David Weber - How firm a foundation

A kingdom was fortunate to have a single monarch of Cayleb or Sharleyan Ahrmahk’s caliber in a century; no realm could count on having two of them at the same time… still less on producing a third to follow in their footsteps. Indeed, much as Gray Harbor loved the baby crown princess, it had been his observation that the children of the towering rulers who dominated the history books had a distinct tendency to disappear in their parents’ shadows. And what soul could have the hardihood to stand in the shadows of rulers like these two without feeling diminished-even angry-under the weight of their subjects’ expectations? No wonder the heirs of so many great kings and queens had ended up giving their lives over to dissolution and sensuality!

You must be feeling more confident about the outcome of this minor war of ours if you’re wasting time worrying about things like that, Rayjhis, he told himself dryly. Cheerful, too. Alahnah’s just turned one and you’re already worrying about her having drunken orgies after her parents are gone? About the way the Empire’s going to fall apart after them? Neither of them is thirty yet, for Langhorne’s sake! It’s not like you’re going to be around for the transition.

No, he wasn’t-God willing-but it was one of a first councilor’s jobs to worry about things like that. Besides, he’d been making a conscious effort to stand back and consider the long view whenever he could. It was entirely too easy to get trapped up in the day-to-day concerns of simply surviving against an opponent the size of the Church of God Awaiting, and when that happened, unhappy consequences could sneak up on someone.

And it also keeps you from thinking about what you’re going to have to tell them on their very first full day together in almost five months, doesn’t it? he asked himself grimly.

Cayleb sat in his own chair, laid his folded hands on the table in front of him, and glanced at Maikel Staynair, sitting at its foot.

“Maikel?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Staynair looked once around the table, then bent his head. “Oh God, maker and keeper of the universe, author of all good things, our loving creator and father, bless these Your servants Cayleb and Sharleyan and all of their advisors. Let us all hear Your voice and be guided by Your council, and let our Emperor’s and Empress’ decisions be worthy of their responsibility to the subjects who are also Your children, even as they are. Amen.”

No one seemed to notice the absence of any reference to the “Archangels,” Cayleb reflected as he opened his own eyes once more. Ever since he’d been elevated to archbishop, Staynair had focused even more directly upon every human being’s personal relationship with God rather than on the intermediary role of the Archangels. By now, people scarcely noticed the subtle but deeply significant shift, and the majority of the Church of Charis’ clergy seemed to be taking their own stance and practices directly from their archbishop’s.

Maikel always did think in terms of long-term strategy, didn’t he? And speaking of long-term thinking…

The emperor looked directly across the table at Gray Harbor.

“Would you care to go ahead and share with us what you were sparing me and Sharley yesterday, Rayjhis?” he asked dryly.

“Your Majesty?” Gray Harbor raised his eyebrows, and Cayleb snorted.

“I’ve known you since I was a boy, Rayjhis. I don’t want to get into anything about books and reading, but it was obvious to both me and Sharley that you had something on your mind yesterday. And since you didn’t bring it up, it seemed equally obvious it had to be something you didn’t think was going to make us happy.” The emperor shook his head. “Trust me, we appreciate that. Still, it’s a new morning and we might as well get down to it.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Gray Harbor smiled involuntarily at Cayleb’s tone, but it was a fleeting smile, quickly faded, and he drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“I regret to inform you, Your Majesty, that we’ve received letters from Admiral Manthyr. One contains a complete roster of the officers and men who surrendered to Earl Thirsk-and of those who died in captivity after surrendering.”

It was very quiet and still, the humor of only a moment before fading as quickly as the earl’s smile. No one else spoke, and he looked steadily at his monarchs as he continued.

“There’s also Sir Gwylym’s formal report. It’s very brief-he had none of his logs or records to consult when he prepared it, and for reasons his other letters make clear, very little time in which to write it. It confirms most of what we already knew and suspected about his final engagement… and also something we’ve all feared.”

Gray Harbor’s eyes flitted briefly aside to Captain Athrawes, standing just inside the council chamber’s door. He’d been taking Merlin’s “visions” into his calculations for years now, but not everyone in the chamber was cleared for that information. And, of course, Merlin had been away from Tellesberg for the better part of a year, during which he’d been unable to provide any updated reports on Gwylym Manthyr’s situation.

“King Rahnyld has formally surrendered custody of Sir Gwylym and all of his officers and men to the Inquisition.” The earl’s voice was flat and harsh now. “They left Gorath overland for Zion either late in May or in the first five-day of June. Given the length of the journey and the quality of mainland roads, they must have already reached the Temple.”

The stillness became absolute. Every man and woman in that chamber knew what that meant, and most of the councilors turned their heads to look at Maikel Staynair. By any traditional reckoning, he was the senior member of the Imperial Council as Charis’ archbishop. His should have been the most important of the opinions offered on any subject, and especially anything touching upon the Church and religion. But Staynair had worked hard to make the Council as independent of the Church of Charis as it possibly could be in what was, after all, a religious war. His position throughout had been that the Church’s proper role was to teach, not to enforce, and more than one of them wondered how he would react to news of this fresh atrocity decreed in God’s name.

He sat motionless for several seconds, then sighed and shook his head heavily, his eyes dark with sadness.

“May God have mercy on them and gather them in arms of love,” he said softly. A quiet chorus of amens ran around the table, and then the others sat respectfully waiting while the archbishop closed his eyes in brief, silent prayer, took a deep breath, sat back in his chair, and looked at his old friend.

“May I ask how these letters come into our possession after all these months of silence, Rayjhis?”

“I can’t answer that question-not completely, at any rate,” Gray Harbor replied. “As nearly as I can tell, they must have traveled by courier from Gorath to Silk Town, where they were handed over to one of the ‘Silkiahan’ merchantmen to be delivered to us here. That part’s fairly obvious. What I can’t tell you is who authorized their delivery, although I have my suspicions.”

“Sir Gwylym didn’t say?” Baron Ironhill asked.

“Reading between the lines, he was very careful not to say, Ahlvyno.” Gray Harbor smiled tightly. “No doubt he knew what would happen to anyone who’d ‘aided and abetted heretics’ if his letters should fall into the Inquisition’s hands.”

“I’m sure he did,” Baron Wave Thunder said. “Of the other hand, I don’t think there’s any doubt your ‘suspicions’ are accurate, Rayjhis. The only person who could have authorized it-who conceivably might have authorized it, from what we know of him-is Earl Thirsk.”