by David Weber
He paused once again, allowing his words to settle fully, then leaned back in his own chair, still regarding them across the table.
“There’s a reason I’m speaking with you directly, without bevies of advisers and without screens of ambassadors. I want there to be no misunderstandings, no gray areas. And I want you to know, and to be able to tell anyone who asks, that you spoke directly to me. That whatever terms are ultimately offered to Corisande are my terms. That if I will accept nothing less, I also will demand nothing more after the fact.”
“I appreciate your candor, Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock said after a moment. “I won’t pretend I’ve enjoyed hearing everything you had to say, because I haven’t. Nor, while I can understand and appreciate your position, do I feel any great temptation to sacrifice Corisande’s interests, or those of Prince Daivyn, to those of Charis. Nonetheless, I can’t dispute your analysis of the current military situation, either. And whether or not you were involved in Prince Hektor and Crown Prince Hektor’s murders, your analysis of the internal consequences to the Princedom closely parallels Earl Tartarian’s and my own view of them. Neither of us wants a situation in which armed resistance to Charisian rule, or even conflict between our own internal factions, results in punitive Charisian measures against Prince Daivyn’s subjects.”
He’d watched Cayleb’s expression carefully while he spoke, and now the emperor smiled slightly.
“I notice that you just referred to ‘Prince Daivyn,’ My Lord,” he observed.
“He is Prince Hektor’s legitimate heir,” Anvil Rock pointed out.
“True,” Cayleb agreed. “Unfortunately, he isn’t in the Princedom at the moment, is he?”
Both Corisandian earls stiffened, and Cayleb shrugged.
“I realize that isn’t common knowledge, even in the Palace, gentlemen. Nonetheless, my agents and I have become aware of his absence, and of the absence of Princess Irys. In fact, I rather think one of my cruisers came very close to snapping the two of them up. Tell me, am I correct in suspecting that the Harchongese galleon Wing, which, for some peculiar reason, was carrying a cargo of Charisian farm equipment from Charis to Shwei right through the middle of our blockade of Corisande, was actually carrying a rather more valuable cargo at the same time?”
This time, the Corisandians’ alarm was obvious, and Cayleb shook his head.
“My Lords, while it pains me to admit that my Navy isn’t actually infallible, this time, your efforts succeeded quite nicely, and we sent Wing on her way with our blessing.” He grimaced, but there was a slight twinkle in his eyes, as well. “Certain of my other sources have confirmed Princess Irys’ and Prince Daivyn’s absence from Corisande, however, and an examination of the report from Dawn Star’s captain indicates the presence of three passengers aboard the mysterious Wing. I also note Earl Coris’ absence from our meeting today, and I rather doubt the two of you would have simply absent-mindedly left him behind. And, finally, if I’d been Prince Hektor and I’d decided to send my daughter and my younger son to safety, I can think of very few of my councilors to whom I would have felt comfortable entrusting them. In fact, I can think of only three or four, and two of them are sitting on your side of the table this morning. That suggests to my powerful intellect that the ‘merchant factor’ and his two children shown on Wing’s manifest were, in fact, Earl Coris, Princess Irys, and Prince Daivyn.”
Tartarian and Anvil Rock looked at one another. Then Tartarian turned back to Cayleb.
“Since there’s no point in pretending otherwise, in the long run, I suppose we may as well admit that you’re correct, Your Majesty.”
“I thought as much.” Cayleb nodded. “And, in answer to the question you haven’t asked, My Lord, I would assume all three of them reached their destination safely. Obviously, no one can guarantee the vagaries of wind or weather—you, as an admiral, will know that as well as I do—but your little ruse completely fooled the only one of my cruisers to actually intercept Wing, for which I compliment you. Although it does rather complicate both of our problems at the moment, doesn’t it?”
In fact, Cayleb knew that Irys and Daivyn had reached Shwei Bay without further incident.
“I believe you could say it does represent at least a slight complication,” Tartarian replied wryly.
“It could hardly be otherwise,” Cayleb agreed. “And from your choice of words, My Lord,” he looked at Anvil Rock, “it seems evident you and Earl Tartarian—and, I would assume, the Council—have agreed to acknowledge Daivyn as Prince of Corisande, despite his absence. And despite any other potential contenders for the crown.”
“We have,” Anvil Rock said shortly.
“I think that was probably your wisest choice, under the circumstances,” Cayleb said. “On the other hand, it will undoubtedly create several difficulties. I’ll be frank, My Lords—given Charis’ relations with Corisande over the years, the notion of leaving any member of Prince Hektor’s house on the Corisandian throne, even as a vassal of the Charisian Empire, scarcely appeals to me. The notion of having the heir to the throne outside the Princedom and—forgive me, but we all know this is true—in a position to be used as a tool against Charis by our enemies is even less attractive.”
“However attractive or unattractive it may be, Your Majesty, Earl Tartarian and I have neither the right nor the desire to depose our legitimate prince.”
“And I see you intend to be stubborn about that.” Cayleb’s brief smile deprived his words of most of their sting.
“We do, Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock replied unflinchingly.
“This may surprise you, My Lord, but I not only respect your integrity, but in many ways, I agree with your decision, as well.”
Despite himself, Anvil Rock’s eyebrows rose slightly, and Cayleb chuckled harshly.
“Don’t mistake me, My Lord. Agreeing with you isn’t the same thing as liking the situation. Nonetheless, creating a succession dispute would serve neither of us at this time. Which means I’m prepared to recognize young Daivyn as Corisande’s legitimate prince, and as Duke of Manchyr.”
Both Corisandians’ body language seemed to relax slightly, but Cayleb wasn’t quite finished yet.
“Precisely what will ultimately become of Daivyn’s claim to the crown remains to be seen. If he wishes to retain it—or, for that matter, his duchy—he will be required to swear fealty to me and to Empress Sharleyan, which will also hold true for every other member of the Corisandian nobility. And I will not confirm him in any of his dignities so long as he stands upon any other realm’s soil. I won’t deprive him of them, but neither will I confirm them until I can be certain he’s his own man and not under the control of anyone else. Until such time as I can be certain of that, his duchy will be administered for him by someone of my own choice. I would prefer for that someone to be a Corisandian, rather than a foreigner imposed upon Manchyr, and I would appreciate your suggestions for an appropriate steward.”
Anvil Rock and Tartarian looked at one another again. Neither of them spoke, however, and they turned back to Cayleb.
“What, precisely, do you require of Corisande, Your Majesty?” Anvil Rock asked bluntly.
“I think I’ve already laid out my essential points, My Lord. Specifically, I will require that Corisande acknowledge Charisian sovereignty, and that all members of the Corisandian nobility swear fealty, individually, to the Charisian Crown. I will require the cooperation of your own Parliament and your own law masters in integrating Corisandian and Charisian law. I will require formal Corisandian recognition of the dissolution of the League of Corisande, and recognition of Zebediah’s already-accomplished permanent integration into the Empire as a separate province. I will appoint a governor for Corisande, acting in the names of myself and Empress Sharleyan and supported by a Charisian garrison. All Corisandian warships will be surrendered and integrated into the Imperial Charisian Navy, and all Corisandian army units will be disbanded. And I will insist, for reasons I’m sure you’ll both understa
nd, upon severely limiting the number of armed retainers any Corisandian noble is permitted to retain.”
The Corisandians’ faces had tightened again while he spoke, but he continued in that same calm, measured tone.
“In return, I will guarantee the protection of the persons and property of Corisandian subjects. There will be no general seizure of private property, and the property of the Crown will be respected, although it will also be integrated into the imperial structure. All of the rights of Charisian subjects will be extended to any Corisandian who swears fealty and faith to the Empire, and Corisandians will be permitted to serve in the Charisian military, if they so desire.”
“And the Church, Your Majesty?” Tartarian asked softly.
“And the Church, My Lord?” Cayleb’s voice was almost as soft as Tartarian’s, and his smile was unpleasant. “The Church of Charis follows the Crown of Charis.”
“Which means precisely what, Your Majesty?” Anvil Rock asked, his voice harsher than it had been.
“Which means the Church’s bishops and serving clergy in Corisande will be required to affirm their loyalty to the Church of Charis and to acknowledge Archbishop Maikel as the primate of that church,” Cayleb replied flatly. “Any bishop or priest who cannot, in good conscience, make that affirmation and acknowledgment will be deprived of his office. He will not be imprisoned for his refusal, nor will he be forced into exile or deprived of his priest’s cap. As Archbishop Maikel has agreed, a priest is a priest forever, and despite the Group of Four’s accusations, we have no desire to punish or victimize anyone simply because he cannot, in good conscience, agree with the position and organization of the Church of Charis. We will punish any treasonous acts, regardless of their justification, and regardless of who the traitors may be, but there will be no arbitrary arrests or imprisonment.”
“Many of our people will reject your right to dictate terms to Mother Church, however reasonably you may dress them up, Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock said warningly.
“For themselves, as individuals, they have every right to do so,” Cayleb said unflinchingly. “If they step beyond matters of personal conscience into open defiance of the law which binds all men, or into organized resistance to the Crown, then they become criminals, and they will be treated as such. Although,” his eyes became harder than brown agate, “I would recommend to their consideration the fact that Archbishop Maikel has specifically rejected the teachings of The Book of Schueler dealing with the ‘appropriate punishment’ for heresy. Whatever the Group of Four may choose to do, the Church of Charis will not be responsible for atrocities like those inflicted upon Archbishop Erayk. Nor will the Charisian Empire burn innocent cities or murder, rape, and terrorize their citizens as the Group of Four proposed to do to Charis.”
Anvil Rock tried to meet those hard, brown eyes. After a moment, his own fell.
“For what it’s worth, My Lords,” Cayleb said after a few moments, his voice rather lighter than it had been, “you can console yourself with the knowledge that Empress Sharleyan and myself remain under Grand Vicar Erek’s writ of excommunication. Theoretically, I suppose, that means any oath you may swear to us is nonbinding, in the eyes of Mother Church. Or, perhaps, I should say the Council of Vicars and the Group of Four. Mind you, I intend to enforce any oaths you may swear exactly as if they were binding, but if it helps you or any of Corisande’s other nobles where your consciences are concerned . . .”
He shrugged.
“Your Majesty, we—” Anvil Rock began just a bit sharply, but Cayleb shook his head.
“Forgive me, My Lord,” he interrupted. “I didn’t mean to sound as if I were making light of the situation, nor would I for a moment impugn the personal honor of you or Earl Tartarian. On the other hand, whether we wish to acknowledge the point or not, all of us know someone in Corisande is going to take precisely that view in order to justify active resistance to the Empire. It’s going to happen, My Lords, and all of us know it. When it happens, I will do all in my power to avoid overreactions, but there will be consequences for those responsible, and those consequences will be severe. I have no more choice in that regard than any other secular ruler, however those involved may choose to justify their actions. I won’t attempt to deceive you on that point, nor would you believe me if I did.”
Anvil Rock looked at him for a moment, then nodded with genuine, if perhaps grudging, respect.
“At any rate, My Lords,” Cayleb said more briskly, “I believe we all understand both sides’ beginning positions. As I say, my terms and requirements are essentially simple, although I’m not so naïve as to believe that giving effect to them won’t be complicated, difficult, and—unfortunately—quite possibly accompanied by additional bloodshed. I would suggest at this time that you return to Manchyr to discuss them with the other members of the Council. Unless you disagree, I would recommend we meet again tomorrow, when you can give me the sense of the Council’s response and we can continue these discussions, if that should be the Council’s decision. In the meantime, the truce between our two armies will continue.”
“I believe that sounds reasonable, Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock agreed gravely, although he must have recognized as well as Cayleb that, ultimately, the Council had no option other than to accept Cayleb’s terms. And, Cayleb suspected, whether Anvil Rock cared to admit it or not, he and Tartarian had to recognize that Cayleb’s demands were not simply reasonable, but minimal, under the circumstances.
“Before you return to the city, however,” the emperor said, “I hope you’ll do me the honor of dining with me and my own senior officers. I’ve arranged for certain of our guests to join us at table,” he added, and if his smile was small, it was also warmer than any which had yet been exchanged as he nodded sideways at Sir Koryn.
“Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock said with a smile of his own, “the honor will be ours.”
. III .
Royal Palace,
City of Cherayth,
Kingdom of Chisholm
Empress Sharleyan looked around the small, familiar council chamber.
She’d gotten a lot accomplished in this chamber, over the years, she thought. And she’d never before been away from it for so long, either. It was one year and two months, to the day, since she’d left Chisholm to marry Cayleb Ahrmahk, and there were times when she found it impossible to believe that so much had happened in so short a time.
She crossed to the open widow, put her hands on the sill, and looked out it, and her eyes softened with memory. It was true absence made one see familiar things through fresh, new eyes, she thought, and savored the vista of hills, roofs, and trees. Beyond them, she could just see the living blue marble of Cherry Bay, and the air was cool, not quite crisp, as if to warn her Chisholm’s autumn was on its way. No doubt it seemed even cooler to her, after her long stay in Charis, and she shivered inside as she gazed at leaves hovering on the brink of seasonal change and thought about the approaching winter. If she thought Charis had made her sensitive to this coolness, winter was going to be icy, indeed! Yet even as she thought that, she realized there was something about the idea of winter that seemed almost comforting, a part of the life she’d always known, and her shiver turned into a smile as she thought about the ways in which this winter was going to be different.
And how much warmer your bed’s going to be, you mean, she told herself, and chuckled.
“You don’t know how much I’ve missed hearing you do that,” a voice said behind her, and she turned with a smile. Her mother smiled back, then crossed to seat herself at the conference table. Baron Green Mountain got there before she did and pulled the chair out for her, and she looked up at him over her shoulder as he pushed it back closer to the table once she was seated.
“Thank you, Mahrak,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Your Majesty.”
He bowed to her with a smile, and Sharleyan’s eyes narrowed in sudden speculation. Green Mountain’s wife of more than thirty years had died three years
ago, and Queen Mother Alahnah had been a widow for almost thirteen years. They’d known each other literally since childhood, and they’d always been close, even before King Sailys’ death. Since then, they’d worked with one another—and with her—as political allies who relied upon one another absolutely, and the empress suddenly wondered how she’d managed to miss the other ways in which they’d grown steadily closer.
I wonder if—?
She cut that thought off in a hurry. Mostly because it was none of her business, as long as they were discreet enough to keep their relationship from becoming a political issue, but also because she’d thought of them as Mother and Uncle Mahrak for so long that thinking of them any other way seemed obscurely wrong, somehow.
“How much you’ve missed me doing what, Mother?” she asked now, innocently.
“Laughing,” Queen Mother Alahnah said simply. “Of course, I’ve missed hearing you giggle even more.”
Sharleyan grinned and shook her head, then turned her back firmly on the window and took her own place at the table.
“I’ve missed you, too, Mother—and you, Mahrak,” she said, her expression more serious.
“The feeling is mutual,” Green Mountain told her, “and not just because we’ve got such a stack of documents waiting for you. Of course,” it was his turn to glance somewhat pointedly at the window, “we’d rather expected you home some time ago.”
“I know—I know!” she said repentantly. “It was just one thing after another, and Cayleb and I both thought—”