Ahlverez’ nostrils flared. He hadn’t expected that, and for a moment he felt a flicker of anger that Thirsk should think he could be flattered into some sort of sloppy-minded lovefest. But then he looked into the earl’s eyes and realized he meant every word of it.
“I think that may have been as hard for you to say as it was for me to admit Faidel might have been more at fault than you, My Lord.”
“Not so much hard to say as hard to accept in the first place,” Thirsk said wryly, and Ahlverez surprised himself with a sharp snort of amused understanding.
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear what you’ve both just said,” Maik said, smiling warmly at them. “I don’t know you as well as I’ve come to know Lywys, Sir Rainos, but what I do know convinces me that both of you are good and godly men. That both of you are conscious of your responsibilities to God, the Archangels, Mother Church, and your kingdom … in that order.”
The last three words came out deliberately, and he paused yet again, letting them lie in the chapel’s stillness for several seconds before he inhaled sharply.
“This is a time of testing,” he said very, very quietly. “A time of testing such as Mother Church and this entire world have never seen since the War Against the Fallen itself. As a bishop of Mother Church, it’s my responsibility to recognize that test, to respond to it, to be the shepherd her children have the right to demand I be … and that’s a responsibility I’m not convinced I’ve met.” He shook his head. “I’ve done my best, or what I thought was my best, at least—as you and Lywys have—but I fear I’ve fallen short. Indeed, I’ve become convinced I’ve fallen short, especially since what happened to Lywys’ family.”
“That wasn’t your fault, Staiphan. You did everything you could to protect them. You know you did!” Thirsk said quickly, his eyes distressed, but Maik shook his head again.
“Despite what you may have heard, Sir Ahlverez,” the bishop said, his own eyes sad, “Commander Khapahr was no Charisian spy, nor did he attempt to murder Lywys when he was ‘unmasked.’ Indeed, he was the most loyal—and one of the most courageous—men I’ve ever been honored to know, and his death was a direct consequence of my actions.”
Ahlverez’ eyes widened, and Thirsk shook his head violently.
“It was not!” the earl half-snapped. “Ahlvyn was the bravest man I’ve ever known. He chose his actions, and if anyone’s to blame for what happened to him, it’s me. Because I knew what he’d do if he thought my girls, my grandchildren, were in danger. I knew, and I didn’t try to stop him.”
Thirsk’s voice quivered, and Ahlverez realized there were tears in his eyes.
“You couldn’t have stopped him, Lywys,” Maik said gently. “That’s the sort of man he was, and I knew it as well as you did.” The bishop turned back to Ahlverez. “I summoned the Commander to a meeting, Sir Rainos, where I informed him, indirectly, that arrangements were being made to transport Lywys’ family to Zion ‘for their protection.’ I didn’t know, then, that he’d take unilateral action to smuggle them out of Gorath without informing Lywys but I did hope that he’d deliver my warning to Lywys. Except that he didn’t, and when the Inquisition discovered his arrangements, he deliberately implicated himself as a Charisian agent to divert suspicion not simply from Lywys, but from me, as well. And when he shot Lywys, it was to provide the strongest ‘proof’ of Lywys’ innocence he possibly could. That’s the sort of man Ahlvyn Khapahr was.”
Ahlverez swallowed, seeing the pain in Thirsk’s face, the regret in Maik’s eyes, and he knew it was true.
“All—” To his surprise, he had to stop and clear his throat. “All honor to him, My Lord. A man blessed with friends that loyal is blessed indeed. But why tell me about it?”
“For several reasons, my son. First, because I think it’s further proof of the sort of man Lywys is.” Maik allowed his eyes to flit briefly to Lattymyr, standing a pace behind Ahlverez. “A man doesn’t inspire that sort of loyalty without earning it.”
Ahlverez nodded slowly, and the bishop shrugged.
“A second reason to tell you is because his actions underscore the sacrifices good and godly men are willing to make for those they love and respect … and for what they believe.” His eyes were back on Ahlverez now. “Neither side in this Jihad has an exclusive claim to honesty of belief, to devotion to God, or to courage, My Lord, whatever certain people may say. I think that’s something any child of God needs to understand, no matter how mistaken he thinks his brother or sister may have become.
“And a third reason,” the bishop’s voice became no less measured, no less steady, but it was suddenly sadder than it had been, “is because the reason the Commander ran those risks, made that sacrifice, was that he understood why Lywys’ family was to be transported to Zion … and that it had nothing at all to do with their protection. That the official reason for it was a lie, and that their ‘safety’ was the farthest thing from the mind of the men who ordered them moved.”
Those steady brown eyes held Alverez’ unflinchingly.
“But perhaps even more importantly,” Maik continued in that same, unwavering voice, “I told you so that you would understand what I’m about to say. Understand that this is no sudden, irrational conclusion on my part, but rather the result of a process it’s taken me far too many months to work through. A conclusion which is the reason I summoned the Commander that night for the meeting which led to his death.”
“What sort of … conclusion, My Lord?” Ahlverez asked as the prelate paused yet again.
“It’s a very simple one, my son. One too many people—including me—have failed to reach … or to remember. And it’s merely this: Mother Church is not the mortal, fallible men who happen to choose her policies at any given moment. The Archangels are not the servants of men who think they know God’s will better than God Himself. And God is not impressed by mortal pride, overweening ambition, or the narcissism which makes a man like Zhaspahr Clyntahn seek to pervert all that Mother Church was ever meant to be—to drown the world, all of God’s creation, in blood and fire and terror—in the name of his own insatiable quest for power.”
APRIL
YEAR OF GOD 898
.I.
St. Kylmahn’s Foundry,
City of Zion,
The Temple Lands.
At least it wasn’t snowing.
In fact, he thought as he stepped down from the carriage to St. Kylmahn’s Foundry’s paved courtyard, it was a beautiful morning. Cold, but crystal-clear, with a sky of polished lapis and only the merest hint of a breeze.
It was, in fact, the sort of day April sent to lull the citizens of Zion into the false hope that spring might be upon them soon.
No doubt there’s an allegory in that, he thought dryly, and turned to the commander of his mounted escort as the door to Brother Lynkyn Fultyn’s office opened and the bearded Chihirite stepped out into the cold. The lay brother’s breath rose in a cloud of steam, touched to gold, like a frail echo of the sacred fire which had crackled about the Archangels’ brows. Under other circumstances, Rhobair Duchairn would have preferred to walk, enjoying the sunlight and the opportunity to make personal contact with the people whose spiritual shepherd he was supposed to be, but Major Khanstahnzo Phandys, the commander of his personal bodyguard, had refused to permit it. In this instance, given some of the rumors floating about the Temple, Duchairn wasn’t at all certain the major didn’t have a point where his personal safety was concerned. On the other hand, he wasn’t supposed to know Wyllym Rayno had personally ordered Phandys to be certain Duchairn had as little contact with his sheep as was humanly possible. That was a new twist, and the Church’s treasurer suspected it might actually confirm some of the wilder “rumors” which had come his way.
He put that thought temporarily on hold and beckoned Phandys closer.
“Yes, Your Grace?” the major said, just as attentively as if he hadn’t been the Inquisition’s spy.
“We’ll probably be here a
t least an hour or two, Major. In fact, I think it’s entirely possible we’ll be here through lunch. I think you should see about getting your men under cover and arranging a meal for them if we do stay through midday. Should I speak to Brother Lynkyn about that?”
“Thank you, but no, Your Grace. That won’t be necessary. I’ll arrange a rotation to keep anyone from being out in the cold too long, and Brother Zhoel and I have worked out standing arrangements to feed the men if we’re here through mealtime.”
“Good,” Duchairn said, and walked across the courtyard to Fultyn, extending a gloved hand. The Chihiro bowed to kiss the vicar’s ring through the leather, but a wave of Duchairn’s other hand stopped him.
“Consider that all courtesies due my lordly rank have been duly offered and received, Brother,” he said with a breath-steamy smile. “We don’t need your lips getting frostbite!”
“It’s not cold enough for that, Your Grace.” Fultyn gave him an answering smile, but obeyed the injunction. “It is, however, cold enough that I’m sure you’d rather get into the warmth than stand out here talking,” the foundry’s director continued, and stepped to one side, beckoning the vicar through the door he’d just emerged from. “Vicar Allayn’s already here.”
“I saw his carriage.” Duchairn nodded at the other vehicle standing in the courtyard, its paired horses well rugged against the sunny cold. “Has he been here long?”
“Only twenty minutes or so, Your Grace.” Fultyn followed the vicar through the door into his office vestibule. “He and I have already discussed Earl Rainbow Waters’ request that we expedite manufacture of his land-bombs.”
Duchairn nodded again, more soberly this time. The Inquisition-prescribed term for the infernal device in question was certainly accurate, although he personally found the Army of God’s original name for it much more appropriate. They truly were the very spawn of Kau-yung, and the Order of Pasquale’s hospitals were all too crowded with men who’d lost limbs to them. Still, he wasn’t surprised Zhaspahr Clyntahn had opted to “discourage” the troops’ chosen label, especially when his own inquisitors had taken to calling the terrorists here in Zion “the Fist of Kau-Yung” … at least where they didn’t expect their words to get back to the Grand Inquisitor’s ears. And whatever he might think of them, he could scarcely fault Rainbow Waters for responding in kind to a weapon which was going to cost him so many men in the coming campaigns. And now that the Inquisition had signed off on the production of the Charisian-introduced “percussion caps,” at least Brother Lynkyn’s foundries could provide him with the things, whether they were called “land-bombs” or “Kau-yungs.”
“Will you be able to meet the quantities he’s requesting?” the treasurer asked, unbuttoning his heavy coat as they crossed the vestibule and entered the outer office. Fultyn’s clerks rose, bowing deeply to the vicar as he passed through, then diving back into their never-ending paperwork as soon as he waved them back onto their stools.
“Of course not.” Fultyn smiled crookedly. “He knew that when he submitted the request, Your Grace. I doubt we’ll be able to manufacture more than a third of the numbers he’s asking for—especially if we mean to get them to him in time for the beginning of the campaign.”
Duchairn snorted in understanding. Frankly, he doubted the Church could have paid for all of the land-bombs the Mighty Host of God and the Archangels’ commander desired, and he was pretty sure Rainbow Waters knew it. But he understood exactly why he’d asked for them anyway. By requesting three or four times as many as could possibly be manufactured and shipped in the available time, he established his own opinion of how production capabilities should be allocated. The earl and the treasurer had come to understand one another quite well, and in the process, Duchairn had picked up a few new wrinkles on how to manipulate a bureaucracy.
There truly were some skills in which Harchongians had no peers.
“Well, we’ll just have to come as close as we can,” he said as Fultyn reached past him to open the inner office’s door. He stepped through it, and Allayn Maigwair turned from the courtyard window from which he’d watched his arrival and extended a hand to his fellow vicar.
“Beautiful weather, isn’t it?” he said, and Duchairn nodded.
“I think it’s the best we’ve seen since the end of October,” he agreed, clasping forearms with Maigwair. “I hope no one’s stupid enough to think it’s the beginning of the spring thaw, though!”
“No one outside the Inquisition,” Maigwair said dryly. Duchairn’s eyes widened, and he flicked them sideways to Fultyn, still half a stride behind him and to one side, but Maigwair only grimaced. “Brother Fultyn’s not going to misunderstand me,” he said. “He knows I was simply referring to the Inquisition’s … impatience to resume operations as soon as the weather makes it humanly possible. Or, preferably, even sooner than that! Don’t you, Brother?”
“Of course I do, Your Grace,” Fultyn replied imperturbably … and exactly as if he truly meant it.
“I see.” Duchairn gave Maigwair’s forearm a tighter squeeze than usual, then stepped back to allow Fultyn to walk around him to the chair behind the desk. The Chihirite started past him, then paused as Maigwair raised a forestalling hand.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I completely forgot that I wanted to ask Brother Sylvestrai and Master Bryairs to sit in on our discussion today, Brother.” The Church’s captain general smiled apologetically. “There are a couple of points about the new shells and their fuses I wanted their opinions on. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to invite them to join us?”
Fultyn’s eyebrows twitched, as if they’d begun rising in surprise. If they had, though, he stopped them immediately and nodded.
“Of course, Your Grace. I’m sure Brother Sylvestrai is in his office, but I believe Tahlbaht may be out on the manufacturing floor. I’ll probably have to hunt for him. I hope a ten-minute or so wait will be acceptable?”
“Ten minutes will be just fine, Brother. I’m sure Vicar Rhobair and I can find something to talk about until you get back.”
“With your permission, then, Your Graces,” Fultyn murmured, bowed, and withdrew from the office, closing the door behind him.
“He really is a remarkably perceptive fellow, isn’t he?” Maigwair said dryly as the door shut.
“Being disciplined by the Inquisition for questioning perceived wisdom when you’re only nineteen has that effect on people,” Duchairn replied, unwrapping his thick, soft muffler and slipping gratefully out of his coat in the office’s warmth. He hung the coat on Fultyn’s coat tree and turned back to Maigwair, smoothing his cassock.
“He’s about the farthest thing from an idiot you’re likely to meet, too,” he continued. “That means he’s staying as far away as possible from offering the Inquisition an excuse to ‘discipline’ him again … which isn’t all that easy, now that I think about it, given what he’s doing for the Jihad.” The treasurer’s lips twisted bitterly for a moment, then he shook himself and looked Maigwair in the eye. “Which brings me to why you’ve sent him off on an errand any one of his clerks could have discharged equally well. Should I assume it has something to do with St. Thyrmyn’s? Or, rather, with the obviously utterly baseless rumors about St. Thyrmyn’s which are currently swirling about the Temple’s rarefied heights?”
“You should, indeed,” Maigwair said grimly, and in a considerably lower voice. He twitched his head, inviting Duchairn to join him once again by the window … which happened to be the farthest point in the office from its door and whose frosty panes happened to let them see if anyone’s ear just happened to be pressed against them.
“Have you heard anything beyond rumors?” Duchairn asked, equally quietly, his shoulder less than two inches from his fellow vicar’s.
“No.” Maigwair shook his head. “But they’re so damnably persistent I’m positive there’s at least something to them. And Tobys agrees; he’s been making some very quiet inquiries of his own, and the very things
his sources in the Inquisition aren’t telling him convinces him that something—something serious, Rhobair—went wrong at the prison.”
Duchairn nodded almost imperceptibly and pursed his lips, clearly considering what Maigwair had just said. Bishop Militant Tobys Mykylhny was probably Maigwair’s most trusted subordinate after Archbishop Militant Gustyv Walkyr, himself. Maigwair and Mykylhny had attended seminary together, although Maigwair had been two years ahead of him at the time. In fact, he’d been the younger man’s assigned mentor until his own consecration, and Mykylhny had been a senior officer in the Temple Guard before it gave up so many of its personnel to the newly formed Army of God. For the last several years, he’d functioned as the captain general’s senior intelligence officer. As such, he’d been forced to establish his own contacts in the Inquisition and create a working relationship with them which was at least civil. Duchairn never doubted that Wyllym Rayno was fully aware of who those contacts were, but the Inquisition’s adjutant clearly understood that Maigwair needed the ability to cross check at least some of what the Inquisition told him about Charisian capabilities. For that matter, Rayno—unlike Clyntahn—probably understood that Maigwair needed access to at least some of the information the Inquisition deliberately didn’t share with him.