by David Weber
Maidyn shook his head with an answering smile. Ahdym Manyx had been Greyghor Stohnar’s personal valet for over twenty years. Their mutual attachment ran deep, and it was like Stohnar to prepare so early expressly so he could turn Manyx loose early tonight. Maidyn knew how touched Behverlee Manyx would be by both the gift and the thoughtfulness, but Samsyn was only too right about Ahdym’s reaction if he heard about Stohnar turning up with so much as a hair out of place because he’d left early.
“Well, somebody better go roust out his exalted posterior,” the Chancellor said, “and as the junior member of our company, I’d say you’ve just been chosen to go beard the dragon.”
“Oh, thank you, My Lord!” Samsyn said.
The secretary walked across the office to a rather more plebeian door opposite the official entrance. It opened onto a short hallway, and he walked down it to the closed door of the lord protector’s private library, shaking his head fondly as he went. He knocked gently.
“My Lord?” he called through the door. “The masses are getting impatient!”
There was no answer, and he frowned and knocked again, harder.
“My Lord!” he said more loudly.
Still no one answered, and he opened the door. Greyghor Stohnar sat in his favorite reading chair, the history of the Republic he’d been reading recently open in his lap. One hand was on the page, holding the flat magnifying glass he’d found increasingly useful for reading small type over the last few years, and his head was deeply bent over the glass.
He didn’t look up, which was unlike him, and Samsyn’s frown deepened as he crossed the library towards him, his feet silent on the expensive carpet.
“My Lord?” he said in a softer tone.
He reached out, laying a hand gently on the lord protector’s shoulder … and Greyghor Stohnar slumped sideways in his chair, head lolling laxly, as the expensive volume in his lap thudded to the floor.
* * *
“His personal healer’s calling it a heart attack,” Nahrmahn Baytz said from his computer habitat in Nimue’s Cave, his expression grave. “Owl’s preliminary analysis concurs. Not too surprising, I suppose, after the way the Jihad aged him.”
“No, not a surprise,” Cayleb said softly, after a moment. “God, I’m going to miss him, though. We all are.”
“In so many ways,” Merlin concurred, reaching out to squeeze Nynian’s hand as they looked at one another and remembered the grim days of the Jihad and Greyghor Stohnar’s equally grim, unbreakable determination. How ferociously he, like too many others, had used himself up in his nation’s hour of need. They’d reached Tellesberg only the day before, and this wasn’t the sort of news they’d wanted to celebrate their homecoming.
“Any head of state’s death has to have a significant impact,” he continued, “but Greyghor?” He shook his head. “There hasn’t been a Mainland head of state to match his stature in decades—except Duchairn, possibly, and he was on the other side during the Jihad. And losing him now, when the Bank is still in the process of spinning up—!”
“And so close behind losing Rhobair,” Maikel Staynair said quietly. “That’s going to have an impact, too.”
“Agreed, but it could have been a lot worse,” Sharleyan said. All of them looked at her, and she shrugged. “Oh, on the personal level, I’m going to miss him as much as any of us. In terms of policy continuation, though, the consequences are likely to be a lot less severe than they could’ve been.”
“That’s true.” Nynian nodded. “Under the Republic’s constitution, Henrai takes over as acting Protector until the next scheduled election, and that’s not for another two years. So we may have lost Greyghor, but his replacement will probably be even more focused than he was on dealing with the Republic’s economy.”
“That’s an excellent point,” Delthak agreed, brightening noticeably. “Do we know who’s going to replace Henrai at the Exchequer?”
“Not yet.” Nahrmahn shook his head. “If I were a betting man, though, I’d put my virtual marks on Klymynt Myllyr.”
“Um.” Cayleb frowned and scratched his chin. “Good points and bad points to that, I suppose.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Trahvys Ohlsyn put in, tipping back in his office and gazing out his window at the Tellesberg harbor. The Earl of Pine Hollow looked like a leaner and—although he was only about five and a half feet tall—taller version of his deceased cousin, and their expressions were very similar as he considered the information. “Myllyr’s not what I’d call a financial genius,” the first councilor continued, “but he did get a lot of experience as Parkair’s senior staff quartermaster. I’m pretty sure he’ll understand at least the basics of what’s going on. And,” he brightened slightly, “he should be fairly acceptable in their western provinces.”
Several heads nodded at that. Klymynt Myllyr was a native son of Tarikah Province, and he’d been a junior officer in one of the regiments in the Republic of Siddarmark Army’s desperate fighting retreat on Serabor. He’d fought with enormous tenacity until he was severely wounded and invalided back to Siddar City just before the newly arrived Imperial Charisian Army relieved Serabor. While he was recuperating, he’d been tapped as one of the seneschal’s assistants, and he’d done well. The fact that he was a Westerner would go down reasonably well in Tarikah and Westmarch, and his record in the Stylmyn Gap would win him points in the eastern provinces, as well.
“I can see the pluses, politically,” Pine Hollow said. “But he’s not the most brilliant person Henrai could turn to, and I’m not talking just about his experience in high finance!”
“He’s not an idiot, either, though,” Nynian countered. “He understands the mess the Republic’s in, and I can’t think of anyone who would be more loyal to Henrai.”
“Agreed,” Nahrmahn said firmly. “To your point, Trahvys, I suspect political concerns are the primary driver in choosing him, but Nynian’s right about how loyal he is. And I suspect everyone involved, including Myllyr—maybe even especially Myllyr—figures that, in practical terms, Henrai will be his own Chancellor. Everybody in Siddar City knows no one has a better understanding of what’s going on or worked harder at standing up the Central Bank then Henrai did. My guess is that he’ll go right on setting policy and making the critical strategic decisions for the Exchequer and that Myllyr will concentrate on carrying out those decisions. More like a chief of staff than a minister in his own right. And he and Brygs do get along well, so I doubt they’d have any problems working in harness.”
“I could wish Henrai would have someone who could take more of the burden off of him,” Merlin mused. “Being Lord Protector at a moment like this will be about the farthest thing from a cakewalk I could imagine. But I think you’re right about how he—and Myllyr—would see Myllyr’s appointment to the Exchequer, Nahrmahn. And that only makes your point about policy continuation even more valid, Sharley.”
“And it’s pretty traditional for a chancellor who succeeds a protector to win at least one term in his own right,” Nynian agreed with a nod. “That would give him seven years to push his reforms, not just two.”
“If they follow tradition,” Nahrmahn pointed out. “A lot’ll depend on how well his reforms work out in those first two years. Greyghor could probably have weathered just about any storm and been reelected in 908. His stature as the Republic’s wartime leader was towering enough to overcome almost anything short of an outright economic collapse or some major escalation of the violence in the western provinces. Henrai doesn’t have that going for him, and the fact that he’s the public face of the banking reforms ties him to them. If they look like they’re succeeding, he probably sails to election in his own right. If the perception is that they’re only making things worse, God only knows who’ll become protector!”
“This habit of shooting holes in my more hopeful analyses is really irritating, Nahrmahn,” Nynian said. “Valuable, possibly, but definitely irritating.”
“It’s why you keep me a
round,” the virtual personality told her with a chuckle. Then his expression sobered again. “Despite my pessimism, I really do hope you’re right, though. We all knew Greyghor was fading, but none of us expected to lose him this soon and with so little warning. If that’s true for us, it’s going to hit the vast majority of Siddarmarkian citizens even harder. I doubt anyone outside Siddar City itself really understood how fragile his health was growing. God knows he tried hard enough to keep people from guessing! It’ll be interesting to see if they rally around Henrai as his successor or if his death only contributes to the … general restiveness.”
Heads nodded all around, and as Merlin Athrawes looked into his wife’s eyes, he saw the same thought: “interesting” was putting it mildly.
OCTOBER YEAR OF GOD 906
.I.
Lake City, Tarikah Province, Republic of Siddarmark.
“You see?” Lord Protector Henrai Maidyn said as the carriage rolled down the broad avenue. “I told you this would work out just fine.”
“My Lord, there’s a tiny difference between ‘hasn’t been a disaster yet’ and ‘work out just fine,’” Archbishop Arthyn Zagyrsk replied. The archbishop looked at the lord protector over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles, his eyes serious. “I’ll admit your visit’s been less … stressful than I’d anticipated—so far—but there’s still plenty of anger simmering out there, too.”
“I know.” Maidyn’s more sober tone acknowledged the archbishop’s point. “But Greyghor or I should’ve been out here at least two years ago. There are a lot of reasons we weren’t, including the fact that his health was worse than he or his healer were admitting to us for a long time.” The current lord protector’s eyes turned sad for a moment. “A lot of reasons,” he repeated, “but that doesn’t change the fact that we should have been out here. Even the people who support us have a right to wonder where the Shanwei we’ve been while their neighbors kept killing each other.” He shook his head. “I had to make the trip, especially if we’re going to tackle the speculators next. And we’ve got to get a handle on that situation—for a lot more reasons than just its effect on the economy.”
Zagyrsk nodded, and looked out the carriage window, listening to the icy sleet rattle against it, then begin oozing down the glass.
It was a sign of Maidyn’s seriousness that he’d made the trip this late in the autumn, given typical Tarikah weather, the archbishop thought. Lake City was over two thousand miles from Siddar City even for a wyvern; for mere mortals, it was much, much farther. Maidyn had made the journey by water, taking one of the fast Charisian steamers up the Republic’s east coast, then through Hsing-wu’s Passage to the rebuilt town of Salyk and up the Hildermoss River by steam barge. The journey had taken him more than two five-days, and even with the semaphore—which was far less reliable this time of year, given northern East Haven weather—to stay in touch with the capital city, he had to be worried about what might be happening there while he was here.
And despite all of that, he was right.
“I wish I had a better feel for how this meeting’s likely to go,” Zagyrsk said after a moment, looking back at the lord protector. “Avry’s given me his best estimate, but I’m afraid he’s still a little less sensitive than I’d like to what a Bédardist would call ‘interpersonal relationships.’” He smiled briefly. “I know he’s got the numbers right; I’m just a bit less confident about his read on some of the motivations.”
“I think he’s probably fairly close to right about those, too,” Maidyn replied. “Of course, that may be because what he’s saying matches what I’ve been thinking so well. We do have a tendency to trust the judgment of people who agree with us!”
Zagyrsk chuckled, despite his manifest worry. He’d held the Archbishopric of Tarikah since well before the Jihad, and Auxiliary Bishop Avry Pygain had been his personal secretary throughout the war. He’d been Father Avry at the time, but when Rhobair II abolished the office of bishop executor, decreeing that it was no longer needed, since archbishops would henceforth spend their time in their archbishoprics seeing to their flocks’ spiritual needs rather than in Zion playing politics, Pygain had been elevated to Auxiliary Bishop of Tarikah. The auxiliary bishops filled some of the same functions of the old bishop executors, but today they served mainly as chiefs of staff to their archbishops. It was a role to which Pygain was eminently suited, and Zagyrsk had come to the conclusion that his auxiliary bishop was destined to remain one of Mother Church’s bureaucrats, not one of her pastors. That happened to a lot of Chihirites of the Quill—God gave those He called to His service different talents, however genuine their vocation to serve Him might be—and it was a natural and comfortable fit for Pygain.
“I do wish Tymyns was here instead of Siddar City, though,” the lord protector continued. “I invited him to come with me, but he turned me down—politely, of course—and that’s a real pity. I think Draifys and I have made some real progress with the provincial chamber, but I’m a mere lord protector. The people they send to the Chamber of Delegates carry a lot bigger stick back here in Tarikah, and they keep pounding away at exactly the wrong narrative. If we could just pry Tymyns loose from Ohlsyn and Zhoelsyn, break up that united front of theirs, it might be a real game changer.”
“I agree, but I don’t think it’s going to happen,” Zagyrsk said gloomily, looking back out the icy window. “Old Ohrvyl has a lot of supporters here in Tarikah. They look at him as one of their own, and he’s always had a reputation for honesty. Deservedly, in my opinion. Emotionally, I think he’s a little too close to the Siddar Loyalists, but I don’t think he’d ever let that control his decisions. It may reinforce them, but it doesn’t control them, if you take my meaning. The problem is that he’s not well-educated, and he knows it. He’s … overly impressed by people who are, and Zhoelsyn and Ohlsyn both have a lot more formal schooling than he does.”
“And they’re younger, and they’re smoother,” Maidyn acknowledged equally glumly. “They’ve got him convinced they’re as honest as he is … and that I have ulterior motives. That my policies favor the eastern commercial interests at his constituents’ expense, despite the fact that so many Easterners are screaming about the Bank even louder than you Westerners! And I hate to say it, Your Eminence, but part of the reason they can convince him of that is because he is close to the Siddar Loyalists and they play on that.”
“I know.” Zagyrsk nodded. “And they’re not the only ones. I don’t envy Ahndrai Draifys at the best of times, but I come closer to that than I do to envying Mhardyr, down in Cliff Peak!”
Maidyn made a disgusted sound of agreement.
Ahndrai Draifys had been appointed Governor of Tarikah by Greyghor Stohnar in 896, when Dairyn Trumbyl, the pre-Jihad governor, basically handed his key of office over to the Army of God as soon as it crossed the frontier. His appointment had been confirmed by a special election in 900, and he’d won reelection for a second term less than three months ago. Tairayl Mhardyr, the Governor of Cliff Peak had been the provincial lieutenant governor when the Sword of Schueler struck. His predecessor had been murdered in his own office by pro-Temple fanatics, and Mhardyr—who’d been out of the provincial capital at the time—had succeeded him. Like Draifys, he’d been unable to return to his province until the Army of God and the Mighty Host of God and the Archangels had been driven out, but he’d been reelected twice since then, including this past June’s elections.
They were rather different men.
Mhardyr was a career politician, someone who’d achieved success by carefully noting the direction the wind set. Which, Maidyn conceded, could be said of anyone who worried about his constituents’ desires and made achieving them his primary duty. He was regarded with mixed feelings by so
me of those constituents, however. For his supporters, his rejection of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s Inquisition from Siddar City was the public face of the province’s loyalty to the Republic, and he’d done an efficient job of looking after his displaced citizens in the refugee camps in eastern Siddarmark. His detractors, on the other hand, pointed out that he’d done all of that from the safety of Siddar City and tended to compare him unfavorably to Zhasyn Cahnyr’s decision to return to his archbishopric. It wasn’t really fair, perhaps. Cliff Peak had been totally overrun before any resistance could be organized, whereas Cahnyr’s archbishopric had fought off all attacks under its beloved archbishop’s leadership. There’d been no place in “his” province from which Mhardyr could have exerted any sort of control, and he’d undoubtedly accomplished more for the displaced Cliff Peakers in the East than he could ever have accomplished back home.
Besides, Maidyn thought dryly, it was patently unfair to compare any mere mortal to Zhasyn Cahnyr! But still—
“At the moment, my sympathy for Governor Mhardyr is distinctly limited, Your Eminence,” the lord protector said sourly. “I understand he has problems, but we could use at least a little of his support! And I know damned well—pardon my language—that he understands the problem!”