At the Sign of Triumph

by David Weber

  Mahrtynsyn nodded slowly, and his respect for Rock Coast went up another notch. No one would ever call the duke a brilliant man, but he clearly meant business. The under-priest was impressed by the sheer focus he’d brought to the task, and this time around he’d taken remarkably few missteps.

  “But the other bit of good news from Lady Swayle is that she’s been in contact with Elahnah Waistyn.”

  “Was that wise, Your Grace?”

  Waistyn found himself wondering abruptly if he’d been overly optimistic about missteps. Elahnah Waistyn, the Dowager Duchess of Halbrook Hollow, was Empress Sharleyan’s maternal aunt by marriage. She was also the Duke of Eastshare’s sister. To be sure, her husband had been convicted of treason after his death, so she and Rebkah Rahskail had that much in common. More, their husbands had been close friends for many years. But venturing into the complex stew of Elahnah’s understandably conflicted loyalties did not strike him as a prudent move.

  “Oh, don’t worry! First, Elahnah contacted Rebkah, not the other way around. They hadn’t actually spoken since Barkah’s execution, so she was a little surprised by the invitation to visit Halbrook Hall. And she didn’t say a word about any conspiracies while she was there. But Elahnah made it quite clear that she would ‘look favorably’ upon the restoration of Mother Church’s proper authority here in Chisholm. I’m sure she’s still in a great deal of pain over Byrtrym’s death, and especially over the way he died. But her faith’s solid, and if we approach her properly when the time comes, there’s an excellent chance she’d lend us at least her passive support. And Sailys is the spitting image of Byrtrym in more than one way. You know he shared Byrtrym’s beliefs, and there’s been very little contact between him and Sharleyan since his father’s death. I know which way his heart will pull him, and if it looks like the entire West is coming over to us—and if his mother pushes him just a bit—I don’t think it will matter a lot which way his head pulls.”

  Mahrtynsyn breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief. He wasn’t as convinced as Rock Coast that the young Duke of Halbrook Hollow’s heart was that thoroughly with the Temple Loyalists, but he could be wrong. Halbrook Hollow’s proximity to the Crown had made him far too dangerous for any of the Inquisitor General’s agents to contact, so Mahrtynsyn had no personal impression one way or the other. But it was certainly possible Rock Coast had a point, especially if, as he said, it looked like the entire southwest was falling into line. And if Halbrook Hollow did join them, it would be huge.

  It was already clear that Ahdem Zhefry, the Earl of Cross Creek, would never join them willingly. Bad enough he’d always staunchly supported Sharleyan and the monarchy in his own right, but Earl White Crag, who’d become the kingdom’s First Councilor after Baron Green Mountain was crippled by one of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s assassins, was his brother-in-law! Yet if Holy Tree, Lantern Walk, and Halbrook Hollow all came in, not only would Cross Creek be hemmed in on three sides by hostile territory, but so would three-quarters of the Duchy of Tayt eastern border.

  It really looks like Rock Coast’s going to pull this off, the Schuelerite thought almost wonderingly.

  He’d worked towards that end for over two years, yet he’d never really believed it was going to happen. He’d been willing to make the effort, despite the dangers, for at the end of the day he was not simply a man of the Church, but a man of deep and abiding faith. A man had to know what he was willing to die for, and Sedryk Mahrtynsyn had decided that the day the Jihad officially began. But only now did he truly realize that he’d never actually expected it to work.

  Not until this very day.

  “Your Grace, I’m deeply impressed. Especially that this is all coming together now. Surely it’s an indication of God’s approval that this should be happening at the very moment that General Kahlyns is in the process of sending all the new regiments to the front!”

  “Of course it is,” Rock Coast agreed. “But let’s not forget that God and the Archangels help those who help themselves, Father! No matter how many people we can recruit before we strike, we’ll represent only a minority of the Kingdom, at least to start. I’ve discussed it with Black Horse, and we’re in agreement that what we need is for the two of us to declare our defiance of the Crown first and then bring the others in in a sort of rolling cascade. Have them make it clear to everyone that they’re responding to the inherent justice of our demands only after we’ve made them rather than part of some preconcerted plot. It shouldn’t take more than a five-day or so for all of them to make their ‘decisions of conscience,’ and doing it that way will create a wave of momentum in our favor.”

  “I can see that, Your Grace,” Mahrtynsyn said, impressed yet again.

  “So far, Black Horse and I have boiled it down to five principal points,” Rock Coast continued, unlocking an iron-reinforced desk drawer and extracting a single sheet of paper. “I’ve discussed most of these with you, at least in principle before, but we’ve hammered it into a semi-final shape and I’d like your opinion.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Mahrtynsyn leaned back in his chair, tucking his hands into the arms of his cassock and cocking his head attentively.

  “First,” Rock Coast said, glancing down at his sheet of notes, “we begin by declaring that Sharleyan’s marriage to Cayleb is null and void because it was patently illegal, since the House of Lords’ ancient and customary right to approve the betrothal or marriage of the heir to the throne was flouted. Langhorne! It wasn’t simply flouted; it was completely ignored! She simply stood up in Parliament and told us all what she’d already decided!

  “Second, since the merger of the two kingdoms was a part of the illegal and hence void marriage contract, it was also illegal, which means Chisholm’s never legally been a part of this Charisian Empire abortion.

  “Third, not content with flouting the constitution through an illegal marriage and merger, Sharleyan and Cayleb have conspired to further curtail the ancient rights and privileges of the peers of the Realm, continuing the process King Sailys began illegally by brute force of arms all those years ago.

  “Fourth, this illegal mockery of a marriage has involved the Kingdom in a needless war against Mother Church, leading directly to the deaths of thousands upon thousands of Sharleyan’s subjects who need not have died. And, even if it be granted that Mother Church—or some of her vicars, acting in her name—have been guilty of crimes of their own, the commission of still more crimes is no way to address the problem! Certainly not before first seeking redress through the ecclesiastic courts provided by the Holy Writ and the blessed Archangels themselves for that very purpose.

  “And fifth, Sharleyan and Cayleb, in order to whip up support for this entire illegal, obscene edifice they’ve constructed, are encouraging the dregs of society—not just peasants and the rabble of the street but actual ex-serfs—to combine in an unholy alliance against the stability and property rights of the Kingdom, creating a … a mobocracy, for want of a better term, that pits their base-born ‘allies’ against not simply the nobility, but also against the small property owners, the shopkeepers, and the skilled craftsmen who, along with our farmers, have always been the true bone and sinew of Chisholm.”

  He folded the sheet of paper and handed it across to the under-priest.

  “I’m sure it needs a little polish, Father, and I’m much more comfortable with actions than with words. But at least it’s clear, and at least it’s a starting point. And between you and me,” he met Mahrtynsyn’s eyes levelly, “a man could die for a lot worse principles than these.”

  * * *

  “If you think those are principles worth dying for, Your Grace, I’ve got a nice little floating island in Hsing-wu’s Passage I’d like to sell you for a summer vacation home,” Nahrmahn Baytz said sourly. “Of course, you’d better get it built before it melts!”

  At the moment, he was “visiting” in Owl’s main CPU. The AI had enabled the link as part of the support he—Owl had decided he definitely preferred the mascul
ine pronoun—provided to maintain Nahrmahn’s incomplete gestalt. Since the two of them had become so … intimately connected, Owl had built what amounted to a guesthouse for Nahrmahn’s virtual personality, and the two of them conducted quite a bit of their intelligence analysis there in hyper heuristic mode.

  “I have observed that humans historically have been capable of embracing any number of illogical ‘principles worth dying for,’” Owl observed now. “I believe Duke Rock Coast’s are no more foolish than a great many others.”

  “Now there, Owl, I’m afraid you may have a point,” Nahrmahn admitted. “Of course, I may be just a bit prejudiced, since I was never so foolish as to decide to die for a principal.”

  “My analysis suggests that that was simply because you never had to choose whether or not to do so,” Owl corrected gently. “Although, I will concede that when you did choose to die, it was for something rather more important than an empty, self-serving political ‘principle.’”

  “There wasn’t a great deal of ‘choosing’ to it, really. It was more a matter of automatic reaction.”

  “And, looking back, would you have chosen any other way?” Owl challenged with a smile.

  “No,” Nahrmahn acknowledged. He rested one electronic hand on the AI’s equally immaterial shoulder and shook him gently. “No, I wouldn’t have. So I suppose you win this one.”

  “When it is a matter of logic and analysis, I almost always win,” Owl pointed out. “Unfortunately, dealing with humans, logic and analysis are usually the last resort of scoundrels.”

  “A joke!” Nahrmahn laughed delightedly. “I’m corrupting you, Owl! Next thing, you’ll be producing puns!”

  “At which point I trust Commander Athrawes will be compassionate enough to order a complete memory purge,” Owl replied.

  Nahrmahn laughed again, then returned his attention to the task at hand.

  Quite a bit of written correspondence was passing back and forth as the conspirators moved into the end game. They didn’t have much choice about that, although most of it was being conscientiously burned after it was read by its recipient. The SNARCs’ remotes got solid imagery of almost all of it before it was consigned to the flames, and the people who’d burned it were going to be dreadfully surprised when perfect replicas of it turned up as evidence against them. Not all of it, of course—only the most incriminating bits. And only when there was a convincing way to explain—to someone else, at least—how it might have come into the prosecution’s hands. Which meant, among other things, that it had to be correspondence no witness had seen burned.

  It’s really fortunate that most traitors prefer to dispose of the really incriminating evidence in splendid solitude, he thought now. That’s going to make it just a little difficult for Rock Coast and his friends. It’s not as if it’s going to make things a lot better for them if they announce we can’t possibly have that evidence because they destroyed it, since the fact that they destroyed it confirms it once existed, anyway. For that matter, destroying it in the first place would constitute admission of guilt, wouldn’t it?

  He chortled quietly to himself as he contemplated the potential law masters’ arguments. The possible consequences for Safehold’s jurisprudence might be … interesting. Not that it was going to matter much in the end.

  They’ll have open, scrupulously fair trials before we hang them, he thought. Which, his expression darkened, is one hell of a lot more than they’re planning on giving anyone on the other side.

  And meanwhile, it was time for the mysterious seijins to write up their latest discoveries. He sat back in a virtual chair, leafing through his notes while he decided which sections to put into which seijin’s handwriting.

  It was almost worth having died to be able to play the Great Game at this level, he decided.

  .II.

  Mahkbyth’s Fine Spirits and Wine,

  Mylycynt Court,

  City of Zion,

  The Temple Lands.

  The bell over the door jingled.

  “Good afternoon, Sir. How may I serve you?”

  Zhak Myllyr’s voice registered only vaguely with Ahrloh Mahkbyth. If Zhak hadn’t been there to promptly greet whoever had just entered the shop, that would have registered sharply and immediately. The sound of things going the way they were supposed to, on the other hand, was poor compensation for the fact that he couldn’t figure out where an entire case of Yu-kwau brandy had gone.

  He glowered at the inventory list. Paperwork was his least favorite part of owning his own business, but he was usually good at it. Misplacing something that big—and expensive—was unlike him. And, of course, he had to have done it now, when the Charisian commerce-raiders swarming about the Western Gulf of Dohlar guaranteed there wouldn’t be any replacement shipments from the Bay of Alexov anytime soon. If Zhak Myllyr hadn’t been a scrupulously honest sort—aside from a single understandable shortcoming—he’d have wondered if pilferage could explain it. But that was ridiculous! It was more likely Langhorne would return in glory than that Zhak Myllyr would steal from his employer. And the truth was that there’d been enough other—and more pressing—matters on his mind of late to produce a dozen errors no worse than this one. No, it was here somewhere; he just had to find it. And once he did, by God, he wouldn’t let it slip away ag—

  “Good afternoon,” a voice answered Zhak. “I wonder if you might have a bottle of Seijin Kohdy’s Premium Blend?”

  Yu-kwau brandy was abruptly the last thing on Ahrloh Mahkbyth’s mind.

  He made himself stretch in a casual yawn without ever so much as glancing at the front of the shop. Then he shrugged, carefully wiped the nib of his pen and set it in the stand, and stepped around his standing desk to glance—casually, casually—at the customer who’d just spoken.

  The man was well dressed and very tall, with gray eyes, sharply receding fair hair, and a full beard and majestic mustache. He looked up, as if he’d just realized Myllyr wasn’t alone in the store, and glanced casually at Mahkbyth over Myllyr’s shoulder, then returned his attention to the clerk.

  “As a matter of fact, we do, Sir,” Myllyr was saying. “In fact, I think we’re one of the few shops here in Zion to stock it. I’m afraid it’s a little too peaty for the majority of Temple Lands connoisseurs, although I’m quite fond of it myself.”

  “As am I,” Mahkbyth said. He walked forward, extending his hand to the customer. “It’s good to see you again, Master Murphai. I wasn’t aware you favored Seijin Kohdy’s?”

  “Master Mahkbyth.” Murphai smiled warmly, accepting the proffered hand and clasping forearms with him. “I was recently introduced to it at a friend’s. She spoke very highly of it, and I found it … palatable. As your assistant here says, it’s a bit peaty, but it does settle well, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.” Mahkbyth glanced at Myllyr and grimaced.

  “Zhak, I’ll take this one.”

  “But—” Myllyr began, and Mahkbyth shook his head.

  “Don’t be silly, man! It’s coming up on time for your lunch, anyway. And I’m no closer to finding that Shan-wei-damned case than I was yesterday! My eyes are crossing going over those inventory lists, and I need a break from them.”

  “If you’re sure, Sir.”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Mahkbyth reached into his breeches pocket, extracted a silver tenth-mark, and flipped it to the clerk. “If you’re going to feel guilty about sticking me with this incredibly difficult task, bring me back some fish and chips from Zhantry’s. With extra vinegar and at least two of those big pickles, mind!”

  “Yes, Sir!” Myllyr caught the coin neatly out of the air with a grin, then nodded to Murphai and reached for his coat. “Have a good day, Master Murphai.”

  “Thank you,” Murphai responded pleasantly.

  Myllyr shrugged into his coat, flipped his muffler around his neck, and headed out the door. It was mild enough he scarcely needed either of them, but only a crazed optimist would assume that would remain true for mor
e than an hour or two in a row here in Zion. The month of May had scarcely begun, and while the sun might burn down brightly at the moment, that was subject to change. In places where that bright sun reached the ground, the remnants of the most recent snowfall were thin and patchy, crusty where they’d refrozen overnight but disappearing quickly under the city’s foot traffic. In places where the sun didn’t reach, however, it still lay mid-calf deep, and the heaps where the snow removed from sidewalks and shop entrances had been piled by the removal crews were still head high. And whatever that deceitful brightness might promise, the ice on Lake Pei had only just begun to break up, and nasty weather could roll in off Temple Bay—or over the lake, when the wind was in the west—on a bit less than no notice at all.

  Murphai watched Myllyr’s departure, then turned to Mahkbyth as the door closed behind him.

  “It is good to see you, Seijin,” the shop owner said then in a very different tone. “Have you come from Arbalest?”

  “Not directly.” Murphai’s voice was far more somber, as well. “I have been in contact with her, though. And I apologize. I wish I could’ve gotten here sooner, but Arbalest felt—and I agreed—that it would probably be best to limit contact with you until we were reasonably confident you weren’t under suspicion.”