by David Weber
The fact that the Inquisition had found it necessary to make examples of some of its own boded ill, he thought. And it did put an interesting twist on Wylbyr Edwyrds recall to Zion.
I wonder if that fool is feeling just a little nervous? The possibility that he was brought Rainbow Waters a modest glow of pleasure.
“I expect you’re correct about that,” he said, gazing down into his snifter for a handful of seconds. Then he looked back up at his nephew.
“And what do you make of the rumors we’re hearing out of Zion?” he asked much more softly.
Wind Song drew deeply on his pipe, filling his mouth with aromatic smoke. He held it for a moment, then blew a perfect smoke ring and watched it float upwards. The icy wind blustering about the eaves as another spring snowstorm dumped its burden on Lake City’s roofs and streets made a fitting background to that silence, but as the smoke ring kissed the ceiling and disintegrated, he lowered his gaze to his uncle once more.
“I don’t know what to make of them,” he admitted. “The fact that there’s been no mention of them in those broadsheets doesn’t make me feel any more inclined to doubt them, however. It should, I suppose, but the whispers are too persistent, and they’re coming from sources which are too highly placed to be readily dismissed. And, to be honest, our … friends in Zion seem too frightened by them.” He inhaled deeply. “We’ve seen enough evidence—those broadsheets are a case in point—that whether they’re truly demonic or not, these ‘seijins’ aiding the heretics are capable of what one can only call superhuman feats, Uncle. If something like that’s happened in the middle of Zion, then I fear much worse is to come outside Zion.”
Rainbow Waters nodded gravely. It was the first time he’d asked Wind Song’s opinion of the frightening rumors so frankly, and he was pleased by the boy’s willingness to answer honestly—at least in private. More than that, he shared the baron’s conclusions.
“I fear you have a point,” he said. “And I’ve also received some additional, very private reports, both on events in Zion and in Dohlar, which have disturbed my sleep of late.” Wind Song’s eyes narrowed, but Rainbow Waters shook his head. “No, I’m not going to share them with you, Nephew, or even with Silken Hills. First, they contain no information truly relevant to our responsibilities to the Mighty Host. Secondly, it will be far better if you can honestly tell anyone who asks that you’ve never heard of the individuals providing those reports to me.” He smiled, very briefly and without a trace of humor. “I promised your lady mother I’d try to get you home in one piece. I would prefer to have to worry only about the heretics where that promise is concerned.”
The eyes which had narrowed widened as Wind Song considered the implications of that last sentence. It wasn’t as if either of them had any doubt about the consequences if they failed Mother Church—or Zhaspahr Clyntahn, at least—but it sounded as if his uncle was becoming even more cautious.
Is it that, Wind Song wondered suddenly, or is it something else? What do those “reports” say? And who are they from? I can’t believe Uncle Taychau would ever actively conspire against the Inquisition or even Vicar Zhaspahr. Whatever else they may be, they speak with the full authority of Mother Church! I know how little he cares for the … aristocratic excesses Mother Church so often condones back home, if only by her silence, but he could never challenge the will of God’s Own bride on Safehold! Unless.…
A chill which had nothing to do with the snowfall outside the comfortable dining room went through him. Was it possible, he wondered, that his uncle was beginning to question whose side God was truly on?
“Well,” Rainbow Waters said more briskly, “there’s little we can do about matters in Zion, and Langhorne knows we have more than enough to concern ourselves with closer at hand. I’ve read your summary of Earl Silken Hills’ progress on the handover to Bishop Militant Tahrens. I could wish he was in a position to take more of his own artillery south with him, but I suppose road conditions would make that difficult even if the Bishop Militant had enough guns of his own to cover his new positions. There are a few points where I no doubt need to see the actual numbers and sketch maps from his original reports, but overall the movement seems to be going well. From your memo, I take it that’s your conclusion, as well?”
“It is,” Wind Song concurred. “The spring thaw will come more rapidly on our southern flank, of course. Indeed, as I mentioned in my summary, the Earl had anticipated that the heretics in Cliff Peak were likely to move against his forward positions in the next several five-days. That’s one reason he was so unhappy about handing them over to the Army of God on such short notice. On the other hand, he knew the terrain would still be bad for them, especially in light of the thoroughgoing destruction of the canals and high roads in his front, and he’s arranged for his local commanders to brief their Army of God reliefs very carefully before they pull out. He’s also had complete duplicates of all of his maps made for Archbishop Militant Gustyv and his staff.
“He’s obviously concerned that if the heretics realize he’s shifting so much of his strength south they may choose to move even sooner than he’d expected. Of course, if our spy reports are correct about the heretics’ actual intentions—and none of his own patrols have picked up anything to challenge those reports—they have no intention of attacking the frontage he’s handing over to Bishop Militant Tahrens, and the weather in western Westmarch and Sardahn isn’t a great deal better just now than it is here.” The baron waved the pipe in his hand to indicate the wind howling around the eaves and grimaced. “They’re getting more rain and less snow than we are, but he doubts the heretics will be able to exert a great deal of pressure upon Bishop Militant Tahrens until the ground dries and their mounted infantry is once more capable of free movement off the high roads. I’m afraid he also believes they’ve accomplished more in the way of repairing their communications behind their own front over the winter, however, and if he’s right about what they’ve managed opposite his current positions, it seems likely they’ve accomplished still more farther south. So once the ground does dry, they’ll be in a better position to bring heavy pressure to bear upon him—and the Bishop Militant—than we’d hoped.”
The baron shrugged ever so slightly.
“I won’t say the Earl’s delighted by his orders, nor do I think he’s completely convinced the heretics truly are looking to the south, but I don’t believe anyone could fault the fashion in which he’s carrying those orders out.”
His eyes met his uncle’s levelly, and, once again, Rainbow Waters nodded. He couldn’t really fault Silken Hills’ skepticism, but while the intelligence reports available to him remained less complete than those the heretics’ spies appeared to be able to provide to their field commanders, all of the Inquisition’s sources supported the same conclusion.
Or all of the intelligence sources the Inquisition’s seen fit to share with me, at any rate, he reminded himself. Would that I could convince myself Vicar Zhaspahr’s learned the consequences of … restricting the information he makes available to his own field commanders!
Unfortunately, he couldn’t, Still, there was no conflict between the Inquisition and his secular sources. That was an improvement in many ways. Now if only the conclusions they supported were more palatable!
The heretics were still reinforcing their armies in the northern provinces, but they were reinforcing their southern armies, as well. In fact, they seemed to be reinforcing them much more strongly than he’d anticipated when he created his original deployment plans, which certainly tended to support the conclusions coming out of Zion.
On the other hand, it was always possible he’d been right the first time around, wasn’t it?
And if this business was simple, anyone could be a successful general, he thought dryly.
“Their troop movements would appear to suggest Vicar Allayn’s read their intentions—their immediate intentions, at any rate—correctly,” he observed out loud, although he and his nephew both knew Al
layn Maigwair remained rather less strongly convinced of those intentions than certain other parties in Zion. “Mind you, they’ve demonstrated often enough that becoming too enamored of our own cleverness can have painful consequences,” he continued. “And what happened to the Army of Shiloh suggests we should be particularly wary of convincing ourselves that we’ve positively identified where their troops truly are, as opposed to where they’d like us to think they are.”
“Agreed, Uncle.” Wind Song drew on his pipe again, then shook his head. “Despite everything, though, it still seems to me their armies could be most usefully employed in the north.” He expelled another jet of smoke on an unhappy sigh. “I recognize the threat in the south, but surely we have greater strategic depth there … aside from Dohlar. And to be honest, I’m concerned about Earl Silken Hills logistics south of Usher. Given recent events in the Gulf, I fear his supply line from South Harchong is in serious jeopardy, and Dohlar has nothing to spare from its own production to make up the loss.”
“Now there, Medyng, you are unfortunately correct.”
Rainbow Waters allowed himself another sip of brandy, then leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the cushioned back.
In the wake of the Imperial Charisian Navy’s crushing defeat of the Royal Dohlaran Navy’s Western Squadron, their light-commerce raiders had swarmed into the Malansath Bight and effectively closed the entire central Gulf to Mother Church’s shipping. The limited quantities of weapons and food still reaching the Mighty Host from South Harchong all now had to funnel through the Sherach Canal, down the Altan River, across Hankey Sound, and all the way up around the Dohlaran coast to Dairnyth before it could ascend the Fairmyn River to the Charayan Canal or flow down the Dairnyth-Alyksberg Canal to the garrison still holding Alyksberg. Unfortunately, the Sherach Canal could handle no more than ten percent, at the outside, of the freight which could have been shipped across the Gulf but for the Charisian presence. Just as bad, the coastal route forced upon Mother Church by the loss of the Sheryl-Seridahn Canal cut deeply into the Church’s increasingly limited supply of cargo ships. It was a simple enough equation: if it took twice as long for a galleon to complete a round trip, that was the same as having only half as many galleons.
But there was worse to come, because it couldn’t be very many more five-days before those accursed commerce-raiders began operating in the Gulf of Tanshar and even the Bay of Bess, as well. When that happened, the entire Kingdom of Dohlar—and everything south of it, including anything still getting through from South Harchong—would be cut off from the rest of the mainland.
Which, he acknowledged, might well lend point to Clyntahn’s predictions of a major southern offensive. I’d expected them to settle for … neutralizing Dohlar while they threw their main weight against me here in Tarikah and Westmarch. They wouldn’t need to encompass Dohlar’s outright conquest for that, and I expect they’ll encounter their own difficulties in suppressing local resistance, now that they’re getting into more densely populated areas of the kingdom. The need to hold down guerrilla movements will soon begin dissipating their manpower, just as it dissipated the Army of God’s in Siddarmark. So why incur the expense in casualties and resources to force its formal surrender? Especially if it diverts them from the destruction of the Mighty Host? Surely we remain the primary threat to the Republic, at least until the Army of God can finish rebuilding after last year!
He chose not to dwell on the likelihood that the heretics’ policy of religious tolerance might defuse a great deal of that resistance. Nor did he dwell upon the fact that the example of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s policies in Siddarmark might well have done even more in that respect in the end. Besides, that was neither his affair nor his responsibility.
But I hadn’t really considered their navy, had I? He shook his head mentally, chiding himself for that blindspot. If anyone in the world has ever demonstrated that he understands how to blend land and seapower into one strategy, that person has to be Cayleb Ahrmahk. I have no idea even now if he truly intends to conquer Dohlar this year or not—the fact that he continues not to reinforce Hanth as strongly as his other armies may well indicate he doesn’t—but then again, he doesn’t need to if the Inquisition’s spies are correct. Given how far back Rychtyr’s been forced, a naval presence in the Bay of Bess would completely sever Dohlar from the rest of the Jihad, anyway. And they can land troops there directly from Chisholm.…
He sighed. His instincts all still insisted the heaviest attack would come in the north, under Green Valley and Eastshare, yet he couldn’t ignore the steadily accumulating evidence in favor of the southern strategy. And whatever he might think, the directives coming out of Zion were clear enough.
And it’s not as if moving Silken Hills leaves your right flank naked, Taychau! Of course you’d rather have your own troops covering Talmar and Selyk, but at least Teagmahn’s command’s had almost a full year to train. The rest of this new “Army of the Center” will be greener than grass, but Teagmahn’s made a solid enough start on replacing Silken Hills. And Walkyr will assume overall command next five-day. It’s hard to think of an AoG commander who could do a better job of fitting the newer divisions into place as they come in. Things could be far worse, and you know it. Of course.…
“Unfortunately,” he said, his voice rather grimmer than he normally allowed it to become, “the situation in the Gulf of Dohlar also makes the Holy Langhorne absolutely vital as the only direct waterborne connection between the Temple Lands and the Mighty Host. That’s the main reason I feel confident they’ll be calling on us here, as well as in the south, as soon as weather permits.”
Wind Song nodded in stonefaced acknowledgment … and agreement. Neither of them chose to mention the fact that the Holy Langhorne Canal might not have been quite so essential if the Imperial Charisian Navy hadn’t demonstrated the year before that it could completely dominate Hsing-wu’s Passage, as well. At the moment, supplies were still being sledded in to the detachments watching the Mighty Host’s extreme northern flank across both the Passage’s ice and the high road that paralleled it. Once that ice melted, however, spring floods would make even the high road unusable for at least three or four five-days … and the Passage’s waters would become a high road for the heretics. And as the Charisian Empire had demonstrated, its navy and army understood “amphibious operations” better than anyone else in the world.
Not surprisingly, the baron reflected, unaware of how his thoughts mirrored those of his uncle. It’s obvious they understand everything about these hellish new weapons and … questionable devices better than anyone else does!
Well, perhaps they did. But his uncle clearly understood the new realities better than any other field commander they’d yet faced. It only remained to see whether or not he understood them well enough.
He’d better—we’d better, Wind Song told himself. Because if Dohlar does fall, and if Silken Hills is pushed back from the Snake Mountans, they’ll damned well try to push up north through Jhurlahnk and Usher to hit the Holy Langhorne from that direction. That means we have to inflict defeats—or at least decisive checks—on both flanks, because if we don’t, if they’re able to reach the Holy Langhorne from either direction, we’ll have to fall back so rapidly we’ll never be able to pull out all our men, far less all our artillery and other supplies. The ring around the Temple Lands and North Harchong would become unbreakable, even if we managed to retreat with some semblance of order. And if that happens.…
He busied himself tamping the tobacco in his pipe bowl and decided not to think about that too deeply.
.IV.
Royal Palace,
City of Gorath,
Kingdom of Dohlar.
The three men seated at one end of the vast, richly polished table looked up as someone knocked sharply on the chamber door. The door opened and a tallish, brown-haired man in his early fifties stepped through it.
“Bishop Executor Wylsynn and Father Ahbsahlahn are here, Your Grace,”
he said quietly.
“I see.” Samyl Cahkrayn, the Duke of Fern, glanced across the table at his companions, then back at the man in the doorway. “Thank you, Lawrync,” he said. “Please, escort them in.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Lawrync Servahntyz had been Fern’s personal secretary for almost eighteen years. During those years, he’d seen a great deal, and very few things could disturb his monumental aplomb. Yet there was an unusual edge of something very like anxiety in his brown eyes as he bowed to his patron. Whatever it was, it seemed to have vanished by the time he straightened, stepped back a pace, and closed the door once more.
It opened again, twenty seconds later, and all three of the men at the table rose as he reappeared, followed by Bishop Executor Wylsynn Lainyr and Father Ahbsahlahn Kharmych.
“Your Grace, Bishop Executor Wylsynn and Father Ahbsahlahn.”
Few introductions had ever been more superfluous, and Fern stepped forward to kiss Lainyr’s extended ring.
“Your Eminence,” the Dohlaran first councilor murmured as he straightened. “You honor us with your presence.”
“It’s my honor to be so courteously received by such loyal defenders of Mother Church,” Lainyr replied.
The dukes of Thorast and Salthar came forward to kiss Lainyr’s ring in turn, and Fern waved the bishop executor to the seat of honor at the far end of the gleaming table. The tallish Kharmych—Lainyr was above average in height, but the intendant was both seven years younger and a head and a half taller—took the chair at his superior’s right elbow. Servahntyz opened the rollup top of the desk in one corner and started to seat himself, prepared to take notes, but Lainyr’s raised hand stopped him. Duke Fern raised one eyebrow in polite interrogation, and the bishop executor shook his head ever so slightly.