David Weber - How firm a foundation

Paityr’s jaw tightened as he felt the echo of that young Maikel Staynair’s experience in himself. Until this moment, he wouldn’t have thought Staynair could ever have felt what the archbishop was describing to him now. Maikel Staynair’s faith and love burned with a bright, unwavering flame. That flame, that unshakable inner serenity, was the reason he could walk into a hostile cathedral in a place like Corisande and reach out even to people who’d been prepared to hate and revile him as a heretic. Not only reach out to them but inspire them to reach back to him in response. It was who and what he was. How could a man like that, a priest like that, ever have been touched with the darkness and corrosion Paityr felt gnawing at his own soul?

“What… May I ask what that young under-priest did, Your Eminence?” he asked after a long, aching moment, and to his own surprise, he managed to smile. “I mean, it’s obvious he managed to cope with it somehow after all.”

“Indeed he did.” Staynair nodded. “But he didn’t do it by himself. He reached out to others. He shared his doubts and his confusion and learned to recognize the anger for what it was and to realize it’s the people we love most-and who most love us-who can make us angriest of all. I wouldn’t want to say”-the archbishop’s smile became something suspiciously grin-like-“that he was a stubborn young man, but I suppose some people who knew him then might have leapt to that erroneous conclusion. For that matter, some people might actually think he’s still a bit stubborn. Foolish of them, of course, but people can be that way, can’t they?”

“I, ah, suppose they can, Your Eminence. Some of them, I mean.”

“Your natural and innate sense of tact is one of the things I’ve always most admired in you, Father Paityr,” Staynair replied. Then he squared his shoulders.

“All jesting aside, I needed help, and I think you could use some of that same help. For that matter, I think you’re probably less pigheaded and stubborn about availing yourself of it than I was. As your Archbishop, I’m going to strongly suggest that before you do anything else, before you make any decisions, you retire for a retreat at the same monastery to which I retreated. Will you do that for me? Will you spend a few five-days thinking and contemplating and possibly seeing some truths you haven’t seen before, or haven’t seen as clearly as you’d thought you had?”

“Of course, Your Eminence,” Paityr said simply.

“Very well. In that case, I’ll send a message to Father Zhon at Saint Zherneau’s and tell him to expect you.” . VII.

HMS Dawn Star, 58, Hannah Bay, and Ducal Palace, Carmyn, Grand Duchy of Zebediah

It was even hotter than the first time he’d been to Hannah Bay, Merlin thought. And while that might be of primarily theoretical interest to a PICA, it was of rather more pressing relevance to the flesh-and-blood members of Dawn Star ’s still breathing ship’s company. Particularly to those-like Empress Sharleyan herself-who’d been born Chisholmians and not Old Charisians.

“Dear God,” Sharleyan said, fanning herself as she stepped out onto the awning-shaded quarterdeck with Sergeant Seahamper, “you warned me it would be hot, Merlin, but this -!”

“I’ll admit I didn’t expect it to be quite this warm,” Merlin said. “On the other hand, you are almost directly on the equator, Your Majesty.”

“A point which has been drawn rather sharply to my attention,” she replied tartly.

“At least you’re not the only one suffering from it,” Merlin offered helpfully, eliciting a glare of truly imperial proportions.

Crown Princess Alahnah had been a happier baby since the stormy weather had eased, but it would appear she had not yet developed her father’s tolerance for warm temperatures. “Cranky” was a frail description of her current mood, as Sharleyan was better aware than most.

“Perhaps I’d better rephrase that, Your Majesty,” he said, and heard something suspiciously like a chuckle from Seahamper’s direction. He glanced at the grizzled sergeant, but Seahamper only smiled back at him blandly.

“Perhaps you had,” Sharleyan agreed pointedly, reclaiming his attention from her personal armsman. “Unless you’d care to go see if you can get your goddaughter into a more cheerful mood yourself, that is.”

“It’s always my honor to undertake even the most difficult of tasks in your service, Your Majesty,” Merlin replied with a bow. “ Impossible tasks, however, are beyond the abilities even of seijins.”

“Don’t I know it!” Sharleyan said feelingly.

The empress walked to the rail and the officers and seamen whose station was the quarterdeck moved back to give her space as she stood gazing out across the bay’s blue waters. They looked seductively cool as they sparkled and flashed in the relentless, brilliant sunlight, and she wished fervently that she could take advantage of that coolness. Unfortunately, she had other things to deal with, and her mouth tightened as she looked at the six Imperial Charisian Navy galleons anchored in company with Dawn Star. Twenty more galleons-transports flying the imperial banner-lay between them and shore, with lighters and longboats ferrying their cargo of Imperial Army troops ashore. She doubted very much that those reinforcements were going to be necessary, given Tohmys Symmyns’ unpopularity with the people of Zebediah. In fact, she’d argued against bringing them along, but that wasn’t an argument Cayleb or the Duke of Eastshare, the Army’s commander, had been willing to entertain, and Merlin had voted with them. Rather enthusiastically, in fact, if her memory served.

“I hope none of the Zebediahans are going to take the wrong message from this,” she said now, quietly enough that only Merlin’s ears could hear her.

“I’m not sure there is a wrong message they could take from it,” he replied sub-vocally from behind her, and she smiled slightly as she heard his voice over the com earplug. “I think it’s as important for the lesser nobility and the commoners to understand you and Cayleb aren’t going to put up with any more nonsense as it is for any of Zebediah’s more nobly born confidants to get the same message. Nobody in a place like Zebediah is going to stick his neck out in support of what may be a simply transitory regime. Unless they’re pretty sure you plan to hang around-and to enforce the new rules-people are likely to keep their heads down. Especially when you add in the fact that coming out in favor of Charisian rule is going to get them on the wrong side of the Inquisition and Mother Church, as well.”

“I know,” she murmured back. “I just can’t help thinking about Hektor’s efforts. These people haven’t had a lot of good experiences with foreign troops, Merlin.”

“No,” he agreed, enhanced vision watching the first squads of Army troops debarking onto Carmyn’s wharves. “It’s time we changed that, though, and Kynt is just the man to make a good start in that direction.”

Sharleyan nodded. Kynt Clareyk, the Baron of Green Valley, was an ex-Marine. Although only a recent addition to the inner circle, he’d cherished his suspicions for some time where Seijin Merlin’s role in the innovations which had made Charis’ survival possible were concerned. He was also one of the new Imperial Army’s most highly regarded officers. Even his Chisholmian-born fellows, who tended to regard Marines as excellent for boarding actions and smash and grab raids but fairly useless for extended campaigns, listened very carefully to anything Green Valley had to say.

“I can’t help wishing we had something which more immediately demanded his talents, though,” she said after a moment. “Or perhaps I should say I hope nothing happens here which immediately demands his talents.”