Clyntahn’s eyes smoldered dangerously, but he had his temper under control, for a change. There wasn’t much way he could have argued with Duchairn’s conclusions, after all.
“It’s no one’s fault, Zhaspahr,” Duchairn repeated. “And despite everything, we’re in a much better position than last winter. Allayn has far more depth between the Temple Lands and the heretics than we had before, and once we get the farms in western Siddarmark back into production—and repair enough of the canal system to transport their produce—the Army’s logistic problems will be enormously reduced. And for the immediate future, I don’t see any way the heretics can press the attack against us any more than we can press the attack against them. Our supplies are hamstrung; they’re still enormously outnumbered, and Stohnar is going to have to re-create his army from scratch.
“Neither side’s going to be able to mount a campaign before next summer. I think we need to spend the intervening time learning all we can about the heretics’ new weapons and these smoking iron ships of theirs. If our spies and the Inquisition can do that, I think Allayn and I can promise to have an army ready to use that information, next May or June.”
.XI.
Charisian Embassy, Siddar City, Republic of Siddarmark
The thunderstorm rolled across Siddar City, sweeping in from the west across Old Province. Wind roared over the rooftops, roiling the massive black clouds, and lightning whickered and flashed, lighting those heavy-bellied clouds from within, etching them purple and white against its own jagged forks.
One of those forks of fury struck the ornate lightning rod atop Lord Protector’s Palace. The brilliance of the strike bleached the night into day, stunning any unwary eye, and the re-echoing peal of thunder pounded the city like Shan-wei’s hammer. More than one of the capital’s people—especially those who hewed to the Temple—quailed, shrinking in on themselves, in some cases actually hiding under blankets or even beds, as Langhorne stalked the heavens in the terrible blaze of his Rakurai, venting his fury at the people who had betrayed Mother Church.
Merlin Athrawes didn’t.
He sat in his darkened chamber, the window open, smelling the storm’s ozone, watching the lightning, listening to the rain. He let the storm’s fury wash through him, let it crackle and seethe around him, churning with energy, and deep at the heart of him were the images of that other, greater storm sweeping out of the west. A storm not of impersonal, uncaring nature, but built out of steel and gunpowder, out of fire and the sword and the rope, and fueled by hatred.
“Merlin?”
The voice spoke in his ear, quietly, and he closed his eyes. Perhaps, he thought, if he sat very still, he could hide from it.
“Merlin,” the voice repeated, firmer, refusing to be ignored, and he sighed wearily.
“Yes, Nahrmahn?”
“Cayleb’s worried about you,” Nahrmahn Baytz said, and an image appeared in Merlin’s vision. The plump little prince sat on his favorite balcony in Eraystor … and a storm very like the one churning across Siddar City came bellowing and roaring in off Eraystor Bay.
“He shouldn’t be.” Merlin looked past the projected storm into the reality of his own. Rain blew in the window, hitting his face like ocean spray, and he tasted it cold and fresh on his lips. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t,” Nahrmahn disagreed.
“Of course I am.” Merlin closed his eyes, his profile etched against the window as fresh lightning plowed the clouds. “I’m immortal, Nahrmahn. I’m a machine, even if I do think I’m also Nimue Alban. What could possibly harm me?”
Nahrmahn winced at the pain in that tireless yet bone-deep exhausted voice.
“You can’t do this,” he said softly. “You just can’t, Merlin.”
“Do what?” Merlin’s voice was harder, almost angry. “What is it all of you want me to stop doing, Nahrmahn?!”
“You know,” Nahrmahn said thoughtfully, “if there’s a single person on Safehold better placed to understand what’s happening to you than I am, I can’t imagine who it might be. You think you’re a machine that thinks it’s a person?” The Emeraldian chuckled harshly. “What does that make me? I’m not even a machine, Merlin—just a thought in the mind of God … and a computer you built!”
It was Merlin’s turn to wince without ever opening his eyes.
“I’m not complaining,” Nahrmahn went on, as if he’d read Merlin’s mind. “I’ve lost a lot, but I’ve gained even more—especially considering the alternative!” He laughed more easily. “But it does give me a different perspective from the others … and it gives me more time to think than anyone else. Isn’t that why you’ve all handed so much more of the intelligence analysis over to me? But SNARC reports aren’t the only things I think about, you know. I think about friends, too. About people I love. And I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately.”
“Nahrmahn, don’t—” Merlin began, then cut himself off.
He climbed out of his chair and strode to the window, gripping the frame shoulder-high in each hand, standing in the full power of the storm. The pounding rain blew almost horizontally on ever stronger blasts of wind, soaking him, but he only stood there, letting it batter him.
“Merlin,” Nahrmahn said softly, “you can’t take this entire world on your shoulders. You just can’t—it’s as simple as that. For all the wonders of your technology, all the things that ‘machine’ you live in can do, you’re still one person. There’s only so much you can do. And what’s even more important, there’s only so much you can bear.”
“We bear what we have to,” Merlin said drearily, his eyes empty but for the reflected lightning.
“And sometimes what we try to bear breaks us, Merlin. Sometimes we try to bear loads that aren’t ours, either because we think they are, or because we’re so desperate to take them off the shoulders of people we care about. You’re doing both those things, Merlin Athrawes, and you can’t … go … on … doing … it.”
There was silence, made only more perfect by the crackling, roaring thunderstorm. It seemed to last a long time, that silence, and then Merlin bowed his head.
“I can’t hand it to anyone else, Nahrmahn. Even if I wanted to. I’m the one who started this war, and I knew—I knew, Nahrmahn, unlike anyone else on this planet—exactly what a religious war on this scale was going to entail. I knew about the atrocities, the cruelty, the hatred, the starvation, the bloodshed—all of it, Nahrmahn. I knew what I was doing!”
The final sentence was a cry of agony, and the PICA’s shoulders shook as the human being who lived inside it wept.
“Don’t be absurd,” Nahrmahn said harshly. Merlin’s head rose again—quickly, as if startled—and the little prince stood on the virtual reality balcony, in the heart of his own thunderstorm, and glared at him. “If you hadn’t come along, hadn’t done what you did, Charis would be an even worse nightmare than Siddarmark by now, and you damned well know it! You brought things to a head, but Haarahld and the Brethren of Saint Zherneau were already committed to breaking the Church, revealing the lie, and the Group of Four was already committed to breaking Charis! The only thing you’ve done is give them a chance to survive rather than die at Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s whim!”
“No, it isn’t!” Merlin said fiercely. “God only knows how many people I’ve personally killed in the last five years, Nahrmahn—I sure as hell don’t! I can tell myself lots of them deserved to die if anyone ever did. The fanatics who tried to kill Sharley, the inquisitors who were going to murder Daivyn and Irys. But what about all the men who were only serving their own country, their own prince? What about all the good and decent men doing their duty? Doing what they’ve been taught all their lives that God Himself wants them to do? And what about the staffs of those semaphore stations? The men who’d never personally hurt anyone in their entire lives until I slaughtered them in order to make my wonderful plan work?! I can’t pretend I haven’t done those things.”
“No, you can’t,” Nahrmahn agreed more g
ently. “But don’t pretend you had any other option.”
“There’s always a choice, Nahrmahn.” Merlin’s voice was hard, flat. “Always. Don’t think for a moment that I didn’t choose to do them, because I damned well did.”
“That wasn’t what I said. I said you didn’t have any other option, Merlin. If you hadn’t come up with your ‘wonderful plan’ and made it work, the Army of God would’ve rolled right over Siddarmark. So, yes, you could’ve chosen not to do that—or all the other things you’ve done—but only by choosing to betray not just Nimue Alban’s sacrifice—or Pei Shan-wei’s, or Pei Kau-yung’s, or that of every man and woman in the Federation Navy who died so this world could live—but the future of the entire human race. So tell me, Merlin Athrawes—Nimue Alban—what gives you the right to place your guilt above the human race’s survival? Are you so arrogant you think this is about you?”
Merlin’s eyes opened wide, glittering like flame-cored sapphires in the lightning’s glare.
“The Gbaba are still out there,” Nahrmahn said flatly. “I know what that means now, more than anyone else in the universe … except you. I’ve had time now to read the records, view the history. I’ve seen the same ruin Nimue Alban saw, and I know what will happen if the human race runs into them a second time without knowing what I know. What you know, because unlike me, you didn’t just study it, you saw it. You lived it. You watched it happen to everything and everyone Nimue Alban ever loved. So tell me you had the option to choose not to do the things you’ve done here on Safehold! Tell me you could’ve walked away, let what happened to the Terran Federation happen to mankind all over again!”
Merlin was silent, and after a moment, Nahrmahn’s expression softened.
“There’s a term I’ve found in my research, Merlin: ‘combat fatigue.’ It’s a valuable concept. So is ‘survivor’s guilt’ … and I can’t think of anyone in the world—in the universe—with a better right to feel both those things than Nimue Alban … and you. You don’t have just Merlin Athrawes’ guilt and pain riding in your soul; you have all of hers, too. And you can’t keep punishing her—and you—for still being here while everyone she ever knew is dead, just as you can’t keep punishing yourself for what you’ve had no option but to do here on Safehold.”
“I can’t write myself a blank check, Nahrmahn,” Merlin whispered, closing his eyes once more, letting the rain wash over him. “I can’t be some omniscient, godlike being who goes around choosing the slain. This one lives—that one dies! I can’t just strike people down and tell myself it’s okay, that I didn’t have any ‘option,’ and that that absolves me of guilt or washes away the blood. Nimue Alban swore an oath to protect and defend humanity, Nahrmahn—protect and defend. She probably killed or helped to kill thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of Gbaba doing just that. And, yes, she was sick to her soul with all the killing and all the death and knowing that in the end it was all for nothing. But I’m still her, and I’m supposed to keep human beings alive, not kill them myself! If I decide my ‘mission imperative’ empowers me to kill anyone I think needs to die, I’m no different from one of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s inquisitors. Maybe I’m better than he is, but I’m still doing what I do because I believe—genuinely believe—it has to be done. Isn’t that the perfect description of a Schuelerite?”
“Actually, it is a pretty good description of a Schuelerite like—oh, Paityr Wylsynn,” Nahrmahn said. “I don’t recall his ever doing a single capricious, selfish, or needlessly cruel thing in his life … which pretty well describes you, too.”
“Oh, sure!” Merlin said bitterly. “A real candidate for sainthood—that’s me.”
“I’ve always thought most saints were probably pains in the arse,” Nahrmahn said thoughtfully. “Of course, the people Mother Church has chosen to canonize didn’t have quite the worldview I’ve discovered I have.”
It was Merlin’s turn to surprise himself with a chuckle.
“Merlin,” Nahrmahn’s voice had turned gentle again, “I’m not asking you not to feel responsible, even guilty, for your own actions. I’m only telling you you can’t lock yourself in a prison cell for being who you are and doing what you know, without question, needs to be done. In my life, while I was playing the ‘Great Game,’ I did terrible, even despicable things for far more selfish reasons and with far less justification than anything you’ve ever done, and assuming Nahrmahn Baytz isn’t really already completely dead, my accounting for those things has only been deferred. I’ll still have to face it in the end, and the only thing I can hope is that some of the good I’ve done—most of it after meeting you—will stand to my credit when the account’s rendered. You, at least, don’t have that baggage, and I’ll tell you this right now, Merlin Athrawes—when the time comes for you to stand before God, I will be honored to stand at your side, and I’m not alone in feeling that way. There are people who love you—not the mysterious, deadly, mystic warrior Seijin Merlin, but simply you. We know what you’ve done for us, and we know what it’s cost you—what it’s still going to cost you—and we would do anything we could to take that burden from you. But we can’t. All we can do is help you bear it … and that’s what I’m asking you to let us do.”
Silence hovered once more, endlessly, still and quiet at the heart of the thunder, until at last, slowly, Merlin straightened.
“I still have to be responsible for my own acts and decisions, no matter what my justification for them, Nahrmahn,” he said softly. “But you’re right about love. When you come down to it, at the bottom of everything, that’s the basis, the place we stand while we try to find some decency in the world around us.”
“Yes, it is,” Nahrmahn agreed. “And love doesn’t always mean sacrificing yourself for someone else. Sometimes it means letting them sacrifice themselves for you, because it’s that important to them. And that’s who you are, who you’ve become—the person who’s so important to us, who we need so much, we can’t let you sit here in this dark room with the ghosts of your dead while you let them devour you. I’m sorry, Merlin, we just can’t do it.”
“Stubborn, you Safeholdians,” Merlin said with a crooked smile.
“Yes, we are. Sneaky, too. I usually get what I want, you know.”
“I’ve heard that about you.”
“Well, I do have a reputation to uphold.”
“And you really are going to pester me into going downstairs and joining Cayleb for dinner?”
“Oh, definitely. And after that, I’m going to pester you until you have a long—and, frankly, given your current state, a long overdue—conversation with him, Sharleyan, and Maikel. Possibly even with your own humble servant and Ohlyvya in attendance, as well. Cayleb made the mistake of respecting your privacy, which gave you entirely too much time to brood and take all of the ills of the world upon your shoulders, but I’m far too unscrupulous to make that sort of mistake.”
“Yes, you are,” Merlin said with a theatrical sigh. “So I suppose I might as well give up and surrender now. Save us both a lot of energy and time.”
“Very wise of you.”
“I thought you’d see it that way.”
Merlin smiled again, sapphire eyes still dark but infinitely softer while the thunder rolled behind him.
“Can I at least change into a dry uniform, first?”
Characters
ABERNETHY, AUXILIARY BISHOP ERNYST—Schuelerite upper-priest; Bishop Militant Bahrnabai Wyrshym’s assigned intendant.
ABYLYN, CHARLZ—a senior leader of the Temple Loyalists in Charis.
AHBAHT, CAPTAIN RUHSAIL, IMPERIAL DESNAIRIAN NAVY—commanding officer HMS Archangel Chihiro, 40; Commodore Wailahr’s flag captain.
AHBAHT, LYWYS—Edmynd Walkyr’s brother-in-law; XO, merchant galleon Wind.
AHBAHT, ZHEFRY—Earl Gray Harbor’s personal secretary. He fulfills many of the functions of an undersecretary of state for foreign affairs.
AHDYMS, COLONEL TAHLYVYR—Temple Loyalist ex-militia officer; “General” Era
yk Tympyltyn’s executive officer, Fort Darymahn, South March Lands, Republic of Siddarmark.
AHDYMSYN, BISHOP ZHERALD—previously Erayk Dynnys’ bishop executor for Charis, now one of Archbishop Maikel’s senior auxiliary bishops.
AHLAIXSYN, RAIF—well-to-do Siddarmarkian poet and dilettante; a Reformist.
AHLBAIR, EDWYRD—Earl of Dragon Hill.
AHLBAIR, LIEUTENANT ZHEROHM, ROYAL CHARISIAN NAVY—first lieutenant, HMS Typhoon.
AHLDARM, MAHRYS OHLARN—Mahrys IV, Emperor of Desnair.
AHLVAI, CAPTAIN MAHLYK, IMPERIAL DESNAIRIAN NAVY—CO, HMS Emperor Zhorj, 48. Baron Jahras’ flag captain.
AHLVEREZ, ADMIRAL-GENERAL FAIDEL, ROYAL DOHLARAN NAVY—Duke of Malikai; King Rahnyld IV of Dohlar’s senior admiral.
AHLVEREZ, SIR RAINOS, ROYAL DESNARIAN ARMY—CO of the Dohlaran army assigned to invade the Republic of Siddarmark.
AHLWAIL, BRAIHD—Father Paityr Wylsynn’s valet.
AHNDAIRS, TAILAHR—a Charisian-born Temple Loyalist living in the Temple Lands; recruited for Operation Rakurai.
AHRBUKYL, TROOPER SVYNSYN, ARMY OF GOD—one of Corporal Howail Brahdlai’s scouts, 191st Cavalry regiment.
AHRDYN—Archbishop Maikel’s cat lizard.
AHRMAHK, CAYLEB ZHAN HAARAHLD BRYAHN—Duke of Ahrmahk, Prince of Tellesberg, Prince Protector of the Realm, King Cayleb II of Charis, Emperor Cayleb I of Charis. Husband of Sharleyan Ahrmahk.
AHRMAHK, CROWN PRINCESS ALAHNAH ZHANAYT NAIMU—infant daughter of Cayleb and Sharleyan Ahrmahk; heir to the imperial Charisian crown.
AHRMAHK, HAARAHLD VII—King of Charis.
AHRMAHK, KAHLVYN—Duke of Tirian (deceased), Constable of Hairatha; King Haarahld VII’s first cousin.
AHRMAHK, KAHLVYN CAYLEB—younger son of Kahlvyn Ahrmahk, deceased Duke Tirian, King Cayleb’s first cousin once removed.