David Weber - How firm a foundation

“If you say so, Captain.”

“I do say so,” Merlin replied, resting one hand lightly on the sergeant’s shoulder for a moment. “And you remind me of another sergeant I met a couple of years ago-a fellow by the name of Seahamper. I think you’ll like him when you meet him. And do me a favor.”

“Favor?” Raimair asked just a bit suspiciously.

“Stay alive and in one piece,” Merlin said very seriously. “Prince Daivyn and Princess Irys need you. Unless I’m mistaken, she needs you more than he does at the moment, as a matter of fact, and I think she’s already lost enough people she needed. Don’t you?”

Raimair stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly, his expression one of wonderment.

“Aye,” he said after a moment. “Aye, that she has.”

“Then let’s not make any more holes in her life.” The hand on Raimair’s shoulder tightened, and then the reckless, confident grin reappeared under the waxed mustachios. “Now, you were saying about the opposition?”

“So I was, Sir.” Raimair gave himself another shake. “There’s no more than half the usual detachment here tonight. The Colonel could call up reinforcements from the local militia, and there’s a full regiment of militia dragoons in Talkyra. Take a while to get them rousted out of bed and pulled away from their dinners, though. And, to be honest, I don’t see any reason he’d be thinking he needed ’em, come to that.” The sergeant shrugged. “These are good lads I’ve got here, but there’s only a dozen of ’em, when all’s said. Even with only half the detachment, he’s four times that many.”

“Understood.” Merlin’s expression turned serious again. “You do realize that the instant they see me, you’re all going to be guilty of treason and consorting with heretics in both Mother Church and King Zhames’ eyes?”

“Thought had crossed my mind,” Raimair replied with sour irony. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to change out of that armor of yours?”

“Sergeant, it’s not going to make one bit of difference in the long run.” Merlin chuckled. “The moment Grand Inquisitor Zhaspahr discovers Irys and Daivyn have slipped through his fingers alive, we’re all dead men if he ever gets his hands on us. That being the case, I prefer to fight in my own colors.”

“And if seeing you in them causes Colonel Sahndahl’s lads to come at us harder, my own lads are going to find any bridges burned behind them,” Raimair said.

“A point which had occurred to me,” Merlin acknowledged. “Of course, that’s another way of saying it’s going to get them focused on staying alive and keep them there, isn’t it?”

“Sounds better that way, anyhow,” Raimair said, then laughed. “And truth to tell, we’ve burned our bridges already.”

“That’s fortunate,” Merlin told him, raising his head and cocking it to one side, “because unless I’m mistaken, Colonel Sahndahl’s on his way right now.”

Fraihman Sahndahl walked across the paved courtyard with a grim, determined stride. Three squads of Guardsmen followed him, and he sensed the men’s confusion. They had no idea why they’d just been ordered to arrest-and, if necessary, kill-men they’d been drinking beer with only that afternoon. The presence of half a dozen Schuelerites, including Bahldwyn Gaimlyn, who’d been one of King Zhames’ secretaries for almost a year, discouraged any speculation on their part, however. And with those damned inquisitors watching, there was no doubt in Sahndahl’s mind his men would do whatever they were ordered to do.

God, I hope Raimair and Coris are smart enough to surrender for the kids’ sake, he thought. Yet even as he told himself that, another thought ran deeper down, counter pointing it. Given what Zhaspahr Clyntahn was capable of, if he were one of the men in that tower and he believed the Inquisition had come for him, they’d take his weapons only out of his cold dead hands… and the last thing he’d do before he died was cut both of Prince Hektor’s children’s throats to keep them out of the Inquisition’s hands, as well.

Stop that! he told himself sternly. It’s not doing a bit of good and it’s not going to change a thing.

“Wait here,” he told Mahgail, and continued across the courtyard to the steep flight of steps leading up to the tower’s open door.

He climbed the steps heavily. A pair of lanterns burned at its top, one on either side of the massively timbered door set deep into the tower’s ancient stonework, and he was acutely aware of the archer’s slits in the wall above him. He allowed no sign of that awareness to cross his expression, however, as Rahskho Mullygyn-who would have been Sergeant Mullygyn, if Tobys Raimair had dared to be open about the nature of the “footmen” and “servants” he’d assembled around Irys and Daivyn Daykyn-met him in the doorway.

“Evening, Colonel,” Mullygyn said calmly, glancing past him at the block of Guardsmen in the courtyard. “Can I help you, Sir?”

“I need to speak to Earl Coris, Rahskho,” Sahndahl said.

“’Fraid he’s already turned in for the evening, Sir.” Mullygyn smiled slightly. “Said something about not feeling too well.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to go and get him up,” Sahndahl said flatly, and looked Mullygyn straight in the eye. “It’s official, Rahskho, and I’m under orders. Let’s not make this any messier than it has to be.”

“Messy, Sir?” Mullygyn had many virtues; thespian talent was not among them, and his lack of surprise was all the confirmation Sahndahl needed that Tobys and his men had at least sensed what was coming. That was going to make things ugly, given their position inside the tower’s thick walls. Nonetheless…

“Just go get him, Rahskho,” the colonel said in that same flat voice. “And you might ask Tobys to step out here, too. I need to talk to both of them.”

“See what I can do, Sir,” Mullygyn replied, and stepped back inside the tower.

Sahndahl was tempted to follow him, but he suppressed the temptation easily. He doubted Mullygyn had been the only occupant of the guardroom just inside the doorway, and he wondered if it might not have been wiser to just go ahead and rush the place without warning anyone inside he was coming.

No, you were right the first time, he told himself. Too good a chance the girl or the boy’d get killed in the confusion, even if you got inside on the first rush. And if they really have figured out you’re coming, trying to “rush” a tower like this would be a good way to get half your men killed at the outset. So His thoughts broke off in an abrupt mental hiccup as someone else stepped out of the tower door. Not Mullygyn, and sure as hell not Earl Coris! The man in front of him was taller than either of them-a good two or three inches taller even than Captain Mahgail-with sapphire eyes, black hair, and a scarred cheek. Sahndahl had never seen him before in his life, which would have been cause enough for surprise in itself, but finding himself face-to-face with someone in the livery of the Charisian Imperial Guard hit him like a punch in the belly.

“I’m afraid Earl Coris and Sergeant Raimair are… occupied,” the impossible stranger said. “Perhaps I might be of assistance, Colonel?”

“Who… who-?” Sahndahl realized he sounded entirely too much like a stupefied owl, and he gave himself a sharp, tooth-rattling jerk.

“Captain Merlin Athrawes, Charisian Imperial Guard, at your service.” The man bowed, apparently blissfully unaware of the insanity of what he’d just said. “And I’m afraid, Colonel, that Prince Daivyn and Princess Irys have requested asylum in Tellesberg. It seems”-those blue eyes looked past the colonel and into the dumbstruck brown eyes of Father Gaisbyrt-“Vicar Zhaspahr has ordered that they be killed, much as he did their father, and they’d prefer to avoid that outcome. Undutiful of them, I know, but”-his smile could have frozen Lake Erdan in mid-summer-“I’m sure you can understand their viewpoint.”