David Weber - How firm a foundation

“It would appear Madam Pahrsahn had rather more to invest than we thought when we told Hahraimahn to sell her whatever she ordered,” Parkair said a bit whimsically. “I wonder what she would have done if he’d offered to make artillery for her?”

“What in hell, if you’ll pardon my language, does she plan to do with that many rifles?” Gahdarhd asked Stohnar, and the Lord Protector shrugged.

“Something Clyntahn won’t like, I hope. In the meantime, though, unless we want to take official cognizance of her and ask her if she’d be so kind as to hand them over to us, I think we need to plan on the basis of what we know we have and what we’re afraid Pahtkovair and Airnhart may have managed to make available on their side of the hill. Suggestions, anyone?”

“… the honor to be, et cetera, et cetera,” Sir Rayjhis Dragoner said, looking out across the city of Siddar, drowsing peacefully under a golden September afternoon sun. He sighed, then turned and stood with his back to the window, watching Wynai Thyrstyn’s busy pen jot down the last few words. “I’ll trust you to finish it up properly,” he said with a smile which was only slightly forced.

“Yes, Ambassador.” Wynai looked up with a smile of her own. It wasn’t much of a smile, but Dragoner was glad to see it anyway. She hadn’t smiled very often since losing not simply her brother but her favorite cousin, as well, in the Hairatha powder mill explosion. “I’m sure I can come up with a properly respectful closing.”

“I knew I could count on you. Zheryld was right about how useful you’ve been, and not just taking dictation and dealing with the correspondence. I’ve valued your input on a lot of issues, Wynai. You realize that, I hope?”

“I’ve tried to be useful, Sir Rayjhis,” she said with a small bob of her head, but the fleeting smile had disappeared again. “I only wish I thought it was really going to do some good.”

“All we can do is the best we can do.” Dragoner’s tone was firmer and more optimistic than he truly felt, and he was pretty sure Wynai knew it.

He truly was glad Zheryld Mahrys, his secretary of many years, had managed to find Madam Thyrstyn for him, and not just because she was a skilled stenographer and secretary. He could always use more people with that set of skills, but she was also smart, and it was that, coupled with the many years she’d lived here in the Republic, which made her truly valuable to him. She understood Siddarmarkians in ways he simply didn’t, despite how long he’d been posted as the Charisian ambassador to the Republic.

And you might as well admit it, Rayjhis, he told himself now, turning back to the window. You value her because she’s your window into the Charisian Temple Loyalists here in the city, too.

“Do you really think it’s as bad as some people seem to be saying, Sir Rayjhis?” she asked now, and he shrugged.

“I think it’s not as good as I wish it were,” he said. “Let’s just put it that way.” He shrugged again. “All we can do is warn people to be careful, to avoid provocations, and for any of them who can to return to Charis.”

“I’ve lived here almost half my entire life, Sir Rayjhis!” Wynai said with an unusual flash of fire. “I’m not going to just run away from my neighbors and my friends-and my family!-and all the rest of my life because some people are letting their mouths run away with them! ”

“I hope that’s all it is,” he said, turning back around to look at her. “You’ve seen the dispatches I’m sending home, though. You probably know more about what’s happening here in the capital than I do, when it comes down to it. And you know I’m trying hard not to be alarmist and make a bad situation worse. But I’d be derelict in my duties if I didn’t warn the Charisian community about the rumors we’re picking up.”

“Why did we ever have to start all this?” she asked, her eyes pained. “It’s all… all just crazy, Sir Rayjhis!”

“In some ways I agree with you,” he said heavily. In fact, he agreed with her in a lot more ways than he was prepared to admit. His personal balancing act as a loyal son of Mother Church and the ambassador of the heretical Empire of Charis had become nothing but more difficult as the Church moved steadily towards an official declaration of jihad. Over the last year, since that declaration had actually come, it had gotten even harder, and deep inside himself he wondered what he was going to do if worse came to worst in the Republic. Only his overriding sense of duty to the House of Ahrmahk had kept him at his post this long, and he didn’t know if even that could have done the trick if he hadn’t seen so many indications Mother Church was striving to keep the Republic as close to neutral territory as it could. He’d had enough clear signs-signals that could only have come from Vicar Rhobair and Chancellor Trynair-that Mother Church actually wanted the embargo to continue “leaking” in Siddarmark’s case. That had been enough to keep him in his office, still able to serve both of the causes which were so dear to his heart. But if that balance was shifting, if Mother Church was changing her mind, what did he do then?

“In some ways I agree with you,” he repeated, “but we live when we live, and all any of us can do is pray for guidance to get through all this without trading away any more of our souls than we have to. And if we get an opportunity to do something which may make it even a little better-or at least less bad-than it would have been otherwise, then we give thanks on our knees.”

“Yes, Sir.” Wynai lowered her eyes, seeming a bit abashed at having spoken out, and he inhaled deeply.

“Go ahead and get clear copies of those written up,” he told her in a gentler tone. “And tell Zheryld we’re going to have a special dispatch bag for Tellesberg.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“And, Wynai, if you’d like to send any messages home to Charis, feel free to use the dispatch bag.” She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. “I know you don’t abuse the privilege, and at least this way they’ll get home a little quicker.”

“Thank you, Sir Rayjhis. I appreciate it.”

Wynai gathered up her notepad and her pen and headed down the hall to her own little cubbyhole of an office. The door closed quietly behind her, and Dragoner returned his attention to the window, looking across those sunlit roofs at North Bay’s sail-dotted azure water and thinking about the homeland which lay so far beyond it.

Wynai Thyrstyn closed her office door behind her and sat in the creaky, slightly rickety chair at her desk. She laid her shorthand notes on the blotter and stared down at them, thinking about them, wondering what she should do. Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and covered her lids with her hands while she tried not to weep.

There were times she felt almost unbearably torn by guilt as she sat in Sir Rayjhis’ office, taking down his words, working on his correspondence, answering his questions about the Charisian and non-Charisian communities here in Siddar City. It was wrong of her to feel that way, she knew that. She wasn’t doing anything she shouldn’t be doing, and Sir Rayjhis was a good man, one who needed her help. She could see how he was aging before her, the way his hair was going progressively whiter, the lines carving themselves more and more deeply into his face. He’d revealed more of his own spiritual turmoil than he thought he had-she was pretty sure of that-and she wondered how much longer he could bear it. And how he was going to react when the inevitable happened.

And it was inevitable. She lowered her hands again, staring at the icon of the Archangel Langhorne hanging on the wall above her desk. God couldn’t permit any other outcome, but why did it have to be so hard? Why did so many people- good people, and there were good people, on both sides-have to die?