“Which is what Clyntahn’s going to say, whatever we do,” High Rock pointed out.
“I’m less concerned about that asshole than I am about people closer to home.” Tartarian’s tone was harsh and his eyes had gone cold. “When he sent his frigging Rakurai into Corisande and killed eight hundred people right here in Manchyr, I decided once and for all which side I’m on, as far as the Church is concerned, Rysel. And don’t pretend you didn’t do exactly the same thing! I know better, and Koryn’s even further into the Reformist camp than you are!”
Anvil Rock looked back at him without speaking. Silence hovered for several heartbeats, and then Tartarian shrugged.
“At any rate,” he continued in a lighter tone, “I’m more concerned about the effect on people close enough to make their … displeasure immediately evident. Trust in Clyntahn’s veracity’s taken a serious hit here in Corisande even among a lot of the Loyalists and even before we make Phylyp’s letter public; as long as we can avoid doing anything that would tend to support Clyntahn’s version of events, I don’t really expect his fulminations from Zion to have much effect. The people who still trust him will take them as coming straight from the Writ no matter what we say, but they’re already so firmly in the anti-Charis—and anti–Regency Council—column that it won’t make any difference to the overall situation. It’s the ones with open minds we have to worry about, and that means coming up with a way to help this whole hairy mess land as softly as possible.”
“So you think we shouldn’t press them for his return?”
“I think we should buy some time by sending messages asking about his and Irys’ health, asking for assurances of their physical safety, and asking for the two of them to be allowed to communicate directly with us.” Tartarian turned back to the window. “That would be the natural first step no matter what, and the sailing time between us and Tellesberg will work in our favor. We publish the glad news of their safety to the Princedom as a whole, and we also publish copies of our letters to them and to Cayleb and Sharleyan to show our concern and demonstrate we’re pushing to regularize the situation. And I think we should also publish a copy of the Council’s renewed oath of loyalty to Daivyn as rightful Prince of Corisande, witnessed by Klairmant for Mother Church. It would only be appropriate for us to renew the oaths we took in his name now that he’s out of Church custody … and it would also be a way for us to demonstrate our loyalty is to him—which means to Corisande—first and foremost.”
“All right.” Anvil Rock nodded. “All of that makes sense. But after we send all that and, presumably, get a response?”
“A lot will depend on what Cayleb and Sharleyan indicate they’re willing to consider. I’m sure they’re both more than bright enough to realize how important it will be for us to have some guidance into what they’re thinking before we start proclaiming any public positions of our own. At the moment, I’m inclined to think the next step for us would probably be to ask for Daivyn’s return, though. The phrasing of both the peace treaty and our oaths as councilors gives Cayleb and Sharleyan a certain amount of wiggle room in this instance, but they have recognized him as Duke of Manchyr and as Hektor’s legitimate heir to the crown. There are all sorts of stipulations in there about what he’ll have to do to be allowed to assume the crown, but there’s no question of his claim to it. So I think we can approach this with an air of calm, even courtesy, by couching our requests at least initially as a request for clarification on how Charis interprets those stipulations. If we work it right—and I think that’s going to include being as public as we can in our messages, publishing our correspondence as broadly as possible, at least on this point—we can spend as much as two years in civil, rational discussion. We can make our loyalty to Daivyn crystal clear, and we can let Cayleb and Sharleyan demonstrate their own reasonableness in the form of their replies and willingness to discuss things with us. Assuming they’re smart enough to see what we’re doing, the process should give us quite a lot of time for temperatures to cool.”
“And if, after we do all that, Daivyn and Irys refuse to cooperate with Charis—or, for that matter, if it appears to us that they’re being constrained or that Cayleb and Sharleyan have decided to deny him the crown after all?” Anvil Rock asked softly.
“In that case, we’re all in a hell of a mess,” Tartarian replied, equally softly. “I doubt Daivyn and Irys would be in any physical danger, even then, but if it looks to our people here in Corisande like they might be—or if enough of our people decide Cayleb and Sharleyan aren’t going to let Daivyn take the crown, no matter what they may’ve promised—I have no idea how they’ll react. The one thing I am afraid of, though, is that in a situation like that one, what might happen could just make what Craggy Hill, Storm Keep, and the others tried look like a children’s birthday party.”
.XIII.
HMS Chihiro, 50, Gorath Bay, City of Gorath, Kingdom of Dohlar
“What do you think of the new weapons, Stywyrt?”
The Earl of Thirsk tipped back in his chair. The cabin skylight was open, and voices floated down from the quarterdeck as Haarahld Bradlai, Chihiro’s third lieutenant, put the topmen through sail drill. It was a familiar, homey sound for any seaman, Thirsk reflected, and the quarter windows were open as well. Combined with the wind scoop rigged to the skylight, they created a gentle breeze, and fresh air stirred throughout his cabin. It plucked at the corners of the notes paper-weighted down on his blotter, and he inhaled deeply, smelling the familiar scents of harbor water, tar, and timbers. Among those gently flapping notes were the diagrams of the newly approved artillery shells and fuses the Navy and Army of God were putting into production in the far-off Temple Lands. They’d be going into production quite soon in Dohlar, as well, and his index finger tapped one of the drawings as he looked across at his flag captain.
“I’m glad we’ll have them, too, My Lord … I suppose,” Captain Stywyrt Baiket replied after a moment. Then he made a face. “Mind you, I’d just as soon nobody had them, judging from the reports out of Iythria. Since we can’t take them away from the damned Charisians, though, I’m a lot happier now that we can at least respond in kind.”
Baiket, Thirsk had noticed, had fallen into his own bad habits. He seldom referred to Charisians as “heretics” any longer—probably because, like his admiral, Chihiro’s commanding officer felt personally dirtied by what had happened to Gwylym Manthyr and the other Charisians who’d surrendered to the Royal Dohlaran Navy, trusting in its honor. Of course, his flag captain’s rot could go deeper than that, as well. God knew it did among all too many of the navy’s personnel, he thought sardonically. Reformism was dangerous to one’s health in any of the mainland realms, yet it was making a sort of creeping progress anyway, and Dohlar was no exception. Personally, Thirsk thought that was largely a response to the Inquisition’s brutality. The Writ might specify the Punishment of Schueler for heresy, but it was hard for good men and women to watch it happen, whatever God might demand of them.
And it’s harder still when deep inside so many of them are beginning to wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, the Charisians’ve been right about Clyntahn all along, he thought. Especially when the Church of Charis specifically renounces the Punishment and permits Temple Loyalists to maintain their own churches, even in the middle of Tellesberg itself. Not to mention when they listen to the difference between what Clyntahn and someone like Maikel Staynair has to say.
He didn’t know if Baiket was one of the Dohlarans beginning to read the printed broadsides which, despite the Inquisition’s best efforts, continued to appear mysteriously on walls in most of Dohlar’s major cities—the ones which regularly quoted sermons by the heretical archbishop—and he’d made it a point not to find out. He wouldn’t have been too terribly surprised if the answer had been yes, however.
“I think I agree with you,” he said now, running his finger across the diagram’s neat lines and frowning. “It was bad enough when Charis introduced the new model artillery. L
anghorne!” He shook his head, recalling the terror of thundering broadsides off the coast of Armageddon Reef. “I thought it couldn’t get any worse. But now.…”
He allowed his voice to trail off and shook his head. The reports they’d received about Iythria had obviously been heavily edited, which struck him as a particularly foolish thing to be doing at a time like this. He understood all the arguments about preventing moral and spiritual corruption, but surely it was more important than ever that Mother Church’s commanders knew the truth about the weapons they faced! If they didn’t, how were they supposed to fight her enemies effectively? And how was any officer, be he ever so loyal, supposed to believe the information he was allowed to see was truthful and accurate when so much else obviously was not? And how was that same officer supposed to know what vital bit of information might have been left out in the editing process by clerics who simply weren’t equipped by training or experience to recognize its importance? But they’d edited his own reports after the Battle of Armageddon Reef and Crag Hook, and they’d done the same thing after the Battle of the Gulf of Tarot, so it hadn’t really surprised him when they did it again in Iythria’s case.
He didn’t for a minute believe the allegations of cowardice and treason leveled against Baron Jahras and Duke Kholman, however. They wouldn’t have suffered the casualties they’d suffered if they’d just rolled over and supinely surrendered the way the official report insisted they had. And after they’d surrendered, “deserting” to Charis—and getting their families out of the Inquisition’s reach—had been their only real option. Still, he expected most of the actual information about the Charisians’ weapons was relatively accurate. That would certainly explain the casualties Jahras had suffered before his ships began surrendering, at any rate, and that part of the report made grim reading for the commander of the last battle-worthy fleet Mother Church possessed.
On the other hand, there’s battle-worthy, and then there’s battle-worthy, he thought with mordant humor. Generally speaking, the term does normally connote an ability to meet the enemy in something like reasonably equal numbers with at least some chance of beating him, after all.
“I think the one thing we can count on, My Lord, is that things are going to go right on getting worse.” Baiket’s tone was bleak. “That’s what’s happened for the last four or five years, and I don’t see any sign of its slowing down anytime soon. And with this business in the Republic now, we’re going to be even more hard-pressed to keep the Navy ready to fight. Or even intact, for that matter!”
“Duke Fern assures me our funding and manpower priorities won’t be changed,” Thirsk replied. Their gazes met, and Thirsk was hard-put not to snort as he recognized the matching skepticism in the flag captain’s eyes. “Nonetheless,” he continued in an admirably steady tone, almost as if he actually believed a word of what he’d just said, “it would be ridiculous to assume there aren’t going to be consequences where any improvements to the fleet are concerned.”
And Thorast sure as Shan-wei isn’t going to try to stop it from happening, either, he added in the privacy of his own thoughts.
Aibram Zaivyair, the Duke of Thorast, might officially be in charge of King Rahnyld’s navy, but like the vast majority of that navy’s senior officers—up until the Battle of Armageddon Reef, at least—he was actually an army officer. As such, he’d never really been sympathetic to the navy’s claims whenever they seemed to conflict with those of the army. And given the fact that Thirsk had been right when Thorast’s brother-in-law, Duke Malikai, had completely ignored Thirsk’s advice and sailed the entire navy into disaster, the more Thirsk argued for a sane naval policy, the less likely Thorast was to listen. Only the Duke of Fern’s unremitting pressure had forced Thorast to tolerate Thirsk’s reforms at all, and not even the kingdom’s first councilor could prevent him from dragging his feet every step of the way. Or from seizing any remotely plausible excuse for favoring any of Thirsk’s rivals, whether in or out of the navy.
At the moment, Langhorne knew Thorast was in a position to find any number of excuses to do just that. Nor did it help that Shain Hauwyl, the Duke of Salthar, who commanded the Royal Army in Rahnyld VII’s name, had picked Sir Rainos Ahlverez to command the army massing even now to invade the Republic. Ahlverez was the deceased Duke Malikai’s first cousin, and while he was demonstrably smarter than his cousin had been, that wasn’t really saying much. Malikai could have made anyone look smarter by simply opening his mouth in the same room with him. And, smarter or not, Rainos wasn’t about to let anything as trivial as rationality get in the way of his hatred for his cousin’s “betrayer.” He could be expected to fight tooth and nail for every man, every musket, and every artillery piece he could get, not simply because he legitimately needed them, or despite the fact that it would take those same resources away from the navy, but because it would take them away from the navy … and its commander.
“I suppose that’s inevitable, My Lord,” Baiket agreed. “Have you heard anything more about when the Army’s going to be ready to march?”
“Not officially, no. I imagine a lot of it depends on the weather, and judging from reports of how badly the Republic’s food supplies’ve been hit, logistics are going to be a nightmare. I’m no general, but when the civilians along your route are already starving, it seems unlikely you’ll be able to forage for much in the way of supplies, which means hauling everything your troops are going to eat along with you as you go, and there are only so many canals and rivers.” Thirsk shrugged, his expression grim. “I know we’re being told to plan to expect a major supply lift through the Gulf of Tanshar to Dairnyth, and the Army’s already gathering galleons and coasters to carry it out. That’s going to have its own implications for us, I’m sure. After all, if I were the Charisians and I found out about it, I’d probably try to make our lives difficult as soon as I could.”
“Wonderful.” Baiket shook his head. “Is there any chance we’re going to have enough of these … ‘shells’”—he used the new term carefully—“before that happens? Just in case the Charisians, who obviously do have them, should decide to be as difficult as you’d be in their place, My Lord, you understand.”
“I think that’s … unlikely,” Thirsk replied.
In fact, the army had been promised priority on the new ammunition as soon as it became available. In theory, at least, the first shipments of shells would be arriving from the Temple Lands within the next month, and the foundries which had been producing naval artillery were already turning out the first new fieldpieces to make use of them. He couldn’t deny that, in many ways, that was a sensible provision on someone’s part, since the army was obviously going to need the new weapons in the next few months, whereas the navy was halfway around the world from the Charisians. Unfortunately, the Imperial Charisian Navy had already proven it was perfectly capable of—and willing to—operate halfway around the world. And, as it had proven in the Gulf of Jahras, its most recent improvements to its already fiendishly effective artillery meant it would be able to hit with devastating power if it should decide to extend the same treatment to Gorath Bay. Admittedly, the Gulf of Dohlar provided a far greater degree of defensive depth to Gorath than the Gulf of Jahras had provided for the city of Iythria, but Thirsk was grimly certain an adversary like Cayleb Ahrmahk would send his navy wherever he thought it needed to be sent, regardless of the difficulties involved.
Despite which, given King Rahnyld’s unambiguous orders to support the Temple Loyalists in Siddarmark against the lord protector—and Rainos Ahlverez’ and the Duke of Thorast’s attitudes towards one Lywys Gardynyr—it wasn’t just unlikely the navy would be seeing the new ammunition even after the army’s needs had been met. The only good news was his confidence that he could rely on Bishop Staiphan Maik to support his efforts to get the output of shells from at least one of the navy’s own foundries diverted to his fleet. It wouldn’t be much, even if they succeeded, but at least it would offer some chance to get a trickle of t
he new projectiles into his men’s hands so they could begin training with them. And to give his navy the opportunity to inflict at least some losses on the Imperial Charisian Navy if it should come calling during his efforts to supply the army through the Gulf of Transhar.
I’m sure even Thorast would approve of my managing that much, he thought grimly. Or maybe not. That bastard would probably be perfectly happy to see the Army starve—and pillage the people it’s supposed to be protecting just to survive—if he got to put my head on a stick for “failing to support” Ahlverez’ needs properly!
“I believe in miracles, My Lord,” Baiket said, “but I hope His Majesty’s ministers are remembering the archangels help those who help themselves.”