by David Weber
“I asked you here,” the duke’s voice was strangely formal, “in the presence of your baranal, because it’s my duty, as his father, as an officer of the Union Army, and as Duke of Garth Showma, to tell you—all of you—what I’ve learned this very evening.”
He paused and inhaled, nostrils flaring, then took one hand from behind him to indicate the stranger, still standing beside his desk.
“This is Sertal Halka. Once upon a time, he was Commander of Five Hundred Halka and served with me in the Second Andarans before he was invalided out of the service after the same fracas in which Otwal Threbuch saved my life. Since then, he’s had an…interesting career in Intelligence, and he and I have stayed in touch over the years.”
He beckoned, and Halka crossed to stand beside him. The retired five hundred walked with a slight but noticeable limp, favoring his left leg, which struck Shaylar and Jathmar as odd in a culture which had Gifted healers. Having seen people snatched back from the very brink of death—having been snatched back himself, in Jathmar’s case—by Arcanan healers, they had to wonder what sort of injury those healers hadn’t been able to completely cure for Halka.
“I asked Sertal to join us this evening because, at my request, he’s been investigating certain outside-channel reports which have reached me. In particular, I asked him to investigate a report from Fifty Therman Ulthar.”
Jasak’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and his father glanced at him and nodded ever so slightly.
“I apologize for not sharing the contents of that report with you sooner, Jas,” he said. “And I appreciate your patience, since I know how impatient you must’ve been to hear whatever he had to say.”
“Should I assume you’re about to share them with me now, Father?”
“Yes,” the duke said heavily. “And I wish to all the gods I didn’t have to. Unfortunately, you and I both have obligations which leave me no choice.”
“Thankhar,” his wife said quietly, “you’re frightening me.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to. But there was a very good reason young Ulthar sent me that message. He’s concerned about violations of the Kerellian Accords.” The duke’s voice was flat, hard as hammered iron. “Deliberate violations of the Kerellian Accords.”
Jasak snapped fully erect, so suddenly Gadrial reached out and laid a concerned hand on his arm, and Sathmin Olderhan stiffened in her armchair, her expression shocked. Shaylar had no idea what the “Kerellian Accords” might be, but her hand tightened on Jathmar’s as she sensed the sudden storm of tension rising all about her.
“Violation of the Accords?” Jasak’s voice was even flatter than his father’s had been, with an over controlled calm that sent icy fingernails up and down Shaylar’s spine.
“That was one of the things he reported,” his father confirmed in a voice hewn from granite. “His report was…comprehensive and very informative, and I took it seriously. In fact, I’ve already dispatched an inquiry team in response to it, although it will be some time before it can reach Thermyn to verify everything in it. Under the circumstances”—he met his son’s eyes levelly—“I sent it on my own authority, as hereditary commander of the Second Andarans, without involving the Commandery. The allegations contained in his message were that serious. But it was clearly incumbent upon me to verify anything I could from this end, as well. Which is how Sertal got involved.”
All eyes returned to the brown-haired man who squared his shoulders under their weight.
“Sertal left official government employment some years ago,” the duke said. “He established his own security firm, and he’s assembled a highly competent staff which has handled my personal security needs from the time he opened his doors. I want all of you to understand that there isn’t a man in the entire Union I trust more implicitly and completely then Sertal.”
He paused a moment, as if to allow that to sink in, before he continued.
“It turns out we’ve had at least some piecemeal communications from Commander of Two Thousand mul Gurthak which haven’t been made public. For reasons which I strongly suspect we won’t like very much once we find out what they are, the Two Thousand still hasn’t filed any official dispatches dealing with this material with the Commandery, even though the communications which have reached Portalis contain significant military information. Instead, they were sent to the Ministry of Exploration and the Directorate of Intelligence.”
He must have seen from the Sharonians’ expression that his last sentence meant little to them, because he grimaced and explained.
“The Ministry of Exploration is the civilian ministry charged with overseeing our exploration policies, and the Directorate of Intelligence is a civilian intelligence service. The Ministry’s in charge of developing the infrastructure in the explored out-universes and of coordinating our general exploratory policy, but the actual exploration mission belongs to the Army, and the Ministry has no direct authority over that aspect of its operations. And the Directorate of Intelligence is a department of the Ministry of Justice, not of Exploration or the Army. In fact, there’s been an ongoing turf war between the Directorate and Military Intelligence for at least fifty years, just as there are those in Exploration who’ve argued for years that they should control the actual exploration rather than leaving it in ‘the Army’s clumsy hands.’”
“Which would imply,” Jathmar said slowly, “that mul Gurthak wanted to avoid sharing his information with anyone in your military? Or even that he wanted to share it with someone who didn’t like your military very much?”
“It could imply that,” the duke corrected him. “It could also simply be a case of sloppy clerical work in the midst of an ongoing crisis. Sertal managed to…acquire copies of the material for me, and it’s not in the form of a formal report. Instead, it looks like some sort of internal memo that hasn’t yet been put into its final form.”
“So you’re saying it wasn’t supposed to be sent at all?”
“No, Jathmar, I’m saying it may have been sent by clerical error…or that it was deliberately sent in a format which would allow it to appear to have been sent by clerical error.”
“But why would anyone do that?” Shaylar asked, sounding totally confused because that was exactly what she was. Voice transmissions didn’t get sent by “clerical error,” and she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around how that could happen to Arcanan reports.
“We don’t know that yet,” the duke told her. “I have some unpleasant thoughts in that regard, and Sertal’s helping to determine whether or not my paranoia is justified. If it is, then I’m afraid the entire Union of Arcana may be about to discover that we face more than simply external threats. That, however, is something for us to worry about, not you and your husband. The only reason I’ve described this aspect to you is so that you can understand why and how I’ve discovered what does concern you.”
“In what way?” Jathmar’s tone was courteous but sharp, honed with formless dread born from too much bitter experience.
“As you know, all the public’s been officially told—all anyone outside a handful of highly placed officials at the Ministry of Exploration and the Directorate of Intelligence knows—is that negotiations broke down, virtually all of our own negotiating team was killed in some sort of confrontation, hostilities have been resumed, and Two Thousand Harshu has advanced beyond Thermyn,” the duke replied flatly. “And all of that’s true. But if the information Sertal’s people have turned up is correct, the real reason those negotiations ‘broke down’ was because—according to Rithmar Skirvon and Uthik Dastiri—the Sharonians ‘made their warlike intentions clear’ from the outset by failing to stipulate that there would be no attack during negotiations. Because that clause is an essential hallmark of all serious diplomatic efforts to negotiate a cease-fire agreement, it was clear to Skirvon that Sharona had no intention of signing any peace treaty and intended to keep its hands free to attack at a time of its own choosing.”
“What?” Jathmar stared
at him. “That’s crazy!”
“In fairness to Skirvon’s interpretation, the agreement by both parties not to attack during negotiations is, indeed, a fundamental part of traditional Arcanan diplomacy,” the duke said heavily. “Traditionally,” he emphasized the adverb heavily, “there was no obligation to agree to any such thing, and it was understood by all parties that unless it was specifically agreed to, either side was free to—and probably would—resume active operations at the moment it felt would be most advantageous. Mind you, no one’s negotiated any peace treaties since the establishment of the Union, so I think it’s safe to say our procedures are a little rusty, and we haven’t had any true ‘diplomats’ in the better part of two hundred years. I’d think that gave us plenty of opportunities to get it wrong from our side, as well. More to the point, it doesn’t seem to have occurred to anyone that we’re dealing with someone from a completely different—a totally alien—society which might not understand all of our own diplomatic niceties.”
“Diplomatic niceties?” Jathmar visibly gripped his temper in both hands. “No Sharonian would even think about that! It’s obvious that anyone seriously interested in negotiating a cease-fire wouldn’t be planning to attack in the middle of the talks! One of the first things each side’s Voices—”
He broke off, and the duke nodded unhappily.
“Exactly,” he said softly.
Silence hovered for the better part of a minute before he cleared his throat.
“One of the minor points which hasn’t yet been officially reported to Parliament or the Commandery is that the ‘diplomatic incident’ which resulted in the deaths of at least one of our negotiators and most of their military escort occurred because Two Thousand Harshu’s offensive began with a preemptive attack predicated on the supposition that Sharona was preparing to attack us. In other words, contrary to what most of the citizens of the Union believe, there was indeed treachery and a ‘sneak attack,’ but it wasn’t launched by the Sharonians.
“Skirvon and Dastiri were involved in face-to-face negotiations with the representatives of the Sharonian Empire when the attack kicked off. They were supposed to keep the Sharonians talking right up to the moment our troops arrived. In fact, although there’s no way to confirm it at this point, I suspect our ‘diplomats’’ ceremonial guard detail was supposed to kick off the entire operation by capturing—or killing—the entire Sharonian negotiating team.”
The duke’s expression showed what he thought of that tactic.
“Unfortunately for the attack plan, that particular bit of treachery apparently came a cropper. By the time our cavalry reached the negotiation site, the Sharonians were long gone, leaving behind the bodies of Uthik Dastiri and most of the ‘ceremonial guards.’ As far as I’m aware, the Sharonians are still at large somewhere behind our lines.”
Shaylar felt her hand tighten like a claw on Jathmar’s, yet it was obvious the duke wasn’t done. There was worse to come, and she tried to brace herself to meet it.
“There are suggestions in the material,” he continued, turning to glance at his son instead of the Sharonians, “which appear to confirm Fifty Therman’s report of Kerellian Accord violations. At the moment, I can’t even begin to decide which of the ones he’s reported is the most egregious. There’s going to be hells to pay over any of them, but the worst are that the head of Two Thousand Harshu’s intelligence staff—a five hundred named Neshok—is using torture to—”
“Neshok?” Gadrial blurted, then blushed as she realized she’d interrupted the duke. The senior Olderhan paused, cocking an eyebrow at her, and she had the oddest sensation he was actually grateful for the discourtesy surprise had startled out of her.
Or for the interruption, anyway.
“That was the name, Magister Gadrial,” he said. “An Alivar Neshok, I believe. According to the memo that went to the Directorate of Intelligence, he was specifically requested by Two Thousand Harshu and given the acting rank of five hundred so he’d have the necessary seniority. Should I take it you met him?”
“We all have, Father,” Jathmar said grimly. “At least I’m pretty sure we have. Hundred Alivar Neshok was the officer who wanted to separate Shaylar and Jathmar from us in Erthos. The one Gadrial backed down when she told him to put her in the same cell to make sure nothing…untoward happened to them. Are you saying he’s who’s been in charge of Two Thousand Harshu’s intelligence this entire time?”
“Yes, I’d say I am, although I confess I hadn’t connected him with your description of your time in Erthos.” The duke’s tone was even grimmer than his son’s had been. “I don’t think the name’s a coincidence, at any rate. And apparently he’s been just as…untrammeled by any scruples as Gadrial was afraid he might be. Therman informs me that there have been numerous reports of torture and of prisoners dying under questioning. In fact, he says that according to healers to whom he’s spoken, they’ve flatly refused to heal prisoners undergoing interrogation because healing them only allowed them to be tortured even further.”
Jasak’s face could have been hewn out of granite. Gadrial held his hand tightly, her own expression anxious as she looked up at his profile. Despite the weakening of her Talent, Shaylar physically felt the fury raging through him behind that stony mask, and she found herself clutching Jathmar’s hand even more tightly.
“I wish I could say that was the worst thing Fifty Ulthar had to report,” the duke said even more heavily. “Unfortunately, it isn’t. According to Therman’s brother-in-law, the lie that Magister Halathyn was shot down in cold blood by the Sharonians after surrendering, not in a ghastly friendly fire accident, isn’t just a wild story concocted by rumor mongers and so called reporters desperate for a story. According to Ulthar, the troops have been told—told officially—the same lie by their own intelligence officers.”
“That’s insane!” Gadrial snapped, and this time there was no hint of apology in her expression when the duke looked at her. “One of the few things we knew for certain before we ever started for home was that Magister Halathyn was killed by one of our own infantry dragons! That was absolutely established in the earliest reports, whatever lies may’ve hit the crystals since!”
“Precisely.” The duke shook his head, looking older in that moment than Shaylar had ever seen him look. “Precisely. Apparently whoever’s feeding the troops the false reports is at least attempting to cover himself by saying his information is ‘unconfirmed,’ but as far as I’m concerned, that’s simply a glaring tipoff that it’s deliberate and authorized at the highest levels. Harshu has to know the truth. For that matter, he has to know that eventually the truth is going to come out. But it’s evident from Ulthar’s report—assuming he’s got it right, and I’m very much afraid he does—that at the very least none of the Expeditionary Force’s senior officers are attempting to correct the ‘rumors’ sweeping through the ranks. And you know as well as I do, Gadrial, exactly how that’s going to inflame our people. Especially the garthans like Ulthar’s brother-in-law. I can’t think of anything better calculated to generate atrocities than to allow our own troops to believe the Sharonians routinely commit them.”
A crackling silence invaded the room, lingering like a static electricity on the skin, until Shaylar broke it.
“You Grace,” she said very, very carefully, “why do I think those ‘atrocities’ are the reason Jathmar and I are here this evening?”
“Because they are.” The duke faced her squarely, and his shoulders braced. “I’m afraid Two Thousand Harshu, faced with your own people’s huge advantage in communications—apparently on the advice of Five Hundred Neshok—settled on a technique to prevent your Voices from warning anyone up-chain about our advance.”
Shaylar blinked. Sharona had been forced to develop techniques for neutralizing the Voice Talent long ago, but it hadn’t been easy and it had taken centuries. How could the Arcanans, who’d never even heard of Talents before Toppled Timber have devised one so quickly?!
Then s
he felt the spike of pure, unadulterated fury coming off of Jasak and the sudden horror radiating from Gadrial. The emotions were so powerful—and so focused on her, for some reason—that they almost knocked her breathless despite the weakening of her Talent.
“I don’t care who he is, Father,” Jasak snapped. “I’ll cut his black heart out on the dueling ground!”
“I understand your sentiments, Jasak,” the duke said. “And I share them. But that’s getting ahead of where we are now. What we have to do now is find out if what Ulthar’s reporting is true. We have to confirm that, with evidence that will stand up before any tribunal, before we can do anything else. And we have to find out whose idea it really was. Harshu’s for the dragon as far as I’m concerned, no matter who came up with it, but given how this information’s reached Portalis—and who in Portalis has it—I have to wonder who else could be manipulating the situation…and why?”
“Mul Gurthak,” Gadrial hissed. “We keep hearing about Harshu, but mul Gurthak’s his superior, and this has the stink of shakira all over it, Your Grace!”
“That’s exactly what I think, my dear. Unfortunately, we can’t prove it. In fact, at the moment, we can’t prove any of this.”
“Any of what?” Shaylar demanded. “What do you all talking about, and why is Jasak so…so furious about whatever it is?”
Jasak crossed to the couch upon which she and Jathmar sat. He dropped to one knee in front of her, reaching out and taking her free hand in both of his while he looked straight into her eyes with that unyielding personal integrity she’d come to know so well.
“I’m furious because I’m your baranal,” he said. “Because you and Jathmar—all your people, even those I’ve never met—have already suffered and lost so much because of this entire stupid, unforgivable nightmare. And because whoever came up with Harshu’s ‘technique’ for neutralizing your Voices only knew they had to be neutralized in the first place because I reported the capability.”