“Father Ahbel has, and so has Sister Ahmai.” Cayleb twitched his mouth in sour amusement. “With the two of them signed on, I think we can consider it what Merlin and Nimue would call a ‘done deal.’ All that’s left is the formal nose-counting, and frankly I think how strongly Sandaria’s finally come around is working in our favor. For a while there it looked like we’d made a huge mistake in her case. I could almost hear some of them saying ‘Act in haste and repent at leisure, young man!’” He rolled his eyes. “Now that she’s made her mind up, their relief makes our judgment look a lot sounder to them again, and I think we should ride that for all it’s worth. I won’t say they’re happy about the thought of adding Coris, because I don’t think they are—still a bit of that ‘But he worked for Hektor!’ to be overcome, I think—and they weren’t exactly overjoyed about approaching Sir Dunkyn on such short notice, either. They’re about to jump in Coris’ favor, though. And even if they weren’t, this would be another of those times you and I together would have to jointly overrule them.”
“In that case, I need to stay long enough to get him firmly on board. Once that’s done, I can leave him—and Nimue—to support Irys and Daivyn. That should be more than enough support for anybody!”
“I wish there wasn’t that element that resents the hell out of her pregnancy,” Cayleb said a bit fretfully. “The sort of people who get their noses out of joint over something like that are just the sort of people likely to do something monumentally stupid!”
“They are, but there aren’t that many of them. And they’d have to get past Nimue, Coris, Koryn, Anvil Rock, Tartarian, Charlz Doyal, Alyk Ahrthyr, and the Royal Guard, dear,” Sharleyan pointed out. “I won’t say they couldn’t do it if all of those very capable people managed to screw up simultaneously. I will say there are more profitable things you might spend your time worrying about, though.”
“I know. I know!” Cayleb shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t be worrying about it as much if that bitch hadn’t come so close to killing both of them on the cathedral steps. But you’re right, and I know it.”
“Well, in that case, I think we can agree Corisande will do just fine even without my skilled hand on the tiller.”
“Granted—assuming we bring Coris on board and it turns out he really can handle the truth. And I agree with you: you need to be there personally to tell him. It’s not something we can or should delegate to Irys and Nimue, especially if it turns out he’s not ready to handle it after all. If he has to suffer a sudden ‘stroke’ and be carted off to the Cave, we’ll really need you there to put out the forest fires. But I’m pretty sure he will be … which brings us back to Chisholm, and I have to say I’m getting a little more worried about that. In fact, I’m a lot more worried than I was last summer, Sharley.”
“I admit Rock Coast and Black Horse have put more thought and effort into it than I ever expected out of such less than brilliant conspirators,” she conceded. “I think Ahlber, Sylvyst, and Braisyn are still on top of things though.”
“Courtesy of the ‘seijin network.’” Cayleb nodded. “But that’s not the same as having one of us on the ground to act on that intelligence, and while I’m very happy about having recruited Dunkyn, Irys, and Hektor and I’ll be delighted to add somebody as competent as Coris to the mix, we don’t have anyone from the circle in Chisholm at the moment. That’s something we should have taken care of long since.”
“I know. But the main reason we haven’t is that we didn’t need anyone as badly as we need someone here in Corisande. I’ve known I could trust the people I had looking after things as long as we could provide them with the information they needed to make good decisions. I don’t see how that’s changed, Cayleb, and General Kahlyns has almost completed training the new regiments, so it’s not like Braisyn won’t have a big stick if he needs one. For now, at least.”
Cayleb grunted unhappily. Like Sharleyan, he had great faith in Braisyn Byrns, Earl White Crag, her first councilor. Sylvyst Mhardyr, Baron Stoneheart, her lord justice; and Sir Ahlber Zhustyn, her spymaster, were also smart, loyal, and competent. For that matter, Sir Fraizher Kahlyns was as reliable as they came, as well. Kahlyns was of commoner stock—his grandfather had been a serf—totally unimpressed by the aristocracy’s complaints, and as loyal and tough a soldier as Safehold had ever produced. He wasn’t its most brilliant soldier, however, which was one reason he’d been left home to train the new recruits when Duke Eastshare took Kynt Clareyk, Ahlyn Symkyn, Sir Breyt Bahskym, and Bartyn Sahmyrsyt to Siddarmark. The other reason was that there wasn’t a single man on Safehold Ruhsyl Thairis trusted more than he did Sir Fraizher Kahlyns.
But if Sharleyan was right about the men she could rely upon, she was also right about Duke Rock Coast and Duke Black Horse. They were working much more circumspectly and carefully than Cayleb would have expected, and the Grand Duke of Mountain Heart was listening even more closely to them than he had before. Worse, Rebkah Rahskail, the Dowager Countess of Swayle, had arranged a betrothal between her son, Wahlys, and the younger sister of Sir Bryndyn Crawfyrd, Duke of Holy Tree. That had to be a bad sign, and Cayleb wasn’t the only one who thought so. Earl Dragon Hill, Rock Coast and Black Horse’s customary partner in intrigue, seemed to be growing increasingly concerned over his colleagues’ apparent intentions, but they were confiding less and less deeply in him. Which, of course, only made him even more nervous.
“We ought to go ahead and arrest Rydach, seize Lady Swayle’s correspondence, charge them with treason, and break this entire thing wide open right now,” he said. “We know what they’re planning, and—”
“And we still couldn’t prove everyone’s involvement just from Lady Swayle and Rydach’s correspondence,” Sharleyan interrupted. “And we can’t justify moving against a grand duke, three dukes, and an earl—all but one of whom are known to have been my political opponents for years—without ironclad proof of their involvement. You know that. And much as I’d like to see all five of them a head shorter, if we violate their rights on the basis of the skimpy evidence we could seize from Swayle and Rydach, we’d make a lot of disgruntled but not currently treasonous nobles wonder if they’re next on our list. That would be true even if we were later able to prove every one of them was guilty of sin, and the truth is that Holy Tree isn’t guilty of anything overtly treasonable. Not yet, at least.”
“But if we wait, and even if Braisyn’s ready to pounce the instant these bastards come out into the open, a lot of innocent people are likely to get hurt, Sharley. And I don’t like what they seem to have in mind for Lady Cheshyr one bit.”
Karyl Rydmakyr, the Dowager Countess of Cheshyr, was in her mid seventies. She was also the regent for her son, Kahlvyn, the current earl. The same carriage accident which had killed Kahlvyn’s wife ten years earlier had left him paralyzed and incapable of speech, and the Royal Council had named his mother as his regent, at least until his son Styvyn, who was currently fifteen, attained his majority. Lady Cheshyr had been born and raised in the Duchy of Tayt and was one of Sharleyan’s own distant cousins. She was also a shrewd, canny politician, as she had to be, with her none-too-wealthy earldom sandwiched between the duchies of Rock Creek and Black Horse. There was no question where her own loyalties lay, and most of the sparse population of Cheshyr was only too well aware of how much iron ore and coal was likely to flow through their earldom’s magnificent natural harbors—and how much money was likely to flow into their purses—if Cayleb and Sharleyan’s plans for Chisholm’s future came to fruition.
That meant Cheshyr had precious little interest in treason, yet its position meant it separated Rock Creek from Black Horse, while the same harbors made Cheshyr Bay an ideal place for the Imperial Charisian Navy to land the Imperial Charisian Army, or even just the Imperial Charisian Marine Corps to deal with any … unruliness. And that was why Rock Creek and Black Horse felt compelled to add a few paragraphs dealing with Cheshyr to their master plan. It was unlikely Cheshyr could physically resist the much m
ore heavily populated duchies if they came at her from both sides, but that would be messy and might suggest that the southwestern nobles weren’t united in their principled stance against Sharleyan’s tyranny and the “foreign influence and intriguers of Charis.”
Fortunately, from their perspective, Lady Cheshyr’s deceased daughter-in-law had been a Seafarer and a second cousin of Zhasyn Seafarer, the current Duke Rock Coast, and Styvyn Rydmakyr—not the most brilliant young man ever born by an unfortunately large margin—venerated his much older cousin Zhasyn, whom he regarded much more as an uncle than as a mere cousin. He was young enough to be malleable, trusting enough to be convinced, and inexperienced enough to think there could be something “romantic” in plotting against the Crown. In fact, he’d already been approached by the conspirators and told them he was prepared to support them. How much support a fifteen-year-old might be able to provide was questionable, of course, and it was probably as well for Styvyn’s present peace of mind (if not his future) that he hadn’t stopped to think how that might shift if someone helped an unfortunate accident happen to his grandmother.
“I don’t like that either—not any of it, and especially not the risk to Lady Karyl.” Sharleyan’s eyes were dark, but her tone was flat and her expression was unflinching. “And I fully intend for Sylvyst and Sir Ahlber—and our ‘seijin network’—to beef up her security. But this is something that’s been brewing ever since my father’s death, and you know it. The Army and Mahrak Sahndyrs—and I—broke the aristocracy’s power, but we never broke the aristocracy itself. Or, at least, we never made them admit we had. Ambitious nobles are like that Hydra creature Nahrmahn found in Owl’s library files, and it’s been less than twenty years since I took the throne. Most of the people involved in this remember me when I was only twelve years old, Cayleb! Idiots like Rock Coast and Black Water can convince themselves that I’m still only twelve and that it was only Mahrak and Uncle Byrtrym who let me beat them the first time around. Well, Uncle Byrtrym’s dead, and Mahrak’s a retired invalid, and we both know it’s only a matter of time until you and I have to deal with something serious coming out of the southwest, whatever happens. We can do it in a series of plots, attempted rebellions, and passive resistance that could go on for the next two or three decades, or we can do exactly what you did in Zebediah.”
Cayleb pushed back in his chair in his Siddar City suite, looking out the windows at the snowy dark. He knew what she meant, and a part of him agreed with her, and yet—
“I don’t like the thought of an actual uprising in Chisholm, Sharley,” he said softly. “I don’t like the thought of who’s going to get hurt if that happens, and I’m afraid from their timing that that’s exactly what they have in mind.”
“I don’t like the idea of that any more than you do, and I hope it won’t actually come to that.”
Sharleyan’s scowl suggested she might be just a little less confident than she wanted to appear. Unfortunately, quite a bit of that circumspection coming out of Rock Coast and Black Horse was the result of the conspirators’ calculations where the Imperial Charisian Army was concerned. General Kahlyns had indeed almost completed the training of the new regiments, and many of those new soldiers were Zebediahan and Tarotisian, with more than a smattering of unnatural Charisians who preferred dry land to the open sea thrown in for good measure. The Royal Chisholmian Army had always displayed a bedrock loyalty to the Crown, and those “foreign” recruits were even less likely to be swayed by any conflicting Chisholmian loyalties. But over half those newly trained soldiers would be dispatched to Siddarmark as reinforcements and replacements within the next month or two.
Originally, the conspirators had apparently intended to make their move as soon as those units were shipped off and Kahlyns’ troop strength had been drastically reduced. Unfortunately, from their perspective—and from Sharleyan’s, if she was going to be honest—they’d decided they couldn’t be ready in time. The implications of the fact that they were willing to wait, prepared to spend the additional time in laying their plans and preparing the groundwork to be sure they had it right before they struck, was bad enough. Worse, perhaps, they’d realized that Kahlyns’ training programs would promptly begin training still more new troops once those reinforcements had been dispatched. That meant they had no intention of coming out into the open anytime soon, yet whatever happened this year, next year would see an even more desperate grapple and very probably a major Charisian and Siddarmarkian offensive on the mainland. Coming up with the forces needed for operations on that scale would require additional, massive reinforcements, far more than were likely to be shipped off this year. And when that happened, they’d realized, it would almost certainly reduce the Imperial Army’s available troop strength in Chisholm to an even lower level than the one to which it had dipped the previous summer.
“I hope it won’t actually come to that,” she repeated. “But I also believe—no, Cayleb, I know—that it’s time we cut off every single one of this Hydra’s heads once and for all. We need to give them enough rope, let them proceed far enough that when we pounce, and when all these traitors face justice, no one will be able to doubt their guilt any more than they could doubt the guilt of Craggy Hill or any of the other conspirators in Corisande. Unless something changes their thinking radically, they aren’t going to try anything overt until we actually ship all of General Kahlyns’ troops off to Siddarmark next summer, so it’s not like I need to rush home to put out any raging forest fires before then. If anything changes in that regard, we’ll know about it as soon as they do, thanks to the SNARCs. And, frankly, they’re a lot more likely to commit themselves that far, give us the evidence we need to cut out the cancer once and for all, if I’m not in Cherayth, and you know it.”
Cayleb looked into her eyes for endless seconds. And then, slowly, he nodded. He didn’t like it, but Chisholm was her kingdom. It might be part of their empire, but she was the one who’d come to Chisholm’s throne as a girl of less than thirteen years. She was the one who’d fearlessly broken Chisholm’s nobility to the Crown’s bit and bridle once. If anyone on Safehold could do it again—for the last time, this time—it was she. And she was also the one whose judgment he trusted above that of any other human being.
“All right,” he said. “In that case, that’s our policy. And that being so, I agree that where you need to be next is in Tellesberg.”
“Good,” she replied in a much gentler tone. Her eyes met his, still dark with the steel which had allowed that long-ago girl child to become a ruler, and not just a queen, yet warm. Warm with the knowledge—the understanding—that he wasn’t simply acquiescing, not simply abandoning the argument. “I’ll leave as soon as we have the Coris situation resolved. And at least once I get there, I’ll be six thousand miles closer to you, too.”
.X.
HMS Eraystor, 22, Geyra Bay, Duchy of Harless, Desnairian Empire
“Let’s come two points farther to starboard, Captain Cahnyrs.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” Alyk Cahnyrs glanced over his shoulder at the helmsman. “Two points to starboard,” he said.
“Two points to starboard, aye, Sir,” the man at the wheel responded, and HMS Eraystor turned obediently.
Sir Hainz Zhaztro nodded in satisfaction, stepped back out onto his flagship’s bridge wing, and looked aft, past the smoke pluming from Eraystor’s single funnel. His 2nd Ironclad Squadron was still understrength, with only four of its six assigned ships present, but he watched with approval as HMS Riverbend, HMS Cherayth, and HMS Bayport followed his flagship around. He’d had time to drill his command rigorously, if not quite to his own satisfaction. All his captains understood the standard he expected from them, and their precise stationkeeping was all he could have asked for.
He smiled—more of a grimace than a smile, really—at how impossible a conventional squadron would have found it to match that precision. The Imperial Charisian Navy’s standards of seamanship were the highest in the world, yet not even thei
r skippers could have held such precise station under sail in such fitful wind conditions. Which was, although it would never do to admit it, why he was so much more comfortable with his present command than he’d ever been with a galleon.
His grimace smoothed back into a smile at that thought, yet it was true. As a ship-handler, he’d never quite made the leap from galleys to square-riggers. That was one reason he’d been so delighted when Prince Nahrmahn Gareyt had insisted on putting his own name into nomination when the Navy went looking for officers to command its new ironclads. He’d been pleased by the implied compliment—both by his current prince’s recognition of his service to Prince Nahrmahn, and by Admiral Rock Point’s enthusiastic acceptance of the nomination—but the fact that he didn’t have to worry about managing sails any longer was a vast relief.
The truth was that galleys were actually better preparation for steamers than galleons would have been, and the fact that he was about to demonstrate just how dangerous the Empire of Charis’ newest ironclad class truly was filled him with a solid, vengeful pride. His present objective wasn’t quite as satisfying as bombarding one of the Temple Lands’ port cities would have been, but the City-class was too short-legged for that; without additional coaling stations farther west than Claw Island, Zhaztro’s ships could have operated no deeper into the Gulf of Dohlar than the western coast of Shwei. Personally, he’d rather have been doing exactly that, range limitations or no, but High Admiral Rock Point had been firm. And, Zhaztro admitted, he’d been right, as well. The privateers operating from the Desnairian coastal enclaves were a far greater threat to the war effort in Siddarmark. They needed seeing to, and if that seeing to was the task the Navy needed from him, he damned well intended to do a proper job of it.
Especially given exactly what else operated out of the city of Geyra.
He raised his double-glass and gazed through its lenses at the impressive but ancient—and obsolete—walls and battlements. His squadron had passed through the Nearpalm Passage, between Nearpalm Island and the mainland coast, then turned almost due west to steam through the sixty-mile-wide mouth of the magnificent Geyra Bay, at the northern end of a twenty-three-hundred-mile stretch of coastline which ought, by rights, to have made the Desnairian Empire one of the great seafaring nations of Safehold. Protected by a nearly contiguous chain of islands beginning with Nearpalm in the north and anchored by Crab Shell Island at the extreme southern end, it offered scores of protected anchorages, most of them with deep-water access. Three of Desnair’s major cities—Geyra, Malyktyn, and Desnair the City itself—lay along that stretch of coast, and the Osalk-Sherkal Canal extended for sixteen hundred miles, connecting all three of them to the Sherkal River, barely four hundred miles from Iythria on the Gulf of Jahras.