Like a Mighty Army

by David Weber

  I guess it shouldn’t be that surprising, he thought. Hauwyl Chermyn’s the first honest grand duke Zebediah’s had, and he’s sudden death on abuses of power. Doesn’t have much patience with corrupt judges, either, and didn’t that come as an unhappy surprise to the previous grand duke’s cronies?

  Zebediah had been no paradise even before Corisande conquered it. Now, after decades of Hektor Daykyn and Tohmys Symmyns, Hektor’s choice as grand duke, the people of Zebediah had been given a taste of honest, efficient governance, and it had come as a profound shock to the grand duchy’s system. Not all Zebediahans, especially among the nobly born, were pleased with the new arrangements, but Chermyn’s reputation as a highly competent general—and the thirty thousand well-officered and equipped men at his command—were more than enough to convince anyone who might contemplate rebellion to rethink his position. The Baron of Green Valley had systematically dismantled the Zebediahan Army which had been the last grand duke’s creature, and Chermyn had built well upon Green Valley’s foundation. In addition, the last of the aristocracy’s armies of personal retainers had been disbanded by imperial edict, Grand Duke Hauwyl had embraced that edict enthusiastically, and his troops had seen to its enforcement with speed and efficiency. For the first time in Zebediahan memory, the Army was actually seen as protector, not predator.

  The Reformist clergy Maikel Staynair and Archbishop Ulys had sent to Zebediah to support the Church of Charis were even more effective shock troops than Chermyn’s army. The Church of God Awaiting in Zebediah had made the mistake of assuming Zebediah was another Harchong, or perhaps Desnair, and aligning itself firmly with the aristocracy. Mother Church had also become more and more openly supportive of the Corisandian conquest as Hektor of Corisande emerged as the Group of Four’s counterweight against Haarahld Ahrmahk, which represented an equally serious error. It wasn’t that the long-suffering Zebediahan serfs and commoners had turned against the Church so much as that they’d turned against the Church’s policy … and the clergy sent to enforce it. The parish priests who’d spoken up for their parishioners, the abbots who’d done their best to mitigate the nobility’s excesses and, too often, those of their ecclesiastic superiors, the Pasqualate nuns who’d served in the hospitals, the Bédardist Sisters of Charity who’d ministered to the growing poor in Zebediah’s towns and cities had become even more beloved, but they’d also been separated from the powerful and mighty of Mother Church in the popular mind.

  And as in every other realm where the opportunity had offered, those clergy—those priests, those abbots, those nuns—had responded to the Reformist message. Indeed, they’d responded passionately, and they’d brought the Zebediahans who saw them as Mother Church’s true face into the arms of the Church of Charis.

  So, yes, it shouldn’t be a bit surprising that Zebediahans—especially the freed serfs—were enlisting by hundreds and thousands. And Sharleyan was right about their loyalty.

  “If Rock Coast and his cronies should be foolish enough to see the Army’s absence as an opportunity, it will … end badly for them,” Sharleyan said now. Her thin, cold smile went a bit oddly with the baby napping in her arms, Merlin thought, and yet it seemed completely appropriate. “In fact, part of me almost wishes they would try something. If they’re willing to give me the opportunity for a little surgery where they’re concerned, I’m perfectly willing to do the cutting.”

  “In a theoretical sort of way, I agree with you,” Cayleb said. “Can’t even argue that I haven’t set up the same sort of surgery myself upon occasion. But I’d just as soon not see you and Alahnah in the middle of that sort of mess. And however beneficial it might be in the long term, the short-term consequences for any of our people—your people—who got caught up in it could be ugly.”

  “I know. I know!” Sharleyan grimaced. “That’s why I’m not going out of my way to draw them into doing exactly that. But if the opportunity does come along, it’ll the last time any of them are stupid enough to try it. It’s remarkable how detaching a traitor’s brain from his circulatory system prevents recidivism.”

  “I can live with that,” Cayleb replied. “Just … be careful. There’re enough things going wrong in the world that I’d just as soon not have to worry about you and Alahnah—and your mother, and Green Mountain—while I’m stuck in this damned embassy!”

  “Cayleb, you have to be there, love.” Sharleyan’s voice was much gentler.

  “No, I don’t,” he disagreed sourly. “I’m sitting here while Kynt and Eastshare and Hauwerd Breygart and God only knows who else’re out doing something worthwhile in the field. I ought to be out there, too, damn it!”

  “I understand your feelings, and I know it’s frustrating, but—”

  “It’s not just ‘frustrating,’” Cayleb interrupted. “It’s wrong. I’ve got no business sending other men out to be killed while I sit on my arse!”

  Behind his serene, meditating expression, Merlin grimaced in dismay. He’d known Cayleb’s “inactivity” was eating at him, but the speed with which the conversation had segued was unusual, to say the least. To be honest, Merlin agreed with Sharleyan … but sympathized with Cayleb. For all the impressive maturity Cayleb and Sharleyan had both shown, the emperor was a very young man. Too young to have developed the calluses which accepted that a head which wore a crown was not expendable, especially when an empire was so new that its ultimate stability still depended upon its charismatic rulers.

  It’s not as if he were Alexander of Macedon, though, Merlin thought. He knows it, too, and that’s part of the problem. He’s built better than that, he and Sharley, and he knows that if anything happens to him she’ll still be here to carry on, and so will Maikel, and the rest of the inner circle. The Empire won’t disintegrate into warring factions. But even if that’s true, he and Sharley are the face of the opposition to the Group of Four, even more than Maikel, and he’s smart enough to know that, too. That’s why Clyntahn and his Rakurai tried so hard to kill both of them. The reason he’s still trying. Losing either one of them would be a catastrophic blow. He knows that, but he doesn’t feel it. And even if that weren’t true, he knows he’s good, that leading men in battle is something for which he has a natural gift … that isn’t being used.

  “It’s not ‘wrong,’ Cayleb,” he said quietly. “It just hurts.”

  Cayleb started to reply quickly, hotly. But then he stopped himself and his jaw tightened.

  “It’s like the times I have to kill people I don’t want to kill,” Merlin continued. “People whose only real offense is believing what they were taught from childhood and being in the wrong place when I come along. You know how … difficult I find that, but Nahrmahn was right. Sometimes there truly isn’t another option, and I’m the only person who can do it.

  “Right now, you’re the only person who can do what you’re doing. In another few months that may change, but for right now, you need to be here in the capital where you and Stohnar can discuss everything from strategy to industrial allocations face-to-face. And you and I both have to be here to control and manage the information flow to Aivah and Maidyn from the SNARCs.”

  Cayleb glowered for several moments, his shoulder muscles as tight as his face. Then, finally, he relaxed and shook his head.

  “Point taken,” he half growled. “I don’t like it, I’m not going to like it, and I’m not going to do it one minute longer than I have to. But you did sort of put my … pettiness into perspective, Merlin.”

  “That wasn’t my intention, and it’s not ‘pettiness.’”

  “I know it wasn’t your intention. That’s what made it so effective.” Cayleb’s lips twitched into a sour smile. “I’ll try to be good. Or better, anyway. Let’s not be asking for any miracles.”

  “Heaven forbid.” Sharleyan made no effort to keep her amusement—and relief—out of her tone, and Cayleb smiled more broadly.

  “Turning to more cheerful matters,” he said with deliberate briskness, “it looks like you did an even be
tter job with Irys and Coris than we thought, Sharley.”

  “I’d like to be able to take credit,” his wife replied, “but you and Maikel had a little input into the terms yourselves. And I have to admit I never counted on Gairlyng’s contribution!”

  “It goes back to what you and Cayleb’ve been saying from the beginning, Sharleyan,” Merlin said. “What’s conquered by the sword depends on the sword to stay conquered. I hate to say it, given the amount of damage he’s doing, but we’re damned lucky Clyntahn doesn’t understand that mercy and justice are deadlier than any rifle or bayonet.”

  “It wouldn’t help him if he did,” Cayleb said grimly. “He can’t rely on mercy and justice because what he wants—what he needs—is intrinsically at odds with both of them. He might be able to rely on them in some places, far enough away from the actual conflict, but for him they’d always be no more than a façade, a mask, and sooner or later people would realize it.”

  That’s true, Merlin thought. And so’s the corollary—that sooner or later people realize that when you and Sharley offer mercy and justice it’s who you really are, not a ploy.

  “All the same,” he said out loud, “I really didn’t expect it to sail through Parliament the way it did. I think the fact that it wasn’t a unanimous vote—that so many of the Lords voted openly against accepting the terms … and lost—may even work in our favor. No one’s going to be able to claim it was a put-up job, with the Lords forced to vote in favor at bayonet point. At the same time, the overwhelming majority in the Commons has to serve as pretty firm notice to the dissenters that the rest of the Princedom isn’t putting up with any foolishness.”

  “And the fact that there won’t be any retaliation against the Lords who voted against it should demonstrate we meant what we said about the rule of law,” Sharleyan agreed. “Even if we do know some of them would jump at the chance to rebel if they thought they could make it work.”

  “But they can’t make it work, and with Coris, Anvil Rock, and Tartarian to advise Irys and Daivyn, they won’t get a chance to make it work,” her husband observed in satisfied tones, then laughed suddenly. “And on top of that, there’ll be Daivyn’s brother-in-law and his advice. I’m sure it’ll have a … profoundly moving effect on Irys, at least.”

  “You’re a bad man, Cayleb Ahrmahk,” Sharleyan told him with a grin. “Not that Hektor won’t give her perfectly good advice, if she asks. I think he’s smart enough not to cram it at her, though. He’d darned well better be, at any rate!”

  “After the bee you put in his ear before he sailed for Corisande?” Cayleb rolled his eyes. “I really expected to hear him saying ‘Yessssssss, Mom. I understaaaaannnnd!’”

  “I was not that bad, Cayleb, and you know it!”

  “No, you weren’t,” Cayleb conceded. “And fortunately he’s not only smart enough to understand why you raised the point but smart enough to’ve refrained from doing it on his own even if you hadn’t warned him.”

  “I was surprised Parliament went along with Gairlyng’s suggestion to schedule the wedding so soon,” Merlin put in. “I think it’s a good idea—especially coming from the Corisandian side, not ours—but I expected a little more hesitation out of Parliament. A little pushback from the Lords, at least.”

  “Unless and until Parliament gets around to changing the law, the Crown would pass through Anvil Rock’s nephew before it passed through Irys, anyway,” Sharleyan pointed out. “Mind you, we happen to know courtesy of the SNARCs that Anvil Rock and Tartarian—and Gairlyng—intend to quietly change that as soon as they can get away with it. It’s going to be at least a few years, though. In fact, my own feeling is that it would be best to wait until Daivyn’s assumed the Crown in his own right and pushes for the change himself.

  “For Parliament at large, however, it’s more a case of cementing us—Cayleb and me—to the Daykyn Dynasty rather than the other way around. They’ve decided that if they’re going to be part of the Empire, they want to be included on the best possible terms and with the best possible representation at the very highest level. And how better to accomplish that than to marry their prince’s sister to the Emperor and Empress’ son?”

  “Put that way, it makes a lot of sense,” Merlin acknowledged. “I guess I really still don’t think like a dynast.”

  “It’s going to be a while yet before Safeholdian rulers stop thinking like dynasts,” Cayleb said. “The only place with a real tradition of elective rulers is here in the Republic, and even Siddarmark’s more like that place you and I were talking about back on Old Earth than the Terran Federation ever was, Merlin.”

  “Venice?”

  “That’s the place. It may be an elective system with a constitution to keep it that way, but elections and political decisions are in the hands of—what? Fifteen percent of the total population?”

  “About that,” Merlin agreed. “But only because those are the acknowledged ‘great families.’ And even if the Constitution’s property qualifications give them a lock on actually holding office, the franchise is a lot broader than that. More and more of the middle class was leaking over into the great families even before the Sword of Schueler, and the pressure to lower the property threshold for office holders has been building for forty years now. Given how many members of the great families went over to the Church—and how big a chunk of the middle class stayed loyal—I’m pretty confident there’ll be some significant changes in the political equation after the smoke clears. And unless I’m badly mistaken, Stohnar and Maidyn see that as clearly as I do. I’d say they have at least half an eye on engineering a soft landing when the Siddarmarkian establishment has to bow to the new realities. Their example could make for some interesting challenges for you absolutist Charisian monarchists, too.”

  “Smile when you say that, seijin!” Cayleb retorted. “If you think we’re going to have challenges, just imagine what it’s going to be like in Harchong!”

  “I prefer not to, if it’s all the same to you. I’m not particularly fond of the Harchongese aristocracy, but it’s going to be ugly when the wheels start coming off—especially in northern Harchong.”

  “Personally, I’ll be surprised if the southern provinces don’t secede,” Sharleyan said. “That’s where all the merchants and industry are already, and the rate of industrialization south of the Gulf’s only going to make the southerners’ even more restless. Especially when the aristocrats try to turn back the clock as soon as the war’s over, and you know they’re stupid enough to try just that.”

  “That’s certainly possible,” Merlin agreed, “but I’m betting it’ll be even worse in the north. That’s where most of the ‘Mighty Host of God and the Archangels’ ’ conscripts are from, and if Maigwair succeeds in turning them into an effective fighting force, there’s likely to be hell to pay. At least some of those serfs aren’t going to be very happy about being sent home to their owners again, and that could turn really ugly.”

  “Uglier than we’ve already seen in the Republic?” Sharleyan asked grimly. “Because I’ve got to tell you, Merlin, I can live with a little ‘ugly’ for the people behind what’s happened there. Some ‘sauce for the wyvern’ seems in order.”

  “I can’t say I disagree, Sharley.” Merlin grimaced. “The problem’s that a lot of people who didn’t have any choice about what happened will get ground up in the gears. And as I mentioned to Domynyk once upon a time, peasant wars—slave rebellions, really, because that is what it would be—may be the only things even more ghastly than religious wars … for both sides.”

  There was silence for a long moment, then he inhaled deeply.

  “We seem to be wandering a bit from the topic of Corisande,” he observed.

  “That’s because Corisande’s pretty well sewed up,” Cayleb replied. “When Gairlyng pushed Parliament to set October twenty-second for Daivyn’s coronation and the twenty-fourth for the wedding, I knew it was all over except sweeping up the flower petals. I believe it’s called ‘a done deal,�
�� Merlin.”

  “And the fact that Maikel’s going to be arriving in Manchyr in time for both of them won’t hurt one bit,” Sharleyan agreed in tones of profound satisfaction. “There’s a reason Koryn Gahrvai’s already discussing how best to integrate his Corisandian Guard into the Imperial Army, Merlin.”

  “Don’t sprain your elbow patting yourself on the back, dear,” Cayleb suggested with a grin. “Mind you, I agree you deserve the dragon’s—or perhaps the dragoness’, in this case—share of the credit, but modesty is a pleasing characteristic in a ruler.”

  “You are so lucky I don’t have a recon skimmer I could use to fly to Siddar City and kick you somewhere painful, Cayleb Ahrmahk!”