Safehold 10 Through Fiery Trials

by David Weber

  Thunderbolt’s banner showed a pair of interlinked crowns above its kraken, one gold and one silver, which indicated that both Cayleb and Sharleyan were personally embarked. As the colors descended from the mainmasts, slightly smaller flags ran simultaneously up the stern-mounted staffs aboard each ship, marking the formal transition from a ship underway to one at anchor.

  “And that—” Kaudzhu continued, twitching his head at the anchored ships “—is one of the best arguments in favor of staying on their good side that I know of. The Charisian Navy’s a hell of a lot smaller than it was at the height of the Jihad, Rainos, but any one of those ships could sink our entire navy in an afternoon.”

  “I know.” Dragon Island’s expression was completely serious now as the initial wave of cheers began to fade and the Royal Army band began to serenade the crowds with traditional Dohlaran airs while they awaited the imperial visitors. “I didn’t call it a ‘big boat’ for nothing, Pawal! How big are those damned guns?”

  “The Thunderbolts have ten-inch main batteries,” Kaudzhu replied. “Same size as the Manthyr, but the barrels are a little longer and they’re mounted in turrets.” Dragon Island frowned, and the earl raised one hand to point. “Manthyr’s main guns were in barbettes, like some of your coast defense guns, but without the overhead protection. They were pretty much out in the open, with only armored bulkheads that were just over head-high on the gun crews for protection.”

  Dragon Island stopped frowning and nodded.

  “Since the Jihad, Charis has adopted full turrets. They’re heavier, and the machinery needed to rotate them has to be bigger and more powerful, but it puts the entire gun crew behind armor. And the other thing it does is let them mount more guns on the center line.”

  “How?” Dragon Island asked.

  “You should really ask Ahlfryd Makyntyr what it feels like to stand anywhere near the muzzle of a ten- or twelve-inch gun when it’s fired,” Kaudzhu said wryly. “Trust me, the experience is … unpleasant. It was bad enough with muzzleloaders, but breechloaders tend to fire heavier charges, and that makes it even worse! If they’re close together, guns in open barbettes suffer from the kind of blast interference that can cripple or kill your gunners. But the gunhouse—the turret—protects the crews, so you can do what Charis has done with the Thunderbolts.”

  “Stack them that way, you mean?”

  “You really are an ignorant layabout of an Army officer, aren’t you? Stack them. You actually said ‘stack them’?!” Dragon Island made a rude gesture with the second finger of his right hand, and Kaudzhu laughed. “The Navy, which is obviously far more sophisticated than you semi-literate Army types, calls that ‘superfiring,’” the earl continued. “Or, at least, that’s what Captain Zhwaigair calls them, though I think he stole the term from Charis. Basically, the turret protects the gun crews and that lets them mount another turret to fire across the first one. So where Manthyr had four ten-inch guns, the Thunderbolts have six. They could have had eight if they’d wanted to add an additional turret aft, as well, but they didn’t. Probably because they didn’t want to drive up the tonnage still farther.”

  “Six ten-inch guns,” Dragon Island repeated softly. “My God. They fire—what? Three-hundred-pound shells? Four hundred?”

  “Right on four hundred for the high explosive,” Kaudzhu agreed. “Over five hundred for the armor piercing.”

  “Our six-inch shells weigh less than a quarter of that. And they’ve got six of them aboard each ship?”

  “Exactly. And our reports are that they have a maximum rate of fire of just over two rounds a minute.” Dragon Island looked at him, and Kaudzhu shrugged. “They’ve got hydraulic power available on their mounts, unlike your gunners in the field, Rainos. So, yes, they can fire that rapidly. And each Thunderbolt has twelve six-inch in those casemate mounts you can see. Their rate of fire’s about twice that of the ten-inch. The Falcons are a lot less dangerous, of course. They only mount ten six-inch each.”

  “Oh, far less dangerous!” Dragon Island rolled his eyes.

  “Like I say, an excellent argument in favor of staying on good terms with Charis.”

  “I think you could say that,” Dragon Island concurred, watching the flag-bedecked steam launches putting out from Warrior Quay to collect their illustrious guests and move them ashore.

  * * *

  Merlin Athrawes climbed the stone stair that rose out of the harbor’s water.

  The lower half-dozen steps or so were clearly submerged at high water, but someone had carefully scraped them free of the weed—and anything else which might have caused an imperial foot to slip—which normally encrusted them. The iron handrail had been freshly painted, as well, and as his head cleared the top of Warrior Quay, the massed Army band struck up “Sunset Throne,” the official anthem of the Charisian Empire.

  He stepped fully up onto the quay to find himself facing an honor guard of picked men from the Royal Dohlaran Army. The major at its head saluted him sharply, and the honor guard snapped to attention behind him.

  “Major Klairwatyr!” the Dohlaran identified himself, voice raised to be heard through the music. “Welcome to Gorath, Seijin Merlin!”

  “Thank you, Major,” Merlin replied as half a dozen more Imperial Guardsmen followed him up the steps and fell into position behind him.

  “I trust you’ll find everything in order,” Klairwatyr continued, and Merlin smiled.

  “I’m sure we will,” he agreed. In fact, the SNARCs had every inch from dockside to the royal palace under close surveillance. That wasn’t exactly something he could explain to Major Klairwatyr, of course. On the other hand, those invisible, unseen spies had amply confirmed how vigilantly Dohlar intended to protect its Charisian visitors.

  Earl Thirsk would have approved, he thought.

  “I’m sure you’ll want to walk the formation before Their Majesties join us,” the Dohlaran continued, and Merlin nodded.

  “As I say, Major, Their Majesties—and I—have every confidence in you and your men. But I am ultimately responsible for them, and I’ve always been in favor of the belt-and-suspenders approach when it comes to keeping the two of them alive.” He allowed his smile to broaden slightly. “That’s kept one or both of them that way a time or two, actually, over the years.”

  “So I’ve heard,” the major agreed with answering smile, and beckoned for Merlin to join him. “My men will be honored, Seijin.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Cayleb Ahrmahk climbed the same steps. The band segued instantly into the strains of “God Save the King,” and he paused at the top of the stairs as a roar of welcome went up from the crowd beyond the cordon of troops which sealed off the end of the quay. He raised one arm in acknowledgment, then turned and extended his hand to steady Sharleyan up the last few steps. The crowd had cheered at his appearance; it went wild at Sharleyan’s, and his eyes laughed into hers as she stepped fully onto the quay and tucked her arm through his.

  They moved forward steadily towards Archbishop Staiphan Maik and Samyl Cahkrayn, the Duke of Fern. Maik and Fern bowed deeply as they approached and they returned the courtesy.

  “Welcome to Gorath, Your Majesties!” Fern had to shout to make himself heard through the tumult.

  “Thank you!” Cayleb shouted back for both of them. “It’s a very … exuberant greeting!”

  “It should be!” Archbishop Staiphan replied. “I wish you could have seen the reaction here in Gorath when the semaphore message that you were coming—that both of you were coming—reached us!” He shook his head, his expression grave. “I don’t think anyone expected it!”

  “It was the least we could do for Earl Thirsk,” Cayleb said, stepping closer and pitching his voice lower. “I only wish we could’ve gotten here in time to tell him that ourselves.”

  “He knew you wanted to, Your Majesty,” Fern said. The white-haired Chancellor of Dohlar smiled sadly. “Not even a Charisian ship could have made the trip quickly enough for that, though
, I’m afraid.”

  “No.” Cayleb shook his head. “In fact, the only reason we were able to get here this quickly is that we’d expedited our return to Tellesberg from Cherayth to be home for the birth of Duke and Duchess Thesmar’s daughter.”

  “It was another daughter, then?” the archbishop said with a huge smile. “That makes—what? Nine?”

  “Four boys and five girls,” Cayleb confirmed with a smile of his own. “I told Hauwerd he could stop anytime now.”

  “And he said—?” Maik replied with a chuckle. He and Hauwerd Breygart had gotten to know one another well as the then bishop helped him and Lywys Gahrdynyr hammer out the terms of the cease-fire between Dohlar and Charis.

  “He said something about ‘inevitable consequences,’ Your Eminence,” Sharleyan said with a laugh of her own. “I do think he was happy to have another girl, though.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Maik said fondly. Then his expression sobered and he squared his shoulders and looked at Fern.

  “I think we should be getting you to the Palace,” the duke said, responding to the unspoken cue. “His Majesty’s eager to see you both again, and Lywys’ daughters will be joining us there.” He looked at Sharleyan a bit apologetically. “I know your semaphore messages emphasized that you preferred to go to them, Your Majesty, but the security issues—”

  He shrugged, and Sharleyan nodded.

  “I understand, Your Grace,” she said. “I’d much rather have visited them in their own homes than drag them out into some sort of formal dog-and-dragon show. But I never really thought we’d be able to.” She smiled a bit sadly.

  “In that case, Your Majesties,” Fern bowed once again, flourishing an arm in the direction of the coaches waiting at the end of the quay, surrounded by their own security detail, “please permit me to convey you to His Majesty.”

  * * *

  “It’s good to see you both again,” Rahnyld V said, turning from the window as Fern and Maik followed Cayleb and Sharleyan into the simply but comfortably furnished library. Merlin followed at their heels and stationed himself quietly to one side. “I only wish I wasn’t seeing you so quickly … or that it was for a different reason, at least.”

  His eyes were dark, and his right hand rose to touch the mourning band around his left arm.

  “We wish the same, Rahnyld,” Sharleyan replied. She crossed the carpet to him, holding out both hands. He looked at her for a moment, then took them in his own hands, and she squeezed firmly. “We got underway as soon as we realized how ill he was, although we never really expected to make it before you lost him. We’re so glad that at least we had the visit in Tellesberg first. I know you have to miss him dreadfully.”

  “I do,” Rahnyld half whispered. He squeezed her hands back, then released them and extended his right arm to Cayleb. They clasped forearms, and the youthful king drew a deep breath.

  “I do miss him,” he said, “but we were lucky to have him as long as we did. And in the end, he went gently, with Lady Stefyny holding his hand and young Zhosifyn reading the Writ to him.” The king smiled at the archbishop, then looked back at the Charisians. “The Book of Bédard, as it happens. He said he’d had enough of Chihiro and the martyrs in his life.”

  “I think all of us who lived through the Jihad can say that, Your Majesty,” Maik said.

  “Amen to that, Your Eminence,” Cayleb said with quiet sincerity.

  He was deeply grateful Thirsk had been granted the gift of dying in his own bed, surrounded by the family he loved so much and whom he’d fought so long and so hard to protect. But, like Rahnyld, he was going to miss the earl, and not just for personal reasons. Thirsk’s sudden illness had surprised all of them, even Nahrmahn, and he’d been gone before the inner circle could do anything about it. The good news was that he’d had over ten years to put his stamp upon Dohlar, its foreign policy, and—above all—its youthful monarch. That was something all of Safehold would be grateful for in the years to come, whether the rest of the planet knew it yet or not.

  “I can’t tell you how honored we are by your decision to come,” Rahnyld continued soberly. “I know it must’ve been difficult, and—”

  “Nowhere near as difficult as it would’ve been a few years ago, Your Majesty,” Sharleyan interrupted. “As, I think, you know from personal experience. Not that Earl Pine Hollow or the rest of the Council were delighted with our decision.” She smiled crookedly. “To be honest, if Admiral Sarmouth hadn’t been conducting that exercise out of White Rock Island, they probably would’ve pitched a tantrum!”

  Rahnyld chuckled and Fern snorted in obvious amusement, although there might have been just a touch of sourness in the sound. Dohlar had ceded White Rock Island, the largest and most populous island on the Dohlar Bank and less than fifteen hundred sea miles from Gorath Bay, to the Empire of Charis as part of the peace settlement. The Imperial Charisian Navy had turned St. Haarahld’s Harbor, barely a hundred and forty miles from Fern’s own duchy across the Fern Narrows, into a major naval base and coaling station. That just happened to put the ICN in easy striking distance of Dohlar, positioned to dominate both the Gulf of Tanshar and Hankey Sound, and there were those in Dohlar who resented a Charisian presence that close to the kingdom.

  King Rahnyld could have been one of them, if not for Lywys Gardynyr. Thirsk had understood why the navy was, and would always be, the senior service for the Empire of Charis. Because that empire was spread across almost half the planet, its scattered islands united only by the seas of Safehold, Charis had to retain control of its sea lanes, and for that it needed strategically located bases, especially since the introduction of steam. Steam-powered ships were faster and far more powerful than any galleon, but their voracious appetite for coal made them much shorter-legged than those same galleons. Refueling stations were critical, and in White Rock’s case there was the added incentive to maintain a forward naval force to keep an eye on the Desnairians at the southern end of Hankey Sound. And, for that matter, on the Border States, to the north.

  Charis could easily have pressed far more ambitious territorial demands on Dohlar after its withdrawal from the Jihad, but Cayleb and Sharleyan had settled for White Rock in the west, Claw Island in the east, and tiny Talisman Island in between. And Charisian possession of Talisman more than made up for any resentment Rahnyld—or, for that matter, Duke Fern—might have felt over White Rock. It was less than a hundred miles off the coast of Shwei Province, and the Harchong Empire had never recognized Charis’ possession of it. Which didn’t bother Cayleb or Sharleyan a bit … and had to do interesting things to Emperor Zhyou-Zhwo’s blood pressure.

  Samyl Cahkrayn, for one, could put up with quite a lot as long as that was true.

  In this instance, though, the fact that Sir Dunkyn Yairley and Thunderbolt had been participating in a scheduled joint exercise with the Royal Dohlaran Navy had provided secure transport for Cayleb and Sharleyan after the Salthar-Silk Town Railway transported them to Salthar Bay.

  “I’m glad the Earl was available,” the king said now. “And not just because of how important to me personally it is that you’ve come to Gorath for Earl Thirsk’s burial.” He didn’t mention, Merlin noticed, that Dohlar had set the schedule for Thirsk’s formal interment in the vaults of Gorath Cathedral only after the Charisian ambassador had informed Fern that Cayleb and Sharleyan were coming and when they would arrive. “No one in Dohlar’s missed the fact that this is your first visit ever to any mainland realm outside Siddarmark or Silkiah. Or the fact that you came together and that you brought Alahnah with you.” He looked into his guests’ eyes, his own steady and much older in that moment than his calendar age. “As Lywys always told me, symbolism matters. It matters a lot.”

  “Fair’s fair, Rahnyld,” Cayleb told him with a slight smile. “You did come to visit us in Tellesberg first, you know!”

  “And if that helped set this up, I’m even happier I did,” Rahnyld said, refusing to be diverted. “There are still people here in Doh
lar who cling to their resentment of what happened in the Jihad and how it ended. The fact that you’re here, that from the very beginning Charis has offered a hand to help us back to our feet, means a lot. Thank you for making that possible.”

  “Friendship beats the hell out of shooting at each other,” Cayleb replied after a moment, letting his eyes move to Maik and Fern as well. “Earl Sarmouth and I were talking about that just yesterday. Sharleyan and I would have come anyway, but if our visit can help ensure that Dohlar and Charis never shoot at each other again, I think that would be the most fitting gift to honor Lywys Gardynyr’s life and his death.”

  “Make God and all the Archangels send that you’re right, Your Majesty,” Archbishop Staiphan said after a moment. “And if you are, I know somewhere Lywys will be as happy and as grateful as I am.”

  * * *

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Your Highness,” Hailyn Whytmyn said, smiling at Alahnah Ahrmahk as she approached the crown princess in the ballroom King Rahnyld had made available for the evening’s reception.

  Music played in the background, but the gathering was actually quite small. Earl Thirsk’s three daughters, his two sons-in-law, and his seven grandchildren, accompanied by King Rahnyld and his sisters, on one side, and Alahnah, her twin brothers and her parents, Stefyny and Nynian Athrawes—and, of course, Seijin Merlin himself, standing alertly just inside the ballroom doors—on the other.

  “Princess Rahnyldah couldn’t stop chattering about you, but my father was quite impressed with you, as well. And believe me, impressing him wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to hear that, of course,” Alahnah replied, taking the older woman’s proffered hand. “I know he impressed me. I was scared to death before Father introduced us to each other.”

  “Really?” Lady Whytmyn looked surprised, and Alahnah laughed.

  “My Lady, Father always said there was only one admiral on the other side of the Jihad who really frightened him. Guess who he was talking about?”