How firm a foundation s-5

by David Weber

  And it was inevitable. She lowered her hands again, staring at the icon of the Archangel Langhorne hanging on the wall above her desk. God couldn’t permit any other outcome, but why did it have to be so hard? Why did so many people- good people, and there were good people, on both sides-have to die?

  The tears came despite her efforts to stop them as she thought of her brother Trai and her cousin Urvyn. Sir Rayjhis had tried so hard to comfort her when the terrible news came, tried to tell her it had all been some horrible accident, but Wynai knew better. She couldn’t be certain, of course, but… she knew better. If only Urvyn had been able to see the truth the way she and Trai had! But he hadn’t, and they’d lost him to the heresy, and she’d still loved him so much, and, O Sweet Bedard, but it hurt so much to be so sure Trai had killed him… and himself.

  Forgive him, she prayed now, staring at the image of the Archangel on the wall before her, not entirely certain if she were praying for her heretical cousin or the brother who’d violated divine law by taking his own life. But then she shook herself. God couldn’t possibly condemn Trai for giving up his life in His own service! Yet even so Forgive all of them, please! I know Urvyn and the others are wrong, I know it’s all so horribly wrong, but they’re not really evil. They’re doing what they think they have to do, what they think you and God want them to do. Do they really have to spend all of eternity paying for that?

  The icon didn’t answer her, but she hadn’t really expected it to, and she drew a deep breath. A decisive breath.

  She’d wanted to do more from the very beginning, but Trai had convinced her-no, be honest, he’d ordered her-not to. She remembered that first letter of his, the one which had filled her with mingled fear and elation. It was so like her big brother to take charge, to know exactly what to do, and she’d taken his warnings seriously. She’d never said a single word to anyone, not even her own priest and confessor, about the “personal letters” to her which she relayed to her husband’s aunt in Zion. The letters which went from there directly to the Office of the Inquisition… and the replies to which were transmitted to him in her own “personal letters.” She had no idea what information and what instructions had passed back and forth, because Trai had been very clear about that, as well. At his request, the Inquisition had sent him a code book by an entirely separate route-she didn’t know what it had been-and he and whoever he was actually writing to had buried their messages in the word puzzles and acrostics he and Wynai had shared regularly by mail ever since her marriage had taken her to the Republic so many years before.

  But he’d been very specific in that first letter. She was to do nothing but relay letters. That was the most important thing she could possibly do, and she mustn’t do anything that could compromise her ability to perform that task. So she’d had no contact at all with the Inquisition here in Siddar. She’d spoken as calmly and reasonably as she could when the inevitable debates erupted between Temple Loyalists and adherents of the Church of Charis, avoiding anything which could have gotten her labeled an extremist by either side. And she’d never, not once, used her privileged position here inside the embassy to provide information to Mother Church.

  In a lot of ways, she’d been grateful Trai’s instructions had precluded her from doing that. But Trai was gone now, and Urwyn, both of them sacrificed to the war impious man had declared upon God Himself, and that meant she was free. It would be a betrayal of Sir Rayjhis’ trust, and she regretted that deeply, yet she had no choice but to serve God and the Archangels in any way she could.

  She drew another deep breath and began transcribing her notes in the beautiful, clear handwriting she’d been taught as a child in Tellesberg. She had the dispatch bag to catch, and she would. But this time, instead of destroying her original notes the way she always had before, she would take them with her when she left.

  It was very quiet in the tiny office, with only the soft, purposeful scratching of her pen to break the silence. .

  The Temple, City of Zion, The Temple Lands

  “God damn them! God damn all of them!”

  Zhaspahr Clyntahn threw the entire file across the sitting room of his luxurious personal suite. It hit the outer wall’s unbreakable transparent crystal with a thump and flew back, scattering pages across the thick, rich carpets, and the Grand Inquisitor snarled. His heavy-jowled face was purple with fury as he snatched up a priceless glass paperweight that was over three hundred years old and hurled it across the room, directly into a glass-fronted cabinet of crystal decanters. It struck with an ear-shattering crash and the sharp scent of expensive brandies and whiskeys as paperweight, glass, and bottles exploded in fragments.

  Spectacular as it was, the destruction had no apparent effect on Clyntahn’s rage, and he bent and snatched up the bronze coffee table. It had to weigh a hundred pounds, Wyllym Rayno thought, but the Grand Inquisitor didn’t even seem to notice. He only hurled it after the paperweight with an explosive grunt of effort, demolishing the entire wet bar in a cascade of shattered snifters, goblets, liqueur bottles, and exquisite-and exquisitely expensive- cabinetry.

  The Archbishop of Chiang-wu made himself as small and inconspicuous as he possibly could. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Clyntahn explode in all but incoherent fury, but it was never a pleasant experience. And he’d seldom seen the Grand Inquisitor this angry. In fact, it was entirely possible he’d never seen Clyntahn this angry.

  Not even Zhaspahr Clyntahn in the grip of a monumental rage could throw something as heavy as that coffee table without consequences. He stumbled, nearly falling, and kept himself on his feet only by grabbing the back of a couch. He snarled, shoved himself back upright, and kicked the couch halfway across the room. It knocked over a display pedestal, and a marble bust of the Archangel Chihiro-carved from life by the second-century master Charkain-toppled to the floor in a crunching, face-first impact that sent fragments of white stone flying. He looked around, as if seeking something else expensive to destroy, then stomped out of the sitting room, kicking heirloom furniture out of his way, and Rayno heard more shattering sounds from the adjacent bedchamber.

  Fortunately, Clyntahn hadn’t ordered the archbishop to accompany him, and Rayno breathed a quiet prayer of thanks as he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his cassock and prepared to wait out his superior’s rage.

  From the sounds of things, it was going to take a while.

  ***

  “All right,” Clyntahn said flatly, the better part of two hours later. “Give me the details.”

  He and Rayno had withdrawn to the small conference room attached to the Grand Inquisitor’s suite. The door had opened at their approach and then closed silently behind them, cool air whispered through the overhead ducts, and the conference room’s soundproofing guaranteed that none of the white-faced servants creeping about while they dealt with the wreckage littering the wake of Clyntahn’s rage would hear a word they said.

  Rayno considered pointing out that all “the details” he possessed had been contained in the file, but he didn’t consider it very hard. He’d quietly gathered up the file’s scattered contents and brought them with him, but reminding Clyntahn he’d cleaned up behind him probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “I’m afraid there’s not a great deal to add to what I’ve already told you, Your Grace,” he said just a bit cautiously. “The destruction appears to be effectively total. Jahras’ entire fleet seems to have been sunk, burned, or taken. All the navy yard facilities were burned. The artillery foundries in and around Iythria were all destroyed, and the port’s batteries were blown up. As nearly as I can tell, Your Grace, the Imperial Desnairian Navy now consists solely of the twenty-one galleons in Desnair Bay. And, in all honesty, Your Grace, I’ll be astounded if the heretics don’t move against Desnair the City very soon now.” His mouth twisted. “They made it clear enough at Iythria that they’re not afraid to confront heavy fortifications or our galleons, and I don’t think there’s anything at Desnair that could stop them i
f Jahras couldn’t stop them at Iythria.”

  “No?” Clyntahn glared at him, jowls tinged with just a hint of the purple which had suffused them earlier. “What about a fucking commander with at least a little guts? ” he snarled. “What about a goddamned navy that remembers it’s fucking fighting for God?! ”

  Rayno started to reply, then paused. From the casualty reports he’d read (and which Clyntahn hadn’t gotten to before he’d launched off into his paroxysm of fury), the Desnairian Navy had fought-and died-hard before its final surrender. He thought about pointing out that of the ninety-plus ships with which Jahras had begun the action, the Charisians had kept only thirty-five or forty as prizes. The others had been so badly damaged Rock Point had ordered them burned. That didn’t strike him as the sort of damage a fleet that gave up easily suffered. And Jahras’ after battle report had pulled no punches about the devastating advantage the Charisians’ new ammunition had provided them.

  No, there’d been nothing wrong with the fighting spirit of Iythria’s defenders. Not until after Jahras’ surrender, at least. But pointing that out would be… impolitic.

  “I trust we have both of those things at Desnair the City, Your Grace,” he said instead. “It is the Empire’s capital city, after all, and the added motivation of fighting under Emperor Mahrys’ own eye should help to stiffen their spines, as well. I know!” He raised a hand quickly as Clyntahn’s eyes flashed. “The fact that they’re fighting under God’s eye should be motivation enough for any man. But you’ve always told me, Your Grace, that we have to allow for men’s inevitable weaknesses, the way their fallen nature leads them to fall short of their duty. I’ve dispatched instructions to Archbishop Ahdym and Bishop Executor Mahrtyn to do all in their power to strengthen the faith and determination of the capital’s defenders, and I’m sure they will. At the same time, though, if there are any purely secular… motivators we can apply, I’m in favor of using them, as well.”

  The incipient glare in Clyntahn’s eyes eased slightly under Rayno’s reasonable tone. He continued to stare at the archbishop for a long, simmering moment, but then he shoved himself back in his chair with a choppy nod.

  “Point taken,” he said, his own voice once again flat and controlled. “I want Jahras and Kholman, though. They’ve failed Mother Church- betrayed Mother Church-and they have to pay the price.”

  “I agree entirely, Your Grace, and I’m already considering possible ways to see that they do. The fact that they’ve cravenly fled to Charis like the cowards they are is going to make it difficult, however.”

  In fact, Rayno thought, Baron Jahras and Duke Kholman had displayed prudence, not cowardice, in removing themselves from Clyntahn’s reach. And unless he was mistaken, before their departure they’d done their best to report honestly and accurately-and warningly-on what they’d faced when the Charisian Navy came to call. Best not to make that point just yet, either, though.

  “Our inability to operate with any degree of flexibility in Charis is going to work against us, as well,” he continued instead. “At the moment, I don’t think it would be possible to send in any of our agents to deal with them. Getting to them is going to require something like Operation Rakurai, and until we know exactly where the heretics are keeping them, even beginning to plan that kind of mission is going to be… impractical, I’m afraid.”

  Clyntahn growled something under his breath, but he also gave another of those jerky nods. In fact, his color seemed to improve a little, and Rayno congratulated himself on having brought up Operation Rakurai. There’d been too little time for any reports to reach Zion yet, so it was impossible to say how well the Rakurai had fared. Clyntahn anticipated a high degree of effectiveness, however, and contemplating that seemed to take at least the worst edge off his fury over Iythria. Of course, if it turned out Operation Rakurai had been a failure, and not a success, his rage would simply return in redoubled force, but as the Writ said, sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof.

  “All right,” the Grand Inquisitor said again, after a moment. “I’ll accept that-for now. But I want every member of their families who didn’t flee with them. I want them here, in Zion, Wyllym. All of them, you understand me?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Rayno bowed slightly across the conference table. “In fact, I’d already anticipated your wishes. I’ve detailed a team of our most reliable inquisitors to oversee the process of taking them into custody.”

  “Good,” Clyntahn grunted, then reached out and dragged the battered file away from Rayno.

  He opened it, and the archbishop unobtrusively held his breath. This time, however, the Grand Inquisitor didn’t explode. His lips tightened and his brows lowered as he turned through the pages, yet he had himself back under control, and his eyes darted over the sentences of the various reports.

  Clyntahn was a very fast reader. Even so, it took him the better part of twenty minutes to work through the file, during which Rayno sat quietly, his expression one of calm, attentive patience. Finally, the Grand Inquisitor finished, slapped the file shut again, and shoved it away from him.

  “Well, that’s a fine pile of dragon shit,” he observed in something very like a calm voice. “Jahras was obviously trying to cover his own ass, but I notice his report’s dated before Kholman’s decision to just hand over the entire fucking city. That probably means there’s at least a trace of accuracy in it somewhere.”

  “That was my own impression, Your Grace.”

  “Well, if there is, we obviously need to push our own development of these ‘shells’ harder. Remind me to kick Allayn in the ass and find out how he’s coming.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Clyntahn sat silent for another two or three minutes, lips pursed, eyes focused on something only he could see. Then he stirred in his chair once more and refocused his attention on Rayno.

  “You know, one of the things that occurs to me is that they went after Iythria, not Desnair the City. I know Jahras had a lot bigger fleet based there, so I suppose it makes sense for them to have gone after it, but Desnair’s only-what?-five hundred miles farther from Tarot than Iythria, and it’s the Desnairians’ capital. And let’s be honest, Wyllym-Desnair’s fortifications aren’t any tougher than Iythria’s were. So surely they had to have been at least tempted to go after the capital first. Think of what a fist in the eye that would have been!”

  “I hadn’t really considered that aspect of it, Your Grace.”

  Rayno considered adding that one reason he hadn’t was that Iythria had represented well over three-quarters of Desnair’s total shipbuilding capacity. And, for another, the Gulf of Jahras was-or had been, at least-far more important than Desnair Bay from any commercial perspective. With the Gulf under Charisian control, the Desnairian Empire’s internal economy had taken a significant blow which was going to have major consequences in the not so distant future. The psychological impact of an attack on Desnair the City might have been profound, but from a hard-boiled military and economic perspective, there was no comparison between that and the value of the attack the Charisians had actually executed.

  And the defection of two of the Empire’s most prominent nobles-one of whom just happened to be the Navy Minister and the other of whom just happened to be the Navy’s commanding officer-is probably a fairly adequate “psychological” substitute for attacking the capital, he reflected sourly.

  “Well, it’s obvious to me, ” Clyntahn emphasized the pronoun, “that they went after Iythria first because it’s closer to Silkiah and Siddarmark.”

  Rayno managed not to blink. It had been painfully obvious for years that the Charisians had no intention of drawing the Church’s attention any more forcefully than it could avoid to the Silkiahan and Siddarmarkian evasion of the Grand Inquisitor’s embargo. Clearly, they’d wanted to do nothing to imperil that highly lucrative trade. In fact, as far as he could see, they’d probably decided to attack Iythria because of its military importance despite its proximity to Silkiah, rat
her than because of it.

  “What do you think they’re trying to accomplish, Your Grace?” he asked cautiously.

  “Oh, it’s obvious, Wyllym!” Clyntahn retorted impatiently. “From the moment Harpahr blundered straight into disaster last year, the heretics’ve seen the opportunity to completely neutralize Mother Church’s naval power in eastern waters. They’re probably planning on getting around to Desnair the City sometime soon, and then, eventually, they’ll go around the tip of Howard and demonstrate how gutless Thirsk is when the pressure’s really on.” His jaw tightened. “We’re going to have to seriously consider putting somebody from the Navy of God in command of all our naval forces, since it’s obvious our secular commanders aren’t up to the task. Of course, Harpahr didn’t exactly cover himself with glory, either, now did he?”

  Rayno nodded silently, his mouth prudently shut, and Clyntahn grunted like an angry boar. Then he shook himself.

  “But, back to my point. It’s obvious that now they’ve cleared all our naval power out of eastern waters, from the Sea of Justice to the Icewind Sea, they’ll take advantage of that to establish still closer economic ties with Siddarmark. Hell, there’s not even a frigging rowboat left now to see what they’re really sending in and out of that bastard Stohnar’s harbors, is there? We don’t have squat in the way of an eastern naval presence after this! You think somebody like Stohnar-or like Cayleb, for that matter-won’t take advantage of that? They’ve just blown the embargo completely out of their way, and trust me, that son-of-a-bitch Stohnar’s just waiting for the ‘Reformist’ movement in the Republic to get strong enough before he opens the door and invites in a military Charisian presence. He especially wants those new rifles and fieldpieces of theirs-think what the Siddarmarkian Army could do with those added to its arsenal! You think he doesn’t just lie awake at night drooling over the possibility?