A Mighty Fortress

by David Weber

  “Yes,” Gharth Gorjah agreed with a remarkably calm nod. “Clyntahn’s timing on all of this could have been much more considerate, don’t you think?” He gave his superior a decidedly stern look, his youthful face older in the lantern’s shadows. “And if you truly thought you’d managed to keep me ignorant of your activities all this time, Your Eminence, I can only say I am astonished that such an inept conspirator managed to get away with it this long.”

  “But—” Cahnyr began. “Your Eminence, we can argue about this as long as you want,” Gorjah interrupted, “but I really think we ought to get underway while we do it. Unless you want to turn around, climb all the way back up through that mountain, and simply forget about it. I wouldn’t recommend that, though. I’m pretty sure that offal- lizard Teagmahn expects orders to arrest you any day now.”

  Cahnyr closed his mouth, and Gorjah reached out to touch his arm gently. “Your Eminence, you didn’t recruit me. What ever I’m doing, I’m doing because I choose to do it, and Sahmantha had a pretty fair idea of how I think, what I believe in, before I ever asked her to marry me. I haven’t done anything without consulting with her, and she’s supported me every step of the way. Trust me, she agrees with you about Clyntahn’s timing, and I’m not saying she’s not—that we both aren’t—scared to our marrow thinking about what could happen to us and, especially, to the kids. But it’s not as if we never saw this coming, either.”

  “But what is it you are doing, Gharth?” Cahnyr asked. “Somehow I don’t think you’ve simply been sitting around keeping an eye on me just in case I got into trouble. And if you haven’t been actively involved in what I’ve been doing, then what have you been involved in?”

  “The truth is, Your Eminence, that I have been basically ‘sitting around keeping an eye’ on you.” Gorjah shrugged. “I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I can—as soon as I have permission to. For right now, though, just accept that someone else knew about you and your friends in the Temple. I don’t know who those others are, and I don’t know everything you’ve been up to. I do know, now, why you had me doing some of the research in the archbishopric’s records. Why you were looking for proof of corruption, or of directives from the Temple that were . . . less than appropriate for one of God’s vicars or archbishops to be issuing, shall we say. And I understand now why you’ve taken some of the stances you’ve taken, despite the fact that you knew they were going to be wildly unpopular with other members of the episcopate.

  “I’ll admit it hurt, at first, when I realized there was something deep and dangerous going on that you weren’t telling me about. I thought, at the beginning, that you didn’t trust me. Or, even worse, you didn’t think I felt the same things you felt when I looked at how Mother Church was falling so far short of what she ought to have been. Then I realized you were doing it to protect me and, later, to protect Sahmantha and the kids, and I loved you for that.”

  His hand tightened on Cahnyr’s arm, and his voice hoarsened for a moment. He paused and cleared his throat, then continued.

  “I loved you for it, and I realized you were right. I did have other people to worry about—‘hostages to fortune,’ as Bédard put it. So I let you go ahead and exclude me. But when I was contacted by someone else who knew about your activities, and when that someone else convinced me he wasn’t the Inquisition in disguise, and that all he wanted me to do was to stay right here in Glacierheart to coordinate ways to get you out if what ever you were doing finally blew up in your face, I was delighted. Delighted, Your Eminence.

  “Whoever your friend in Zion is, he sent me word months ago that this was coming, and I’ve been making my arrangements ever since. Teagmahn never even noticed. As a matter of fact, I’ve been one of his in formants for the last couple of years now.” The secretary smiled nastily. “That was one of the things your friend in Zion suggested as a way to make certain there was no suspicion pointed in my direction. I can’t pretend I’ve enjoyed having him believe I actually think the same way he does, but your friend was right about what a perfect cover it made. Every single word I’ve ever reported to him has been true, too, so I’m sure I’m considered a very reliable source. With the added advantage that he’s been so busy watching you that I’m sure he never even glanced in my direction.”

  The under- priest shrugged. “So, Your Eminence, the upshot is that Sahmantha and the kids are waiting at the posting house, the owner of which happens to be a cousin of hers. He doesn’t know exactly what we’re doing, but he does know you’re in trouble, and like quite an amazing number of people here in Glacierheart, he loves you. All he has to do is not mention ever seeing us, because I don’t think it’s going to occur to the Inquisition that you somehow managed to get from Summit House clear around to the other side of Mount Tairys during one of the worst blizzards in the last thirty years. I don’t think they’re going to believe you could have gotten back down the mountain and escaped through Tairys itself, either, but that’s going to seem a lot more reasonable to them than this does. So I expect they’re going to concentrate their efforts on traffic in and out of Tairys. In fact, this time of year, I think they’re almost going to have to concentrate their main efforts on the Graywater and the river road to Mountain Lake and then on to Siddar City. In the meantime, though, we’re going to be heading west into Cliff Peak, then swinging south across the South March into Silkiah.”

  Cahnyr stared at him. He had no idea who his mysterious benefactor might be, or how anyone could have had the foresight to arrange something like this so long in advance. And despite everything Gorjah had just said, there was a part of him which railed against involving his secretary—and especially the under- priest’s family— in his own dangers. But it was evident that things were out of his hands, at least for the moment.

  TheWrit says God works in mysterious ways, Zhasyn, he reminded himself. And remember what you were thinking when you first got that letter, how it proved therewere others who saw what you’d seen and recognized what you and the Circle had recognized. His lips twitched wryly. And who seem to have organized themselves just a bit more effectively, when it comes down to it. If there are still people who can put something like this together, without even me noticing a thing along the way, and actually pull it off, then it looks as if Clyntahn and Trynair’s neat little house may have more spider-rats in the foundations than I’d ever imagined. I think Samyl’s right—that real change, real reform, is going to depend on the external threat of the Church of Charis. But maybe, just maybe, there are going to be more people inside Mother Church prepared to act than Clyntahn ever suspected or I ever hoped.

  He felt a brief burn of shame with the last thought. Shame for the arrogance which had kept him from suspecting that those other people were there. For having excluded Gharth Gorjah, however noble his motives, from something the young priest obviously had wanted so badly to be part of. For having doubted that God could find the hearts and souls He needed whenever He decided to call them.

  He reached out and laid one palm against the side of the younger man’s head, cupping his cheek, and smiled at him in the lantern light.

  “I still think you’re mad,” he said softly, “but if you are, so am I. And sometimes, a madman is exactly what God needs.”

  .III.

  HMS Chihiro, 50

  Gorath Bay,

  Kingdom of Dohlar

  My Lord, Bishop Staiphan and Admiral Hahlynd are about to come alongside.”

  The Earl of Thirsk looked up from the report on his desk as the rather dashing young man with coal- black hair stuck his head respectfully into the day cabin with the announcement. Lieutenant Ahbail Bahrdailahn—Sir Ahbail Bahrdailahn, on social occasions—was the youngest brother of the Baron of Westbar. His brother’s barony was located in the southwestern corner of the Duchy of Windborne, which happened to be completely landlocked. Despite that, Bahrdailahn had made his preference for a naval career clear at an early age. In fact, according to his somewhat exasperated brother, his very fir
st sentence had been “Avast there, you nanny!” Most people considered that a likely exaggeration, but his family, which had provided officers to the Royal Army since time out of mind, truly had done its best to dissuade him from such an unnatural step. Stubbornness, however, was one of young Bahrdailahn’s most pronounced characteristics, and his various brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles had given up the task before he turned twenty. (His parents had been wise enough to abandon the effort much sooner than that.)

  Now, about five years later, young Bahrdailahn had found himself assigned as Thirsk’s flag lieutenant. He had not, to put it mildly, thought much of the assignment when it was first offered to him. He would vastly have preferred the command of one of the Navy’s new brigs or, failing that, a first- lieutenancy on one of the galleons. And, to be fair, he would have been qualified for either. True, he wasn’t the seaman many of the Navy’s old sailing masters were, yet unlike altogether too many of the “old navy’s” officers, he’d made a conscientious effort to acquire at least the rudiments of seamanship, and there’d never been anything wrong with his courage or fighting ability.

  Despite that, he’d resigned himself to his new post with a minimum of complaint. He’d later admitted to Thirsk that his original intention had been to do his best “brainless noble fop” imitation to convince Thirsk to replace him, but he’d gotten over that quickly as he found himself plunged into the enormous task of building a brand- new navy—a navy based on the professional Charisian model—from the waterline up. Unlike too many “old navy” officers, he’d not only understood what Thirsk wanted to accomplish but actually approved wholeheartedly. He was also astute enough to recognize the enemies Thirsk was making along the way, and the earl’s unflinching willingness to do just that had won Bahrdailahn’s admiration. Admiration which had trans-muted into devotion over the past strenuous five- days and months.

  Which probably explained the trepidation hovering behind his eyes. It was well hidden, that trepidation, but Thirsk knew him too well not to see it.

  “Thanks for the warning, Ahbail,” the earl said now, mildly, as he heard the bosun’s pipes and the rush of feet across the deck. Captain Baiket had obviously spotted the approaching barge and called away the proper side party.

  “Please go and make certain Mahrtyn’s prepared to join us,” Thirsk continued. “And tell Paiair to break out a bottle of my best whiskey. Then stand by to escort our guests aft.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” Bahrdailahn started to withdraw, but Thirsk’s raised finger stopped him. “Yes, My Lord?”

  “I’ve known Admiral Hahlynd for a great many years, Ahbail, and so far, at least, I’ve heard that Bishop Staiphan is fairly reasonable. I don’t anticipate finding myself locked in a death struggle with either of them in the next few hours.” He smiled ever so slightly. “I trust I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, My Lord. Of course!” Bahrdailahn might have colored just a bit, although it was difficult to tell against his dark (and darkly tanned) complexion. Then the young man smiled a bit sheepishly. “Sorry about that, My Lord,” he said in a more natural tone. “It’s just—”

  He broke off with a quick little headshake, and Thirsk’s smile broadened. “Trust me, Ahbail, I know exactly what it is. And I appreciate your . . . loyally supportive attitude, shall we say?” His eyes glinted wickedly as Bahrdailahn raised one hand in the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a touch. “I think it’s fairly evident no one could be moving the shipyards along any faster than we are, though,” the earl continued, his smile fading into a more sober expression, “and Duke Thorast and his friends are just going to have to put up with my little training missions, I’m afraid.”

  Bahrdailahn looked very much as if he would have liked to argue about that last statement. Although his older brother was a mere baron, Bahrdailahn was a distant cousin of Duke Windborne’s, and he’d absorbed the realities of the deadly infighting between the Kingdom of Dohlar’s great nobles with his mother’s milk. He was well aware that the Duke of Thorast and his allies, however deeply they might protest their loyalty in public, never missed an opportunity to slide another dagger into Thirsk’s back. At the moment, they were concentrating on the “disgraceful slothfulness” with which the fleet was being built, on the one hand, and on the earl’s “ill- considered and manifestly dangerous” training exercises, on the other. Both of which (whether or not the earl chose to admit it worried him) obviously had a little something to do with this morning’s meeting.

  “Go on, now.” Thirsk made shooing motions with one hand. Bahrdailahn gave him a quick smile, nodded, and disappeared, and Thirsk gathered up the report he’d been reading and jogged the pages neatly together. He put them into a folder, slid the folder into his desk drawer, and climbed out of his chair to walk across to the cabin’s great stern windows.

  He folded his hands behind him, gazing out through the salt- mottled glass at Gorath Bay. It was cold, with a brisk wind raising a wicked chop, and he hoped Bishop Staiphan Maik and Admiral Pawal Hahlynd hadn’t gotten themselves too badly soaked during the long row out to Chihiro. Whether they’d managed to stay dry or not, they were undoubtedly going to be thoroughly chilled, and he looked over his shoulder as Paiair Sahbrahan, his valet, quietly entered the cabin.

  Sahbrahan was a smallish man, even shorter than Thirsk, with quick, deft hands, who was extraordinarily efficient, and not at all shy about bullying his admiral into remembering to do little things like eat or sleep. He was also an excellent cook, who could probably have earned a lucrative living as a chef, if he’d chosen to, and Thirsk had total confidence in his ability to manage the earl’s wine cellar and spirits.

  Despite that, the valet had never been popular with the other members of Thirsk’s staff, domestic or naval. They appreciated his good qualities, but they were also only too well—one might say painfully well—aware of his vanity and secondhand arrogance. Sahbrahan was far more concerned with the deference due to someone of Thirsk’s birth and rank than the earl himself had ever been. He’d been known to drive the staffs of inns and hotels to the edge of sanity with demands for fresh linens, clean towels, hot water now, and no excuses, if you please! He was completely capable of doing the same thing aboard ship, and he had a well- earned reputation for browbeating the valets and stewards of mere ships’ captains mercilessly. None of which even considered his legendary rows with the cooks and pursers of various flagships over the years.

  Thirsk was as well aware of his valet’s foibles as anyone, and Sahbrahan knew better than to try anything of the sort in the earl’s presence. At the same time, Thirsk was also aware of how difficult it would have been to find an equally capable replacement. Besides, Sahbrahan had been with him for almost eight years.

  Now the valet pattered quickly across the thick carpet covering the deck, set a large silver tray with two decanters of whiskey and one of brandy on a side table, and turned to face Thirsk.

  “I’ve brought the Stahlmyn, the Waykhan, and the Tharistan, My Lord,” he said, indicating the decanters. “Will that be satisfactory?”

  “Eminently,” Thirsk agreed. “I’ve also informed the galley that you will be requiring hot chocolate for your guests, should they so desire,” Sahbrahan continued. “And, as you instructed, luncheon will be ready to serve at fourteen o’clock, promptly.”

  “Good.” Thirsk bobbed his head, then looked past the valet as Mahrtyn Vahnwyk, his personal secretary and senior clerk, entered the day cabin.

  The secretary was considerably taller than Sahbrahan, despite the slight stoop of his shoulders, and he was a bit nearsighted. Nevertheless, he was one of the best secretaries Thirsk had ever been fortunate enough to possess . . . and he and Sahbrahan hated one another cordially.

  Well, fair’s fair,the earl thought dryly as he watched the two of them very carefully not glaring at one another in his presence. I think just about everyone hates Paiair, really. And much as I hate to admit it, he gives them plenty of justification.

  “If y
ou’re satisfied, My Lord, I shall withdraw and attend to the arrangements,” the valet said. Thirsk nodded in agreement, and Sahbrahan drew himself up, bowed slightly, and withdrew with stately majesty... somehow managing to completely ignore Vahnwyk’s existence in the process.

  Langhorne!Thirsk thought. And I thought the blood between me and Thorast was bad!

  He was still chuckling at the thought when Lieutenant Bahrdailahn knocked on his cabin door once more.

  “Enter!” Thirsk said, and crossed the cabin quickly to greet his visitors. Pawal Hahlynd was about Thirsk’s age, a foot or so taller, and considerably less weatherworn- looking. Auxiliary Bishop Staiphan Maik was about midway between Thirsk and Hahlynd in height, with thick silver hair and lively brown eyes. He was a vigorous man, radiating a sense of leashed energy, although Thirsk had been told the bishop had a serious weakness for sweetbreads. According to the earl’s sources, that weakness for sweets was one reason Maik was so fanatical about exercising. Those same sources said Maik did his best to conceal that weakness, apparently in the belief that it went poorly with the Order of Schueler’s reputation for austerity and self- discipline. For himself, Thirsk found it rather reassuring, an indication that Schuelerite or not, official intendant of the fleet or not, the bishop was also a human being.

  “My Lord.” The earl greeted Maik first, bending over his extended hand to lightly kiss the bishop’s ring of office. Then he straightened and held out his hand to Hahlynd, who smiled broadly as he took it. “Pawal.”

  “Admiral,” Maik responded with a smile. “It’s good to see you, although I must confess that the trip across the harbor was somewhat more . . . brisk than I had allowed myself to hope it might be.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, My Lord. As you know—”