At the Sign of Triumph

by David Weber

  That’s certainly one way to describe the collapse of our most critical blocking position, Wind Song thought.

  “The Baron has requested permission to begin planning for a withdrawal,” Rainbow Waters said. “I’ve granted it with, of course, the understanding that he must hold his ground as long as he reasonably can.”

  “Of course.” Wind Song nodded. “May I ask if Bishop Merkyl has countersigned that permission?”

  “I haven’t yet had the opportunity to discuss it with the Bishop,” Rainbow Waters said. “I’m confident that, when I do, he’ll find himself in agreement.”

  Wind Song nodded again, although he wouldn’t have cared to wager on the Mighty Host’s intendant’s agreeing to anything of the sort. Merkyl Sahndhaim had grown steadily more querulous as the situation worsened. It couldn’t be very much longer before he began countermanding Rainbow Waters’ decisions rather than simply criticizing them, at which point.…

  “As I say,” Rainbow Waters went on after a moment, “I’ve also been reading the correspondence from Zion and Shang-mi. The letters from the capital, in particular, cause me some small concern. It’s essential that we continue moving troops forward. While I remain fully confident of the Mighty Host’s fighting spirit, the possibility that we may be forced to retreat to the far side of the Tairohn Hills, or even as far as the Kingdom of Hoth, must be faced. Should that happen, we’ll need every man we can get to bolster our new front.”

  He paused, regarding his nephew for several seconds, until Wind Song nodded. In fact, of course, if they were forced back that far, there weren’t enough reinforcements in all of Harchong to save the Jihad. Far too much of the Mighty Host’s irreplaceable artillery would have to be abandoned in the face of the obscenely mobile Charisians, and losses in small arms were already far beyond anything the Church could quickly replace.

  “I’m not confident His Majesty’s ministers have a proper sense of urgency in this matter,” Rainbow Waters resumed once Wind Song had nodded. “Accordingly, I’ve composed a detailed report, laying out our current status and my best projections and earnestly urging them to expedite troop movements to the very best of their ability. Given the vital importance of the entire matter, I’ve also decided that rather than relying upon the semaphore, it’s necessary to send an officer of sufficient stature—and one sufficiently familiar with my thinking to answer any questions—to deliver my messages in person.”

  Wind Song stiffened in his chair. It was over six thousand miles for a wyvern from Chyzwail to Shang-mi. The battle for West Wing Lake would be decided five-days before any messenger could reach the capital.

  “I’m sure I can find the proper messenger, Uncle,” the baron said, holding Rainbow Waters’ eyes levelly.

  “In my view, there’s really only one choice,” Rainbow Waters replied. “Of all of my staff officers and aides, you’re the one most fully privy to my thinking.”

  “Which is precisely the reason I can be least readily spared.” Wind Song’s gaze never wavered.

  “I must insist upon making my own determinations in this matter,” his uncle said sternly. “I’m quite prepared to make it a direct order.”

  “I would most respectfully urge you not to do that, My Lord. It would grieve me to defy your wishes.”

  “It would not be my wish, Baron Wind Song. It would be my direct order as your superior.”

  “In which case I would most regretfully be forced to resign my commission. After which, of course, your orders would no longer be applicable to me.”

  “Some might consider your resignation an act of cowardice in the face of the enemy!”

  “It would be difficult to construe it that way, My Lord,” Wind Song said serenely, “when I then volunteered to serve in the ranks.”

  Rainbow Waters glared at him for several tense seconds. Then his shoulders slumped.

  “Please, Medyng,” he said, and his voice had frayed around the edges. “I promised your mother I would bring her son home to her.”

  “And I promised to bring her brother home, My Lord,” Wind Song said softly. “I’ve never in my life done anything as important as what you and the Mighty Host are doing right here, right now. And I’ve never felt so privileged as I have to serve as your aide while you do it. There are no words to express my pride in you, Uncle, so I won’t embarrass both of us by trying. But I will be here at your side, whether as an officer or a common trooper, to the end, whatever that end may be.”

  Their eyes held, and then, slowly, Rainbow Waters smiled. It was a sad smile, but genuine, and he shook his head.

  “Your grandmother always said I was the most stubborn of her children,” he said then. “Personally, I always believed she was wrong, since your mother was always far stubborner than I. It would appear she’s passed that trait on to you, as well.”

  “I believe she’s said something to that effect to me herself, Uncle.”

  “An excellent judge of character, your mother.” Rainbow Waters nodded, then drew a deep breath and picked up one of the heaped folders on his blotter.

  “Very well, Captain of Horse Wind Song, I’ll send my dispatches by semaphore … for whatever they’re worth. In the meantime, please review this estimate of the portability of the heretics’ balloons and give me your thoughts on it.”

  .IV.

  Merlin Athrawes’ Chamber,

  Siddarmarkian Embassy,

  and

  Cayleb Ahrmahk’s Study,

  Charisian Embassy,

  Siddar City,

  Republic of Siddarmark.

  “Merlin? Merlin!”

  Sapphire eyes popped open. A PICA had no real need for sleep in the biological sense of the word, but Cayleb Ahrmahk had been right when he’d insisted, years ago, that Merlin get at least six hours of “downtime” every night.

  It wasn’t quite like biological sleep, although he and Owl had worked out a subprogram which actually gave him the equivalent of REM sleep. And there were times when he simply ignored Cayleb’s orders and capitalized on the ability of a PICA to remain alert, active, and deadly for days on end.

  In this case, however.…

  “This had better be really important, Nahrmahn,” he subvocalized over his built-in com link, glaring at the image Owl projected into his vision and very careful not to disturb the head resting peacefully on his shoulder or the body nestled close against him.

  “I never realized Nynian snored,” Nahrmahn replied with a twinkle. “That’s actually sort of reassuring. I mean, she’s so formidable in so many ways.”

  “You may already be dead,” Merlin told him, “but I don’t think you’d like what a good, strong power spike would do to you.”

  “Point taken.” Nahrmahn chuckled, but then his smile faded. “And I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s something we need to discuss. And it’s a good thing Nynian’s here, because we definitely need her input on this one.”

  * * *

  “So this fellow just walked into Mahkbyth’s shop?” Cayleb Ahrmahk said skeptically, gazing at Merlin and a silken-robed Nynian across the chocolate cup in his hands. “Why does that make me feel all suspicious?”

  “Because paranoia is a survival tool,” Sharleyan said tartly from her own bedchamber. Dawn was just gilding the sky over Tellesberg, and she sat before her mirror, brushing her hair.

  “All of our sources—everything we’ve gotten from the SNARCs, and everything Helm Cleaver and the Sisters have reported—underline how tense the situation in Zion’s gotten,” Nynian pointed out. “I don’t find it difficult to believe it’s going from tense to critical very quickly, Sharley. Especially not in the wake of what happened to Trynair!”

  “I just don’t like the way this ‘opportunity’ has dropped onto us out of the clear blue sky,” Cayleb said. “It’s got ‘trap’ written all over it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Merlin said thoughtfully, leaning back in an overstuffed armchair. “For it to be a trap, the Inquisition would have to know who Ahrlo
h is—or what he is, at least—and we know from what happened to Zhorzhet and Marzho exactly what they’d do in that case. Do you really think Rayno or Clyntahn would mount some sort of elaborate ploy at this point instead of producing a real, live terrorist for the Punishment?”

  “And there’s always the question of just who they could plan on trapping,” Nynian added. “They’ve obviously figured out our communications loop lets us turn messages around at least as quickly as their own semaphore, so I don’t doubt they expect Ahrloh to be able to pass the message on to us quickly, assuming he really is one of our people. But I doubt they could expect anyone from outside Zion to just … appear in Ahrloh’s shop tomorrow. So the only people they could logically try to ‘trap’ would have to be already in Zion, or at least very close to the city. And if whoever they’re after is that close, the Inquisition’s typical thinking would be to grab Ahrloh and torture his superior’s location out of him. Rayno might be more subtle under some circumstances, but not under the current ones.” She shook her head. “No, at this point, Clyntahn would want fast results. He’d settle for whatever he could get quickly, and he definitely wouldn’t take a chance on a fish like Ahrloh wiggling out of the net.”

  “What I find most interesting,” Maikel Staynair said slowly, “is the use of the Seijin Kohdy code phrase. That suggests at least some knowledge of Helm Cleaver and the Sisters.”

  “Which could simply mean they managed to torture at least some information out of Zhorzhet and Marzho before they died,” Cayleb said harshly, his eyes grim.

  “True.” Staynair nodded in his archbishop’s palace’s bedchamber, sitting up in bed while he scratched the belly fur of the purring cat-lizard luxuriating across his lap. “And I suppose they’re really simply attempting to bait Ahrloh into confirming his own membership in Helm Cleaver by responding to the code phrase. But I have to agree with Nynian. It doesn’t have that sort of feel to me.”

  “And whether it’s a trap or not, it has to be explored,” Wave Thunder said. “The possibility of making a contact at that level simply can’t be ignored.”

  “Well, that leaves us in a bit of a quandary,” Nahrmahn pointed out. “Owl and I picked up on this as soon as Ahrloh put the message into the system, but if we want to explore this—in time for it to do any good, at least—we can’t wait for that message to reach us. Besides, most of Nynian’s conduits are down now. Nobody’s passing any semaphore messages or couriers across the front lines at the moment. In fact, the only conduit that’s still up is the messenger wyvern route through Dohlar and the South March, and they’re running out of wyverns. We won’t be able to get them replacements anytime soon, either.”

  “Then there’s really only one way to do it,” Merlin said calmly.

  “You’d be in awfully close proximity to the Temple if something goes wrong!” Duke Delthak said sharply. “Ahrloh’s shop’s well inside the safety margin you set for any active use of Federation technology. If this is a trap, you couldn’t get the recon skimmer in close enough to pull you out of it.”

  “I don’t see that as a deal breaker,” Nimue said from the late-afternoon Manchyr. “Maybe the skimmer couldn’t pull us out, but having a pair of seijins cut their way out of the city on foot against everything the Guard could throw at them couldn’t exactly help Clyntahn’s position!”

  “Perhaps not,” Nynian said, “but I’m afraid there is no ‘us’ in this for you, Nimue.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Nimue’s tone was on the sharp side, Nynian only shook her head with a thin smile.

  Either it’s possible for a PICA to get out of Zion even if something under the Temple wakes up, or it’s not. If it is, we don’t need two PICAs. If it isn’t, we can’t afford to lose both the PICAs we have. That means only one of you is going. Since Ahrloh’s met Seijin Zoshua, Merlin’s the logical choice instead of you. And if Merlin’s going, so am I.”

  There was a moment of profound silence over the com link, and Nynian turned her head to meet Merlin Athrawes’ cybernetic eyes. Their gazes locked, and he saw the unyielding steel behind her eyes.

  “I’m not sure that’s necessary,” he said, after a moment.

  “I am.”

  Her voice was flat, as unyielding as her expression, and he sat back in his chair. He doubted she could have fully analyzed her own reasoning, but that didn’t really matter. Everything within him wanted to argue, to tell her no, to refuse to take her … and he couldn’t. She’d given too much, risked too much, lost too much getting to this point for him to even try to protect her against her will.

  “Then that’s good enough for me,” he said simply instead. “Owl, we’ll need the recon skimmer.”

  .V.

  Ahrloh Mahkbyth’s Fine Wines and Spirits,

  Mylycynt Court,

  City of Zion,

  The Temple Lands.

  “If I’d known you were going to come in person, I’d never have forwarded the message,” Ahrloh Mahkbyth said grimly.

  “And if I’d had to wait for your message to reach me, I wouldn’t have gotten here in time for you to worry about it,” Nynian told him, looking up from the bottle of wine whose label she’d been examining. “This is a very good year, Ahrloh. How many more bottles of it do you have?”

  “I’d have to check the ledger,” he said repressively. “And don’t try to distract me.”

  “I’m not trying to distract you from anything. I’d just like to take a dozen or so bottles with me when we leave.” She slid the bottle gently back into the rack with the reverence the vintage deserved and smiled at him. “Helping you get established really was one of my better investments … in a lot of ways.”

  He glared at her for a moment, then turned to her much taller companion.

  “Can’t you make her show a little sense, Seijin Zoshua?” he demanded.

  “I doubt anyone’s made her do anything since she was six years old,” Zoshua Murphai replied philosophically. “And I’m fairly sure her nanny had to negotiate bath times with her for at least three years before she turned six.”

  “I don’t understand why everyone thinks I’m so stubborn.” Nynian shook her head as she crossed to a display of paper-thin, hand-blown Harchongese brandy snifters. She picked one up and held it to the light, admiring the exquisite workmanship. “If people would just recognize the impeccable logic of my position in the first place, we could save a lot of time that otherwise gets wasted arguing.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Mahkbyth said. “But it’s entirely possible they managed to break Zhorzhet or Marzho before they died, and you know it. That could explain exactly how he got that recognition phrase. And if it is, if this truly is some sort of trap, you’re the one person in all the world we can least afford to deliver to them, Ahnzhelyk!”

  “And we won’t,” she told him calmly, setting the snifter back on the display stand, and turned to face him with a serene smile. “I can’t guarantee it isn’t a trap, but if it is, they aren’t going to take us by surprise the way they must have surprised Zhorzhet and Marzho.” She stepped closer to him and laid one hand on his forearm. “And if they can’t surprise us, they won’t be capturing anyone will they?”

  He looked at her grimly for a moment, but then, finally, he shook his head.

  “That’s not really all that much better an outcome from Helm Cleaver’s perspective, you know,” he pointed out.

  “Maybe not, but it’s a far better one from my perspective.” She squeezed his forearm gently. “And it wouldn’t really be all that disastrous from Helm Cleaver’s point of view, either. Inconvenient, perhaps, but Axman is safely back home in the Republic, in contact with Cayleb and Sharleyan and all of Seijin Zoshua’s … associates. They’re fully capable of coordinating Helm Cleaver’s operations if anything unfortunate were to happen to me.”

  Mahkbyth nodded a shade unwillingly. He didn’t know that “Axman” was Sandaria Ghatfryd, but he’d received several messages from Axman over the years in which he’d commanded
Helm Cleaver.

  “Besides, I have to be sure your new friend’s telling us the truth, don’t I?” Nynian continued.

  “And how, pray tell, do you intend to do that?” he inquired just a bit caustically. “I’m willing to concede that you’re better than most at picking out lies, Ahnzhelyk, but he wouldn’t have been chosen to contact us if he wasn’t better at lying than most.” The ex-sergeant shrugged. “That would be true whether he’s an honest messenger or an Inquisition provocateur.”

  “Oh, I’m fairly confident I’ll be able to sort the chaff from the grain,” she told him, touching the pectoral scepter she wore around her neck.

  It was larger than most, and more spectacular, almost like something designed for a high-ranked churchman’s formal wear. It was certainly more ostentatious than anything he’d ever seen her wear before, and for all its superb workmanship, it was rather too massive for someone as slender as she. It was also far more eye-catching, although that was actually a point in its favor. Publicly displayed evidence of piety was a sound investment in Zion just now.

  “And, in the meantime, it’s nice to see Zion again,” she continued, turning to gaze out the shop windows at the peaceful, lamplit square. “I hadn’t realized I was actually feeling a little homesick until the seijin delivered me.” She shook her head. “Odd, really. I wouldn’t have expected to feel that way.”

  “We’re all creatures of habit, one way or another,” Murphai pointed out, coming to stand beside her. “And I’m sure you had a lot of good memories to go with the bad.”

  “Of course. It’s just that recently the bad seem to’ve outnumbered the good so badly.”

  “Times change. That’s why we’re here, after all.”

  “True enough.” She nodded, still gazing out the windows, then turned her head to look up at him. “True enough. You do have a way of helping me keep things in perspective, don’t you, Zoshua?”