by David Weber
And it was a heart which knew that Nimue Alban had not knowingly and deliberately gone to her death a thousand years before Koryn Gahrvai’s birth only to fail now.
NOVEMBER YEAR OF GOD 914
.I.
Siddar City, Republic of Siddarmark.
“You know what I wish?” Klymynt Myllyr asked as the servants withdrew from the private dining room on the top floor of Protector’s Palace.
The dining room was paneled in expensive southern hardwoods that gleamed with rich-toned highlights in the lamplight. And those lamps were needed, despite the relatively early hour, thanks to the fresh snow sifting down across the Republic’s capital. That snow fell heavily, steadily, from the dark and lowering skies, and it clearly intended to go on falling for a long time to come. But at least it was unaccompanied by the powerful winds which too often assailed Siddar City this time of year.
“I can think of a lot of things you ought to be wishing for,” Samyl Gahdarhd replied. “Spring would be one of them.” He looked out the dining room window at the charcoal sky and steady veils of snow.
“True.” Myllyr picked up his salad fork. Thanks to the speed of Charisian-built steamers, Tarotisian and Emeraldian lettuce was available here in Siddar City even in November. “On the other hand, I was thinking of something a little more … immediate than that.”
“That the people who keep carping about how terrible the economy is and what awful people Zhasyn and I are would shut up for a bit?” Bryntyn Ashfyrd offered.
“That would be nice, but I think we’re already getting that one. To some extent, anyway.” Myllyr forked up a bite of salad and chewed appreciatively. “Mind you, nothing’s going to shut some of them up,” he added more glumly.
In fact, their hard-core opposition would never “shut up,” as all of them knew perfectly well. Their opponents’ vociferous denunciations had fallen on increasingly less receptive ears since the Canal Consortium bond issue had hit the markets, however. Even the special bonds were beyond the reach of the millions of the Republic’s citizens who worked hard just to put food on their families’ tables, but they were affordable by a far larger slice of the population than the earlier issues of government securities to help finance the Trans-Siddarmark Railroad. That meant more and more people had a stake in the “new” economy, and the option to convert their bonds into stock in the canal when it was finally completed had been even more popular than Myllyr had hoped. In fact, the special class of bonds was almost fully subscribed already, and purchases of the more expensive bonds were ahead of projections. At this rate, the Canal Consortium would be fully capitalized within no more than three or four months. Siddarmark’s economy might remain far short of Charisian levels of performance, but it was stronger than it had been since the Jihad and growing steadily stronger, and their critics hated that.
“So it’s not the weather, and it’s not the economy,” Gahdarhd said. “And neither Vicar Tymythy Rhobair nor Archbishop Dahnyld have done anything to piss you off, so it’s not religion. Which leaves politics—right?”
“I never could fool you,” Myllyr said dryly, and Gahdarhd chuckled.
“Actually, I wish two things,” the lord protector went on. “The first is that I could chuck this job out the window and go back to being an honest soldier. Langhorne, I hate politics! And if I didn’t know they’d elect that idiot Hygyns, I would chuck it.” Despite his light tone, he was obviously serious. “Which brings me to my second wish—which is that Hygyns was still on active duty so Daryus could order him up to command the garrison at Salyk over the winter.”
His smile was not entirely humorous, and Ashfyrd snorted. The small town of Salyk had grown significantly since the Jihad, but it still shut down every winter once Spinefish Bay froze over, and if there was a colder place in the Republic of Siddarmark in November, Bryntyn Ashfyrd had never heard of it. Which, he conceded, made it the perfect place to send Zhermo Hygyns.
“I understand the sentiment,” he said, cutting a bite-sized morsel from the steak on his plate, “but I think his hopes for the protectorship have sprung a leak.” He put the steak in his mouth and chewed appreciatively.
“My reports say pretty much the same thing,” Gahdarhd agreed. “In fact, he’s lost at least three important endorsements over the last month or so. And I can’t say it grieves me to think about that,” he added.
“That’s one reason I’d like to send him off to Salyk,” Myllyr retorted. “I’m a vindictive son-of-a-bitch, especially when it comes to someone like him, and now that his campaign’s starting to founder, I might be able to get away with sending him off without anyone seeing through my mask.”
Both his guests chuckled at that, and he smiled again, more easily.
“In the meantime, though, we have more pressing concerns. What I especialy wanted to discuss with you, Samyl—and the reason I wanted you to sit in on the conversation, Bryntyn—is the situation in the Western provinces. Daryus tells me he’s ready to certify to the Chamber that we can begin drawing down the Army detachments. I tend to agree, but I also think a lot of the resentment’s still there. Oh, it’s shifted from straight hatred between Temple Loyalists and Siddar Loyalists, but I know Westerners.” He smiled briefly, his Tarikah accent more pronounced than usual, “and once they get the pissed-off bug, they hang onto it. They just find new targets for it, and given the mess the Syndicate and the Troubles between them have left behind, none of them have to look far to find one. We all know how much of the local resentment’s due to the Western Syndicate and what it’s done to the local farmers, but the way the economy’s turned around here in the East is only making it worse. Or, rather, keeping it worse, since it was already pretty damned bad. And it’s harder than hell to blame average citizens in someplace like Tarikah for feeling that way.”
Both his lunch guests nodded somberly, and he paused to sip hot cherrybean before he continued.
“I don’t like the anti-Charis thread in their unhappiness one bit, either, but I think that’s starting to ease.” He raised an eyebrow at Gahdarhd, who nodded.
“Easing,” the keeper of the seal agreed. “Not going away anytime soon, though.”
“Don’t expect it to.” Myllyr shook his head. “The only way to get on top of that is to find some kind of economic fix. I know our ability to do anything from the Capital’s limited, but we’ve got to find some way to … to un-depress their economy, too. If we don’t—if things keep right on getting better here in the East and stay stuck in the crapper in the West—the resentment will set even deeper. So, since Daryus has managed to put out the active fire, now it’s time for you two to come up with a way to start pissing on the coals.”
He smiled at them across the table.
“Thoughts?” he asked.
* * *
“I’m starting to think I should fold my tent and go back to Tarikah, this year at least,” Zhermo Hygyns said moodily, frowning down into his snifter of brandy.
“Oh, that would be very premature, General!” Zhaikyb Fyrnahndyz, who’d invited the small, select group to gather in his Siddar City mansion, shook his head. “The Republic needs you!”
“I don’t know about that,” Hygyns growled. “Those idiots in the Chamber of Delegates don’t seem to think so, anyway.”
“Not all of us feel that way, General,” Styvyn Trumyn, one of Cliff Peak’s delegates, said earnestly. Like Fyrnahndyz, Trumyn knew how much Hygyns preferred to be addressed by his military rank, even though he was no longer officially on active duty. Most people might have preferred the “Governor” to which he was entitled after serving as Governor of Tarikah for four years, but not Hygyns. “Especially not those of us who remember how vital your efforts have been in the West!”
“Absolutely!” Mahthyw Ohlsyn, the senior delegate from Tarikah agreed. “After the job you did in Lake City, there’s no question in my mind, General! You’re the one man I believe can actually deal with the issues we face, and I don’t know if the Republic can survive if
someone doesn’t deal with them. Trust me, there’s not a voter in the West who doesn’t understand that!”
“Maybe not,” Hygyns conceded. “Unfortunately, there aren’t enough votes in the West to beat Myllyr in the East. And whatever Tarikah and Cliff Peak may think—or the unincorporated part of the South March, for that matter—Glacierheart and Thesmar will line up with the Eastern block to vote for anybody willing to kiss Charis’ arse!”
The general’s expression was as bitter as his tone, and several of the other men gathered in the palatial private dining room looked at one another.
“Not everyone in the East’s ready to do that, General,” Raphayl Ahskar, head of the Papermakers’ Guild in Siddar City, said after a moment. “Not by a long chalk.”
“Fucking right!” Mahryahno Kreft more than half snarled. The white-haired Kreft headed the Shipbuilders Guild … or what was left of it. He was also almost fifteen years older than Ahskar and far less polished.
“Raphayl and Mahryahno have a point, General,” Ghustahv Phaiphyr said. “My reporters all agree there are still plenty of voters who recognize the need for change.”
Fyrnahndyz nodded, although he was confident Phaiphyr was shading what his reporters had actually said. It was entirely possible he honestly didn’t realize he was doing it, though. His newspaper—the Siddar City Sentinel, one of the capital’s larger papers—was the unofficial organ of the Opposition for reasons Phaiphyr fondly believed were a matter of principle. Fyrnahndyz was willing to concede that principle played a part in Ghustahv Phaiphyr’s political views, but the death of Phylyp Phaiphyr, Ghustahv’s only son, in the retreat to Serabor through the Sylmahn Gap was at least as important. Ghustahv had never forgiven Charis for “provoking” the Jihad which had killed Phylyp, nor did he have any intention of forgiving the man who’d commanded Phylyp’s company at the time.
“That’s really the crux of the matter, General,” Ohlsyn said. Hygyns looked at him, and the delegate shrugged. “Myllyr and Ashfyrd may have deluded people into thinking things are looking up, and it’s true there are fewer people still thrown out of employment.” He gave Ahskar and Kreft a sympathetic look. “But that’s never going to last, and even if it were, there are plenty of people who aren’t going to forget how the Charisians have repaid us for all of our wartime sacrifices!”
Hygyns’ jaw tightened at the mention of wartime sacrifices, and he gave Ohlsyn a jerky nod. It was interesting, Fyrnahndyz thought, that Ohlsyn hadn’t mentioned how the depressed economy in the West had played into the hands of his own allies in the Western Syndicate. Or of how hard they’d worked to keep that economy depressed—and all those farmers out of work—while they bought up everything in sight. Nor had he commented on how the state of that economy decreased the pool of voters who met the property qualifications for the franchise, or how that gave their own political machine an even tighter stranglehold on power.
And it was even more interesting that all those connections seemed to sail straight past Hygyns, despite—or perhaps even because of—his term as governor. Of course, they’d been careful to keep their machinations as far out of sight as possible, but the man had been the governor. So he was either even blinder than Fyrnahndyz had thought, or.…
“Speaking as a member of the business community,” he said, his own expression grave, “I have to say there’s a lot of truth in what everyone’s just said, General. And eventually, the people who Myllyr and Ashfyrd are duping right now will figure out that you’ve been right to warn them about the Charisian puppet strings all along. I just pray to Langhorne they won’t figure it out too late!”
“Exactly!” Phaiphyr picked up on the cue as quickly as if they’d rehearsed it. “Exactly, General. And if you drop out of the campaign before it’s even fully begun, the one voice most likely to expose Cayleb and Sharleyan’s machinations in the Republic will fall silent. My editorial pages will keep up the fight no matter what, but there’s no denying that your voice and your record—both in the Jihad and during the Troubles—are the true rallying point for those of us determined to thwart Myllyr’s … misguided policies.”
“I don’t know.…” Hygyns said.
“General,” Fyrnahndyz said earnestly, “I know we’re asking a great deal of you, especially after you’ve already given the Republic four years in Tarikah. Langhorne knows I’m not cut out for a career in politics, either!” He shook his head. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to stay as far away from this as I possibly could. There are only twenty-six hours in the day, and I’ve got more than enough personal concerns to keep anyone busy. Besides, with all due respect to Mahthyw and Styvyn, politics, especially here in the capital, are a cesspool. But it looks to me like too many of the new voters are buying the lies Myllyr and Ashfyrd are selling them.”
“Hard to blame them,” Phaiphyr put in. “Stohnar’s decision to expand the franchise was a terrible mistake! Or, at least, if he was going to do it, he should have done it a lot more gradually. Myllyr’s taken blatant advantage of that, just like Maidyn did! Half those new voters feel like they ‘owe’ their loyalty to the people they think gave them the vote. And even the ones who don’t are too politically unsophisticated to make informed decisions.”
“Ghustahv’s right,” Fyrnahndyz said. “And if we don’t stop this pernicious rot now, if Myllyr has another five years to continue the same mistaken policies, Charis’ stranglehold on our economy may become unbreakable. I’m not prepared to say you’re the only one who could possibly stop that, but I am prepared to say you’re the best chance we have of reversing the trend while there’s still time.”
“You may be right,” Hygyns replied after a long moment of silence. “You’re definitely right about how much I loathe political campaigns. That was one of the main reasons I didn’t stand for a second term in Tarikah. But you may be right.”
Fyrnahndyz nodded sympathetically. He suspected Hygyns truly did dislike political campaigns, although watching the way he glowed when audiences cheered his speeches suggested he didn’t find all of it distasteful. For the matter, the general had been delighted by the perquisites of office as a provincial governor. But Fyrnhandyz also suspected Hygyns’ personal ambition ran even deeper and stronger than most of his political allies had yet realized. He might dislike campaigning for the protectorship, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it with a deep and burning hunger.
“Unfortunately,” Hygyns continued, “however right you may be, the shift in public opinion’s still the same in the short term. And in light of the way the political climate seems to’ve shifted—however temporarily—I’m not at all sure I could ask my family to bear the financial burden of continuing my campaign at this time. Especially now that I’m no longer on active duty. And I can’t go back onto active duty as long as I’m a candidate for office.”
“I hadn’t actually considered that aspect of it,” Fyrnahndyz replied with a total disregard for the truth.
The Constitution banned active-duty officers from any elective office. Army officers could continue to hold reserve commissions—and remain liable to recall in an emergency—while seeking office, but reserve officers received only a quarter of their active-duty salaries. For that matter, if they succeeded in winning election, they received no salary from the Army so long as they remained in office. And it didn’t matter what office it was. From lord protector to lizard-catcher, the prohibition on active-duty officers in political office was absolute.
Unfortunately for Hygyns, the Constitution was equally firm that no one who currently held elective office could stand for lord protector. He could have retained his governorship for another full year, until the end of his term, while he ran for a seat in the Chamber of Delegates, but not if he wanted to contest the protectorship with Myllyr. Until the recent economic turnaround, his decision to retire from the governorship had looked like the best choice. Now that Myllyr’s chances of retaining office had rebounded, the man had to be regretting it. He’d become accustomed to
the lifestyle and perks of high elective office; becoming one more retired general after that had to be … disheartening.
And it didn’t pay the bills, either.
Now the banker frowned deeply into his own brandy. This was the critical moment, and he knew it. He’d put together the core of a potent political machine without the other members of its leadership realizing how adroitly he’d gathered up their strings. Every man in this room had his own reasons to oppose Klymynt Myllyr, whether it was genuine fear of the future, personal animosity, the destruction of privileged livelihoods, or simple greed. For that matter, he included himself in that description. Yet so far, all the others were convinced he was simply one more ally in the cause. He wanted to keep it that way, for a lot of reasons, and he wasn’t certain he could if he came farther into the open. But if he didn’t.…
“General,” he said finally, “I know you’re a man of honor and of pride, so I hesitate to bring this up, and I devoutly hope you won’t take what I’m about to say amiss. But I truly hadn’t reflected on how … straitened your family’s finances must have become since you left the governorship to oppose Myllyr’s madness. I should have. I know the law. But, somehow, I never did, and I respect you even more for making those sacrifices, now that I have.”
He paused, and Hygyns gave the compliment a choppy nod of acceptance.
“As I say, I’m hesitant to bring this up, knowing you as well as I’ve come to, but I would be honored—deeply honored—if you permitted me to assist you. I’m not talking about any gifts, and I’m not talking about attaching any strings,” Fyrnahndyz continued quickly as Hygyns’ eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “That would be grossly improper! But I would be honored to make you a personal loan of the funds you might require to support your family properly if that would free you to devote your full attention to the desperately important campaign against a second Myllyr protectorship. I know that you would, of course, insist on repaying me in full, with interest. For my part, any interest would be completely superfluous, but I’m aware it would be important to you. For that matter, I realize how a political enemy might be able to use it against you if you didn’t. But if you could see your way to letting me help in whatever modest way I can, it might make it possible for you to continue the fight.”