by David Weber
Zagyrsk nodded, his expression no happier than it had been.
Tairayl Mhardyr was a basically honest man—or he had been, at any rate. Maidyn knew that, because the two of them had worked closely together, arranging support for displaced Cliff Peakers during the Jihad. There were times, however, when the man who’d succeeded Greyghor Stohnar as Lord Protector had to wonder what had happened to that honesty. Probably it had run up against political pragmatism, given that no one could have won a governor’s election in Cliff Peak without the support of the political machine that belonged to Styvyns Trumyn and Vyncyt Ohraily. They were Cliff Peak’s senior delegates to the Chamber of Delegates … and about as dishonest as even corrupt politicians came.
Unlike Mhardyr, Ahndrai Draifys had been a successful Lake City law master, who’d only dabbled in politics on the side. They’d been more of a hobby than a vocation, before the Sword of Schueler, but because of that interest in politics, he’d had a better notion than many of what might be coming. He’d gotten his family out over two months before the Sword struck, and Stohnar had selected him as Tarikah’s governor-in-exile mostly because he’d been the first member of the provincial government to make it to Siddar City.
It was probable that no one had been more surprised than Draifys by how well he’d performed in that position, and unlike Mhardyr, he tried to be as evenhanded as he could in his administration now that he’d returned home. It was evident that his personal sympathies lay with those who had remained loyal to the Republic, especially to those who’d stood their ground and fought, but he understood why Greyghor Stohnar had insisted the government of the Republic must be the government of all Siddarmarkians, whatever their stance during the Jihad might have been.
Unfortunately, Stohnar had been unable to prevent passage of the Disenfranchisement Act which had stripped the franchise from anyone who’d fled the Republic’s borders during the Jihad. He’d protested strongly—as had Maidyn—but the Chamber of Deputies had passed it by more than a sufficient margin to override Stohnar’s veto. Stohnar’s (and Maidyn’s) primary objection had been to the DA’s sweeping overreach. Under the DA, it didn’t matter why someone had fled the Republic; it applied to families who had refugeed out to Charis just as much as it did to Temple Loyalists who’d sought refuge in Zion itself or even taken active service in the Army of God. Anyone who’d left the Republic during the Jihad had lost his franchise and couldn’t get it back before swearing an oath of personal loyalty before a magistrate. In the western provinces—including both Tarikah and Cliff Peak—the Act went even further, however. In those provinces, the loyalty oaths had to be “verified” by the provincial governments and notarized and attested to before the Reconciliation Courts.
Maidyn knew damned well that the provincial legislatures were deliberately dragging their heels when it came to verifying loyalty oaths for anyone who’d gone west, instead of east. As a consequence, voting was strongly skewed towards the Siddar Loyalist element, which held clear majorities in both provincial legislatures. That limited Draifys’ options in far too many ways.
But at least, unlike Mhardyr, he was trying!
“I didn’t say Tairayl Mhardyr was a sterling example of rectitude and moral courage, My Lord,” the archbishop said. “I don’t see as much of him as Archbishop Olyvyr, because—thank Langhorne!—I have to deal directly primarily with Governor Draifys. I have exchanged quite a lot of correspondence with Governor Mhardyr because of the Reconciliation Courts, of course. On the basis of that correspondence, I think that left to his own devices he’d steer a more … disinterested course. I do know he’s well aware of the resentment Trumyn and Ohraily’s policies are feeding, at any rate. And I don’t doubt he understands how much that’s hamstringing your and the Seneschal’s efforts to get a handle on this ongoing cycle of violence.”
Zagyrsk’s eyes were sad behind their spectacles, and for just a moment he looked utterly exhausted. Almost as worn-out as Zhasyn Cahnyr had looked at the end, Maidyn thought with a sudden flicker of anxiety, and for too many of the same reasons. Zagyrsk had fought hard to protect the people of Tarikah, and even the hapless inmates of the Inquisition’s concentration camps. He’d run a serious risk of being denounced by Clyntahn and consigned to the Punishment himself more than once, and between them he and his intendant, Ignaz Aimaiyr, had saved thousands of lives. But they’d lost millions, and Maidyn knew Zagyrsk would never forgive himself for that. Which could only make the current unrest even harder for him. What he was seeing now was only a pale shadow of what the Sword of Schueler had wrought, but this time he enjoyed the full support of Mother Church and the federal government … and still couldn’t stop it.
“I know Mother Church says human nature is basically good, Your Eminence,” the lord protector said. “There are times I find that hard to believe. And, to be honest, I’ve never understood how someone who hears confessions so regularly as her priests do could really believe that. I know both God and the Archangel Bédard say that’s what we ought to believe, but—”
He shrugged, and Zagyrsk summoned a smile.
“Don’t forget that the Blessed Bédard wrote her book before Shan-wei’s Rebellion, My Lord. What Mother Church actually teaches is that human nature is more good than bad, but in these fallen days, the margin’s gotten far thinner. As the gentleman we’ve just been discussing demonstrates.”
“I guess that’s one way to put it,” Maidyn said. “But that’s why I hope this meeting goes as well as Bishop Avry appears to hope it can. And your support’s nothing to sneeze at, either. I don’t expect miracles. I’m just hoping we can at least slow the bleeding a little.”
As a physician, the Pasqualate archbishop understood the lord protector’s analogy perfectly. There were more than sufficient people with completely legitimate reasons to hate anyone who’d sided with the Church during the Jihad. Zagyrsk might regret that, but he understood human nature too well to expect anything else. Those legitimate reasons would have created a lot of anger, a lot of unrest, no matter what. But he and Governor Draifys had become aware long ago that someone was organizing and directing much of that hatred—focusing it, strengthening it. At first, they’d thought the instigators were some of those people with legitimate, personal reasons for their anger. More recently, however, they’d begun turning up evidence—not just suspicion, but evidence—of who was actually behind it. Evidence that mashed entirely too well with what Henrai Maidyn and Samyl Gahdarhd had long suspected from Siddar City.
The land speculators whose predation had already done so much to stoke the unrest had found their opportunities to strike cut-rate bargains dwindling as the Siddarmarkian expatriates who’d returned only to reestablish ownership and get what cash they could out of their pre-Jihad property sold out and went back to the Temple Lands. Those who’d come to stay, or who wanted something close to what their property was actually worth, were disinclined to take offers that were sometimes as much as ten whole percent of a farm’s or a gristmill’s pre-Jihad value. So the speculators had decided to apply a little psychological pressure to induce them to be more “reasonable,” and if a few dozen—or a few hundred—people were beaten or killed in the process, that was just fine with them.
Zagyrsk wasn’t prepared to present his evidence in a court of law, because much of it was circumstantial and more of it depended on the testimony of witnesses whose lives would be endangered if the more strident Siddar Loyalists heard what they planned to say to the magistrates. But he was prepared to state his personal certainty that the Siddar Loyalists themselves were being manipulated by calculating, cynical offal lizards, and throw his moral authority—and Mother Church’s—into the scales on the other side.
“We’ll do what we can, My Lord,” he assured the other man.
* * *
It was chilly in The Church of the Holy Martyr Saint Grygory.
The church, affectionately known to generations of Lake City citizens as Saint Gryg’s, was the oldest church in town by over
fifty years, since the original Lake City Cathedral had been demolished and the new, larger cathedral built forty-seven years ago. It was also placed on a hilltop—a windy hilltop—that provided a magnificent view of East Wing Lake, which explained why it was so chilly, despite the flues running through the sanctuary’s walls and floor from the basement hypocaust. Father Grygory Abykrahmbi, the parish priest—who strongly encouraged his flock to use the affectionate diminutive, explaining (with a straight face) that he didn’t want anyone confused into thinking the church had been named after him—had instructed the sexton to be sure the hypocaust was fired up early, and it radiated a comforting warmth from walls and floor alike. Unfortunately, most of that warmth dissipated before it got to the pews in which the participants in the morning’s meeting were gathered.
Lord Protector Henrai’s Army security detail had inspected the church carefully, and a pair of cavalry troopers—without their carbines but with their revolvers prominently on display—stood just inside the vestibule. The major commanding the detail had wanted a stronger presence inside the church, but Maidyn had turned him down. The last thing they needed was to hand their opponents the opportunity to accuse them of “profaning God’s house” with a massive invasion force. And it would have set the wrong tone for what was supposed to be a meeting of reconciliation.
Given how its participants had segregated themselves—Siddar Loyalists to the right of the central aisle and returning Temple Loyalists to the left—it didn’t look very reconciled to Maidyn at the moment.
Well, it’s your job to change that, he told himself. Probably be a good idea if you got started on it.
He sat behind the large table just outside the church’s sanctuary, looking at those pews, with Archbishop Arthyn to his left and Father Grygory to his right. Auxiliary Bishop Avry sat at a rather smaller table to one side, poised to take notes. Governor Draifys had offered to come, and in many ways his support would have been welcome. But he’d already made his position clear enough, and Maidyn had decided not to involve him just yet in his own meetings with the locals. It was important that he and they understand one another’s unfiltered positions. That meant a direct dialogue, and there was at least a chance that keeping the governor out of it during its opening stages, would help prevent local politicians and business leaders from digging in to established positions and antagonisms. The possibility might not be very great, but at this point, he was prepared to pursue any advantage he could beg, buy, or steal. And he fully intended to involve Draifys in later meetings.
Assuming there were any later meetings. At the moment, he was none too sure there would be.
“Your Eminence,” he said, turning to Zagyrsk, “I think it would be a good idea if you opened our meeting in prayer.”
“With Father Grygory’s permission?” Zagyrsk replied, raising his eyebrows at the priest, who chuckled.
“I’m far too craven to tell my archbishop no, Your Eminence!” His tone was so droll some of the hard faces in the pews on both sides of the nave smiled and a few even laughed outright. “Seriously,” Abykrahmbi went on, his own broad smile easing into something milder, “I would be honored.”
“Thank you, Father,” Zagyrsk said. He stood, looking at those pews, and squared his shoulders.
“My sons—and daughters,” he added, looking at the half-dozen women who were present, “I promise I’ll keep this brief. After all, it’s not Wednesday!” That won a few more chuckles, and he smiled. Then he raised his hands.
“God,” he said, “we beseech You to be with us at this meeting and to remind us that whatever mortal men and women may think, You love all of Your children. Amen.”
He sat back down, and a stir went through the seated men and women. Archbishop Arthyn was well known for his succinct, to-the-point sermons and prayers, but that had been unusually … economical, even for him.
Maidyn let the stir settle, then cleared his throat.
“I wish Archbishop Dahnyld could be that brief Wednesdays in the capital, Your Eminence,” he said with a wry smile, and saw several faces grin in appreciation. “However,” he continued, “brief as you were, you also spoke directly to the reason for this meeting. We’re here—all of us—because we seem to’ve forgotten the point you just made. I hope that by the time we leave Saint Gryg’s today we’ll have remembered it and proposed some concrete steps to remind the rest of Tarikah’s citizens of the same point.”
The smiles had vanished, and two or three people glowered across the aisle at one another.
“I believe in laying my cards on the table face-up from the beginning,” Maidyn told those glowers, “so let me begin by explaining my position and my responsibilities, and how I understand them, as clearly as possible.
“I’ve already discussed the reasons for my journey to Lake City with Governor Draifys and the leaders of your Legislature, and we’ll be meeting again very shortly, undoubtedly many times, to discuss what can be accomplished legislatively and through new policies to improve the situation here. But in my view, a commission such as the Archbishop proposes to set up would be able to address those same problems with more effectiveness than any solution we might attempt to impose upon them. Those of you gathered here represent the business community of your city. You are farmers, ranchers, bankers, merchants, healers, and law masters. You are your community—its leaders and those most intimately involved in making it prosper … or fail.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping the pews, and in the quiet, they could hear wind roar softly around the eaves and sleet rattle against the church’s stained glass.
“I told the Archbishop on the way here this morning that I don’t expect miracles,” he resumed after a moment, “and I don’t. But whatever our past positions, whatever our past actions, we’re all Siddarmarkians. Not one of us would be here if we didn’t think of the Republic as our home. That means all of you are neighbors, and the Archbishop and I have invited you here today, invited you to accept seats on his commission, because we have to restore that sense of neighborhood and community and you are the only people who can do that. Without that sense of community, there can be no peace, and without peace there can be no stability, and without stability there can be neither safety nor prosperity.
“I wasn’t Chancellor of the Exchequer for so many years without understanding how important vital, healthy provincial economies are to the Exchequer as a whole. Or without understanding that they can’t be healthy if the society they serve isn’t equally healthy. And it’s true that from the perspective of Protector’s Palace, Tarikah’s contribution to the Exchequer is of critical importance, especially given the current state of the Republic’s economy as a whole. All of you understand that cold, hard fiscal reality.
“But from the perspective of the Lord Protector—from my perspective, the perspective of my responsibilities to the people of Siddarmark, not its economy, and from my own heart—bringing an end to this bloodshed and violence without ordering the Seneschal to send in his troops … that’s far more important than any contribution Lake City or Tarikah might make to the federal budget. As Chancellor of the Exchequer, it was my overriding responsibility to balance the books, to find the marks to pay for the federal government’s operations, for the Army, for the dozens of public services for which it’s responsible. As Lord Protector, my overriding responsibility is to see to the safety of our citizens. That includes their financial and economic safety, but their physical safety supersedes any other responsibility or duty of my office.
“It wasn’t so very long ago that your province and your community were torn apart by the Sword of Schueler and the Jihad. I know—believe me, I know—how grievous the death toll was. I also know how hard it’s been—how hard you’ve worked—to rebuild something approaching Tarikah’s pre-Jihad prosperity for your returning citizens. I want to see that rebuilding to continue, and I want—I don’t think any of you can fully understand how much I want—to see it continue with no federal troops patrolling your streets, no caval
ry detachments supporting your local city guard. This is your province, your home, and you are the proper custodians of it. But I very much fear that if we can’t find a way for you to restore—and maintain—local order and tranquility, I’ll have no choice but to increase the Army’s presence. I don’t want to do that any more than I think you want me to do it, but my oath of office will leave me no choice.”
He paused again, letting that sink in, watching his final sentence hit home. Then he straightened in his chair, squaring his shoulders.
“So now that you understand why I’m here, does anyone want to suggest where he—or she—thinks we should begin?”
* * *
“My dad says he thinks Maidyn means it,” Ahndru Ahrdmor said, sitting back with a mug of hot cherrybean and listening to the heavy pounding of the rain which had replaced the day’s earlier sleet. “Says he made a lot of sense.”
“Um.” Ahryn Tohmys’ expression was as noncommittal as his tone, but his eyes were flinty, and Ahrdmor sighed. Then he sipped cherrybean, lowered the mug, and shook his head.
“Nobody’s asking you to pretend what happened to Rychyrd never happened,” he said quietly. “I’m just saying Dad thinks he really wants to get the troops out of the streets and let us get back to normal.”
“‘Normal,’” Ahryn growled. “Tell me, Ahndru, just what is this ‘normal’ everyone wants to get back to? Don’t believe I’ve ever seen it.”
“Me neither,” Ahrdmor conceded. He was a year younger—and four inches taller—than his friend. “And I’d really like a piece of the bastards who caught Rychyrd, myself. Don’t think I wouldn’t! But where’s it stop, Ahryn? They send one of ours to the hospital, so we send one of theirs to the hospital, and all it does—just like the Archbishop and Father Grygory say—is keep the cycle going, and this is where we live. You want to catch that son-of-a-bitch Tyzdail? Fine! Let’s go find him, whatever hole he’s hiding in, and drag his sorry, cowardly arse out of it. I’ll hold him down while you break both his kneecaps with a hammer. Won’t lose a wink of sleep over it, either. But you think that’s going to accomplish anything except making both of us feel better?”