by David Weber
And because that was true, the Allies had very little choice about their axes of advance. They could ring up local tactical variations, but the waterways, the high roads, the mountain passes, the forest paths they’d have to follow were easy to predict, and Rainbow Waters intended to make them pay to break his frontier
He clearly recognized that the Allies’ primary strategic objective in the upcoming campaign. Destroying or crippling the Mighty Host, the Church’s single truly formidable field force, would give them the keys to the Temple Lands, and he knew it.
That was the true reason he’d rethought his dispositions so carefully, just as it was the reason he’d pulled Silken Hills so far back north. He was far more prepared to risk the loss of Western Cliff Peak and the Duchy of Farlas—even the Princedom of Jhurlahnk—than to expose his own right flank in western Westmarch or open the door to Sardahn … and a direct line of advance to the Holy Langhorne Canal in Usher. He’d also made careful plans to demolish roads, bridges, and canal locks in his wake whenever and wherever he was forced to give ground. The ICA’s mounted infantry would provide commanders like Eastshare and Green Valley with exploitable opportunities despite anything he could do, but there was no point pretending their flexibility wasn’t going to be straitjacketed by the Harchongian’s carefully thought out deployments.
“I know Rainbow Waters isn’t going to leave any open flanks,” Nahrmahn said, “but what if we could convince him and Maigwair to weaken the Northern Host’s right flank?”
“How far to his right?” Merlin asked, frowning thoughtfully as he consulted his mental map of the front, and Nahrmahn’s computer-generated image shrugged.
“I’m not the military man Kynt or Cayleb are, so I can’t say exactly how Maigwair and Rainbow Waters would react to what I have in mind. But what I think we might be able to do, if we manage it properly, is to convince them to move Silken Hills’ entire force several hundred miles back to the south and fill the gap with brand-new Army of God formations.”
“You think you’ve come up with a way to convince them to hand some or all of Silken Hills’ area of responsibility over to Teagmahn and the Army of Tanshar?” Merlin couldn’t quite keep the skepticism out of his voice, but Nahrmahn only smiled like a cat-lizard with a brand-new bowl of cream.
“I think I may have come up with a way to prompt them to at least consider it,” he said. “A lot depends on how well Earl Hanth continues to do, of course, and even more of it depends on the proper … misdirection. Which, I have to admit, makes it especially attractive to me, since the Group of Four’s managed to misdirect us a time or two. I’d rather enjoy turning the tables on them that way.”
“I sort of thought that was what Zhapyth Slaytyr and I did to the Army of Shiloh,” Merlin pointed out mildly.
“Yes, but that was so … so crude.” Nahrmahn lifted his nose with an audible sniff. “That was simply a case of taking an opportunity chance presented, not one that you’d generated on your own! Effective and neatly done, I’ll grant, but so reactionary, without the flair of your truly despicable and underhanded intriguer. Besides, you took unfair advantage of your ability to play chameleon. My idea is far more elegant and doesn’t depend on any high-tech chicanery.”
“‘High-tech chicanery,’ is it? And I suppose the fact that you’re even here to present your ‘elegant plan’ has nothing at all to do with high-tech or chicanery?”
“Well, perhaps, in the broadest sense,” Nahrmahn’s virtual personality conceded.
“All right.” Merlin shook his head with a chuckle. “Go ahead and dazzle me with this elegance of yours.”
“Well,” Nahrmahn said rather more seriously, “the first thing we’ll need to make this work is to bring Breyt Bahskym in on it. We’ll need to send him some bogus orders, and he’s going to have to arrange some artistic leaks of information. I expect you or Nimue can provide a seijin or two to help with the necessary leakage?”
“As long as we can keep straight who’s leaking what to whom,” Merlin said dryly. “We’ve got quite a lot of irons in the fire in that regard already, you know.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, I don’t suppose one or two more will make it any worse!”
“In that case, we also need to get Nynian involved in this, because—”
FEBRUARY
YEAR OF GOD 898
.I.
St. Kahrmyncetah’s Abbey,
Talon Branch Mountains,
Green Tree Island,
Sea of Harchong.
“—So I don’t think there’s any need for long-term worry, My Lady,” the nun in the caduceus-badged green habit of a Pasqualte said. “Zhosifyn is a … sturdy little girl.” The nun smiled wryly. “In fact, I think I can safely say she’s going to be a right handful in nine or ten years! She reminds me quite a bit of me, in that respect. But as far as the dreams are concerned, I think they’ll pass. I’m no Bédardist and, unfortunately, we don’t have any Bédardists here on Green Tree, but Pasquale only knows how many children I’ve taught over the years!” She shook her head, brown eyes twinkling, but then her expression softened. “I know what she saw and heard aboard ship was ugly and terrifying, but this is a little girl who knows she’s deeply loved, who has her family around her, and knows she and that family are safe. It may take some time, but it’s been less than three months, and the dreams are already less frequent. In time, I’m confident they’ll fade completely.”
“Thank you, Sister Mahryssa,” Lady Stefyny Mahkswail said sincerely.
She rose from her rattan chair and walked to the edge of the shaded veranda. It was technically only spring, but Green Tree Island lay less than a thousand miles south of the equator—little further below it than the city of Gorath lay above it—and she was deeply grateful for the shade as she looked out across the peaceful garden at the small cluster of children busily spading what would eventually be a tomato patch. She smiled at all of them, although her eyes lingered longest on the fair-haired toddler gleefully flinging trowel loads of dirt in every direction as she “helped.” Then she looked back over her shoulder at the nun.
“I appreciate your taking the time to put my fears to rest,” she said, “and the truth is that I pretty much knew what you were going to say.” Her smile turned into something suspiciously like a grin. “God knows you’re absolutely right that she’s a ‘sturdy’ little girl, and I won’t have to wait any nine or ten years for her to turn into a handful, either!”
The nun chuckled, and Stefyny turned to face her squarely. She leaned a hip against the veranda’s waist-high stone wall, and her expression turned serious once more.
“We tried to protect her from … unpleasant realities back home,” she said, her tone somber. “It wasn’t the easiest thing to do—all of them are really smart kids, and Bédard knows they’re sensitive to emotions at that age. They couldn’t help knowing that all of us were worried as Shan-wei about their grandfather. And about what might happen to them, to be honest. And you’re right about what it was like aboard that ship.” She shuddered, chilled to the bone for a moment despite the sunlight and heat. “That was absolutely terrifying to me; God only knows how badly it frightened her! But I’m not surprised she feels safe here.”
“Because she is, My Lady,” Sister Mahryssa said firmly. “And so are you.”
“I certainly feel a lot closer to ‘safe’ than I did back in Gorath!” Stefyny snorted harshly. “It’d be hard not to. But I’m afraid I’ve learned just a little more than Lyzet has about how even the ‘safest’ place can turn out to be less safe than you thought. And in some ways, feeling safe myself only makes me worry more about … other people.”
“I’d be astonished if you felt any other way,” Sister Mahryssa said simply. “And what I just said about Lyzet’s true for you, too, My Lady. It hasn’t been three months yet. I’m sure you’re still processing what’s happened.”
“Oh, I think you could definitely put it that way!” Stefyny agreed. “On the other hand, I—”
&
nbsp; “Excuse me, My Lady.”
Stefyny turned as another nun stepped onto the veranda.
“Yes, Sister Lytychya?”
“Mother Superior asked me to find you and tell you a messenger’s arrived with a letter for you.”
* * *
Sister Lytychya paused outside the study door and rapped gently.
“Enter,” a clear soprano called, and the nun smiled at Stefyny, opened the door, and waved for her to precede her.
A tall, red-haired man with a spade-shaped beard and dark blue eyes turned from his conversation with Mother Superior Ahlyssa as they entered the book-lined room. He bowed gracefully to Stefyny as she paused on the threshold, obviously surprised to see him. She stood for a moment, gazing at him, her eyes suddenly touched with a sharper anxiety. Then she gave herself an almost invisible shake and crossed the room to him, holding out one hand with an air of composure.
“Thank you for fetching Lady Stefyny so promptly, Sister,” Mother Ahlyssa said. “Now if you’d be so good as to go help Ahbnair rescue the kitchen garden from the children’s ministrations, the entire Abbey will be eternally in your debt!”
“Of course, Mother,” Lytychya agreed with a smile. “My Lady, Seijin Cleddyf.”
She inclined her head to each of the mother superior’s guests in turn, then withdrew and closed the door behind her, and Ahlyssa turned to Stefyny.
“As you can see,” she said with a smile, “there’s someone to see you, my dear.”
* * *
Cleddyf Cyfiawnder, who actually rather favored Merlin Athrawes around the nose and eyes, watched Stefyny Mahkswail’s face as the silver-haired mother superior smiled at her. Stefyny looked better than the last time he’d seen her with his own eyes, just before the boatswain’s chair lifted her to HMS Fleet Wing from the deck of the fishing boat he’d never gotten around to naming. This elegantly groomed, assured-looking young matron—at thirty-seven, she wasn’t quite thirty-three terrestrial years old—was a far cry from the frightened nightgown-clad mother trying desperately to reassure her terrified children that they were safe when she was far from certain of that herself.
“Lady Stefyny.” He took the hand she’d offered and bent from the waist to kiss its back. “It’s good to see you looking so well.”
“Mother Ahlyssa and the sisters couldn’t have been kinder or more attentive, Seijin Cleddyf,” she replied. “In fact,” she met his eyes levelly, “they’ve been everything you and Seijin Gwyliwr said they’d be. I’m glad to have this opportunity to thank you for our rescue in more … seemly fashion, but I must confess I’m also surprised to see you. Especially so soon.”
“My Lady,” Cyfiawnder said in his mellow tenor, “I promised you we’d get your message to your father as quickly as possible.”
“So you did, but I hardly expected a seijin to personally spend his time delivering my mail. I’m sure Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan have all sorts of other things they rather desperately need you to be doing at the moment. Besides, Green Tree Island’s almost six thousand miles by sea from Gorath, and I’m an admiral’s daughter.” Her smile was quite a bit tighter than it had been. “I also know the prevailing winds between here and Gorath. You’ve made what I could only describe as … miraculous time if you traveled all the way to Gorath with my letter before coming here.”
“First, My Lady,” he said calmly, “I didn’t have to personally deliver your message to your father; Seijin Merlin did that.” He smiled considerably more broadly than she had. “It seemed to us that the Earl might find it easier—or at least marginally less difficult—to accept the word of a seijin he’d personally met than of someone who simply walked in and announced you’d sent him.”
“Merlin?” Her gray eyes widened. “But he’s—”
She cut herself off, and he nodded.
“You were about to say that he’s in Siddar City with Emperor Cayleb.”
“Since you brought it up, yes, I was, which brings me back to that adjective—the ‘miraculous’ one—I used a moment ago.” She regarded him narrowly. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I wonder how he could possibly have reached Gorath from there? Particularly with my letter to Father in hand?”
“Well, Siddar City is better than a thousand miles closer to Gorath than Green Tree Island is,” he pointed out with a lurking smile. Then his expression sobered. “My Lady, I understand exactly why you used the word ‘miraculous,’ just as I know the other sorts of adjectives you might have used instead. And in some ways, I wouldn’t have blamed you, given how many lies—even more of them than usual—Clyntahn’s spun about Merlin and the rest of us. But while that man wouldn’t recognize the truth, much less the true will of God, if it walked up and bit him, the truth is that we do have certain advantages over other messengers. We seldom display them openly—or any more openly than we can avoid, at any rate—because of those lies of his. In this instance, however, Merlin and the Emperor decided to make an exception to the rules. I won’t pretend their motives were completely altruistic, but I will say that reaching your father with the news that you were still alive as quickly as we could, to spare him as much pain as we could, was a factor in their thinking. As for how your letter reached Merlin before he set out for Gorath himself, there are such things as messenger wyverns, you know.”
“I suppose there are.”
Stefyny glanced quickly at Mother Superior Ahlyssa, but if the nun was perturbed by the suggestion that the seijins serving Charis truly were capable of superhuman feats, there was no sign of it in her calm expression.
“I suppose there are,” Stefyny repeated, turning back to Cyfiawnder. “And while a dutiful daughter of Mother Church probably shouldn’t admit it, I wouldn’t be terribly astonished to discover that that lying bastard in Zion truly has lavished a few of his lies on you and Seijin Merlin.”
“My father always told me you could tell even more about someone by the enemies he made than by the friends he kept,” the seijin said.
“My father told me much the same thing, upon occasion.” She smiled again, briefly. “And speaking of fathers, how did mine react to the news?”
“I think it would be best to let him tell you that in his own words,” Cyfiawnder said gently, reaching into his tunic. “He didn’t have a great deal of time in which to write, under the circumstances, but Merlin promised we’d deliver his reply to your letter, as well.” He extended an envelope to her. “I wish there had been time for him to write a longer response,” he said seriously. “Still, I hope this will ease your heart at least a little. There are several things you and I need to talk about while I’m here, but I think they can wait until after he’s spoken to you.”
Despite her formidable self-control, Stefyny’s fingers trembled as she took the envelope from him. She held it in both hands, staring at him, and then her eyes flicked to the mother superior as Ahlyssa cleared her throat.
“My dear,” she said, indicating the door behind her desk, “why don’t you retire to my private chapel while you read that? And don’t rush yourself, child! Seijin Cleddyf and I will keep one another entertained until you’ve had time to fully digest it.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Stefyny said gratefully, and glanced back at Cyfiawnder. “And thank you, Seijin, as well.”
“Go, read your letter.” The seijin smiled at her. “As Mother Ahlyssa says, we’ll be here when you’ve finished.”
She nodded, still clutching the envelope in both hands, and vanished through the chapel door.
Cyfiawnder watched her go, then crossed to gaze out one of the study’s windows across the manicured lawn of St. Kahrmyncetah’s Abbey while he thought about the woman who was even then opening that envelope. He could have watched her through one of the SNARCs’ remotes, but he spent too much time spying on people already. There was no need to play the voyeur this time, and Stefyny Mahkswail—yes, and her father—deserved for her to read his letter in privacy.
“How would you say they’re adjusting?” he ask
ed over his shoulder, and Mother Ahlyssa stood and walked around her desk to join him.
“As well as anyone might have expected.” She shrugged. “Certainly better than anyone could have counted on! After all, it’s been a bit difficult for me to accept there are true seijins once more walking the living world in my lifetime, and I had Mother Nynian’s letters to help.”
She snorted, and Cyfiawnder chuckled softly as he nodded in acknowledgment of her point.
It’s a good thing she did accept it, too, he thought. Of course, most of the Sisters of Saint Kohdy seem to be rather more … flexible-minded than other people. I suppose that’s a requirement for the Sisterhood, when you come down to it.
St. Kahrmyncetah’s Abbey—and the true ironic appropriateness of that name hadn’t struck him until he’d accepted the miniature of Stefyny’s mother from her as her token to her father—was far from the largest religious institution on the face of Safehold. It was bigger than many abbeys, or even a few full-scale convents, perhaps, but certainly not huge, although many of those larger, grander convents would have envied the sheer beauty of the spectacular view laid out before the mother superior’s window. The abbey looked down from its perch in the Talon Branch Mountains on Green Tree’s northern coast across the deep blue of Markys Bay, stretching to the sun-drenched horizon, and the steep slopes of even taller mountains rose behind it like huge, sleeping dragons furred in lush, green trees. It was officially affiliated with the Order of Pasquale, and all of its sisters truly were Pasqualates. The majority of them, however, were also Sisters of Saint Kohdy, which made it a bit easier for them to accept the extraordinary comings and goings of “seijins” in general. Unfortunately, not all of them were adherents of the outlawed saint, and the number who weren’t had risen over the last year or two as the abbey’s mother order reinforced it in light of Green Tree’s recent upsurge in immigration.