by David Weber
“We still don’t have any clues about that, My Lord?” one of the other councilors asked, and Wave Thunder grimaced in disgust.
“No,” he admitted flatly. “And I’m reasonably certain the one ‘Rakurai’ we managed to capture doesn’t know how they did that, either. No one’s going to torture any confessions out of him, but we haven’t been especially gentle and understanding about questioning him.” He smiled thinly. “He’s told us where he went to collect his explosives, but they were delivered to him by another of Clyntahn’s agents-the one who detonated the Gray Wyvern Avenue bomb, unless I’m mistaken. He got the gunpowder from a source-a pickup point-here in Old Charis, but our prisoner doesn’t know where that was. What we do know, unfortunately, from examining the wagon Merlin kept him from blowing up in Queen Frayla Avenue is that the powder originally came from us.”
“What?!” the other councilor demanded, sitting up sharply in his chair, and Wave Thunder grimaced.
“Forty pounds of it were still in its original kegs,” he said, “and they carried the markings of the Hairatha Powder Mill. I think we have to assume that’s why the powder mill was blown up. My current theory is that Commander Mahndrayn, Baron Seamount’s assistant at King’s Harbor, noticed a discrepancy somewhere in one or more of the shipping manifests from Hairatha. Most of you may not know that Captain Sahlavahn, the commanding officer at Hairatha, was Commander Mahndrayn’s cousin. It would have made a certain degree of sense for him to take any suspicions to his cousin in an effort to handle things as quietly as possible, and it seems likely that whoever was responsible somehow realized Commander Mahndrayn and Captain Sahlavahn had become aware he’d diverted powder from the mill. I don’t know how that happened, how the Commander and Captain Sahlavahn might have given away their suspicions, but if I’m right about what happened, he blew up the entire powder mill to conceal his actions.”
“That’s speculative,” Cayleb observed, “but it does make sense. And it suggests that getting large quantities of gunpowder into the Empire isn’t going to be as easy for Clyntahn as simply sending in lunatics willing to blow themselves up as long as they get to kill as many Charisians as possible. Of course, the reverse side of that mark is that we don’t know how much powder was diverted from Hairatha. There could still be tons of it sitting around somewhere.”
“Indeed there could, Your Majesty.” Wave Thunder nodded. “Which is why I have my best agents and all of our resources looking for it.” He didn’t add that “all of our resources” included Owl’s SNARCs. “In addition, we’re trying to make all City Guardsmen aware of the need to look for anything out of the ordinary. They don’t have to use wagons to get bombs into position, especially if they can work out some reliable way to set them off with a delayed timer of some kind, and even a fairly small explosion in a crowded market square will inflict a lot of casualties. This time around, Clyntahn ordered his ‘Rakurai’ to specifically target senior clergy and secular leaders; all the dead and maimed civilians were simply a happy side effect of that, according to Master Ahndairs. Next time, the bastards may simply choose to go for as much death and destruction as they can inflict.
“At the same time, we have to be on the lookout for completely different techniques. For example, if they could get their hands on our own gunpowder, they may manage to get access to our grenades, as well. For that matter, they could make grenades or similar small explosive devices of their own without much trouble. An attack like that couldn’t kill anywhere near as many people as their… wagon bombs, but they’d also be harder to detect, and they’d probably be better at penetrating any security we set up.”
Heads nodded soberly, and Cayleb’s expression was grim. He wondered how the rest of his councilors were going to react when they discovered that a “Rakurai” with four grenades under his tunic had entered Cherayth Cathedral less than twenty-six hours before this very meeting, waited for Archbishop Pawal Braynair to arrive to celebrate mass, and then seized one of the processional candles and used it to light the fuse. He’d managed to kill only three people… but that was only because Braynair and two other men had tackled him and smothered most of the explosion with their own bodies.
“I’m afraid one of the precautions we’re going to have to take-and you’re not going to like it, Maikel,” Wave Thunder, who did know about Braynair’s death, said, looking directly at Maikel Staynair, “will be stationing guardsmen outside all public buildings, including cathedrals and churches, and requiring anyone entering to demonstrate he’s not carrying a bomb under his tunic.”
“I won’t have armed guards outside God’s house,” Staynair said flatly, but then even the redoubtable archbishop jerked in his chair as Cayleb’s open palm slapped the tabletop like a gunshot.
“Perhaps you won’t, Maikel,” the emperor said even more flatly, “but I will!” Their eyes locked, and the index finger of the hand which had slapped the table tapped it in emphatic time with Cayleb’s words as he continued. “You may choose to risk your life in the service of God, and I’ll respect you for it, even as I cringe inside every time I think about how readily you expose yourself to murderers like these ‘Rakurai’ of Clyntahn’s. That’s your option, though, Maikel, and I won’t dictate to you. But you have no right to expose other people to that same risk. We’re not talking about three men with knives this time-we’re talking about people who blow up entire city squares! I am not opening the doors of God’s house to that kind of wholesale murder and massacre. Don’t fight me on this one, Maikel; you’ll lose.”
Silence hovered tensely for long, still moments. Then, finally, Staynair bowed his head.
“I… hadn’t thought of it exactly that way,” he admitted. “I still don’t like it. In fact, I hate the very thought, but you’re right, I suppose.”
“We don’t like the thought either, Maikel,” Sharleyan said gently. “And if we can find a better way, we will. But for now, it has to be this way.”
Staynair nodded silently, and Cayleb inhaled deeply as the council chamber’s tension eased perceptibly.
“We’ll look forward to hearing anything more you turn up on this front, Bynzhamyn. In the meantime, though, we can’t afford to let our concern over these murders divert us from other problems. I’m sure that’s at least partly what Clyntahn hopes to accomplish. So since we’re not going to let that bastard have anything he wants, I suggest we turn our attention elsewhere. For one thing, I’d like to hear anything you and Trahvys can tell us about the situation in Siddarmark.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Pine Hollow said, after a glance at Wave Thunder. “Bynzhamyn and I have been looking at reports from certain of our sources in the Republic.” Pine Hollow hadn’t yet had as much experience as his predecessor in not looking at Captain Athrawes when he made comments like that, and his eyes flicked briefly in Merlin’s direction. It was only a very brief glance, however, and he continued calmly. “We don’t have anything like detailed information, I’m afraid, but it would appear the Group of Four intends to strike at the Republic very soon now.”
Expressions turned grave once more, and the new first councilor shrugged.
“It seems evident from the reports that someone-almost certainly agents of the Inquisition-is skillfully fanning public unrest and anger directed first and foremost at the Charisian community in Siddar City and the other eastern provinces, but also at Reformists in general. The most telling aspect, in my opinion, is that the propaganda we’ve become more recently aware of directly links Lord Protector Greyghor and his government to the ‘support and protection’ of ‘heretics and blasphemers’ throughout the Republic. And you may find this of particular interest, Ahlvyno,” he said, glancing at Ironhill, “but they’re also emphasizing the way in which the Charisian immigrants are ‘taking food out of our babies’ mouths’ and somehow managing to simultaneously make the consequences of Clyntahn’s embargo our fault.”
“That’s insane,” the Charisian Keeper of the Purse said, and Pine Hollow chuckled hars
hly.
“And you were of the opinion propaganda has to make sense to be effective? ”
“No, I suppose not,” Ironhill sighed.
“And what happened at Iythria-especially the destruction of the port-is going to play into their propaganda efforts, as well,” Sharleyan observed. “I’m not sure how, but no doubt they’ll figure out a way to suggest we’re about to do the same thing to the Republic -with Stohnar’s connivance!-for some nefarious reason of our own.”
“Probably,” Cayleb agreed. “And that being the case, what do we do?” He looked around the council table. “Suggestions, anyone?”
Royal Palace, City of Talkyra, Kingdom of Delferahk; Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis; and HMS Destiny, 54, Thol Bay, Kingdom of Tarot
“What is it, Phylyp?” Irys Daykyn asked, looking up from the flowers she’d been arranging to greet the Earl of Coris with a welcoming smile as he entered the library.
Spring was coming on apace, and the early-season wildflowers crowning the hills around the castle above Lake Erdan reminded her-fleetingly-of the brilliant blossoms of her homeland. They were a pallid substitute, yet they echoed at least the ghost of Corisande, and she’d spent several hours collecting them that morning, escorted by Tobys Raimair and one of his men. She’d been arranging them ever since, and singing softly-something she seldom did, since her father’s death-as she worked.
Phylyp Ahzgood knew that, which was one of the reasons he hated having to disturb her… especially with this.
“I’m afraid something’s come up, Irys,” he said. “Something we need to talk about.”
Her smile faded as his tone registered. She laid the flowers on the table beside the trio of vases she’d been filling and wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her gown.
“What is it?” she repeated in a very different tone.
“Sit down,” he invited, pointing at one of the well-upholstered but worn-looking chairs. “This may take a while.”
“Why?” she asked, sitting in the indicated chair and watching him with intent hazel eyes as he turned another chair backwards and sat straddling it, forearms propped on the top of its back.
“Because we have to discuss something we’ve both been avoiding,” he said gravely. “Something you’ve been dancing around, and that I’ve let you dance around.”
“That sounds ominous.” Her effort to inject a light note into her voice failed, and she folded her arms across her chest. “But in that case, I imagine the best way to do this will be for you to come straight to the point,” she said.
In that moment, she looked very like her father, Coris thought. She had her mother’s eyes and high yet delicate cheekbones, but that hair came straight from her father, and so did the strong chin-softened, thank God, into a more feminine version in her case. And the look in those eyes came from Hektor Daykyn, as well. It was the look Hektor had worn when the time came to set aside theories and nuanced understandings. When it was time to make decisions by which men lived or died. It grieved Coris, in many ways, to see that look in Irys’ eyes, but it was a vast relief, as well.
“All right, I will come to the point,” he replied, and inhaled deeply.
“Irys, I know you blamed Cayleb Ahrmahk for your father’s death. We haven’t discussed it in some time, but it’s seemed to me your confidence that he was responsible for it may have… waned a bit over the past year or so.”
He paused, one eyebrow arched. After a moment, she nodded ever so slightly.
“I’ve… entertained the possibility that there could be other explanations.”
“I thought that was what was happening,” Coris said. “I haven’t pushed you on it, for a lot of reasons, but one of them, frankly, was that if my suspicions were correct, then having you publicly and vocally suspicious of Cayleb was your best protection. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like it was protection enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Those eyes were even more like her father’s, and he sighed.
“Irys, Cayleb and Sharleyan of Charis didn’t have your father murdered. Zhaspahr Clyntahn did.”
For a moment, her expression didn’t even flicker. Then her eyes widened, less in disbelief than in surprise at the flat confidence in his tone, he thought. She looked at him in silence, and then it was her turn to draw a deep, slightly shaky breath and sit back in her chair.
“You have proof of that?”
“Proof that he personally ordered your father’s assassination, no,” Coris admitted. “Very strong suggestive evidence that he planned it, yes.”
“What sort of evidence?” she asked in a cold, dispassionate voice which had no business coming from a young woman who wouldn’t be twenty years old for another month yet.
“First, let’s think about his possible motives for doing something like that,” Coris responded. “Your father was losing, Irys. No, he wasn’t losing; he’d lost, and he knew he had. I wasn’t there, because he’d sent me away with you and Daivyn, but I have reports from trustworthy agents which all confirm Cayleb and Earl Anvil Rock are telling the truth when they say Prince Hektor had contacted Cayleb to open surrender negotiations. I’m not going to tell you Cayleb of Charis is a saint, because I don’t really believe in saints. And I won’t argue that your father wouldn’t still be alive today if Cayleb hadn’t invaded Corisande, since that almost certainly created the circumstances which led to his murder. But I will tell you Cayleb Ahrmahk was about to get everything he’d invaded to get, and that he’s clearly smart enough to know that killing your father in that fashion at that time would have been the worst, stupidest thing he could possibly have done.
“But the things that would have made it stupid from Cayleb’s perspective would all have been positive outcomes from Clyntahn’s viewpoint.”
Coris held up his index finger.
“One. If your father had reached an accommodation with Cayleb, even if he’d planned on denouncing it as non-binding at the first opportunity, since any promises would have been made to an excommunicate, it would have made him another Nahrmahn in Clyntahn’s view. That would have been enough by itself to drive him into a frenzy but there was even worse from his perspective. The way he would have seen it, it wouldn’t simply have been a case of the prince the Group of Four had anointed as Mother Church’s champion against the ‘Charisian blasphemer’ cutting a deal with the blasphemer in question to save his own crown, it would have encouraged others to do exactly the same thing.”
He extended the second finger of the same hand.
“Two. If your father reached an accommodation with Cayleb and decided, for whatever reason, that he had no choice but to abide by it, Charis’ conquest-or control, at least-of Corisande would have been enormously simplified.”
He extended his third finger.
“Three. If Cayleb assassinated your father, however, or if someone else did and Cayleb simply ended up blamed for it, then instead of becoming another traitor to the Group of Four and another example of someone reaching an accommodation with Charis, your father became a martyr of Mother Church.”
His fourth finger rose.
“Four. Your father may not have been much beloved outside Corisande, but he was remarkably popular with his own subjects. If Cayleb had him murdered, it would arouse intense resentment among those subjects. That would lead to unrest, which would require substantial numbers of Charisian troops to suppress, and that would almost certainly lead to incidents between those troops and the people of Corisande, which would only strengthen your people’s resentment and anger. Violent confrontations and incidents would increase, bloodshed would rise, and Corisande would become a sinkhole for the Charisian military resources that would be tied down there and not available for use against the Group of Four anywhere else. Of course, hundreds or even thousands of Corisandians would have been killed in the process, but from Clyntahn’s perspective that would simply have been the cost of doing business.”
He paused for a mo
ment, and then, slowly, extended his thumb, as well.
“And five. By killing your father after he’d sent you and Daivyn out of Corisande to keep you safe, and by making sure your brother died at the same time, Clyntahn created a situation in which the legitimate heir to the throne of Corisande was a minor child, outside the princedom, and under the Church’s direct or indirect control. Daivyn’s exile from Corisande guaranteed the fragmented authority and legitimacy that led to the ‘Northern Conspiracy,’ Irys. It contributed directly to the bloodshed and executions in Corisande. And it left Daivyn conveniently parked where the Group of Four could make whatever future use of him seemed most valuable.”
He let his hand fall, and Irys sat, gazing at him silently. From her expression, he was confident he hadn’t told her anything which hadn’t already crossed her own mind. But still she sat looking at him, then cocked her head.
“That’s not proof, Phylyp. It’s a description of why it might have made sense to a man like Clyntahn to murder Father and Hektor. A very convincing description-I’ll grant that. And after watching what he did to the Wylsynn family and his other rivals in the vicarate, I’m certainly not prepared to argue that the fact that he’s a vicar of God would have slowed him down for a moment! The man’s a butcher, a tyrant, a murderer, and a monster.” The flat, almost emotionless detachment of her voice only made it even more terrible, Coris thought. “Yet none of that constitutes ‘proof’ he had Father and Hektor killed. I’m willing to admit it’s time to consider the possibility that Cayleb didn’t do it, but that’s a long way from deciding Clyntahn did.”
