David Weber - How firm a foundation

There were other reasons to name him to that position as well, of course. One was to demonstrate Cayleb and Sharleyan’s willingness to step outside their own realms of Old Charis and Chisholm to fill such a vital position. It was another proof they’d genuinely meant it when they declared that the Empire of Charis was to be an empire of all its peoples. In addition, Pine Hollow had the advantage of having understudied one of the most skilled, cunning, and devious rulers in Safehold’s history, which would undoubtedly prove valuable. And, finally, in the wake of Nahrmahn’s death, the Brethren of Saint Zherneau had finally (if tardily) accepted the Emeraldian’s recommendation that Pine Hollow be added to the inner circle.

Cayleb would have given literally anything to have Gray Harbor still sitting in that chair, but if he couldn’t have that, at least he had someone who was every bit as determined and every bit as intelligent as Gray Harbor had been himself. And one who knew the full truth about the struggle they confronted… and who had access to Owl and the coms which tied the inner circle together.

Now if we could only get those lovable old fossils to let us bring Ironhill fully on board, Cayleb thought. Then he snorted mentally. Just like you, isn’t it, Cayleb? Never content, never satisfied! Why don’t you just concentrate on the things the Brethren have managed to do right and contemplate some of the things they may have kept you from doing wrong, instead?

“Bynzhamyn,” he said out loud, turning to where Bynzhamyn Raice sat next to Nahrmahn Gareyt, “I suppose we should start with you.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Baron Wave Thunder looked as weathered and solid as ever, yet it was clear he’d taken the suicidal attacks hard. His expression was grim, and the mood of the entire council darkened perceptibly as its members turned their attention to him. All of them knew they weren’t going to like what he had to report, but only those who were also members of the inner circle knew there was even worse he couldn’t report yet.

“As of my most recent figures,” he said, “the death toll from all of the attacks stands at one thousand seven hundred and sixteen. Over half of those were from the Gray Wyvern attack. In addition, according to the Order of Pasquale, we have at least another twenty-five or thirty in hospital who may yet succumb to their injuries. And over ninety who are expected to live, although some of them have lost limbs.”

His voice was harsh, and his eyes met Cayleb’s. Both of them knew those numbers were low, although neither could say so, since no reports had come in as yet from Chisholm. That meant there was no acceptable way for them to know another three hundred plus people had died in Sharleyan’s kingdom. Baron Green Mountain, her own first councilor and beloved mentor, might still be one of them, too, although the healers seemed to have him stabilized.

“The only good news is that we did manage to take at least one of Clyntahn’s agents alive,” Wave Thunder continued. “It was only blind luck, of course.” In fact, it had been Owl’s SNARCs and Merlin Athrawes’ ability to sprint halfway across Tellesberg under cover of darkness at superhuman speeds, but, again, that was something he couldn’t very well explain to the council at large. “We were all lucky Captain Athrawes happened to be outside the Patent Office to notice the wagon approaching the building. If he hadn’t become suspicious and overpowered the driver before he could reach the detonating mechanism-”

“Captain Athrawes does seem to have a talent for that sort of thing, doesn’t he?” Sharleyan observed, deliberately pitching her voice to lighten the mood as she turned her head to smile at the sapphire-eyed Guardsman standing just inside the council chamber door.

“He has proved a moderately useful fellow upon occasion, I suppose,” Cayleb agreed in a judicious tone.

“One tries, Your Majesty,” Merlin replied respectfully, and the entire council laughed. A mere bodyguard might not have been expected to reply to an emperor that way in most realms, but this was Charis, the bodyguard was Merlin Athrawes, and they needed that cleansing laughter.

“At any rate, Your Majesties,” Wave Thunder said, “the one man we’ve managed to capture hasn’t been the least bit reticent about who he is or why he’s here, or even who sent him. In fact, Master Ahndairs is proud to have been personally selected by the Grand Inquisitor as one of his ‘Rakurai.’ His only regret seems to be that he was captured before he killed himself blowing up the Patent Office and as many people who worked in it as possible-and Father Paityr, in particular-and he’s boasted to anyone who would listen that he and his companions were only the first wave of the attacks Clyntahn intends to launch.”

There was no laughter this time, and faces hardened all around the table.

“I suppose something along these lines was only to be expected, eventually, given how uniformly unsuccessful they’ve been in regular military confrontations with us,” Pine Hollow said quietly. “Given the timing, it was probably the Markovian Sea that actually pushed Clyntahn into this strategy, I expect.”

“I agree, Your Majesties,” Baron Ironhill said, his expression grim. “Granted, it never occurred to any of us, since we tend to think of wars as something in which you try to minimize carnage among civilians and innocent bystanders. We should have remembered that as far as Clyntahn’s concerned, there are no ‘innocent bystanders’ in Charis. He doesn’t give a damn who he slaughters.”

His voice went hard and ugly with the last sentence, and not just because of the carnage Clyntahn’s “Operation Rakurai” had wreaked. The official report of the murder of Sir Gwylym Manthyr and his remaining men had reached Tellesberg, as well. In fact, the version of their deaths the Inquisition was trying hard to suppress across Haven and Howard had come to Tellesberg, courtesy of the tiny, highly stealthy, purely passive remote Merlin Athrawes had deployed to within visual range of the Plaza of Martyrs. That remote had seen Gwylym Manthyr’s final gesture of defiance, and the propaganda broadsheets going up throughout the mainland realms contained a detailed etching of Manthyr’s spittle hitting Clyntahn in the face to give the lie to the Grand Inquisitor’s claim that Manthyr had confessed to all of the crimes and blasphemies charged against him.

Yet that remote had also recorded the agony in which those Charisians had died. Ironhill hadn’t seen it, but he didn’t need to. Cayleb and Merlin had seen it, driven by their loyalty to Gwylym Manthyr, and wished with all their hearts they hadn’t. Sharleyan-wiser, perhaps, than either of them-had refused to look. She honored Manthyr’s dauntless courage, yet she preferred to remember him as he had been, unshadowed and unmarred by the hideous death he’d died.

“You’re right, of course, Ahlvyno,” Cayleb said now. “And we’ll be watching for similar attempts, I assure you. I just pray we can protect ourselves against this kind of thing without turning into some kind of suppressive tyranny ourselves.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to put at least some additional precautions in place, Your Majesty,” Wave Thunder replied unhappily. “They succeeded in large part because we weren’t expecting it, and I think future attacks on the same scale are unlikely. I doubt they’re going to be rolling around the city with wagonloads of gunpowder again, for example, especially with our new licensing and inspection systems in place. No system’s perfect though, and we obviously can’t guarantee they don’t have the men and materials in place to keep testing it for weak spots when we still don’t even know how they got the gunpowder into the assassins’ hands to begin with!”