his report’s dated before Kholman’s decision to just hand over the entire fucking city. That probably means there’s at least a trace of accuracy in it somewhere.”
“That was my own impression, Your Grace.”
“Well, if there is, we obviously need to push our own development of these ‘shells’ harder. Remind me to kick Allayn in the ass and find out how he’s coming.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Clyntahn sat silent for another two or three minutes, lips pursed, eyes focused on something only he could see. Then he stirred in his chair once more and refocused his attention on Rayno.
“You know, one of the things that occurs to me is that they went after Iythria, not Desnair the City. I know Jahras had a lot bigger fleet based there, so I suppose it makes sense for them to have gone after it, but Desnair’s only—what?—five hundred miles farther from Tarot than Iythria, and it’s the Desnairians’ capital. And let’s be honest, Wyllym—Desnair’s fortifications aren’t any tougher than Iythria’s were. So surely they had to have been at least tempted to go after the capital first. Think of what a fist in the eye that would have been!”
“I hadn’t really considered that aspect of it, Your Grace.”
Rayno considered adding that one reason he hadn’t was that Iythria had represented well over three-quarters of Desnair’s total shipbuilding capacity. And, for another, the Gulf of Jahras was—or had been, at least—far more important than Desnair Bay from any commercial perspective. With the Gulf under Charisian control, the Desnairian Empire’s internal economy had taken a significant blow which was going to have major consequences in the not so distant future. The psychological impact of an attack on Desnair the City might have been profound, but from a hard-boiled military and economic perspective, there was no comparison between that and the value of the attack the Charisians had actually executed.
And the defection of two of the Empire’s most prominent nobles—one of whom just happened to be the Navy Minister and the other of whom just happened to be the Navy’s commanding officer—is probably a fairly adequate “psychological” substitute for attacking the capital, he reflected sourly.
“Well, it’s obvious to me,” Clyntahn emphasized the pronoun, “that they went after Iythria first because it’s closer to Silkiah and Siddarmark.”
Rayno managed not to blink. It had been painfully obvious for years that the Charisians had no intention of drawing the Church’s attention any more forcefully than it could avoid to the Silkiahan and Siddarmarkian evasion of the Grand Inquisitor’s embargo. Clearly, they’d wanted to do nothing to imperil that highly lucrative trade. In fact, as far as he could see, they’d probably decided to attack Iythria because of its military importance despite its proximity to Silkiah, rather than because of it.
“What do you think they’re trying to accomplish, Your Grace?” he asked cautiously.
“Oh, it’s obvious, Wyllym!” Clyntahn retorted impatiently. “From the moment Harpahr blundered straight into disaster last year, the heretics’ve seen the opportunity to completely neutralize Mother Church’s naval power in eastern waters. They’re probably planning on getting around to Desnair the City sometime soon, and then, eventually, they’ll go around the tip of Howard and demonstrate how gutless Thirsk is when the pressure’s really on.” His jaw tightened. “We’re going to have to seriously consider putting somebody from the Navy of God in command of all our naval forces, since it’s obvious our secular commanders aren’t up to the task. Of course, Harpahr didn’t exactly cover himself with glory, either, now did he?”
Rayno nodded silently, his mouth prudently shut, and Clyntahn grunted like an angry boar. Then he shook himself.
“But, back to my point. It’s obvious that now they’ve cleared all our naval power out of eastern waters, from the Sea of Justice to the Icewind Sea, they’ll take advantage of that to establish still closer economic ties with Siddarmark. Hell, there’s not even a frigging rowboat left now to see what they’re really sending in and out of that bastard Stohnar’s harbors, is there? We don’t have squat in the way of an eastern naval presence after this! You think somebody like Stohnar—or like Cayleb, for that matter—won’t take advantage of that? They’ve just blown the embargo completely out of their way, and trust me, that son-of-a-bitch Stohnar’s just waiting for the ‘Reformist’ movement in the Republic to get strong enough before he opens the door and invites in a military Charisian presence. He especially wants those new rifles and fieldpieces of theirs—think what the Siddarmarkian Army could do with those added to its arsenal! You think he doesn’t just lie awake at night drooling over the possibility?
“Of course he does, and the Charisians know it, too. That’s why they went after Iythria. Because it’s closer to Siddarmark—and to Silkiah, of course—and it’s going to have more impact in Siddarmark. They could care less what the effect in Desnair is! They want to show the Republic that they can go anywhere the hell they want and do anything the hell they choose to encourage the ‘Reformists’ to turn against Mother Church openly and to reassure Stohnar that they can assist him militarily when he seizes the opportunity to finally bury his dagger in Mother Church’s back.”
Rayno started to reply, then stopped and considered. He wasn’t at all sure he shared the logic process which had led the Grand Inquisitor to his conclusion, and he was even less confident that the possibility of a direct military alliance with Siddarmark had played any part in the Charisian decision to attack Iythria. As far as he could see, that had been purely an example of their going after the most immediately valuable—and most immediately threatening—military objective they could strike.
Yet none of that meant their triumph wasn’t going to have exactly the effect Clyntahn had just described. Not instantly, perhaps, but in the fullness of time. And while Rayno had always been less than convinced that Greyghor Stohnar was simply biding his time until the moment was ripe to move against the Border States and the Temple Lands, that had been when the entire world wasn’t already at war. Not only that, it had been before the Inquisition began preparing the Sword of Schueler against the Republic. Unless the Lord Protector was far, far stupider than Rayno could bring himself to believe, Stohnar had to have become at least partially aware of the Sword. It was unlikely he realized everything Clyntahn and Rayno had in mind, and even if he did, it was even less likely he’d be able to survive. But he was almost certainly picking up at least some warning signs, and if he did decide what had happened at Iythria strengthened his hand—and especially if it encouraged the Siddarmarkian Reformists—he probably would begin cautiously exploring options with Charis.
“I see your thinking now, Your Grace,” he said. “Of course, it’s unlikely Sto
hnar will be able to act on the opportunity before the Sword strikes.”
“I know that’s the plan,” Clyntahn said. “And hopefully, Rakurai’s going to have knocked the bastard Charisians back on their heels, at least for a little bit, too. But they surprised us with this one, Wyllym. Let’s not pretend they didn’t. And everything we’re hearing suggests the ‘Reformists’ are gaining ground steadily in Siddarmark. At least some of those bastards are likely to come out openly in support of Stohnar when the coin finally drops. For that matter, they’re gaining ground in other places, too.”
He glowered at Rayno across the table, and the archbishop nodded. Despite what the Church was reporting, the truth—which had a nasty tendency of leaking out through the producers of those accursed anti-Church broadsheets the Inquisition still couldn’t run to ground—was that the Church of Charis wasn’t being “heroically and defiantly resisted” in the “conquered territories.”
That was to be expected in Old Charis itself, and probably to some extent in Emerald, as well, if only due to the princedom’s proximity to the original source of the contagion. Yet the truth was that Chisholm, which definitely wasn’t right next door to Old Charis, had reacted with appalling calmness to its renegade queen’s decision to actually marry the heretic King of Charis. Still worse, in some ways, Zebediah had done the same. In fact, from all reports, Zebediah was actively embracing the Charisian Empire, and if that meant accepting the Church of Charis as well, its subjects seemed perfectly willing to do that, too. No doubt that was largely an inevitable reaction to how cordially hated Tohmys Symmyns had been, but that wasn’t keeping it from happening. And, worst of all.…
“You’re thinking about Corisande, Your Grace?”
“I’m thinking about everywhere the goddamned Charisians go,” Clyntahn said sourly, “but, yes, Corisande was the other major ulcer I had in mind. I know our reports from Manchyr are always out of date by the time they get here, and I know you’ve been trying to put the best face on the ones we do get,” he shot Rayno a moderately frigid look, “but the goddamned ‘Reformists’ are obviously gaining ground in Corisande. And the dog-and-lizard show that bitch Sharleyan put on when she was down there’s only pushing that process along. The damned Corisandians are going over to Charis, just like the Chisholmians and the Zebediahans, and you know it, Wyllym.”
Unfortunately, Rayno did know it. And he had been trying to “put the best face on” his reports from Corisande, for that matter. It would have been nice if there’d been some actual good news in any of them, though.
It seemed evident to him (although even now he didn’t propose to point it out to Clyntahn) that there’d always been a much greater Reformist sentiment in Corisande than anyone in Zion had realized. That sentiment hadn’t extended—initially, at least—to actually embracing schism and heresy, yet it had been there. And it had grown only stronger after Clyntahn broke the Reformist Circle in Zion itself. Rayno understood why the Grand Inquisitor had done it, yet there was no point pretending Corisande—insulated from the object lesson by all of the salt water between it and the mainland—hadn’t reacted with revulsion and anger. That had helped push more Corisandians into the arms of the Church of Charis, and the careful way in which Cayleb and Sharleyan had handled their occupation, coupled with Sharleyan’s display of mercy in pardoning so many who’d been convicted of treason, had drastically undermined the purely secular anger evoked by Hektor’s murder. Especially when she’d gone right on displaying mercy after she’d so nearly been killed on her throne! For that matter, the original outrage engendered by Hektor’s assassination had begun to fade even before Northern Conspiracy’s leaders had been arrested, far less convicted.
So, yes, the “damned Corisandians” were going over to Charis.
“The other thing we have to face here, Wyllym,” Clyntahn continued flatly, “is that we’re getting our ass kicked every time we go up against the Charisians at sea. Don’t think anybody inclined to consider heresy’s missing that point, either. Hopefully, the Rakurai are going to have demonstrated by now that we’re not powerless when it comes to striking back, but the military momentum’s clearly on the heretics’ side for right now, and that’s giving them the impetus where morale’s concerned, as well. We need to grab that momentum back, regain the upper hand psychologically, the way we had it after we snuffed out the Wylsynns’ conspiracy. Finally getting around to Punishing those bastards Thirsk captured was a start. Rakurai’s going to be another step on the same journey, too, and the Sword’s going to be a huge stride in the right direction. But I want to hit them in as many places as possible. I think it’s time to poke up the fire in Corisande.”
“Prince Daivyn?” Rayno asked, tilting his head while he considered options and possibilities.
“Exactly. And I want it to coincide with the Sword. I want those bastards in Tellesberg to take as many good, heavy kicks in the balls, from as many directions as we can manage, in the shortest time period possible.”
“If you actually want to coordinate the two operations, Your Grace, we’re going to have to tinker with the timing.”
“What do you mean, ‘tinker’?”
“Forgive me, Your Grace. That was the wrong word. I should have said we’re going to have to consider the timing carefully. If we hold to our current planning and send in a team of ‘Charisian’ assassins, it’s going to take at least a few five-days—possibly an entire month—to get them into position in Delferahk, so the question becomes how closely we want the assassination to coincide with the Sword. Do we want to delay events in Siddarmark in order to coordinate them with the assassination, or do we want to move as quickly as possible in Siddarmark and settle for approximate coordination between the Sword and the assassination?”
“I want them to happen as close to simultaneously as possible,” Clyntahn said after a moment’s thought. “I want Cayleb and Sharleyan to know we timed them to happen that way.” He smiled unpleasantly. “After all, they’re going to know they didn’t kill Daivyn, no matter what happens. So let’s just underscore the statement for them and see how they like that!”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Rayno bowed across the table again. “I’ll get started on that immediately.”
.IX.
Queen Frayla Avenue, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis
“I have a priority alert, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”
Merlin Athrawes’ head snapped up as Owl’s voice spoke calmly over his built-in com. He stood in the window of his palace bedchamber, looking out into the steadily gathering twilight, and his expression was grim. Tellesberg—even Tellesberg, the city which never slept, which was never quiet—seemed hushed and somber. Lanterns and lamps were already beginning to illuminate the oncoming night, and his enhanced vision could see the longshoremen and the ships still loading and unloading cargo along the waterfront. But the city’s tempo had clearly dropped, and people went about their business more quietly than usual, with a degree of fearfulness which grieved his heart.
The Gray Wyvern Avenue attack wasn’t the only one Tellesberg had endured, although it had been the most costly of them all.
Another wagon loaded with explosives had been intercepted as it rolled through the gates of the Tellesberg dockyard. In the wake of Gray Wyvern Avenue, an alert Marine sentry had taken it upon himself to question all incoming deliveries unless the driver was known to him personally. His initiative had irritated the dockyard authorities immensely, since it had resulted in confusion and delays in the dockyard’s always bustling movement of supplies and deliveries. In fact, his company commander had dispatched a sergeant with orders for him to cease and desist. Fortunately, the sergeant hadn’t arrived yet when the officious sentry stopped an articulated freight wagon almost as large as the one used in Gray Wyvern Square. Unfortunately, that wagon driver had arranged one of the flintlock pistol-based detonators where he could reach it from his high box seat.
The explosion had killed another fifty-six people, including
the sentry, and wounded over a hundred more, but it would have been far worse if the driver had managed to reach his intended destination.
Two more, similar explosions had racked Tellesberg in the next twelve hours. Fortunately, they’d been smaller, but they’d created something entirely too much like panic for Merlin’s taste. They’d also led to the declaration of martial law and a decree freezing all wagon traffic until the authorities could put some sort of security system into place.
The attackers’ tactics had been shrewdly chosen to hit Tellesberg where it was most vulnerable, Merlin thought grimly. Not only had they targeted the leaders of the Empire’s government—what had happened to Gray Harbor, Waignair, and Nahrmahn was proof enough of that—but Tellesberg’s commerce was its very life’s blood. The city’s coat of arms, quartered with galleon and freight wagon, was nothing but accurate in that regard, and the grating, rumbling roar of those heavy wagons was both the bane of Tellesberg’s repose and the source of a perverse pride.
Now those wagons had become a source of fear, not civic pride, for who knew which of them might be yet another bomb rolling towards its destination?
Cayleb and Sharleyan had seen no option but to impose unprecedented controls on the movement of freight through the city. No system could be perfect, but they’d moved quickly to begin issuing permits and licenses which were to be carried at all times and displayed upon demand. Moreover, every cargo load would now have to be documented, with a detailed bill of lading that would be inspected before it was allowed into the waterfront area or access to any cathedral, church, or public building.
Fortunately, the majority of the capital’s freight was moved by professional drayage firms, all of which were already required to be bonded and inspected twice a year. Given those records’ existence, they’d been able to move far more rapidly than someone like Clyntahn probably would have expected, and at least limited wagon traffic had been allowed to resume within two days of the initial attack. The smaller independents, who hadn’t been in the records, were another matter, and some of them were suffering severe economic hardship while they tried to get the documentation and licensing which had never before been required. Baron Ironhill, aware both of the hardship for them and the consequences for the city’s economic sector in general, had already set aside a fund to help reimburse some of those independent drayers’ losses.
