The priest nodded, albeit a bit grudgingly, and Ahrloh lit another lantern from the wick of the first and led the way down a narrow aisle between dusty bottles.
“Let’s go get that bottle of the good stuff,” he suggested. “In fact, let’s get two of it. I think your news is worth cracking the seal for a wee dram or two of our own before you head back out into the ice and snow.”
* * *
“Hello, Stefyny.”
Stefyny Mahlard opened her eyes at the sound of her name.
She was warm. That was her first thought, the very first thing she realized. She was warm, and her vision blurred as that blessed, glorious warmth flowed through her. And then she realized she wasn’t hungry, either. And that she didn’t hurt—not anywhere.
She blinked away the tears of gratitude and made her eyes focus.
She lay on a bed, warmer and more wonderfully comfortable than any bed she’d ever felt, in a nest of crisp, clean sheets and blankets. An arched stone ceiling soared above her, glassy smooth and gleaming as if it had been polished in the light of some sort of lamp. That had to be what it was, although she’d never imagined any lamp remotely like it.
A lady leaned over her—the most beautiful lady she’d ever seen—and a soft hand was gentle on her cheek.
“Are … are you an angel?”
Her voice sounded tiny, even to herself, and the lady smiled, then sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress didn’t even dip, a corner of Stefyny’s mind realized, and the lady shook her head.
“No, dearling.” Her voice was as beautiful as her face. “No, I’m not an angel, and this isn’t Heaven. I’m sure a girl like you will go there eventually, but not yet.”
“I’m not dead?”
Somehow she felt almost disappointed, and she blushed as the lady laughed gently and smoothed the hair—the beautiful, clean, freshly washed hair—back from Stefyny’s forehead.
“Not yet,” she said. “And neither are your father and Sebahstean, although I’m afraid they’re not awake yet. I promise you, all of you are as safe as if you were cradled in the hand of God, but you and I need to talk for a little bit before they wake up, all right?”
“All right,” Stefyny agreed. It had to be a dream, she thought. This couldn’t possibly really be happening. But if it was a dream, she hoped she would never, ever wake up. “What do we need to talk about?”
“Well, that’s just a tiny bit complicated, sweetheart. First, though, I should introduce myself, I suppose.” The lady smoothed Stefyny’s hair again, and smiled.
“You can call me Nynian,” she said.
APRIL
YEAR OF GOD 897
.I.
The Temple, City of Zion, The Temple Lands
“What do you mean, you don’t know where they are?” Zhaspahr Clyntahn glared at Allayn Maigwair. “How in Langhorne’s name can you lose track of entire armies?”
It was evident from his tone, Rhobair Duchairn thought, that he’d found it very difficult not to insert the word “even” between the words “can” and “you.”
“I could ask you how the Inquisition lost track of how many men were in the heretics’ army to begin with,” Maigwair shot back. “I believe you told us they couldn’t have more than two hundred thousand men in the entire Charisian Army? And that they couldn’t send more than a hundred thousand of them to Siddarmark without Corisande and Zebediah going up in rebellion behind them?”
“They were the best numbers I had!” Clyntahn snapped. “And,” he added, rallying gamely, “Chisholm and Charis—and Corisande—are a hell of a lot farther away on the other side of a damned ocean. It’s just a little harder to get accurate messages back and forth across all that saltwater!”
“Actually,” Duchairn said in his most pacific voice, “the situation’s a lot more similar than you seem to be suggesting, Zhaspahr.”
Clyntahn’s glare swiveled to the Treasurer.
“It’s not saltwater that’s the problem,” Duchairn continued. “It’s distance … and snow. There never were many civilians in the South March, and most of them are gone now.” He forced his tone to remain level and refrained from pointing out just whose fault that was. “The semaphores are down and there aren’t any Faithful left to carry messages. As for the situation in Cliff Peak and the Sylmahn Gap, there are still at least a few people living in the area but the semaphore towers have been burned there, as well, and it’s impossible for Allayn’s people to patrol in the middle of winter. For that matter, they can’t even get messengers through by courier half the time.”
“Well, the heretics seem to be moving around like fleas on a griddle, snow or no snow,” Clyntahn pointed out.
“Because they’re better trained and—obviously—far better equipped for it than our people are,” Maigwair said. “I doubt we would’ve trained our troops to the same extent, anyway, but the fact that we had to kick off the invasion before we’d had time to fully equip our regiments didn’t help.” His eyes met Clyntahn’s hotly. “Rifles weren’t the only thing we didn’t have enough time to manufacture. Things like winter uniforms, skis, snowshoes, gloves, and boots would’ve been nice to have, too.”
“Even stipulating that all of that’s true,” Zahmsyn Trynair interceded as Clyntahn’s jaw muscles bunched, “the point at issue isn’t how we got into this situation. It’s trying to figure out what the heretics have in mind now that we’re in it.”
The Church’s chancellor found himself in an uncomfortable position, outside the growing alliance between Duchairn and Maigwair and afraid to antagonize Clyntahn too openly. By the same token, though, he could sometimes act as a buffer between the others, and at the moment, Duchairn was grateful he could. The last thing they needed was to have the conversation segue back into another exchange over the “spontaneity” of the Sword of Schueler.
“That’s true.” The Treasurer jumped back in firmly. “And the problem, Zhaspahr, is that we don’t know, and we probably won’t know for at least some time. And before you say anything else about that, I assure you that I’m no happier about our ignorance than you are. For that matter, I imagine Allayn’s even unhappier than either of us!”
“Of course I am.” Maigwair shook his head. “They’ve already demonstrated how dangerous it is to lose track of their formations. Admittedly, I doubt any of our remaining field commanders could match the towering pinnacle of incompetence Duke Harless managed to scale with the Army of Shiloh.” Clyntahn’s nostrils flared again, ever so slightly. He’d expected far more out of the Imperial Desnairian Army than Maigwair and Duchairn had warned him they were likely to get. “But even a competent general might’ve been surprised by the heretics’ flank attack through southern Cliff Peak. And that’s what worries me right now. Where else are the bastards headed?”
Duchairn considered the intricately detailed map on the council chamber’s wall. It dated from the Temple’s original construction, so many of those details were no longer accurate, but the markers indicating the positions of their own and the heretics’ forces were placed with as much accuracy as mere mortals could attain.
“What’s your best guess, Allayn?” he asked quietly.
“Well, the two places I’m pretty sure Eastshare isn’t headed are Dohlar or Silkiah,” the Captain General replied. “If he was headed for Dohlar, the Army of the Seridahn would already’ve been smashed. And—”
“Why d’you say that?” Clyntahn demanded.
From his tone, he was emotionally torn. Clyntahn had always regarded Dohlar with suspicion, given King Rahnyld’s desire to emulate the Charisians’ pre-Jihad wealth and merchant fleet. Deep inside, he continued to fundamentally distrust Dohlar’s commitment to the Jihad, but at the same time, the kingdom had been, by almost any measure, Mother Church’s most effective secular ally.
“Because he only has about forty-five thousand men, even with all the reinforcements Duke Salthar’s been able to scrape up. He’s got maybe eight or nine thousand of the new rifles—the original Doh
laran design, not the one from Saint Kylmahn’s—and a grand total of eleven of the new rifled artillery pieces. By our most conservative estimate, Eastshare must’ve had a hundred thousand men, all of his infantry armed with breech-loading rifles, and hundreds of field guns, not to mention those damned portable angle-guns of theirs.” Maigwair raised both hands in front of him. “What do you think would have happened to Rychtyr if Eastshare had brought all of that along to reinforce Hanth, Zhaspahr?”
Clyntahn looked at him a moment longer, then grunted in irritated concession, and Maigwair shrugged.
“So, as I say, he’s not headed for Dohlar. And if he were headed for Silkiah, he’d already be there, especially with the grip the heretic navy’s established on the Gulf of Mathyas and the Gulf of Jahras. They could easily supply him by water, and, for that matter, they could put his troops aboard ship and land them anywhere along the grand duchy’s coast, if that was what they had in mind. Mind you, I imagine they’re going to do that as soon as they get around to it, anyway. I’m only saying it’s clear to me that whatever else they have in mind for the immediate future is more important than the Grand Duchy is.”
And that, Duchairn thought, was worrisome. Conquering Silkiah would deprive the Church of the rifles being produced in the grand duchy, which would represent a painful loss. Loss of the Salthar Canal would be more than merely painful, however. The Imperial Charisian Navy had already shut down its eastern terminus by moving their armored bombardment ships into Silkiah Bay and demolishing the defending batteries. They’d left a blockade squadron to make sure nothing moved out of the Salthar into the bay, and the heretic Hanth’s capture of the town of Somyr had shut down the northern terminus of the Silk Town-Thesmar Canal, as well. There was a difference between losing the use of those transportation links for Mother Church’s own use and losing them to the heretics’ use, though.
They’d have to take the entire grand duchy to really control the Salthar, he reminded himself. And even if they did, the Dohlaran Navy was firmly in control of Salthar Bay at its western end.
For now, that is, he amended, thinking about the heretics’ “steam-powered” ironclads. They had reports of at least six of them now, and Clyntahn’s agents inquisitor promised still more would be arriving over the next several months.
“What worries me most,” he admitted to the others, “is that I can think of only one target anywhere near the South March that might be more valuable to them than either knocking Dohlar out of the Jihad or securing a direct transportation link between Silkiah Bay and the Gulf of Dohlar.”
“The Army of Glacierheart,” Maigwair said flatly with a curt nod. “That’s got to be where they’re headed, even if we haven’t seen them yet. I ordered Kaitswyrth to patrol as aggressively as he can, but I have somewhat less than lively faith in just how much aggressiveness he has left after last summer.” Clyntahn’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but the Captain General shrugged. “At the same time, I do have to admit that the snow’s pretty damned deep in northern Cliff Peak and Westmarch, too,” he said, instead of renewing the argument about relieving Kaitswyurth.
“Tell him to send that arsehole Hennet,” Clyntahn growled, with an expression which boded ill for the Army of Justice’s one-time cavalry commander.
“I’d love to.” Maigwair’s tone showed an increasingly unusual heartfelt agreement with the Grand Inquisitor. “Unfortunately, Zhamsyn won’t let me.”
Clyntahn looked at the chancellor, who shrugged.
“I’m no fonder of the man than either of you are. In fact, I’d be delighted to turn him over to you, Zhaspahr. Unfortunately, he’s related to too many senior Desnairian nobles. Frankly, from the panicky tone of Archbishop Ahdym’s correspondence, our ability to keep the Empire in the Jihad is far from certain. Punishing Hennet the way we all agree he deserves wouldn’t help a bit. In fact, I imagine at least some of his relatives would jump on anything that happened to him as a pretext to declare neutrality.”
A sudden icy silence hovered in the wake of the word “neutrality.”
“Are you seriously suggesting Desnair might … withdraw from the Jihad?” Duchairn asked after a moment. Not, he added to himself, that losing Desnair would necessarily be a catastrophe, if the Desnairian component of the Army of Shiloh was anything to go by. Aside from the contributions coming from its gold mines, at least.
“I think that’s a question for Zhaspahr,” Trynair said.
“It’s not anything they’re thinking about very hard … yet, at least,” the Grand Inquisitor growled. “And I assure you my agents inquisitor are keeping a close eye on anyone who might be inclined in that direction. Unfortunately, they are reporting widespread panic after the Army of Shiloh’s destruction, and there’s been at least some talk—very quiet talk, for the moment—about how well that bastard Gorjah did for himself after Tarot went over to the heretics.”
“Wonderful.” Duchairn shook his head. If Clyntahn was prepared to admit that much, the situation in Desnair must be going from grim to dire even more rapidly than any of his own sources had suggested.
“There’s nothing we can do about that right now,” Maigwair said pointedly. “Which brings me back to what I was saying before. All of our spy reports, such as they are, agree that Stohnar’s been steadily reinforcing his cousin in the Sylmahn Gap. Assuming that’s correct, they’re obviously building towards an all-out push against Bishop Militant Bahrnabai as soon as weather permits. But as far as we know, all of those reinforcements are Siddarmarkian regulars, not Charisians, which leaves the question of what they’re up to. We don’t know exactly what Green Valley’s going to do now that he’s taken Saint Tyldyn; from the way he’s probing around Nybar’s positions, it looks like he’s going after Fairkyn. But he’s a devious bastard, and I’m not comfortable about concluding that’s all he has in mind. Whatever he’s planning, though, it’ll be easy for the heretics to reinforce him as soon as the thaw sets in and they can push their ironclads up the Ice Ash. So I’m as confident as I can be that they’re leaving Wyrshym to him—for now, at least—and sending Eastshare to deal with Kaitswyrth. Eastshare may not’ve moved up into Glacierheart or central Cliff Peak yet—if I had a choice between wintering there and wintering in the South March, I’d choose rain over snow and ice any day—but that’s what he has his eye on.”
“So we should concentrate our efforts on reinforcing Kaitswyrth?” Trynair asked.
“We’ve already earmarked enough fresh troops to bring him back up to close to two hundred and fifty thousand men as soon as the canals melt,” Duchairn replied. “We don’t have much more than that to send. And the truth is that if he’s forced to retreat, his lines of communication are a lot better—and shorter—than anything Wyrshym has. That’s why I’m so much more worried about the Army of the Sylmahn.”
Clyntahn’s expression turned instantly mulish. He remained as adamantly opposed as ever to giving up a single mile of Bahrnabai Wyrshym’s advance.
“Zhaspahr,” Maigwair said, “look at how aggressive Green Valley’s been in the middle of the damned winter! I know he’s operating with specialized troops who’re obviously trained and equipped for exactly those sorts of conditions, but he’s advanced over seven hundred miles in less than a month and a half. That’s an average of almost eight miles a day, for Chihiro’s sake! Once the rivers open and he can move his main supply head forward, all the rest of his army—plus anything else they send him from their reserve in Old Province and anything Stohnar and Parkair can dig up—will be just as mobile as he is. And at that point, he’s going to swing south, close the door behind Wyrshym, and sit there while General Stohnar comes north. It’s going to happen if we don’t do something about it.”
“No,” Clyntahn grated. His shoulders hunched, and he shook his head. “We can’t just cut and run, damn it! Think of the message that would send to all of the Faithful in Siddarmark!”
And of the way it would threaten your damned concentration camps, Zhaspahr, Duchairn thought
coldly.
Which, unfortunately, didn’t mean Clyntahn was entirely wrong. Duchairn lacked the Grand Inquisitor’s army of spies, but he spent far more time than Clyntahn out in the city of Zion itself, actually speaking to Mother Church’s sons and daughters. Despite the fact that he knew he’d become deeply beloved, especially by Zion’s poor, he remained a vicar and one of the Group of Four, so no one was going to complain openly to him. But the Bédardists and Pasqualates who oversaw the soup kitchens and winter housing projects were another matter, and so he knew about the creeping malaise, the uncertainty—even fear—which had stolen through the hearts and minds of Zion on the heels of the stunning reverses the heretics had handed Mother Church’s defenders.
Maybe it has, but what does Zhaspahr think is going to happen if the heretics do to Wyrshym what they’ve already done to Harless and Ahlverez?
“—a valid point,” Maigwair was saying. “But if we suffer another—”
“We won’t,” Clyntahn said flatly. “You’ve just pointed out that the troops Green Valley’s operating with are specialized, and that the heretics don’t have many of them. By the time rivers like the Ice Ash start melting, the Harchongians will be able to move, too, won’t they?”
“Probably,” Maigwair conceded. “But they’ll be moving overland, and—”
“And most of them are from North Harchong,” Clyntahn interrupted again. “If we have a force anywhere that can move in winter conditions, it’s got to be them, doesn’t it?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“Haven’t you and Rhobair been telling us how important it was to equip and train the Harchongians? And haven’t we been getting all those glowing reports about how well it’s gone?”
“We have,” Maigwair admitted. “It would still be better to shorten Wyrshym’s lines of communication, Zhaspahr. And I doubt very much that the Mighty Host”—he used the term quite seriously, Duchairn noted—“will be able to move before the heretics are able to attack in the Sylmahn Gap.”