by David Weber
“Yes?” a voice responded.
“Could I have a minute of your time, My Lord?”
***
“I don’t know, Irys,” Phylyp Ahzgood said, looking out the turret window into the darkness. “ I can’t think of any good reason for Vandaik to be talking to Colonel Sahndahl. Or not any reason that would be good for us, anyway.”
“Can we go ahead and run now?” Irys asked, watching his back, seeing the tension in his shoulders.
“Maybe. But we weren’t supposed to run for another two days, and we don’t even know for sure what’s happening. Making a break for it now might be the worst thing we could do!” The frustration in his voice was evident, and he turned to her with a sour expression. “I’m not used to having things like this sneak up on me.”
“I know you’re not,” Irys said with a lopsided smile. “And I count on it not happening. But you’re only human, Phylyp, and the truth is-”
“And the truth is,” a much deeper voice neither of them had ever heard before said calmly, “that everyone makes mistakes occasionally. Even me.”
Irys and Coris whipped back around to the window just as a tall man with blue eyes, fierce mustachios, and a dagger beard swung lightly over the windowsill and into the room. The fact that they were three stories up and that the wall fell sheer from the window would have made that astonishing enough, but to make bad worse, the stranger wore the livery of the Charisian Imperial Guard in the middle of the capital of the Kingdom of Delferahk.
The earl and the princess gaped at the apparition, and he bowed gracefully.
“Please excuse my unceremonious arrival,” he said, straightening from the bow and stroking his mustache. “Captain Merlin Athrawes, at your service.”
“But… but how-?”
The imperturbability of even a Phylyp Ahzgood had its limits, and the Earl of Coris couldn’t seem to get the question finished. He only stared at the newcomer, and Merlin chuckled. Irys Daykyn was made of sterner stuff, though.
“Captain Athrawes,” she acknowledged, bending her head in a gracious nod. “I won’t say the Empire of Charis is especially near and dear to my heart, but at this moment, I’m most happy to see you.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He bowed more deeply. “And please accept Their Majesties’ greetings. They look forward to seeing you safely out of Delferahk.”
“And into Tellesberg, of course,” she riposted in a slightly barbed tone.
“Well, of course, Your Highness, but I’m trying not to be tacky,” Merlin murmured with a slight smile, and Irys’ lips quivered for just a moment. Then she cleared her throat.
“It would appear you’ve arrived at an opportune moment, Seijin Merlin,” she said then. “Of course, we don’t know why it’s an opportune moment or how you’ve managed to arrive at it, now do we?”
“In answer to the second half of your question, Your Highness, everyone insists on calling me a seijin, so it’s only reasonable I should act like one on occasion, including arriving at opportune moments. If I recall my fairy tales correctly, Seijin Kody did a lot of that sort of thing.” He smiled more broadly, but then his expression sobered. “And in answer to the question you and Earl Coris were discussing when I arrived-I hope you don’t mind that I spent a moment or two listening outside your window before I intruded-it turns out Master Seablanket wasn’t the only spy planted on you by the Inquisition, after all.”
“He wasn’t?” Coris came back to life, his eyes narrowing. He sounded more than a little affronted by Merlin’s explanation, and Merlin smiled at him.
“It’s not really your fault, My Lord,” he said. “As you may know from your discussion with my friend Ahbraim, we seijins have our own means of gathering intelligence. That’s how I discovered Bishop Mytchail had decided to insert one of his own agents into King Zhames’ household to keep an eye on you. He wasn’t instructed to, and his agent reports only to him, not to Rayno or Clyntahn, but I’m afraid he’s come to the conclusion that you’re… well, up to something. He doesn’t know what, but he’s decided it’s probably something you shouldn’t be doing. So he’s sent Father Gaisbyrt to order Colonel Sahndahl to take your own armsmen into custody and replace them with members of King Zhames’ Guard… under Father Gaisbyrt’s direct command. Just for your own safety, of course.”
“And the King?” Irys asked, gazing at Merlin intently. “Is he party to all this?”
“No, and so far as I’m aware, neither is Baron Lakeland or Sir Klymynt,” Merlin told her. “On the other hand, none of them will attempt to overrule Bishop Mytchail, Your Highness. And, to be honest, you can’t really blame them, can you?”
“My heart certainly can, Seijin Merlin!” she said tartly, but then she shook her head. “My head, unfortunately, can’t. Not knowing what that butcher Clyntahn would do to anyone who helped us slip out of his clutches.”
“Slip out of his clutches alive, Your Highness,” Merlin corrected gently.
“Correction accepted, Seijin Merlin.”
“How much time do we have before Sahndahl moves?” Coris demanded.
“None,” Merlin replied calmly. “There are forty Royal Guardsmen on their way right now, along with half a dozen inquisitors. And their instructions are to use whatever force is necessary to make sure none of you go anywhere.”
“Forty!” Coris exclaimed in dismay.
“All we have to do is get out of the castle, reach the stable where you’ve had those horses waiting for a week, and then ride for the rendezvous,” Merlin replied with a shrug, as if he were discussing a simple picnic outing.
“Past forty Royal Guardsmen?”
“And the inquisitors, My Lord,” Merlin reminded him. The earl glared at him, and the seijin shrugged. “Sergeant Raimair has his people ready, My Lord,” he pointed out, “and they’re all good, solid men. They’ll take care of twenty or twenty-five of Zhames’ armsmen if they have to, I’m sure.”
“And the other twenty armsmen and the half-dozen inquisitors?” Coris inquired more than a bit acidly.
“Ah, them.” Merlin shrugged again. “Well, for them, My Lord, you have me.” . VII.
Royal Palace, City of Talkyra, Kingdom of Delferahk
“Father, are you sure this is something we want to do?” Colonel Fraimahn Sahndahl asked.
“Are you questioning the Inquisition, my son?” Father Gaisbyrt Vandaik asked in a gentle, silky tone.
“Never, Father,” Sahndahl replied as calmly as he could. “I simply don’t have any orders from His Majesty, and it would only take an hour or so to send a messenger after him.”
“ My orders are from Bishop Mytchail,” Vandaik pointed out. “And were His Majesty here, I’m sure he would remind you secular forces are required to assist Mother Church’s Intendant when he calls upon them.”
Sahndahl did his best not to glare at the smiling Schuelerite. He’d met priests like Vandaik before, more often than he might have wished, and he knew exactly how Vandaik’s report to his own superiors would be written if Sahndahl didn’t do exactly what he wanted. Yet the colonel’s oaths hadn’t been sworn to the Inquisition; they’d been sworn to King Zhames of Delferahk, and he wasn’t at all certain the king would have approved of the notion of seizing his own relatives and handing them over to the Inquisition “for their own safety.”
Especially when he’d been ordered to do the seizing by force. And extra especially when Vandaik had told him-orally-that this mission was important enough to risk endangering Princess Irys’ or Prince Daivyn’s lives… and declined to include that in his written instructions.
The colonel was a simple soldier, disinterested in politics, and a loyal son of Mother Church, but he wasn’t stupid, and he’d served as the second in command of King Zhames’ Guard for almost seven years. Whether he’d wanted to or not, he’d developed political feelers over those years, and every one of them quivered with warning now. The waters around him had suddenly become deep and murky, and he found himself much more seriously con
sidering a ridiculous suspicion which had crossed his mind some time ago when he pondered who might have assassinated Prince Hektor if it hadn’t been Cayleb Ahrmahk.
“Of course I realize His Majesty’s Guard is obligated to assist Mother Church in time of need, Father,” he said with all the dignity he could summon up. “I’m sure you can understand that as King Zhames’ man, I’d really prefer to get his instructions, as well, however.”
“If there were time for that, I would have no objections at all,” Vandaik assured him. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe there is time. And in that regard, Colonel, I’m afraid I have to point out that we’re wasting time discussing this.”
He glanced pointedly out Sahndahl’s office window at the tower in which the Corisandian exiles were housed, and the colonel’s jaw tightened. There were limits to what he could ignore, however, and he gave the Inquisitor a jerky nod.
“Point taken, Father,” he said, then raised his voice. “Captain Mahgail!”
“Sir?” a tall but stocky officer replied, opening the office door and stepping through it.
“Get them ready, Byrt,” Sahndahl said.
“Yes, Sir!”
Mahgail saluted and disappeared, and Sahndahl heard him giving orders in a loud, clear voice. Mahgail was a good man, but he was a bit too prone (in Sahndahl’s opinion) to take a churchman’s word at face value. If the Inquisition said Princess Irys and Prince Daivyn were in danger from their own retainers, then Mahgail was perfectly prepared to kill as many of those retainers as necessary to “rescue them.” He obviously wasn’t going to lose one bit of sleep over his orders, either… unlike Sahndahl. The colonel had recognized the kind of man Tobys Raimair was the moment he laid eyes on him, and he knew that kind of man would die in defense of his prince or princess. The thought that he might somehow threaten them was ludicrous.
But no one was interested in Fraihman Sahndahl’s opinion… except, perhaps, for his liege lord, who he wasn’t going to be allowed to ask about it.
I’m sorry, Your Majesty, he thought now, rising heavily and reaching for his own swordbelt. I knew I should’ve drowned that little weasel Brother Bahldwyn months ago when I realized why Zhessop planted him on you. Secretary -ha!
Unfortunately, he hadn’t, and he buckled the swordbelt, settled it in place, and strode slowly and deliberately out of his office.
***
“The good news is that over half the regular Palace Guard detachment is off with the King and Queen tonight,” Tobys Raimair said to the tall, blue-eyed Charisian guardsman.
Right offhand, Raimair couldn’t think of anything he’d ever done that felt… stranger than taking orders from a Charisian when it was the Charisian Empire which had conquered his own homeland. And the man had to be crazy as a Harchong serf drunk on that incredibly vile rice-based “whiskey” they distilled to go wandering around the middle of the Kingdom of Delferahk in Charisian livery. He had heard about the Ferayd Massacre and why most Delferahkans believed it had happened, hadn’t he?
On the other hand, “ Seijin Merlin” was obviously accustomed to being obeyed. And crazy or not, something about him-something that spoke to Raimair’s well-honed noncom’s instincts-made Raimair grateful he was here.
Hell, some of the best combat officers I’ve ever known were bug-ass crazy, come to that, he reflected. Not necessarily the safest ones to serve under, maybe, but the kind who always seemed to get the job done somehow. And that’s what it’s all about tonight, isn’t it? The job.
He glanced over his shoulder at the tall, slender young woman with her arm around her brother’s shoulders, her own expression calm and confident because that was what the boy needed her to be. Then he looked back at the Charisian Imperial Guardsman and saw those blue eyes watching him.
“Don’t worry, Sergeant,” Merlin said quietly, voice pitched for only Raimair’s ears, and his expression was far more sober than it had been. “I know it’s… complicated, but I give you my word. You can’t possibly want those two to reach safety more than I do, and between us, that’s exactly where we’re going to get them.”
“If you say so, Captain.”
“I do say so,” Merlin replied, resting one hand lightly on the sergeant’s shoulder for a moment. “And you remind me of another sergeant I met a couple of years ago-a fellow by the name of Seahamper. I think you’ll like him when you meet him. And do me a favor.”
“Favor?” Raimair asked just a bit suspiciously.
“Stay alive and in one piece,” Merlin said very seriously. “Prince Daivyn and Princess Irys need you. Unless I’m mistaken, she needs you more than he does at the moment, as a matter of fact, and I think she’s already lost enough people she needed. Don’t you?”
Raimair stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly, his expression one of wonderment.
“Aye,” he said after a moment. “Aye, that she has.”
“Then let’s not make any more holes in her life.” The hand on Raimair’s shoulder tightened, and then the reckless, confident grin reappeared under the waxed mustachios. “Now, you were saying about the opposition?”
“So I was, Sir.” Raimair gave himself another shake. “There’s no more than half the usual detachment here tonight. The Colonel could call up reinforcements from the local militia, and there’s a full regiment of militia dragoons in Talkyra. Take a while to get them rousted out of bed and pulled away from their dinners, though. And, to be honest, I don’t see any reason he’d be thinking he needed ’em, come to that.” The sergeant shrugged. “These are good lads I’ve got here, but there’s only a dozen of ’em, when all’s said. Even with only half the detachment, he’s four times that many.”
“Understood.” Merlin’s expression turned serious again. “You do realize that the instant they see me, you’re all going to be guilty of treason and consorting with heretics in both Mother Church and King Zhames’ eyes?”
“Thought had crossed my mind,” Raimair replied with sour irony. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to change out of that armor of yours?”
“Sergeant, it’s not going to make one bit of difference in the long run.” Merlin chuckled. “The moment Grand Inquisitor Zhaspahr discovers Irys and Daivyn have slipped through his fingers alive, we’re all dead men if he ever gets his hands on us. That being the case, I prefer to fight in my own colors.”
“And if seeing you in them causes Colonel Sahndahl’s lads to come at us harder, my own lads are going to find any bridges burned behind them,” Raimair said.
“A point which had occurred to me,” Merlin acknowledged. “Of course, that’s another way of saying it’s going to get them focused on staying alive and keep them there, isn’t it?”
“Sounds better that way, anyhow,” Raimair said, then laughed. “And truth to tell, we’ve burned our bridges already.”
“That’s fortunate,” Merlin told him, raising his head and cocking it to one side, “because unless I’m mistaken, Colonel Sahndahl’s on his way right now.”
***
Fraihman Sahndahl walked across the paved courtyard with a grim, determined stride. Three squads of Guardsmen followed him, and he sensed the men’s confusion. They had no idea why they’d just been ordered to arrest-and, if necessary, kill-men they’d been drinking beer with only that afternoon. The presence of half a dozen Schuelerites, including Bahldwyn Gaimlyn, who’d been one of King Zhames’ secretaries for almost a year, discouraged any speculation on their part, however. And with those damned inquisitors watching, there was no doubt in Sahndahl’s mind his men would do whatever they were ordered to do.
God, I hope Raimair and Coris are smart enough to surrender for the kids’ sake, he thought. Yet even as he told himself that, another thought ran deeper down, counter pointing it. Given what Zhaspahr Clyntahn was capable of, if he were one of the men in that tower and he believed the Inquisition had come for him, they’d take his weapons only out of his cold dead hands… and the last thing he’d do before he died was cut both of Prince
Hektor’s children’s throats to keep them out of the Inquisition’s hands, as well.
Stop that! he told himself sternly. It’s not doing a bit of good and it’s not going to change a thing.
“Wait here,” he told Mahgail, and continued across the courtyard to the steep flight of steps leading up to the tower’s open door.
He climbed the steps heavily. A pair of lanterns burned at its top, one on either side of the massively timbered door set deep into the tower’s ancient stonework, and he was acutely aware of the archer’s slits in the wall above him. He allowed no sign of that awareness to cross his expression, however, as Rahskho Mullygyn-who would have been Sergeant Mullygyn, if Tobys Raimair had dared to be open about the nature of the “footmen” and “servants” he’d assembled around Irys and Daivyn Daykyn-met him in the doorway.
“Evening, Colonel,” Mullygyn said calmly, glancing past him at the block of Guardsmen in the courtyard. “Can I help you, Sir?”
“I need to speak to Earl Coris, Rahskho,” Sahndahl said.
“’Fraid he’s already turned in for the evening, Sir.” Mullygyn smiled slightly. “Said something about not feeling too well.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to go and get him up,” Sahndahl said flatly, and looked Mullygyn straight in the eye. “It’s official, Rahskho, and I’m under orders. Let’s not make this any messier than it has to be.”
“Messy, Sir?” Mullygyn had many virtues; thespian talent was not among them, and his lack of surprise was all the confirmation Sahndahl needed that Tobys and his men had at least sensed what was coming. That was going to make things ugly, given their position inside the tower’s thick walls. Nonetheless…
“Just go get him, Rahskho,” the colonel said in that same flat voice. “And you might ask Tobys to step out here, too. I need to talk to both of them.”
“See what I can do, Sir,” Mullygyn replied, and stepped back inside the tower.
