Safehold 10 Through Fiery Trials

by David Weber

  He’d never seen a clear end for the Rebellion, and this was one he wouldn’t have predicted, but he felt a peculiar sense of … completion. Or satisfaction, perhaps. That growing town—no, that growing city—was filled with people who had refused to be property any longer, and beyond them were literally millions of others who’d made that same decision when the possibility of freedom was offered to them. That wouldn’t have happened, the possibility would never have been presented, without the Rebellion. He knew that, and as he gazed out at the buildings and streets of Zhynkau, that knowledge filled him with a profound awareness of accomplishment. Of the memorial rising in the city’s brick and wood and stone—and beyond that in the hearts of its citizens—not just to his own beloved dead but to all of the Harchong Empire’s victims.

  It was almost enough to balance the nightmares which still woke him, if with blessedly less frequency, than they used to. That was the Yanshwyn’s doing.

  He was glad to see the ground no more than a few feet away once more, too. The flight had been as exciting as he’d hoped, but there was something undeniably unnatural about floating about up in the sky. He wished Yanshwyn had been able to accompany him, but that had been totally out of the question with a four-month-old!

  And it was not either an excuse to get away from the Langhorne’s watch feedings! he thought with a grin.

  He caught movement at the corner of his vision and his eyes widened slightly as he saw yet another of the Charisian innovations rolling towards him. Major Bulyrd and Seijin Merch had described the new self-propelled steam dragons to him, but the sight of something the size of a heavy freight wagon trundling towards him without a draft animal anywhere in sight was still startling. His grin broadened and he snorted in amusement as that realization flowed through him. After flying like a wyvern for over a thousand miles in less than a single day, the sight of a wagon without a dragon in front of it was startling?

  He shook his head at the thought, then turned as a uniformed Charisian rapped gently on the lightweight frame of the cabin to announce his presence.

  “Captain Krugair’s respects, Father Yngshwan, Gentlemen, and we’ll be prepared to disembark in about ten minutes.”

  “Thank you, my son,” Yanshwyn Tsungzhi said, signing Langhorne’s scepter in blessing, and the steward bobbed his head and disappeared again.

  “You see, Zaipu?” the priest continued, turning to Zaipu Ou-zhang. “Here we are, safely on the ground, without a single person’s having plunged to his death en route!”

  “With all due respect, we aren’t ‘on the ground’ just yet,” the Mayor of Zhutiyan replied tartly.

  “For all intents and purposes we are,” Tsungzhi told him with a broader smile.

  “And if we get off this infernal device without its exploding the way Major Bulyrd said it might, I’ll be a happy and a grateful man,” Ou-zhang retorted. “I don’t count my wyverns before they hatch, though!”

  “You are the gloomiest man I know, sometimes,” the priest who’d become the effective Bishop of Chynduk observed.

  “Realist, Father. Realist,” Ou-zhang shot back. “Somebody has to be one!”

  “That’s Yanshwyn’s job,” Miyang Gyngdau said. “Your job, whether you want to admit it or not, is to be the Valley’s pessimist. And I suppose we do need one of those, too.”

  “I don’t how the two of you always manage to make me feel so appreciated and loved,” Ou-zhang replied, and Gyngdau chuckled. Then he looked at the man who’d married his sister-in-law. As far as he was concerned, that made Tangwyn Syngpu his brother-in-law, and as their eyes met, Gyngdau twitched his head in the direction of the steam dragon which had just stopped with the head of the stair in its wagon bed even with the cabin’s starboard door.

  “Best we be going,” he said.

  “I’m ready,” Syngpu said mildly. “Just lead the way.”

  But Gyngdau shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “The rest of us discussed it, and we’re in agreement. You lead the way, Tangwyn.”

  “That’s not fitting!” Syngpu protested. “You or the Father—you’re the leaders of this ‘delegation’! I’ll be coming along at your back, where I belong.”

  “No, you won’t, my son.” Father Yngshwan’s voice was gentle but implacable and Syngpu looked at him. “As Miyang says, we’ve discussed it, Tangwyn, and the man whose soldiers have protected us so long—the man who’s the only reason we’re here—is the one who’s going to lead us off of Zaipu’s ‘infernal device.’ And that man, my son, is you.”

  Syngpu opened his mouth again, but then he looked around those steady eyes, saw the agreement in all of them, and realized objecting would do him no good. And even as he thought that, even as he realized a peasant had no business usurping his “betters’” place, he realized something else, as well.

  They were right.

  Not because they’d decided to bestow such an honor upon him, whether he wanted it or not, but because this day, in this place, it wasn’t a matter of anyone’s “betters” … and it never would be again. That was the true legacy of the Rebellion, the memorial to his and so many other people’s dead. Today, when the Chynduk Valley officially joined the United Provinces, they would do it because that was what the people—all the people—of the Valley had freely chosen to do. And so these men—these friends, every one of whom had once been his “better”—were right to make that point. To insist the Valley’s delegation to the new nation of which they were about to become a part be led by a peasant. Because after this day, those peasants would never again follow like cattle at the heels of any aristocrat or prelate.

  He looked around the small circle of the closest friends he’d ever had and his eyes burned strangely as he nodded.

  “Stubborn lot, aren’t you just,” he growled gruffly and led the way towards the stairs.

  .III.

  Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis, Empire of Charis.

  “Koryn! It’s good to see you,” Cayleb Ahrmahk said, clasping forearms firmly with the general as Koryn Gahrvai, his wife, and all three of their children came down the shallow steps to the sundrenched terrace.

  The twins were eight, now, and young Daffyd held his father’s hand while Lyzbyt held her mother’s. Alyk, a sturdy three-year-old who’d celebrated his birthday less than two months ago, held Krystin Nylsyn’s, looking around him with huge blue eyes. The twins were fraternal, not identical, and Daffyd had his mother’s red hair and blue eyes, although there was more gold in the hair and the eyes were a bit lighter than Nimue Gahrvai’s, while Lyzbyt had her father’s coloration. Alyk, with a perversity worthy of his namesake, had split the difference, with dark hair and blue eyes.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Your Majesty. It’s been too long,” Gahrvai replied now, for the benefit of the assorted Imperial Guardsmen and servants standing about.

  Cayleb nodded and held out his hand to Nimue as Sharleyan blended out of the gathering crowd to join them.

  “How was the flight?” she asked.

  “Smooth,” Nimue replied. “Hit a little turbulence over the Cauldron, but nothing to worry about. The kids were great about it, too. Of course, they’ve had a more experience with airships than most kids their age, given our schedule.”

  “Good!” Sharleyan hugged the seijin.

  “We were a little afraid you might not make it,” Cayleb said, giving Nimue a quick hug of his own. “Or, rather,” he smiled at Daffyd and Lyzbyt, “Nynian was afraid you wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, Daddy!” a voice said, and Princess Nynian Zhorzhet Ahrmahk, whose eleventh birthday it happened to be, followed her mother across the terrace.

  “Don’t pay him any attention,” Sharleyan told the Gahrvai twins. “He thinks he’s funny.”

  “No, I’m an emperor. So I know I’m funny!”

  “Cayleb!” Sharleyan smacked him on the shoulder, then bent to hug the younger members of the Gahrvai clan. “We’re so glad you could get here, Daivy. And y
ou, Lyz!”

  “Thank you for inviting us and we promise to behave, Aunt Sharley,” Daffyd said in the voice of someone repeating a carefully learned official formula, then looked up at his father. The general looked back down solemnly for a moment, then nodded.

  “Just see that you do behave,” he said with a smile. “And stay away from the cookies before dinner! There’ll be plenty of time for that after, and you don’t want to fill up before we even cut the cake.”

  “Yes, Father!” Daffyd promised, and Lyzbyt nodded in solemn agreement when Gahrvai glanced at her.

  “Then we resign them to your hands, Krystin,” Nimue told their nanny. “Good luck!”

  “I’ll have you know all three of them are going to behave themselves just fine,” Seijin Krystin told their parents chidingly. “Aren’t you?” she said ominously to the twins, glowering at them ferociously.

  “Yes, Krystin!” they promised around a shared giggle.

  “Good! Now, let’s go have some fun,” she continued, and she and the children followed Nynian towards the mob of other youngsters who’d already assembled.

  “I’m sure they will,” Sharleyan told their father as the children headed away. “Have fun, I mean. And you didn’t tell them about the surprise, did you?”

  “About the ice cream? Please!” Koryn shook his head. “Do I look that stupid?”

  “Don’t answer that!” Nimue said quickly, and Cayleb laughed.

  “Just as long as you didn’t spoil the surprise, everything’s good,” he assured their guests, and Koryn chuckled.

  The truth was that he was looking forward to the “surprise,” as well. Ehdwyrd Howsmyn’s Delthak Enterprises had introduced refrigeration to Safehold the previous year. Powering the compressors without electricity was a bit of a challenge, which meant household refrigerators weren’t going to become commonplace anytime soon, but Stahlman Praigyr had produced a small, “household-sized,” low-output version of his kerosene steam engines that could handle the job. And that meant that for the first time in Old Charis’ history, ice was as available—and even cheaper—right here in Tellesberg than it was from the ice houses of more northern realms.

  And that had allowed Nynian Athrawes to “invent” ice cream. The first of which would be delivered to Princess Nynian’s guests in about three hours.

  “Lord—how many are there?” Nimue asked now, as she and Koryn followed their hosts towards the adults at the far end of the terrace from the children.

  “Of the kids?” Cayleb asked. “Oh, not that many.” He waved his hand airily. “Just our five, Zhan and Mahrya’s three boys, Nahrmahn Garyet and Zhanayt’s pair, the two Falkhan boys, Kynt and Elayn’s pair, the Delthak twins, and six of Hauwerd and Mairah’s. That’s only—” he counted ostentatiously on his fingers; it took him a while “—twenty-two. Well, twenty-five, counting yours.”

  “Lord,” Nimue repeated, shaking her head, and Koryn laughed.

  “Stefyny and Alahnah are riding herd on them?” he asked.

  “Along with a little help from Lywys,” Sharleyan replied with a nod. “He’s a very useful young man, you know. We think of him almost as another son by now.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Koryn observed, and looked across the terrace at the tall, brown-haired young man helping Crown Princess Alahnah and Stefyny Athrawes untangle a thicket of croquet players.

  The affection between him and Alahnah was plain to see, and the people of Tellesberg had taken the young Dohlaran to their hearts after his part in saving their crown princess’ life. There was, in fact, a steadily growing expectation that, despite Lywys Whytmyn’s relatively humble birth, an imperial wedding lay somewhere in his future. Obviously, that would have to wait—after all, Alahnah was only twenty. No one wanted to rush someone that young to the altar. On the other hand, her parents had married very young, as well, and that had worked out well. Still, it was early days, and it wasn’t as if she had to marry to produce heirs, given the number of siblings and cousins she possessed.

  Of course, Tellesberg didn’t know about the tunnel from Archbishop’s Palace to Tellesberg Palace or the private stair from Tellesberg Palace’s basement to the imperial family’s quarters. Alahnah’s Marines knew about it, as did the Imperial Guard, but none of them were about to say a word about who used that tunnel and those stairs on a nightly basis.

  Koryn smiled at the thought and wrapped an arm around his wife in a quick hug. She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

  he told her over their private com channel.

  she replied.

  Koryn snorted, although she was probably right that Lywys and Alahnah would manage to conduct themselves with proper decorum. Not that there was any reason they shouldn’t tease the happy couple pretty vigorously.

  No one had ever anticipated that Daivyn and Frahncheska Chermyn might marry. The two of them had been such good friends as children, despite the difference in their ages, that the thought of anything deeper had never occurred to either of them. Not until Frahncheska came home from Tellesberg all grown up, that was. It was remarkable how Daivyn had found pressing reasons to return to Carmyn every month or two ever since she’d gotten back.

  Of course, there was the tiny problem that Daivyn was the Prince of Corisande. That was the other reason not even Nahrmahn Baytes had considered the possibility of their marriage. Given how many Zebediahans remembered his father’s iron hand, the courtship of any Zebediahan by a Corisandian prince would have been fraught with difficulties and Frahncheska Chermyn wasn’t just any Zebediahan.

  The people of Zebediah were fiercely loyal to all of their grand duke’s family, but Frahncheska had been the baby of the family when Hauwyl Chermyn became their liege lord. She’d grown up in Carmyn, and the people of Zebediah regarded her as much—and as fiercely—as their own as ever Tellesberg had regarded Alahnah or Cherayth had regarded a younger Sharleyan. They’d also discovered that their Charisian-born grand duke and duchess (and family) did things their own way, though. And so, grudgingly at first, the majority of Zebediah had accepted the betrothal once it became clear the son of the hated Hektor was courting their grand duke’s niece with all due propriety … and that she was not at all adverse to the marriage.

  And it was difficult—no, impossible—to think of a more politically effective bride for Daivyn. Like Alahnah herself, there were no real dynastic candidates outside Charis itself. And the symbolism of Hektor’s son marrying into the ruling dynasty of Zebediah couldn’t be lost on any Zebediahan or Corisandian. For the minority of Zebediahans who would never forgive Corisande or Corisandians under any circumstances, that only made the pill more bitter, but for their fellows, it represented a way to heal the past.

  Koryn said now.

  Nimue agreed with a gurgle of mental laughter.

  Koryn said.

  Nimue replied a bit more grimly, and he hugged her tighter as he remembered that horrible day. Her memories were actually those of Merlin Athrawes, since she hadn’t existed at the time, but that made them no less real. He wondered, sometimes, how Merlin’s interface factored into “her” memory of watching him being hammered to the ground with the wounds which had left his face so badly sc
arred. For himself, the physical scars were nothing compared to the anguish he’d felt—the total, crushing sense of grief and personal failure—as he’d seen the deadly shrapnel scythe down his cousin and her new husband on the very steps of Manchyr Cathedral despite every protective measure he’d taken.

  he told her.

  she replied, leaning against him, and he smiled as he kissed the part of her hair then looked back at that herd of children. At that promise, like Daivyn and Frahncheska, of the future to come.

  Maybe.

  His smile faded as the qualification flowed through him, but it was one that occurred to all of them these days. It occurred to them a lot.

  And that’s the real reason we’ve gathered so many of the tribe for Nynian’s birthday, he thought. Because the ticking of that clock’s getting louder and louder.

  In less than seven months, it would be July. July of 915. The July in which the “Archangels’” return might kill every single person on this terrace.

  The bright sun seemed momentarily cold, and his eyes went bleak and hard. But only until he looked across the children to where Merlin and Nynian Athrawes stood watching their daughter. Merlin looked up, as if he’d felt Koryn’s gaze, and their eyes met. They held for a moment, and then Merlin nodded.

  There was great comfort in that nod, Koryn realized. Not because he thought even Merlin could defeat a horde of returning “Archangels,” but because that was Merlin Athrawes’ nod. And because deep inside, despite all Koryn Gahrvai had learned about the Federation, about Eric Langhorne, and about the odds against them, and despite whatever his head might fear, his heart knew better. It was a heart which thought not in soulless numbers, not with coldly calculated odds. It was a heart which saw the deeper reality beyond “the truth” and “the inevitable.”