David Weber - How firm a foundation

The longer-range wyverns were slower, but they also were capable of flights of up to four thousand miles. Indeed, there were rumors of legendary flights of up to five thousand, although substantiation for such claims was notoriously thin on the ground. Because they were slower-and because they had to stop to hunt and roost on the way-they were capable of no more than seven hundred and fifty miles per day under average conditions, but even that meant they could deliver a message over a four thousand-mile transit in less than six days. That was slower than the semaphore (under good visibility conditions, anyway), but faster than any other means of communications available… at least to those who didn’t have the advantage of communicators and satellite relays.

“As Rayjhis just pointed out, it’s fifteen thousand miles from here to Talkyra by ship and boat,” Cayleb said. “I realize it’s shorter than that in a direct line, but it’s still close to seven thousand miles even for a wyvern, Nahrmahn!”

“Yes, it is,” Nahrmahn agreed. “And it just happens I have at my disposal a breed of messenger wyvern capable of making flights at least that long.”

“I find that difficult-not impossible, Your Highness; just difficult-to believe,” Gray Harbor said after a moment. “If we really do have wyverns with that kind of range, however, I’m entirely in agreement with you. The question becomes how we get them to Earl Coris in the first place.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too, My Lord,” Nahrmahn said with a smile, “and I think I know just the messenger, assuming we can contact him.”

He glanced at Cayleb, who raised his eyebrows.

“And exactly who were you thinking about calling upon?” the emperor inquired politely.

“It just occurred to me, Your Majesty, to wonder if you might have some means of getting into contact with Seijin Merlin’s friend Master Zhevons.” Nahrmahn smiled toothily at Cayleb’s expression. “He did so well at… motivating King Gorjah, and he’s obviously at home operating on the mainland. It just seems appropriate, somehow, to get him into touch with Earl Coris, as well. Who knows?” His smile faded suddenly, his eyes meeting Cayleb’s levelly. “It might just turn out that this is another situation that requires his special talents, Your Majesty.” . VI.

City of Gorath, Kingdom of Dohlar, and Royal Palace, Princedom of Corisande

“They’re here, My Lord,” Lieutenant Bahrdailahn said quietly.

“Thank you, Ahbail,” Lywys Gardynyr said. He inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the cabin door. “Show them in, please.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The flag lieutenant bowed considerably more deeply than usual and disappeared. A moment later, he returned.

“Admiral Manthyr, Captain Braishair, and Captain Krugair, My Lord,” he announced unnecessarily, and Gardynyr bobbed his head to the newcomers.

“Gentlemen,” he said.

“Earl Thirsk,” Gwylym Manthyr replied for himself and his subordinates.

“I very much regret the necessity to summon you to this particular meeting,” Thirsk said levelly, “but in the name of what honor remains to me, I have no choice. Admiral Manthyr, you surrendered your ships and personnel to me after a most gallant and determined defense-one which still commands my admiration and professional respect. At that time, I promised you honorable treatment under the laws of war. I regret that I face you as a man forsworn.”

Bahrdailahn shifted slightly, face tightening in silent protest, but Thirsk continued in the same measured tone.

“I’m sure you recognized, as did I, that any promise on my part was subject to violation or outright revocation by my superiors or by Mother Church. As a loyal son of Mother Church it’s not my place to criticize or dispute her decisions; as an officer of the Royal Dohlaran Navy, I am ashamed.”

He looked directly into Manchyr’s eyes, hoping the Charisian saw the truth in his own.

“Your men have been badly enough abused in Dohlaran custody. The fact that I’ve done everything in my power to alleviate that abuse is no excuse for my failure to change it, nor will anything remove the stain of that abuse from the honor of my Navy. I once thought harshly of your Emperor and the terms he enforced upon my men; had I known then how you and your men would one day be treated by my own service, I would have gone down on my knees before him to thank him for his leniency.”

He stopped speaking, and silence lingered in the wake of his final sentence. Several seconds passed, and then Manthyr cleared his throat.

“I won’t pretend I’m not angry over the way my people have been treated, My Lord.” He held Thirsk’s gaze, and his eyes were as hard as his tone was flat. “God alone knows how many of those who died in the hulks would’ve lived if they’d been given proper food and even minimal medical care. And that doesn’t even consider the fact that now your Navy is prepared to turn us over to the Inquisition in full knowledge of what will happen.”

He saw Thirsk wince, but the Dohlaran admiral refused to look away or evade his flinty eyes, and after a moment, it was the Charisian who nodded ever so slightly.

“I won’t pretend I’m not angry,” he repeated, “and I won’t pretend I don’t agree that this is going to be an indelible stain on the honor not just of the Dohlaran Navy but of your entire Kingdom. The time will come, My Lord, when you and all Dohlarans will rue the way in which my men have been treated. I won’t be here to see it, but as surely as the sun rises in the east, my Emperor will see justice done in our names, just as he did in Ferayd. It might be well for your King to remember that day, because this time there will be no question as to where the final responsibility lies.

“Yet while all of that’s true, and while I have no doubt history will besmirch your name as surely as that of the Duke of Fern or King Rahnyld, I also know you personally did everything humanly possible to honor your word to me and see my men decently and honorably treated. I can’t forgive you for the cause you serve, but I can and will say you serve it as honorably as any man living could.”

“It’s not given to us to choose the kings we’re born to serve,” Thirsk replied after a moment, “and honor and duty sometimes lead us places we wish we’d never had to go. This is one of those places and one of those times, Admiral Manthyr, yet I am a Dohlaran. I can’t change the decisions which have been made by my King, and I won’t break my oath to him. But neither can I hide behind that oath to evade my responsibility or hide my shame from myself or from you. And that’s also the reason I asked you here this morning so that I might apologize to you personally, and through you to all of your men. I know it means very little, but it’s all I have to give and the least I can give.”

A part of Sir Gwylym Manthyr wanted to spit on the deck. Wanted to curse in Thirsk’s face for the sheer uselessness of words against the scale of what was going to happen to his men. Words were cheap, apologies cost nothing, and neither of them would save a single one of his men from a single second of the agony waiting for them. And yet…

Manthyr drew a deep breath. Perhaps Thirsk’s apology was no more than a gesture, yet both of them knew how dangerous a gesture it was. There was no way the Inquisition could fail to learn of this meeting, and given Thirsk’s efforts to protect his Charisian prisoners while they were in his custody, the inquisitors were unlikely to look kindly upon it. For the moment, at least, Thirsk was too important-probably-to the Church’s jihad to find himself the Inquisition’s guest, but that was always subject to change, and both of them knew how long a memory Zhaspahr Clyntahn had. So gesture though it might be, it was scarcely as empty as some might think.