“At the moment, Koryn’s position at Talbor Pass is the only thing keeping Cayleb’s entire army out of Manchyr. I rather suspect that what he could do with forty or fifty thousand Marines, especially since all of them seem to have those Shan-wei-damned rifles, would dwarf what we’re seeing now. Not to mention costing me the capital, which would also have a somewhat negative effect on morale.”
“I understand that, My Prince,” Raimynd said. “At the same time, though, I’m worried about the possibility Taryl raised at the very beginning. What if Cayleb decides to use his transports to swing his entire army around behind Sir Koryn without ever attacking his position at Talbor?”
“He might still do that,” Anvil Rock said.
The earl looked older than he had a month or two before. The shocking totality of his son’s defeat at Haryl’s Crossing—and the news that Sir Charlz Doyal had been seriously wounded and captured by the Charisians—had shaken him badly. As he and Hektor had pored over Gahrvai’s reports, they’d realized that what had happened was certainly not his fault. Or, for that matter, anyone else’s. The fact that he’d gotten even four thousand of his infantry, and virtually all of his cavalry, out of the Charisian trap was remarkable, under the circumstances . . . and also explained what had happened to Doyal and virtually all of his artillerists. But what had happened at Haryl’s Crossing was a grim warning that any future battle in anything remotely like open terrain would be an expensive proposition.
And it hadn’t done the confidence and morale of his troops one bit of good, either.
“He might still do it,” Anvil Rock repeated. “In fact, I half expect him to. At the moment, according to our own scouts, he’s short of the troop lift he’d need to reembark his entire army. It sounds as if he had too much shipping for Dairos and sent the rest of his transports back to Chisholm or Zebediah to ride out the storm season. That’s probably what’s stopping him for now. He doesn’t want to send half of his army out to the end of a limb Koryn might manage to saw off behind him. And he’s also still very short of cavalry. It doesn’t look like he has more than four or five thousand horse, total, which means that once he gets inland, we have the mobility advantage.”
“Do you think he’ll move to his right? Use one of the more northern passes, instead?” Tartarian asked, and Anvil Rock shook his head.
“I doubt it, for a couple of reasons. First, as I just said, he’s very short on cavalry. If he starts pulling troops away from Talbor and sending them north, Koryn has Windshare’s cavalry scouts hovering off Cayleb’s flanks, watching for exactly something like that. If he heads inland with an infantry army, Windshare will definitely be able to get a force into position to block any of the other passes before he reaches them. Cavalry alone isn’t going to stop Charisian Marines with rifles, of course. But Windshare’s troopers will at least slow them down, and Koryn’s infantry can march just as quickly as Charisians can. Not only that, but there are defensive positions in most of those passes which are almost as good as the ground at Talbor. Not quite, but almost. So he’s not going to gain any significant tactical advantage by moving north, and doing that would also take him further away from his own base of operations and from the coast, where he can best utilize his seapower advantage effectively.”
“Which he isn’t going to want to do,” Tartarian said, nodding in understanding and agreement.
“Exactly.” Anvil Rock grimaced. “I’m not proposing any sort of boundless optimism here, but I’m beginning to think Cayleb may plan on staying put in Dairwyn until he decides he can risk the weather and bring his transports back to Dairos. At that point, of course, I’m afraid he is going to look for ways to break his army loose in Koryn’s rear by hitting us here, closer to the capital.”
“He won’t take on Manchyr’s batteries,” Hektor said confidently. “And by the time he could get here, the earthworks you and your men are throwing up to cover the landward side of the city are going to be almost as tough.”
“Agreed.” Anvil Rock nodded, but his expression remained unhappy. “I’m not really concerned about the capital’s immediate security, My Prince. He can have all of the rifles he wants, but as long as our men keep their heads down behind a good, solid earthwork, he won’t be able to get at them without coming into musket range. And as nasty as his field artillery is, it doesn’t have the range or the weight to stand up to the heavy guns we’re mounting in the fortifications. He’d need siege artillery for that, and we’ve seen no sign of such heavy guns yet. Of course, he can always land dozens of heavy guns from his fleet, but he’s going to want to have a secure anchorage somewhere close to Manchyr before he does that. He’s certainly not going to want to drag naval guns and carriages any further overland than he absolutely has to!
“But if he manages to pen up a substantial portion of our troop strength as a garrison here in the capital, that frees his own forces to maneuver against other cities, or inflict damage on our manufactories and farms that would make anything we’ve seen out of his landing parties so far seem like no more than a minor annoyance. If he puts the capital under siege, our situation is going to be about as grim as it gets.”
“If he manages that, then I may have to go ahead and sue for terms.” Hektor looked like a man sucking on sour persimmon figs.
“My Prince—” Earl Coris began, his own expression concerned, but Hektor shook his head.
“Don’t say it, Phylyp. And don’t think you’re worrying about anything I haven’t worried about. Still, that fat little bugger Nahrmahn seems to have made out remarkably well, doesn’t he?”
Hektor’s expression turned more sour than ever. Anything less like a cat-lizard than the rotund Prince of Emerald would be difficult to imagine, but the little bastard had most definitely landed on his feet. Hektor didn’t know which irritated him more. The fact that Nahrmahn had so promptly and effortlessly deserted to the other side—and done so damnably well out of it!—or the fact that he himself had obviously been underestimating the Emeraldian for years.
“With all due respect, My Prince—” Coris said.
“Oh, I know how much Cayleb hates me. To be honest, I can’t say I blame him; in his shoes I’d probably feel the same. No, let’s be fair. If I were in his shoes, I would hate my guts. After all, I’ve been trying to break Charis for years now, and it was my Navy which managed to kill his father at Darcos Sound. On the other hand, Haarald died in open battle, and I’m not the one who tried to have Cayleb himself assassinated and conspired with his cousin to usurp his father’s throne. Oh, and let’s not forget that a successful usurpation would have required his father’s murder, as well. And probably his younger brother’s, too.”
“No,” Coris acknowledged in the voice of a man edging delicately into dangerous waters. “Still, My Prince, don’t forget that Cayleb is a married man now. And however he might feel about you, I don’t believe there’s much question about how Sharleyan feels.”
“Believe me, that’s not a point I’m likely to forget.” Hektor showed his teeth in what definitely was not a smile. “If it weren’t for that unfortunate little fact, I might already have tried opening negotiations with him. Still, if he has the choice between making at least minimal concessions to me or seeing several thousand more people killed—and this time, quite a few of them would be his men, not just ours—he may decide to turn reasonable. Whatever else he may be, and leaving aside our own propaganda on that point, he’s not really a bloodthirsty monster, you know. An extraordinarily dangerous—and pissed-off—young man, I’ll grant you, but not a monster.”
Coris looked dubious, but he allowed the point to drop, and Hektor turned his attention back to Anvil Rock and Tartarian.
“I don’t know if I’m completely convinced by your logic, Rysel. It sounds reasonable, mind you, and I don’t have any better analysis to offer. I just don’t want us to get too wedded to the belief that he’s going to simply sit there until he’s recalled more of his transports. For now, though, I see no option but to
continue as we are while pressing the fortification of the capital as hard as we can.
“In the meantime, though, there is one precaution I want to take.”
He paused, and his advisers looked at one another as the silence stretched out. Finally, Coris cleared his throat.
“Yes, My Prince?”
“I want Irys and Daivyn safely out of Corisande.”
Hektor said the words as if they cost him physical pain, and Coris’ eyebrows rose in astonishment.
“I know Irys will fight me on this one,” Hektor continued. “And I know there are risks involved, and not just the ususal ones of a normal voyage long enough to get them somewhere more or less safe. Outside my protection, the two of them become potential hostages. But if they’re outside Cayleb’s reach, as well, they also represent a potential trump card tucked away in my tunic pocket. He can’t simply arbitrarily reject an invitation to negotiate in favor of taking my head when he knows that Daivyn will still be alive to be used against him even if both Hektor and I are killed. And, to be honest, I’m not quite as confident as I’d like to be that he won’t decide it’s time to be rid of the House of Daykyn once and for all. Or of its male members, at any rate,” he added just a bit more harshly, and his face turned briefly hard as marble.
“But where would you send them, My Prince? And how would you get them past Cayleb’s navy?”
“I’ll get them past Cayleb by selling half my soul and my left testicle to the Siddarmarkian ambassador,” Hektor said dryly. “He’s almost Charisian in his taste for nice, tall stacks of marks. I think he’ll agree to grant them sanctuary if I come up with the right inducement, and any ship flying his personal standard is the same as his own embassy. Siddarmark is too important to Charis for Cayleb to violate its flag, I think, even if he knows Irys and Daivyn are aboard.”
“My Prince,” Tartarian said very seriously, “I advise against relying on that.” Hektor raised an eyebrow, and Tartarian shrugged. “First, Siddarmark is friendly enough with Cayleb that I’m not completely convinced we can trust Stohnar’s ambassador in something this important. Secondly, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, given that friendship, if Cayleb isn’t already receiving regular spy reports from someone on his staff. And if Cayleb does learn Irys and Daivyn are onboard that ship, he certainly will intercept it. No doubt he’ll be properly horrified by the way one of his captains has exceeded his orders and violated Siddarmarkian neutrality. I’m sure he’ll promptly release the vessel, and probably apologize profusely and pay a handsome indemnity, to boot. But if he does, I can assure you that your son and daughter will not be aboard that ship when she docks in Siddarmark.”
“You may be right,” Hektor said after a long, silent pause. “But I still want them in safety. And not just for political reasons, Taryl.”
“My Prince, all of us know that,” Tartarian said gently. “But if that’s what you desire, please let us try to find a way which is less likely to deliver them directly into your enemies’ hands.”
“Such as?”
“Not even Cayleb’s navy can be everywhere at every moment, My Prince. I doubt very much that I could possibly get any of our war galleons to sea without having them intercepted. I think it would be possible to get a single small, fast vessel out of one of the secondary ports which isn’t as heavily picketed, however. Especially if we pick our time and weather carefully. And once a small, unimportant-looking vessel flying, say, Siddarmarkian or Harchongese colors is well away, it’s unlikely any Charisian cruiser or privateer is going to bother her, even if they manage to sight her in the first place.”
Hektor looked suddenly more thoughtful.
“You really think that’s possible?” He looked at Tartarian with the eyes of an anxious father, as well as a prince, and his naval commander nodded.
“My Prince, I know how much you love all your children,” he said, very carefully not saying the word “daughter,” then raised one hand, palm uppermost. “I can’t say there’s no risk involved in my suggestion. I won’t say that. But I will tell you, as one father speaking to another, that if they were my own children, this is still what I would recommend. Of course there’s risk involved. I simply believe it’s the lowest risk available to us.”
“Let me think about it,” Hektor said. “You’ve raised some very telling points, and I’ll be honest. The thought of exposing them to this sort of risk, even aboard one of our own ships, frightens me.”
“If you do send them out of the princedom, My Prince, where would you send them to?” Coris asked.
“I don’t have a very long list to choose from,” Hektor said dryly. “For what it’s worth, I think they’ll probably be safest with Zhames of Delferahk at the moment.”
The others frowned, clearly considering what he’d just said. Delferahk was scarcely the most powerful of the mainland realms, but Queen Consort Hailyn was Hektor’s fourth cousin. That would give Irys and Daivyn at least some blood claim upon King Zhames’ protection. And the fact that Delferahk wasn’t a player in the traditional power struggles of the mainland’s larger kingdoms should minimize the temptation to use Hektor’s children as pawns. In addition, reports of what had happened to Ferayd had reached Manchyr. It seemed unlikely Zhames was going to feel like doing any favors for Cayleb anytime soon, so he was most unlikely to simply turn Irys and Daivyn over to Charis.
Which left—
“My Prince,” Coris said quietly, “do you think the Temple will allow them to remain in Delferahk?”
“I don’t know,” Hektor confessed, his face tightening. “If Clyntahn decides any surrender I arrange shows I’m disloyal to the Temple—or, at least, to his precious Group of Four—there’s no telling how he’ll react. And if we’re wrong, if Cayleb does decide he needs my head, and if anything happens to Hektor, Irys and Daivyn will suddenly become even more valuable than they are now. It’s not a good solution; it’s only the best one I can come up with.”
Coris nodded, but his expression was still troubled, and Hektor smiled faintly.
“I have come up with one way to give them at least a little additional protection, Phylyp.”
“You have, My Prince?” Coris’ tone was suddenly the slightest bit wary, and Hektor’s smile grew broader.
“Indeed I have. In addition to getting Irys and Daivyn out, Taryl is going to get you out. I’ll provide you with a writ of authority as Irys’ guardian until she comes of age, and of regency in Daivyn’s name, in case, well—”
He shrugged, and Coris frowned.
“My Prince, I’m honored by your trust, but—”
“Don’t say it. I know a lot of people are going to assume the worst about how you ‘came by’ those writs. After all, you are my spymaster, aren’t you? However, it will be witnessed by the entire Council, and I think you’ll be able to make its legitimacy stand up. More to the point, I’m going to need someone like you looking out for them. Someone who’s accustomed to outthinking other players. I know you don’t want to go, and I fully realize that if Cayleb is feeling vengeful here in Corisande, your chances of retaining your earldom won’t be very good. But of everyone I can think of here in Manchyr, you’re the one best suited to advise Irys and keep her out of the Church’s clutches for as long as you can.”
Coris looked as if he was tempted to argue. But then, instead, he closed his mouth and nodded.
“Of course I will, My Prince,” he said quietly.
Hektor met his eyes for a moment, then nodded briskly.
“Very well,” he said crisply. “In that case, I think we’re done here for the day.”
. III .
Helen Island,
Kingdom of Charis
Empress Sharleyan angled her parasol carefully as she crossed the mountain valley’s grassy field at Earl Gray Harbor’s side. The first councilor had wanted to provide her with a carriage, but after one look at the narrow, twisting track—calling it a “road” would have constituted physical assault on a perfectly respectable noun—Captain Gai
raht and Sergeant Seahamper had flatly rejected that possibility. Fortunately, Sharleyan had always been an excellent horsewoman, although she suspected her style of horsemanship had come as something of a shock to her new Charisian subjects. Well, that was too bad, and she hoped their sensibilities hadn’t been bruised, but she wasn’t about to begin learning to ride sidesaddle at this late date.
At least she’d had time to have the palace seamstresses run up a new riding habit for her, with the divided skirt made of cotton silk rather than the heavier—and sweatier—fabric she would have been wearing in Chisholm at this time of year. She’d found that her northern complexion was profoundly grateful for the Charisian innovation of the parasol, but she’d also decided which five months of the year she wanted to spend in Charis and which in Chisholm. Snow was all very well in its place, and no doubt she would eventually miss February in Cherayth. Probably by the time she was, oh, sixty or so, at the very latest.
She smiled slightly at the thought, but the smile faded as she considered the loose ring of bodyguards surrounding her alertly even here.
Gairaht and Seahamper kept an eagle eye on everything around her. She considered suggesting that they might relax just a little bit, but she knew better. She’d had far too many years to grow accustomed to that sort of omnipresent protectiveness. Besides, it would have hurt their feelings, and at least they’d managed to get over a dozen of Cayleb’s Charisian guardsmen integrated into their own detail, and still more would be joining it over the next few months. She suspected Gairaht had been tempted to protest, at least initially, but if he had, he’d been far too smart to succumb to the temptation. Sharleyan wasn’t about to surround herself with a “bunch of foreigners” as if she didn’t trust the Charisians to protect her. And she was rather amused by “her” Charisians’ reaction to their new assignment. If anything, they were even more fanatical about protecting their new empress than her original Chisholmians were about protecting their old queen.