by David Weber
“What are you doing here? And how the hell did you get into my bedroom?” the earl demanded, his dagger still raised between them.
“As to how I got in, let’s just say King Zhames’ guards aren’t the most alert lot in the world. In fact, they’re pretty pathetic,” Zhevons said in a judicious tone. “Sergeant Raimair’s lads are much better than that, but there aren’t very many of them. And, frankly, I’m a lot better at creeping around in the shadows than anyone else they’re likely to meet.”
“You are, are you?” Coris straightened from his crouch, lowering the dagger. “Given the fact that you’re here, I’m inclined to take your word for that. On the other hand,” his eyes narrowed, “that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“You sent a message to Earl Gray Harbor last month,” Zhevons said, his voice suddenly flat and serious, without the edge of humor which had marked it. “I’m the response.”
The tip of an icicle ran down Coris’ spine. It was an instant, instinctive reaction, born of his awareness of just how precarious his position truly was. But he pushed the instant hollowness of his stomach aside quickly. If Zhevons were an agent of the Inquisition, there’d be no point in any sort of elaborate charade designed to entrap him. And he was the man who’d delivered the messenger wyverns in the first place.
“As it happened, I was in a position to get to Talkyra rather more quickly than anyone else could have done it,” Zhevons continued. “So Seijin Merlin asked me to deliver the reply to your message.”
“Merlin?” Coris repeated.
He’d collected a great deal of information about Merlin Athrawes over the last three or four years. Most of it was preposterous and obviously grossly exaggerated. On the other hand, there was so much of it he’d been forced to accept that as ridiculous as it seemed, Athrawes truly was a seijin. Of course, no one seemed to be exactly sure what a seijin really was, and the old fairy tales about them didn’t help a lot in that regard, so simply pinning a label on Athrawes didn’t accomplish a great deal. On the other hand, the fact that this Zhevons had slipped-apparently effortlessly-through not simply Zhames of Delferahk’s admittedly inferior guardsmen but also past Tobys Raimair’s sentries, suggested “Should I assume you’re a seijin, too, Master Zhevons?”
“People keep asking me that,” Zhevons replied with an edge of exasperation. “They keep asking Merlin, too, I’m sure. And I think his response is probably the same as mine. I wouldn’t call myself a seijin, but I have to admit that Merlin and I both have some of the abilities legend ascribes to seijins. So if you absolutely have to have a label, I guess that one’s as good as any.”
“I see.” Coris smiled thinly, only too well aware of the surreal quality of this entire conversation. “On the other hand, according to my research, very few supposed seijins have ever called themselves seijins during their own lifetimes.”
“So I’ve heard,” Zhevons agreed pleasantly. “Now, about that message I’m here to deliver-?”
“By all means.” Coris tossed the dagger onto the bed, where it settled into the soft mattress, then seated himself in his dressing-table chair and crossed his legs as urbanely as a man surprised in his nightshirt could manage. “I’m all ears.”
“So I see.” Zhevons smiled briefly, but then his expression sobered. “First, the bad news: Earl Gray Harbor is dead.” Despite himself, Coris jerked upright, his mouth opening, but Zhevons continued speaking. “He was assassinated, along with several other members of the Imperial Council and prominent churchmen. Bishop Hainryk in Tellesberg, Archbishop Pawal in Cherayth, Bishop Stywyrt in Shalmar… they almost got Archbishop Fairmyn in Eraystor, too. And they did kill Prince Nahrmahn.”
Coris inhaled deeply, unable to hide his shock. He’d never met any of those men, but he’d corresponded frequently with Nahrmahn, back in the days when he and Hektor had been so consistently underestimating the little Emeraldian.
“How in God’s name-?”
“God had very little to do with it, although that probably won’t be Clyntahn’s version. Let’s just say there were several very large explosions-explosions that killed well over fifteen hundred men, women, and children in addition to the men I’ve just mentioned.” Zhevons’ expression was cold and bleak now. “The youngest victim we’ve identified so far was eighteen months old. Or would have been, if she’d lived another five-day.”
“Langhorne.” Revulsion twisted Coris’ face. “The man’s completely mad!”
“I’m afraid he’s just getting started, My Lord,” Zhevons said grimly. “Which is rather the point of this dramatic little visit, when you come down to it.”
“Yes, of course.” Coris gave himself a shake. “You say Earl Gray Harbor was killed. Obviously someone’s stepped into his shoes. May I ask who?”
“Earl Pine Hollow.”
“Ah!” Coris nodded. “An excellent choice, I think. I was always impressed by his correspondence.”
“My impression is that he’s more than competent,” Zhevons replied with a slight, amused smile. “At any rate, he’s read your message to Earl Gray Harbor, and he’s prepared to offer you, Princess Irys, and Prince Daivyn asylum. Obviously, there are going to be a few strings attached.”
“Obviously,” Coris agreed rather sourly, and Zhevons chuckled.
“It’s only reasonable, My Lord,” he pointed out.
“Knowing a tooth has to be pulled doesn’t make the trip to the dentist enjoyable, however ‘reasonable’ it may be,” Coris responded, then inhaled. “What would the ‘few strings’ be in this instance?”
“First, Their Majesties will require you to ‘go public,’ as I believe Emperor Cayleb put it, about Clyntahn’s involvement in the effort to assassinate Prince Daivyn and hand over any evidence you might have implicating him in Prince Hektor’s assassination.” He looked sharply at the earl. “Earl Pine Hollow and Their Majesties are assuming that since you’ve seen fit to request their protection for Irys and Daivyn against Church assassins you’ve come to the conclusion they didn’t have Hektor murdered after all.”
“To be honest,” Coris admitted with a sigh, “I’ve never thought Cayleb was behind that assassination. For a time I thought it might have been someone-a particularly stupid someone-trying to curry favor with him, but the more I thought about it, the more unlikely even that seemed. And I know Anvil Rock and Tartarian. There’s no way they would have been party to Hektor’s murder, whatever the Church’s propagandists have said about them since they agreed to sit on Daivyn’s Regency Council. Which only left one suspect, really, when it came down to it.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid, though, that I don’t have any evidence he ordered Hektor’s assassination. I do have the orders to… facilitate Daivyn ’s murder which my valet, Rhobair Seablanket, and I were sent by Archbishop Wyllym. They’re a bit obliquely phrased, but their meaning’s clear enough if you read between the lines. Of course, Rayno and Clyntahn are obviously going to denounce them as forgeries and us as paid liars.”
“Of course.” Zhevons shrugged. “On the other hand, given the way they’ve just assassinated over a dozen Charisians and murdered almost two thousand more of them, whereas Hektor is the only person Cayleb’s been accused of assassinating, I think you might say the preponderance of the evidence is going to be on Charis’ side in the court of public opinion.”
“It damned well is for anybody with a working brain, anyway,” Coris agreed grimly. “Very well, I can agree to that ‘string’ readily enough. And the next?”
“Cayleb and Sharleyan personally undertake to guarantee Irys’ and Daivyn’s safety. In fact, they propose to place both of them in the personal care of Archbishop Maikel. I think you know that, despite all the lies told about him by the Group of Four, Maikel would die himself before he permitted anyone under his protection to be harmed.”
Coris nodded silently.
“Whether or not Irys and Daivyn-especially Daivyn-will be allowed to leave Tellesberg is going to depend on a lot of different factors,” Zhevons c
ontinued. “According to the information I’ve received from Merlin, Their Majesties, Earl Pine Hollow, and Archbishop Maikel would all vastly prefer to see Daivyn returned to his father’s throne in accordance with the terms of the peace settlement signed in his name by his Regency Council.” His eyes met the earl’s. “If he can’t accept that in good conscience, no one will attempt to compel him to do so. However, under those circumstances he’ll remain Their Majesties’ ‘guest’ in Tellesberg indefinitely. I’ve been told to assure you he’ll be treated with all the respect his birth and title command, and that his person will be sacrosanct, but I’m afraid that stipulation is non-negotiable.”
“I assumed it would be,” Coris said heavily. “And I won’t pretend I’m delighted to hear it. Irys won’t like it, either. I think she’s genuinely accepted that Cayleb didn’t order her father killed, but in many ways, she still holds him responsible for Hektor’s death. If Charis hadn’t invaded Corisande, he’d still be alive, after all. That’s how she sees it, at any rate. I think she’s probably even prepared to admit-intellectually, and only under duress, possibly, but to admit-that Cayleb didn’t have much choice about invading, but what the head understands is sometimes difficult for the heart to accept, especially when you’re only twenty years old.”
“Trust me, if there’s anyone in this world who understands that, it’s Empress Sharleyan,” Zhevons said quietly. “I won’t presume to speak for the Empress, but I believe she’ll be as gentle with both Irys and Daivyn as she possibly can.”
“Despite our anti-Sharleyan propaganda in Corisande, that’s what I’d expect, as well,” Coris admitted. “To be honest, it’s one reason I was prepared to approach her and Cayleb in the first place. Although, if I’m going to be completely honest, the fact that they were the only people in the world who might be able to protect my Prince and his sister from the people bent on murdering both of them was an even bigger factor in my thinking.” He smiled humorlessly. “What’s that old saying about any port in a storm? Especially if it’s the only port available?”
“Then I should assume you-and Irys-are willing to accept the conditions I’ve just described?”
“You should,” Coris affirmed. “I’d already warned Irys that Cayleb and Sharleyan would require what you’ve just described at a minimum. Her brother’s all she has left, Master Zhevons. She’s prepared to swallow far worse than that as the price of keeping him alive. In fact-”
He broke off, waving one hand in a dismissing gesture, and Zhevons cocked an eyebrow at him.
“You were about to say something, My Lord?”
“I was going to observe,” Coris said after a long, thoughtful moment, “that from everything I’ve ever learned of Empress Sharleyan, she and Irys have a great deal in common, including an absolute, unswerving determination to avenge their fathers’ murders. I don’t say Irys is going to be prepared to accept Charisian dominion over Corisande, because, frankly, she is her father’s daughter and she’s thinking in terms of protecting her brother’s birthright. But I will say that in so far as she can without prejudicing Daivyn’s claim to the Corisandian throne, she’s probably at least as hungry to see Clyntahn’s blood as any Charisian could possibly be. I think there’s at least the possibility of an… understanding in that.”
“That would be most welcome, My Lord,” Zhevons said frankly. “On the other hand, within the conditions I’ve already described, Their Majesties’ decision stands, whether she and Daivyn are ever prepared to accept an accommodation with the Charisian Crown or not.”
“And, to be honest, those conditions are more generous than I would have anticipated,” Coris admitted. “I’m beginning to suspect that honesty, compassion, and fairness are much more dangerous weapons than most of us duplicitous diplomats have begun to realize even now. Probably because until Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan came along, we’d had so little exposure to them. It’s going to take a while for us to develop proper immunity to them.”
“Their Majesties do seem to have that effect on people, My Lord,” Zhevons acknowledged with a grin. Then he turned serious again.
“The other message I’m here to deliver is that your proposed plan for getting Irys and Daivyn out isn’t going to work.”
“I realize it’s a little risky,” Coris began, “but I’ve done some preliminary spadework, and-”
“I’m aware of that, My Lord. I’m afraid, however, that both Duke Perlmann and Earl Ashton have been more thoroughly infiltrated by the Inquisition than they realize. I’m also aware that neither of them knows at this point that they’re actually dealing with you or that the ‘two Delferahkan nobles’ you’re trying to sneak out are Irys and Daivyn. Once the hue and cry goes up after you disappear from Talkyra, however, it isn’t going to take either of them long to realize who you-and the children-really are, and at that point even if they don’t decide to hand you over to the Inquisition-which, frankly, I think they probably would-you’re bound to be spotted by the Inquisition and taken into custody.”
“But-” Coris began, his expression worried.
“My Lord, I said your original plan wouldn’t work, not that we can’t get you out,” Zhevons said calmly, and the earl closed his mouth abruptly.
“At this time, a Charisian naval squadron is on its way to Sarmouth,” the seijin continued. “When it arrives there, it will seize the port and spend some time wrecking it from one end to the other. While it’s doing that, a party of Charisian seamen and Marines will take advantage of the confusion and general hullabaloo to head up the Sarm by boat. They should be able to make it all the way to Yarth, and a lot faster than they could make the same trip overland. You’ll meet them in the Sarman Mountains, then travel downriver to the naval squadron, which will deliver you to Tellesberg.”
“That… might work,” Coris said slowly, his eyes thoughtful. “It’s, what, about two hundred and fifty miles from Talkyra to Yardan, isn’t it?”
“By road, yes,” Zhevons agreed. “It’s only about a hundred and eighty miles in a straight line, though. And, frankly, if you try to go by road, they’ll run you down long before you get there. For that matter, they’ll simply send word ahead to Bishop Chermahk in Yardan by semaphore and have him-or Duke Yarth’s armsmen-waiting when you get there.” He shook his head. “You’ll have to go cross-country.”
“That’s going to be hard with a boy Daivyn’s age,” Coris pointed out. “He was a good horseman for his age before we left Corisande, but he’s had very little opportunity to ride since we got here. I think we can deal with that, but none of us know the terrain between here and Yarth.” His expression was worried. “I don’t like the thought of having to recruit a guide on such short notice.”
“That won’t be necessary, My Lord.” Zhevons smiled. “I’m afraid I’m going to be occupied elsewhere, but Their Majesties have decided getting you, Daivyn, and Irys safely to Tellesberg takes precedence over almost anything else. That being the case, they’re prepared to commit whatever resources it takes, and Seijin Merlin’s been on his way here almost since the moment your message arrived in Tellesberg. In fact, he’s probably a lot closer already than you’d believe he could be. You’d be astonished by how quickly he can cover ground when he needs to.”
“ Merlin will be our guide?” Coris repeated very carefully.
“Among other things, My Lord. Among other things.” Zhevons smiled oddly. “I think you’ll find he’s a handy fellow to have around in a lot of ways… and”-the smile disappeared-“he has a remarkably short way with assassins.” .
Sarmouth Keep and HMS Destiny, 54, Sarmouth, Kingdom of Delferahk
“Shit!”
Colonel Styvyn Wahls, Royal Delferahkan Army, clutched wildly at the railing as the entire fortress of Sarmouth Keep seemed to buck under a fresh wash of explosions. He smelled stone dust, powder smoke, wood smoke, blood, and fear, and he shook his head, trying to clear his brain and figure out what the Shan-wei was happening.
He managed to stay on his f
eet and dragged himself the rest of the way up the internal stair while those infernal guns were reloading. He reached the top of the elevated battery covering the Sarm River estuary and crouched low as he scuttled out towards the dubious shelter of the crenellated battlements.
The sky was salmon and rose in the east, still dark blue in the west, and streaked with blue-gray clouds which hadn’t yet caught the sunlight overhead. The predawn twilight made the blinding fury of the long tongues of flame spurting from the broadsides of the Charisian galleons even more terrifying, and he wondered if that was one of the reasons for their timing.
Bastards have more guts than sense to sail straight up the estuary in the dark, he thought as their royal masts began to catch the dawn light, gleaming golden above the low-lying fog bank of gunsmoke rolling slowly north on the wind blowing in from the sea. The galleons had just enough sail set to hold them motionless against the river’s current while they flailed his fortress with their guns. Damned Charisians! Think they can go any damned where they’ve got three inches of water to sail in!
The thought would have been more comforting if the Charisian Navy didn’t regularly demonstrate that it could go anywhere it had three inches of water to sail in. And Charisian arrogance or not, they were damned well here now.
Another salvo rippled down the side of the third galleon in the Charisian line, each gun obviously individually laid and fired, and Wahls ducked instinctively, trying to ooze out flat on the gun platform behind the battlements’ protection as the exploding shot streaked towards the fortress. An artillerist himself by training, the colonel was almost as astonished by the elevation of the ship’s guns as by what they were firing at him. Their damned, incredible exploding shot arced upward, tracing lines of fire across the half-dark, and dropped neatly over the top of the curtain wall. He kept his head down and prayed the rest of his men were doing the same. He’d already almost gotten himself killed gawking at the round shot skittering around the parade ground like Shan-wei’s bowling balls while sparks and flame spat from them. He’d realized those sparks had to be coming from fuses of some sort barely in time and flung himself to the ground just as they began exploding.