David Weber - How firm a foundation

The tears came despite her efforts to stop them as she thought of her brother Trai and her cousin Urvyn. Sir Rayjhis had tried so hard to comfort her when the terrible news came, tried to tell her it had all been some horrible accident, but Wynai knew better. She couldn’t be certain, of course, but… she knew better. If only Urvyn had been able to see the truth the way she and Trai had! But he hadn’t, and they’d lost him to the heresy, and she’d still loved him so much, and, O Sweet Bedard, but it hurt so much to be so sure Trai had killed him… and himself.

Forgive him, she prayed now, staring at the image of the Archangel on the wall before her, not entirely certain if she were praying for her heretical cousin or the brother who’d violated divine law by taking his own life. But then she shook herself. God couldn’t possibly condemn Trai for giving up his life in His own service! Yet even so Forgive all of them, please! I know Urvyn and the others are wrong, I know it’s all so horribly wrong, but they’re not really evil. They’re doing what they think they have to do, what they think you and God want them to do. Do they really have to spend all of eternity paying for that?

The icon didn’t answer her, but she hadn’t really expected it to, and she drew a deep breath. A decisive breath.

She’d wanted to do more from the very beginning, but Trai had convinced her-no, be honest, he’d ordered her-not to. She remembered that first letter of his, the one which had filled her with mingled fear and elation. It was so like her big brother to take charge, to know exactly what to do, and she’d taken his warnings seriously. She’d never said a single word to anyone, not even her own priest and confessor, about the “personal letters” to her which she relayed to her husband’s aunt in Zion. The letters which went from there directly to the Office of the Inquisition… and the replies to which were transmitted to him in her own “personal letters.” She had no idea what information and what instructions had passed back and forth, because Trai had been very clear about that, as well. At his request, the Inquisition had sent him a code book by an entirely separate route-she didn’t know what it had been-and he and whoever he was actually writing to had buried their messages in the word puzzles and acrostics he and Wynai had shared regularly by mail ever since her marriage had taken her to the Republic so many years before.

But he’d been very specific in that first letter. She was to do nothing but relay letters. That was the most important thing she could possibly do, and she mustn’t do anything that could compromise her ability to perform that task. So she’d had no contact at all with the Inquisition here in Siddar. She’d spoken as calmly and reasonably as she could when the inevitable debates erupted between Temple Loyalists and adherents of the Church of Charis, avoiding anything which could have gotten her labeled an extremist by either side. And she’d never, not once, used her privileged position here inside the embassy to provide information to Mother Church.

In a lot of ways, she’d been grateful Trai’s instructions had precluded her from doing that. But Trai was gone now, and Urwyn, both of them sacrificed to the war impious man had declared upon God Himself, and that meant she was free. It would be a betrayal of Sir Rayjhis’ trust, and she regretted that deeply, yet she had no choice but to serve God and the Archangels in any way she could.

She drew another deep breath and began transcribing her notes in the beautiful, clear handwriting she’d been taught as a child in Tellesberg. She had the dispatch bag to catch, and she would. But this time, instead of destroying her original notes the way she always had before, she would take them with her when she left.

It was very quiet in the tiny office, with only the soft, purposeful scratching of her pen to break the silence. .

The Temple, City of Zion, The Temple Lands

“God damn them! God damn all of them!”

Zhaspahr Clyntahn threw the entire file across the sitting room of his luxurious personal suite. It hit the outer wall’s unbreakable transparent crystal with a thump and flew back, scattering pages across the thick, rich carpets, and the Grand Inquisitor snarled. His heavy-jowled face was purple with fury as he snatched up a priceless glass paperweight that was over three hundred years old and hurled it across the room, directly into a glass-fronted cabinet of crystal decanters. It struck with an ear-shattering crash and the sharp scent of expensive brandies and whiskeys as paperweight, glass, and bottles exploded in fragments.

Spectacular as it was, the destruction had no apparent effect on Clyntahn’s rage, and he bent and snatched up the bronze coffee table. It had to weigh a hundred pounds, Wyllym Rayno thought, but the Grand Inquisitor didn’t even seem to notice. He only hurled it after the paperweight with an explosive grunt of effort, demolishing the entire wet bar in a cascade of shattered snifters, goblets, liqueur bottles, and exquisite-and exquisitely expensive- cabinetry.

The Archbishop of Chiang-wu made himself as small and inconspicuous as he possibly could. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Clyntahn explode in all but incoherent fury, but it was never a pleasant experience. And he’d seldom seen the Grand Inquisitor this angry. In fact, it was entirely possible he’d never seen Clyntahn this angry.

Not even Zhaspahr Clyntahn in the grip of a monumental rage could throw something as heavy as that coffee table without consequences. He stumbled, nearly falling, and kept himself on his feet only by grabbing the back of a couch. He snarled, shoved himself back upright, and kicked the couch halfway across the room. It knocked over a display pedestal, and a marble bust of the Archangel Chihiro-carved from life by the second-century master Charkain-toppled to the floor in a crunching, face-first impact that sent fragments of white stone flying. He looked around, as if seeking something else expensive to destroy, then stomped out of the sitting room, kicking heirloom furniture out of his way, and Rayno heard more shattering sounds from the adjacent bedchamber.

Fortunately, Clyntahn hadn’t ordered the archbishop to accompany him, and Rayno breathed a quiet prayer of thanks as he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his cassock and prepared to wait out his superior’s rage.

From the sounds of things, it was going to take a while.

“All right,” Clyntahn said flatly, the better part of two hours later. “Give me the details.”

He and Rayno had withdrawn to the small conference room attached to the Grand Inquisitor’s suite. The door had opened at their approach and then closed silently behind them, cool air whispered through the overhead ducts, and the conference room’s soundproofing guaranteed that none of the white-faced servants creeping about while they dealt with the wreckage littering the wake of Clyntahn’s rage would hear a word they said.

Rayno considered pointing out that all “the details” he possessed had been contained in the file, but he didn’t consider it very hard. He’d quietly gathered up the file’s scattered contents and brought them with him, but reminding Clyntahn he’d cleaned up behind him probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

“I’m afraid there’s not a great deal to add to what I’ve already told you, Your Grace,” he said just a bit cautiously. “The destruction appears to be effectively total. Jahras’ entire fleet seems to have been sunk, burned, or taken. All the navy yard facilities were burned. The artillery foundries in and around Iythria were all destroyed, and the port’s batteries were blown up. As nearly as I can tell, Your Grace, the Imperial Desnairian Navy now consists solely of the twenty-one galleons in Desnair Bay. And, in all honesty, Your Grace, I’ll be astounded if the heretics don’t move against Desnair the City very soon now.” His mouth twisted. “They made it clear enough at Iythria that they’re not afraid to confront heavy fortifications or our galleons, and I don’t think there’s anything at Desnair that could stop them if Jahras couldn’t stop them at Iythria.”