by David Weber
“Please, My Lord!” the bishop said, raising his left hand, index finger extended. “I’m perfectly well aware of the reasons—the official reasons—for our meeting out here.”
“My Lord?” Thirsk said a bit cautiously, and the bishop chuckled. It was not a particularly amused sound, however, and those lively brown eyes were narrow.
“I said I’m aware of the official reasons we’re meeting aboard your flagship rather than in a comfortable office somewhere ashore,” he said now. “And I’m also aware of the unofficial reasons. Such as the list of who else might have been attending any meeting in the aforesaid comfortable office ashore.”
“I see.” Thirsk faced the bishop, his own eyes calm, and Maik studied his expression for a long moment. Then the churchman smiled again, a bit crookedly.
“By an odd turn of chance, My Lord Admiral, I happen to agree with your strategy in this instance. I realize I shouldn’t say that. For that matter, I suppose I really shouldn’t admit I’m aware of the bad blood between you and Duke Thorast at all. Unfortunately, it serves no one’s purposes for me to do anything of the sort.”
“My Lord, I regret the . . . ‘bad blood’ you’ve mentioned,” Thirsk said levelly. “I agree that it exists, however. And I’m very much afraid things have been made still worse by the decisions I’ve been forced to make. Or, rather, by the Duke’s resistance to and resentment of those decisions.”
“The truth, Earl Thirsk,” Maik said, walking across the cabin to seat himself in one of the armchairs facing Thirsk’s desk, “is that Thorast hates you. It’s true he resents your decisions, but his resistance to them stems far more from the fact that they’re your decisions than anything having the least bit to do with their actual merit. Which, considering that you’re the one who made them, I very much doubt he’s bothered to consider at all.”
Despite himself, Thirsk’s eyes widened slightly at the bishop’s bluntness, and Maik chuckled again, this time with genuine humor. Sour humor, perhaps, but genuine.
“Of course I’m aware of the situation,” he said. “I’d be a poor choice for the Navy’s Intendant if I weren’t! Unfortunately, I don’t see an easy solution to the problem.” He paused and waved at the armchair beside his own and at Thirsk’s desk chair. “Please, gentlemen—be seated.”
Both admirals obeyed, although Thirsk found himself concealing a slight smile at how effortlessly Maik had assumed at least temporary ownership of his day cabin. The bishop glanced across at Vahnwyk, but he’d apparently already assessed the secretary’s discretion, and he turned his attention back to the earl.
“The fact of the matter is,” he said, “that I don’t believe anything you could possibly do would compensate in Thorast’s view for the fact that you were entirely right before Armageddon Reef and his brother- in- law was entirely wrong. He’s never going to forgive you for the incredible insult of having proved Duke Malikai was a complete, feckless incompetent.”
Thirsk felt himself settling back in his chair, and the bishop showed a flash of teeth in a tight, fleeting smile.
“There are limits to the amount of open resistance Thorast is prepared to demonstrate,” he continued in an almost clinical tone. “At the moment, King Rahnyld has made it clear to him that attacking you too openly would be . . . inadvisable. I’ve also made that point to him, in my own rather more subtle fashion, and so has Bishop Executor Ahrain. So, at the moment, he’s going to restrict himself to the sort of innuendo it’s almost impossible for even the Inquisition to positively trace back to its source. And he’s going to obey any order you give, although—as I’m sure you’re aware—he isn’t missing the opportunity to append his own carefully reasoned reservations to many of those orders in his reports to me.” Maik grimaced. “That, unfortunately, is his right and privilege.”
“My Lord,” Thirsk said, “I won’t pretend I’m not aware of everything you’ve just said. I have to admit, however, that I never expected you to approach those points quite so... forthrightly.”
“The truth is, Admiral,” Maik said somberly, “that Thorast’s alliances are ultimately far stronger, and reach far higher, than yours do, and he’s been playing this sort of game all his life. All you have on your side are virtue, intelligence, courage, skill, experience, and integrity which, alas, are of far more value on the field of battle than in the dagger- prone atmosphere of council chambers and salons. Ultimately, unless something changes radically, he will succeed in destroying you. And the fact that you’ve committed the unforgivable sin of being right when all of his cronies were just as wrong as he was will only make it easier for him when the present emergency passes.”
Thirsk simply looked at him across the desk, and the bishop studied the admiral’s expression. Then he nodded slowly.
“I see I truly haven’t said anything that surprises you, My Lord. That only strengthens my already high regard for you. And I give you my word that so long as I remain the Navy Intendant, I will bear Duke Thorast’s attitude—and the reasons for it—fully in mind. At the moment, you have my full support, and, frankly, I foresee no circumstances which would be likely to change that. As I’m sure you also know, however, and as I’m not supposed to admit, Mother Church is far from free from the pernicious effects of politics and cliques. Duke Thorast has long- standing relationships with several powerful members of the clergy. It’s entirely possible . . . no, let’s be honest, it’s virtually certain that he’s prepared to use those relationships to undermine me, as well as you, once he becomes aware of how unlikely I am to support him in any clash between the two of you.
“I mention this because the only means I see of keeping you where you are, doing what so badly needs to be done, is for the two of us to produce success while everyone is still worried enough to give us—or, rather, you— your head. Not just minor successes, either. Not just getting the fleet built and manned. That’s obviously the first essential, but to truly blunt the Duke’s attacks, it’s essential that we demonstrate we can produce victories. You were right before Rock Point and Crag Hook, but we lost both of those battles anyway. Now, you must prove not only that you’re right once again, but that listening to you leads to victory.”
It was very quiet in the day cabin for several seconds, then Thirsk exhaled sharply and cocked his head at Maik.
“I can’t promise victory, My Lord,” he said quietly. “First, because no man can ever promise victory, but second, because no matter how well we build and how hard we train, we’ll still confront the Charisian Navy. Call it the Imperial Navy or the Royal Navy—it’s still the same fleet, with the same admirals, the same captains, and the same crews. They aren’t supermen. They can be defeated. But at this moment in time, they are the best trained, most experienced battle fleet on the seas of Safehold. Quite possibly the best trained and most experienced battle fleet ever to sail the seas of Safehold, in fact. I’m not arguing against facing them at sea, and I’m willing to do so. Yet the truth is that we’re likely to suffer more reverses before we achieve many victories. We’re in the process of learning our trade, and altogether too many of our officers and our seamen are terrified, whether they’re willing to admit it or not, of the Charisians’ reputation. And they’re right to be concerned, because that reputation was fully earned even before Rock Point, Crag Reach, and Darcos Sound. We’ll have to demonstrate to our own people that they can beat Charisians before they will be able to beat them in pitched battle.”
The bishop looked back at him, his expression thoughtful.
“Well, that’s certainly candid,” he said dryly.
“I refuse to be anything else,” Thirsk said flatly.
“So I’ve noticed.” Maik leaned back in his armchair, fingertips steepled together in front of his chest, lips pursed. “What I seem to hear you saying, Admiral,” he said after a moment, “is that you believe you can build a navy which will eventually be able to meet the Charisians on an even footing, but that you believe it’s going to be necessary to blood our officers and men
first? And that in the blooding process, we’re likely to see at least some additional defeats?”
“I think it’s very likely that’s exactly what will happen,” Thirsk replied. “I could be wrong, and I’d like to be. It’s possible we’ll be given an opportunity to bring our numbers to bear sooner than I expect. And I assure you, My Lord, that I intend for any squadron of ours that goes into action to do so planning on winning, not expecting even before the first shot is fired that defeat is inevitable. Moreover, wind and wave play no favorites, and the Charisians’ resources are stretched to the limit. They can’t be strong everywhere, and if we can pounce on a few detachments, cut them up in a few local engagements before we commit to a full- fledged battle, the situation is likely to change in our favor. I simply can’t promise that will happen, and absent some set of circumstances like that, we’re going to take more losses before we hand the enemy a significant loss of his own.
“If I can complete my training programs, and if I can get our current flag officers and our current ship captains to start thinking in terms of galleon tactics and galleon- based strategy, then ultimately I expect us to win. We have the numbers and we have the resources. The plain, cold fact is that we don’t have to be as good as they are on a ship- for- ship basis as long as we can build enough more ships and be almost as good as they are. That’s what I think I can give you... whether I’m still around to command or not.”
The day cabin was even quieter as the earl admitted that out loud to someone at last, and Maik regarded him with a long, steady gaze.
“I understand,” the bishop said finally, “and my respect for you has just increased still further. I hope you’re wrong, that you’ll have the opportunity to win those victories for us in command of the navy you’re building. At the same time, I think I now more fully understand exactly what it is you’re trying to accomplish. The reason, for example, why you’ve been so adamant about building squadrons, not just single ship’s companies, and then sending those squadrons to drill at sea, despite weather damage.”
Maik glanced at Hahlynd, who still hadn’t said a word. Yet it was evident from the other admiral’s expression that he hadn’t kept silent because he disagreed with Thirsk, and the bishop nodded slowly as he recognized Hahlynd’s support for the earl’s position.
“You realize, My Lord,” he said, turning back to Thirsk, “that Thorast has been criticizing your operations on that very basis.” The bishop grimaced. “He can scarcely criticize the way in which you’ve accelerated the building and manning aspects of your duties, so he’s reserved his fire for the way in which you’re organizing the ships as they come forward . . . and how hard you’re driving them. In essence, his position is that since it will be some time still before the bulk of our construction is ready to be placed in commission, it makes little sense to send such small forces to sea—especially in the winter, and especially when they keep returning with damage that requires repairs and diverts yard workers from the new construction. Better to conserve our strength here in port, where we can carry out gun drill and sail drill in safety, until all of it is ready to deploy. After all, what’s the point in losing hard- to- replace spars and masts and sails to winter gales when there’s not a single Charisian galleon within two thousand miles of Gorath Bay?”
“We’re not losing just spars and masts, My Lord. We’re also losing men,” Thirsk admitted unflinchingly. “But that’s because the only place to learn seamanship is at sea, and saltwater is a harsh teacher. Whether we like to admit it or not, Charisian seamen are the finest in the world, and Charis has a far greater pool of trained seamen to draw upon. A huge percentage of our crews, on the other hand, are made up of landsmen, and if they haven’t learned the seaman’s trade by the time they cross swords with a Charisian squadron, then we might as well prepare them to haul down their colors right now.”
The earl grimaced and shook his head. “Of course I realize Duke Thorast has been criticizing me for my ‘penny-packet’ deployments and the cost of repairing damaged ships. And, of course, he’s been hammering away at the way in which I’m ‘throwing away’ the lives of our seamen, as well. And the truth is that if we had the time to do this any other way, I’d actually agree with a great deal of what he’s saying.
“But I don’t think we do have the time. The Charisians know we’re building a navy, and it’s not going to be so very much longer before they start dispatching squadrons of their own to do something about that. I realize we’re thousands of miles away from Charis here in Dohlar, and they’ve got plenty of things to worry about much closer to home. But they’ve already demonstrated that they’d send every single galleon they had as far from home as Armageddon Reef when they couldn’t even be certain exactly where our ships were. I see no reason to believe they wouldn’t send a powerful detachment of their present, much larger galleon fleet to our own waters to harass us when they do know exactly where to find us, and it’s not as if Gorath Bay moves around very much. When that happens, I’ll need at least a few squadrons that are ready for the test of battle. It won’t help us to have an enormous fleet that isn’t ready—we already saw that at Rock Point and Darcos Sound. It will help us to have a battle- ready core of ships, even if it’s relatively small, with some chance of meeting the Charisians on an equal basis.”
“I understand, Admiral Thirsk,” Maik said quietly. “And I agree. I’ll do all in my power to support you, both with Mother Church and with His Majesty. Of course, I may have to be a little . . . indirect in some instances. As I’ve already pointed out, the Duke has powerful connections and allies of his own. The longer I can keep him from realizing I’ve decided to throw you my full support, the slower he’ll be to start using those connections and allies effectively.”
Thirsk nodded, and the bishop smiled thinly. “I can already think of a few ways to blunt some of his objections, at least in the short term, and probably without his realizing I’m doing it deliberately. And I think it’s going to be important that you and I stay discreetly—discreetly, Admiral—in communication outside official channels.” He shook his head. “It shouldn’t be necessary for Mother Church’s defenders to creep around, hiding what they’re up to, simply in order to defend her effectively. Unfortunately, God gave man free will, and not all of us exercise it wisely. In fact, some of us are horses’ asses.”
Thirsk surprised himself with a laugh, and the bishop smiled at him. “Well, there’s no point pretending an onion is a rose, now is there? Although in the case of a certain nobleman we’ve been discussing this morning, I think it’s rather more a case of a pile of dragon shit smelling like a rose. So, for what it’s worth, and as long as I’m in a position to do it, I’ll see what I can do about sweeping as much as possible of that shit out of your path. Beyond that”— the bishop looked directly into Thirsk’s eyes, his expression suddenly sober—“it’s going to be up to you and Admiral Hahlynd.”
.IV.
Kahsimahr Prison,
City of Manchyr,
and
Crag House,
City of Vahlainah,
Earldom of Craggy Hill
Father Aidryn Waimyn stood gazing out the barred window at the gallows in the prison courtyard. Those gallows had been busy over the last few five- days, and he’d been able to recognize the faces of at least a quarter of the condemned men as they were marched up the steep wooden stairs to the waiting nooses.
I suppose I should be flattered they’ve let me wait till last,he thought. The bastards!
His face tightened, and his nostrils flared as he ran his hand over the plain, scratchy prison tunic which had replaced his silken cassock. They’d graciously allowed him to retain his scepter, and his fingers sought the familiar, comforting weight hanging around his neck, but that was as far as they were prepared to go. He held the scepter tight, leaning his forehead against the bars, and remembered fury—and, little though he cared to admit it, terror—flowed through him.
He still had no idea who had betrayed h
im. Someone had to have. Worse, it had to have been someone from within his own order, and that was bitter as gall on his tongue. Yet as much as it sickened him to confront the truth, that was the only way they could have known where to find him at Saint Zhustyn’s. Only the Order of Schueler had known about the concealed rooms, the secret entrance at the far end of the carefully hidden tunnel. And it had to have been someone close to him, someone he’d trusted, because that eternally damned traitor Gahrvai had known exactly who to scoop up. In that single disastrous night, he and the other traitors on the Regency Council had completely decapitated—no, completely destroyed— the resistance organization Waimyn had so carefully and laboriously constructed. It turned his stomach—literally; he could feel the nausea churning in his belly even now—to know that native-born Corisandians, men who claimed to love God, had knowingly and deliberately shattered the only organized resistance in Manchyr to the filth and poison and lies of the accursed, apostate heretics who served the “Church of Charis.”
He choked the nausea down and forced himself to inhale deeply, opening his eyes and staring at the gallows once again.
Tomorrow, it would be his turn to mount those stairs. He felt fear flutter at the base of his throat at that thought, but once again, anger dominated fear. He was willing to die for God, and he made no apologies for defending God’s true will, His plan for all men, against the impious lies and perversions of others. But he was an ordained, consecrated priest. He was no common felon, no casual criminal, to be hanged by the unconsecrated hands of secular authority—even if he’d acknowledged for one heartbeat the legitimacy of that authority! The Writ itself made that blindingly clear. Only Mother Church held authority over her clergy. Only she could decree their punishment, and only she could carry it out.
But they’ve got an answer forthat, too, don’t they? His lips drew back in a snarl, and his grip on his pectoral scepter went white- knuckled. The civil authorities can’t hang a priest? Very well, just strip him of his priesthood!