Page 54 of By Schism Rent Asunder

  And however difficult the journey may be, he told himself once again, ultimately there can be only one destination. This is God's Church, instituted by the Archangels themselves for the salvation of all men's souls. Whatever those misguided souls in Charis may believe, Mother Church must be preserved intact. And because she must, she will. There can be no other outcome . . . as long as we who defend her remain true to her, to the Writ, to the Archangels, and to God.

  He believed that. He knew that. What he didn't know was whether or not God would ever forgive him for the acts to which he had already set his hand.

  He looked one more time at the spot where Erayk Dynnys had died his gruesome death, wondering how many others the Inquisition would send to the same dreadful fate before the challenge to Mother Church's rightful su­premacy had been dealt with. Then he shook his head, tucked his hands into the warm comfort of his cassock's full sleeves, and continued on his way.

  * * * *

  "Well, I see we're all here . . . at last," Zhaspahr Clyntahn said waspishly as Duchairn walked into the conference chamber.

  Warm air flowed easily, effortlessly, throughout the chamber, maintaining the temperature at its customary level of perfect comfort. The imperishable conference table—the work, like the entire Temple, of the Archangels' own hands—was as perfect and unmarred by use as it had been on the very Day of Creation, and the illumination radiating from the ceiling itself flowed down with a shadowless brightness no candle or lamp flame could ever hope to challenge. As always, that irrefutable evidence that he was, indeed, in the presence of the Divine reassured Duchairn that whatever errors mere hu­mans might make, God was capable of setting them all right in the end, as long as His servants were only true to their faith.

  "I'm sorry I'm late," he said now, crossing to his place at that mystic table. "I had several pastoral matters to deal with, and I'm afraid the time got away from me."

  " 'Pastoral matters,' was it?" Clyntahn snorted. "I'd think preserving Mother Church would take precedence over almost any other 'pastoral mat­ter' I could think of."

  Zahmsyn Trynair stirred slightly in his chair at the head of the table. Clyntahn had become even more caustic and abrasive since Dynnys' execu­tion. It was as if the ex-archbishop's final defiance had goaded the Grand In­quisitor into even greater belligerence and vengefulness. And in some peculiar fashion, Duchairn's obviously resurgent faith actually made Clyntahn even more impatient with the Treasurer General. It was almost as if he feared Duchairn's faith would further soften the resolution of the vicar he'd always regarded as the least resolute of the Group of Four to begin with.

  Or perhaps it was simpler than that. Perhaps what had happened with Dynnys had made him wary of what Duchairn might yet do in the name of his refound faith.

  "Whatever you need to talk about, Zhaspahr," Duchairn said serenely, "my arriving here five minutes early or five minutes late isn't going to have any world-shattering consequences. And since that's the case, I saw no need to cut short the counsel and advice one of my bishops required."

  "And how do you—" Clyntahn began irately, but Trynair raised his hand. "He's right, Zhaspahr," the Chancellor said. The Grand Inquisitor turned his glare upon him in turn, but Trynair only looked back at him calmly. "I agree that a certain degree of urgency in responding to this sort of thing is un­doubtedly in order, but we can't afford to simply drop everything and come running whenever some . . . unfortunate bit of news arrives. First, because even with the semaphore, whatever it is that brings us together must already have happened quite some time ago, and our response to it is going to take just as long to reach out from Zion. So frantic haste on our part isn't going to affect things very much, one way or the other. Second, however, is the fact that as vicars of Mother Church, we have many responsibilities, like the ones Rhobair was dealing with this afternoon. We can't allow the schism Charis has created to distract us from all of those other responsibilities. And, third, because it's essential we not allow anyone to believe we've been distracted from those responsibilities by it. Never forget that there are those who are merely waiting for the best opportunity to assail us. If we allow them to be­lieve we've been so badly panicked that the schism crisis is the only thing we can think about, those weaker brethren among the vicarate may be tempted to openly defy our guidance."

  Clyntahn's jowls had darkened, and he'd opened his mouth to retort an­grily, but Trynair's slow, calm, reasonable tone had stopped him. Now he glowered at the Chancellor for another few heartbeats, then shrugged.

  "Oh, very well," he growled.

  Duchairn simply folded his hands in front of him on the table and waited patiently. He remained wary of the Grand Inquisitor's power and increas­ingly irascible temper, but he no longer feared Clyntahn. Which was probably at least a little unreasonable of him, given what Clyntahn had already done to Erayk Dynnys. And, he realized as he sat waiting, the fact that he was no longer afraid of the Grand Inquisitor quite probably explained Clyntahn's in­creasing impatience with him. Zhaspahr Clyntahn didn't like the thought of not being feared.

  There's something I need to consider more deeply in that, the Church's Treasur­er thought. It says something about him, but it says something about me, too.

  "At any rate, we are all here now," Trynair continued. "And since you were the one who requested this meeting, Zhaspahr, why don't you go ahead and tell us why?"

  "Two things, really," Clyntahn replied. The Grand Inquisitor's irritation remained evident, but he straightened in his chair and some of the petulance faded from his expression. "One is a message from Bishop Executor Wyllys, and the other is a message from Father Styvyn in Delferahk."

  "Father Styvyn?" Allayn Maigwair repeated the name, then grimaced. "Which 'Father Styvyn,' Zhaspahr?"

  "He's Bishop Ernyst's intendant in Ferayd," Clyntahn said, and Duchairn's weren't the only eyebrows which rose in surprise.

  "And what exactly makes this message from . . . Father Styvyn, was it?" Trynair looked at Clyntahn, who bobbed his head in a curt nod. "Well, what makes this message from him so important?"

  "I'll get to that in a moment." Clyntahn waved his right hand as if he were pushing something aside on the table in front of him. "It's important, but I think we need to look at the Bishop Executor's message first."

  Trynair nodded, and Duchairn braced himself. He had no illusions about any message Wyllys Graisyn might have sent. Given the tenor of the Emeral­dian bishop executor's recent correspondence, it was obvious Emerald's mili­tary position was about as close to hopeless as mere mortals could expect to come. And Graisyn's more recent analyses of Prince Nahrmahn's options— and inclinations—hadn't exactly provided cheerful bedtime reading.

  "Well, it isn't official yet—or, at least, it wasn't when Graisyn composed his message—but there's not much question that Nahrmahn's turning his coat," Clyntahn growled. All of his listeners sat up in their chairs, eyes nar­rowing, and he shrugged heavy shoulders. "I know Graisyn's been telling us for months that Emerald wouldn't be able to hold out long once Cayleb put his troops ashore, but I don't think even he saw this coming."

  "How good is his information?" Maigwair asked.

  "That's always the question, isn't it?" Clyntahn showed his teeth in a tight grin. "Apparently, neither he nor his intendant could confirm or deny the rumors swirling around Eraystor, but they were able to confirm that Pine Hollow's been sent off somewhere. And most of the rumors agree that there's only one logical place for Nahrmahn to be sending him. And now, apparently, Nahrmahn himself has sailed off somewhere, as well. Would any of you care to place a small wager on what his destination might have been?"

  Duchairn's face tightened in dismay. As Clyntahn said, there'd been little doubt the Charisians could conquer Emerald anytime they got around to it. But having Emerald conquered, bad as it might have been, was a very different prospect from having Emerald voluntarily align itself with the House of Ahrmahk's defiance of Mother Church's authority.

  "I can't believe N
ahrmahn would do such a thing," Maigwair said, but his tone was that of a man trying to convince himself, and Clyntahn snorted again.

  "I can." The Grand Inquisitor's eyes glowed with anger. "Why shouldn't Nahrmahn follow Charis' example? They're right next to each other; they're both halfway around the world from Zion, which leaves them ripe for any heresy that comes along; and Nahrmahn's always had the moral character of a dockside whore."

  It was typical of Clyntahn, Duchairn reflected sourly, that he could con­demn someone else's moral character with absolutely no sense of hypocrisy. "I'm afraid Zhaspahr has a point," Trynair said. "And, in some ways, it's probably difficult to blame Nahrmahn if he has sought an accommodation with Cayleb."

  "I can damned well blame him," Clyntahn retorted. "I didn't say he shouldn't be condemned for it, Zhaspahr," Trynair pointed out. "What I said was that it's difficult to blame him, and on a purely secular level, that's nothing but the simple truth. In fact, that's what's truly dangerous about this."

  "The fact that it neatly removes one distraction we were counting on to keep Charis occupied is scarcely a minor consideration, I'd think," Maigwair put in.

  "Actually, it is," Trynair disagreed coolly. Maigwair bristled, but the Chancellor shook his head. "Think it through, Allayn," he said. "Emerald was never going to be a serious 'distraction' for Charis without a navy to prevent its invasion. Not really, or not for very long, at least. But now Nahrmahn—assuming Graisyn's suspicions prove accurate—has made a political accommodation with Cayleb. I'm not sure how well it's going to work out for him, but I'm as­suming that since he sent Pine Hollow ahead, and then followed himself the terms have to be at least livable. As a matter of fact, if Cayleb is as clever as his father was, he'll probably have offered Nahrmahn remarkably generous terms. He's got a big enough stick in this new navy of his that he can afford to offer some very juicy carrots with his other hand. And if he does, then he's going to make it increasingly tempting for other potential Nahrmahns to reach under­standings with him instead of trying to fight him."

  "Zahmsyn has a point," Duchairn said unhappily. The other three turned to look at him, and he shrugged. "If Nahrmahn's really done this, then it strikes directly at the reliability of all of the secular lords. He's made a political calculation and acted upon it in what can only be construed as deliberate, open defiance of Mother Church. He's put politics and his own personal sur­vival in front of his overriding duty to protect Mother Church's sanctity and authority. Don't think for a moment that there aren't other secular rulers who'd feel exactly the same way in his place. And now they're going to have an example of someone who actually did jettison his loyalty and responsibili­ties to the Church out of pure political expediency. Do you truly think, as­suming he gets away with it, that his example's going to be lost on the next 'Nahrmahn' on Charis' list?"

  "Exactly." Trynair nodded vigorously. "This is something which was probably going to rear its head inevitably, whatever happened. Given all the reasons for bad blood between Charis and Emerald, I didn't expect to see it quite this soon, but that only makes the example even worse. If Nahrmahn does this successfully, especially when all the world knows Haarahld and Cayleb both held him responsible for attempting Cayleb's assassination, it's going to tell everyone that Cayleb is willing to be 'reasonable.' And if we can't punish Nahrmahn effectively for it, that example is going to generate a lot of temptation to do exactly the same thing when the Royal Charisian Navy comes calling on other princes and kings."

  "Then stop it in its tracks," Clyntahn growled.

  "And precisely how do you propose to do that, Zhaspahr?" Trynair asked, and his tone was rather more tart than he normally used when addressing the Grand Inquisitor. "If Graisyn's correct, and Nahrmahn's already sailed, he's already accepted Cayleb's terms. He'd hardly sail off to Tellesberg while he's still at war with Charis if he hadn't already accepted them, now would he? And do you truly believe he wouldn't have taken precautions against anything Graisyn might do in his absence? In fact, I'm astonished Graisyn got a mes­sage off to us at all."

  "Don't be too astonished," Clyntahn told him. "The dispatch boat from Emerald to Hammer Island left from Shalmar Keep, not Eraystor."

  The Grand Inquisitor grimaced, and Duchairn knew why. Shalmar Keep, the capital of the Duchy of Shalmar, was at the extreme northern end of Emerald Island, more than nine hundred miles from Nahrmahn's capital.

  "And Graisyn's message wasn't even complete," Clyntahn continued in a harsh voice. "The transmission was interrupted somewhere between Eraystor and Shalmar . . . assuming it wasn't cut off in Eraystor itself."

  "Wonderful." Maigwair's expression could have been used to ferment beer, Duchairn thought. "So now you're telling us Nahrmahn's seized the semaphore in Emerald."

  "At the very least," Clyntahn agreed. "And I think we can safely assume he wouldn't have seized just the semaphore towers, now can't we?"

  "I'm sure you're right about that, too, Zhaspahr," Trynair said. "Which makes my own point even more urgent."

  "Agreed." Duchairn nodded. "On the other hand, Zhaspahr, you said you had two messages—one from Emerald and one from Delferahk. Why don't we set Nahrmahn aside for the moment? We're going to have to make some hard decisions in his case, but it might be as well to let that pot simmer away in the backs of our brains for a few minutes. Besides, if these messages are go­ing to have an impact on one another, we probably need to hear both of them before we get too deeply involved with figuring out what to do about one of them."

  "That makes sense," Trynair agreed, and turned back to Clyntahn. "What about this message from Ferayd, Zhaspahr?"

  "I'm not sure it has any bearing at all on Nahrmahn and Emerald." Clyntahn sounded irritated all over again, as if he resented having his ire redirected.

  "Perhaps not," Trynair said patiently. "On the other hand, we have to hear it sooner or later, so we might as well go ahead and hear it now."

  "Oh, very well." Clyntahn leaned back in his chair. "According to Father Styvyn, the seizure of the Charisian merchant ships in Ferayd didn't go what one might call smoothly."

  "What does that mean, exactly?" Duchairn asked, feeling a familiar un­pleasant tightening sensation in his stomach muscles.

  "It means the frigging heretics were too fucking stupid to do the smart thing," Clyntahn grunted. "When the Delferahkan troops tried to board their ships, they resisted. Which was stupid of them. Terminally stupid, as a matter of fact."

  "Some of them were killed, you mean?" Duchairn pressed. "No, I don't mean 'some of them' were killed," Clyntahn half sneered. "I mean all of them were."

  "What?" The one-word question came from Trynair, not Duchairn, and Clyntahn looked at the Chancellor.

  "I mean that once they started killing Delferahkans, the gloves came off," he said, and shrugged. "That's the sort of thing that happens when you're stu­pid enough to piss off armed troops in someone else's port."

  "Are you saying there were no Charisian survivors at all?" Duchairn de­manded.

  "There may have been a handful." Clyntahn shrugged again. "According to Father Styvyn, there couldn't have been any more than that. Not aboard the ships the Delferahkans managed to keep from leaving port, at any rate."

  "You mean some of them got away?" Trynair sounded even unhappier than he had a moment before.

  "A half dozen or so," Clyntahn confirmed. "Apparently they were the ships anchored too far out to be boarded directly from dockside. And at least one of them was apparently one of the Charisians' damned privateers, pre­sumably in disguise. At any rate, it was heavily armed with the new artillery, and it covered the others while they ran for it."

  Trynair looked at Duchairn, and the Treasurer General understood the Chancellor's dismay perfectly. Any escapees from Ferayd must be well on their way back to Charis by now, complete with their version of what had happened. And despite Clyntahn's cavalier attitude, Duchairn was sickly cer­tain the Charisians would be able to describe what had happened as a "mas­sacre" with c
omplete accuracy. Worse, many of the ships involved would have been family-owned enterprises, and given traditional Charisian practice where crewing such ships was concerned, a lot of those dead Charisians would have been women and children.

  Has it come to this so quickly? Duchairn demanded. And why is the message about this from this Father Styvyn, and not his bishop?

  He could think of at least one reason for the intendant to have sent his own messages independent of the bishop, and he didn't like that reason one bit. But if Clyntahn suspected that the Inquisition's agent in Ferayd was get­ting his report in early in an effort to put his own spin on a disaster at least partially of his own creation, no sign of it crossed the vicar's face. For that matter, Clyntahn seemed totally oblivious to the potentially disastrous conse­quences of the incident.

  And for all we know, this isn't the only "incident" like it, either, Duchairn thought. It could be simply the first one we've heard about. So jar.

  "This is very serious news," Trynair said, with what Duchairn privately considered to be dizzying understatement. "Once word gets back to Charis, they're going to denounce this entire unfortunate affair as a deliberate mas­sacre carried out at the Inquisition's direct orders."

  "It was nothing of the sort," Clyntahn said. "On the other hand, I'm not going to pretend I'm shedding any tears for a batch of heretics who got exactly what their own heresy and stupidity deserved. For that matter, they got off lightly."

  "I'm not asking you to pretend anything." Trynair kept his voice level, his tone even. "I'm simply pointing out that Charis is going to proclaim to the entire world that we ordered the deliberate slaughter of merchant seamen—and their families, Zhaspahr—as part of our campaign against the schismatics. They'll use it to justify their rebellion . . . and whatever counter-atrocities they decide to stage."