David Weber - How firm a foundation

Cayleb reached out and laid his right hand atop Gorjah’s and met the kneeling king’s eyes levelly.

“And we, Cayleb Zhan Haarahld Bryahn Ahrmahk, in our own name and in that of Sharleyan Ahdel Alahnah Ahrmahk, do accept your oath. We will extend protection against all enemies, loyalty for fealty, justice for justice, fidelity for fidelity, and punishment for oath-breaking. May God judge us and ours as He judges you and yours.”

They stayed that way for a handful of seconds, hands touching, eyes meeting, and then Cayleb withdrew his hand and nodded.

“And that’s that,” he said with an off-center smile. “So now that we’ve got it out of the way,” he stood, waving one hand in invitation to his newest vassal as he started down from the dais, “why don’t we get down to work… and let me get out of this damned outfit?” . XI.

Ship Chandler Quay, City of Manchyr, Princedom of Corisande

It was rather different from her arrival, Sharleyan Ahrmahk thought as the carriage rolled down Prince Fronz Avenue towards Ship Chandler Quay behind its escort of Corisandian cavalry. Then the cheers had been undeniably tentative-loud enough, but uncertain. The southeastern portion of Corisande had settled into firm loyalty to the Regency Council months earlier, and it had accepted that the Charisian occupation forces were genuinely doing their best to be no more repressive than they must. But the House of Ahrmahk was still saddled in all too many minds with the blood guilt for Hektor Daykyn’s murder, and all the world knew how bitterly Sharleyan of Chisholm had hated the man and-by extension-the princedom she blamed for her father’s death.

Those cheers of greeting had come from people who’d been grateful for the restoration of order and stability and the relative gentleness of the Charisian occupation… so far, at least. That wasn’t remotely the same as being resigned to permanent Charisian domination, or becoming loyal Charisian subjects, but it had reflected their willingness to at least wait and see.

At the same time, there’d been an undeniable dread of what the late Prince Hektor’s most deadly enemy might have in mind for his princedom, since he himself was beyond her vengeance. In light of her reputation, and even more in light of the way Hektor’s propagandists had emphasized her hostility to his subjects, it had been no surprise the Corisandians had hoped, even prayed, Emperor Cayleb had meant his promises that there would be no violent repression, no unnecessary or casual reprisals, and that the rule of law would be respected. And, for that matter, that Sharleyan would consider herself bound by anything Cayleb might have promised. After all, she was his coruler, and no one in Corisande had any way of knowing exactly how the two of them thought that worked. She and Cayleb had said all the right things, but still…

The fact that those accused of treason had been tried in Corisandian courts, before the peers and clergy of Corisande, rather than hauled before a Charisian occupation court, had been hopeful, yet everyone behind those cheers of greeting and the banners hung out to welcome her had known that if she chose, Sharleyan Ahrmahk could have decreed whatever fate she chose to order.

And that was what was different about today’s cheers. She could have decreed whatever fate she chose… and she’d chosen to abide by the law, as her husband had sworn Charis would. No secret arrests, no condemnations on the basis of tortured confessions, no secret accusers who never had to face the accused, open trials and open verdicts openly arrived at. True, virtually all those verdicts had been guilty, yet even that was different in this case, because the evidence-the proof-had been overwhelming and utterly damning. No one doubted for a moment that anyone accused of treason against Prince Hektor would also have been found guilty, but neither did anyone doubt that Hektor would have seen little reason to worry about things like evidence and proof.

True, she had set aside some of those verdicts, yet unlike Hektor, it hadn’t been to condemn those who’d been acquitted. Instead, almost a quarter of those who’d been convicted had been pardoned. Not because there’d been any question about their guilt, but because she’d chosen to pardon them. It wasn’t even the general blanket, prison-emptying amnesty some rulers proclaimed as a grand gesture on assuming the throne, or for a wedding, or for the birth of an heir. No, she’d pardoned specific individuals, and in every instance she’d personally enumerated the reasons she’d chosen to show mercy.

And she’d gone right on doing it despite the attempt to murder her on her very throne.

Corisande wasn’t used to that. For that matter, virtually no Safeholdian realm was used to that, and Corisande still didn’t know what to make of it. But Corisande knew one thing-Sharleyan Ahrmahk, the archenemy and arch-hater of Corisande, was a very different proposition from someone like Zhaspahr Clyntahn or even Hektor Daykyn. Perhaps she was still-technically, at least-an enemy, and certainly she remained one of the foreign potentates who’d conquered their own princedom, but she’d conquered something else during her visit to Manchyr, as well.

She’d conquered their hearts.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, Your Majesty,” General Hauwyl Chermyn said, looking out the window of the carriage. He’d wanted to accompany Sharleyan on horseback as part of the security escort, but she’d insisted on his joining her in the carriage, instead. Now he shook his head and waved one hand at the cheering crowds who lined the streets all the way from the palace to quayside. “I remember what these people were like right after Hektor was killed. I wouldn’t have given a Harchong copper for your life if you’d come to Manchyr then.”

The weathered-looking Marine’s expression was grim, and Sharleyan smiled fondly at him. There were lines in Chermyn’s face that hadn’t been there before Cayleb installed him as the Empire’s viceroy general here in Corisande. His dark hair had gone entirely iron-gray during his stay, as well, and his bushy mustache had turned almost entirely white. Yet his brown eyes were as alert as ever, and his heavyset, muscular body was still undeniably solid -looking, she thought. And well it should be, because if she’d had to come up with a single word to encapsulate Hauwyl Chermyn, it would have been “solid.”

“Well, from all the reports I’ve seen, we owe a lot of the improvement to you, General,” she said, then winced as the carriage hit an uneven paving stone and sent a stab of pain through her still knitting ribs.

“And if I’d done my job a bit better, Your Majesty,” he growled, obviously not having missed her wince, “I’d have had that bastard Hainree-begging your pardon for the language-before he ever came that close to killing you.” His face was briefly as iron-like as his hair color. “His Majesty’d never have forgiven me for letting something like that happen!”

“What you mean is you’d never have forgiven yourself,” Sharleyan said, leaning forward to pat him on the knee as they sat facing each other. “Which would have been foolish of you, since no one could possibly have done a better job than the one you’ve done, but that wouldn’t have changed a thing, would it?” It was her turn to shake her head. “You’re not exactly a reasonable man where your own duty is concerned, General.”

“Good of you to say so, anyway, Your Majesty,” Chermyn said, “but you’re being too kind. Letting me off too easily, too, for that matter. If not for Seijin Merlin, he’d have had you. For that matter, I thought at first he had hit you, and so did nearly everyone else, I understand.”