by David Weber
* * *
Merlin was already in midair before he realized what he was doing, by which time it was just a bit late for second thoughts. He hit the water and drove deep, despite his shallow trajectory. A flesh-and-blood human would have been forced to surface to regain his bearings, not to mention breathe, but Merlin was a PICA. His built-in sonar told him exactly where the boat, the thrashing, screaming children, and the krakens were, and his legs propelled him towards the chaos with a powerful flutter kick no biological human could have produced.
He'd snatched up his wakazashi without consciously considering it. Now he held its hilt in both hands, reversed seventeen-inch blade flat against the inside of his right arm to minimize drag, as he drove through the water. It took him less than twenty seconds to reach the capsized launch. Twenty seconds in which the kraken he'd harpooned wrenched frantically free of its attacking fellow and swam brokenly, erratically, towards shallower water. Twenty seconds in which a third shrieking child was dragged into the depths.
But then he was there.
The surviving children kicked and flailed frantically, fighting to climb on top of the overturned boat in search of even a few more moments of safety. An older boy snatched up one of the younger girls and literally threw her up onto the wet, slick boat bottom even as one of the two remaining krakens knifed towards him with lethal grace. The tentacles reached out, snapping towards him like striking serpents. One wrapped around his ankle, yanking his leg towards a tooth-filled maw, but a human-shaped hand closed on the tentacle, in turn. It locked down with the force of a hydraulic vise, and a battle steel wakazashi drove downward directly behind the creature's bulging eyes. It slammed hilt-deep into the kraken's head, and the impossibly sharp blade sliced effortlessly through bone, cartilage, and muscle.
The kraken's own movement added to the strength of the PICA's arm, and the wakazashi continued its forward trajectory straight through the creature's brain and back out through its snout in a fan of blood. The tentacle death-locked around the boy's ankle would have dragged him under with the still-thrashing carcass, but a second quick slash of the wakazashi severed it two feet from the kraken's opened skull.
The harpooned kraken's struggles were weakening as it writhed and twisted around the weapon driven through its body, but Merlin's sonar reached out, seeking the third. He found it, twenty feet beneath the surface, circling slowly as it ripped and tore at the remnants of its second victim.
He curled into a ball, oriented himself, and snapped straight, driving himself towards the feeding monster. Had it realized something as insignificant as he might pose a threat to it, it could easily have fled at a speed not even a PICA could have hoped to match. But it probably never even realized he was coming.
Even at this depth, his light-enhancing vision could see clearly, but he refused to let himself look at the mangled ruin clasped in the kraken's tentacles. He had eyes only for the kraken itself, and his left hand darted out and grasped the dorsal fin.
The kraken started to raise its head, as if in surprise, and the wakazashi drove down yet again. It sliced vertically through the thickest part of the creature's spine, directly in front of the fin, all but cutting the huge body in half, and it convulsed madly. It fell away from him, already dead, but still thrashing violently while its muscles tried to grasp the fact of its death, and he broke for the surface.
The surviving children were still screaming, fighting desperately to climb onto the boat, and he drove the wakazashi to the hilt into the launch's keel for safekeeping.
"It's all right!" he shouted. "It's all right—you're safe now!"
They didn't seem to notice him, and he reached out for the youngest child still in the water. It was the girl who'd waved to him, he realized, and she screamed in terror, writhing desperately, until she realized it was arms about her, not a kraken's tentacles. Then she reached back for him, her own arms ready to lock strangulation-tight about his neck. But he'd expected that and, his artificial muscles were more than a match even for her panic-driven strength as he boosted her up onto the overturned boat as gently as he could. She snatched at the keel, holding herself there, and he turned to pluck another child from the water.
"You're safe now!" he shouted again, and this time someone actually seemed to have heard him.
He heard another voice repeating the reassurance and realized it belonged to the boy who'd thrown the girl clear of the water. The familiar voice seemed to get through to the survivors where his own had not, and the worst of their panic began to subside. At least enough for all five of them to crawl up onto the boat and huddle there.
Three of them clung to the keel with white-knuckled fingers, weeping in terror that twisted Merlin's heart. But worse than that were the two children, one of them the first girl he'd lifted out of the water, who kept calling out frantically for two brothers and a sister they would never see again.
He stayed in the water, talking to them, trying to comfort them, and even as he did, a corner of his mind wondered how he was possibly going to explain this to Cayleb.
* * *
"That was . . . impressive," Crown Prince Cayleb said quietly some hours later.
He and Merlin sat in facing chairs in Cayleb's quarters in the Citadel. The sun had set, and the room was comfortably cool, dim in the lamplight, as Merlin looked at him expressionlessly.
"I don't believe," Cayleb continued, "that I've ever heard of anyone killing a kraken, much less two of them, armed only with a short sword. Oh, and let's not forget the one you harpooned . . . at seventy yards. Seijin or no, Merlin, that was a remarkable feat."
Still, Merlin said nothing, and Cayleb leaned back in his chair, his face shadowed. Silence stretched out for several seconds, and then the crown prince sighed.
"Would you care to explain just how you managed all of that?"
The prince's voice sounded extraordinarily calm and reasonable, under the circumstances, Merlin thought.
"I can't, Cayleb," he said after a moment. "I wish I could. Truly, I do. But I can't."
"Merlin," Cayleb said quietly, "I don't care if you're a seijin. No mortal man could do what I saw you do this afternoon. No one, not even a seijin. I asked you once before what you truly were, and you promised me you serve light. But what sort of servant are you?"
"Cayleb—Your Highness," Merlin said softly, "I can't tell you that. Not 'don't want to'; not 'refuse to'; but can't."
"You're asking a great deal of me, Merlin," Cayleb said in that same, quiet voice. "My father trusts you. Trusts you enough to commit his entire kingdom to accepting your 'services'—your 'visions' and all the knowledge and suggestions you've brought us. And I've trusted you, as well. Were we wrong? If you can do what mortal men can't, that makes you more than mortal. And how am I to know if someone who must be either angel or demon speaks the truth?"
"I'm neither angel nor demon," Merlin replied. "I swear that. I simply can't tell you what I am. Not now—possibly never. And I suppose you're just going to have to decide for yourself whether or not you can trust someone who can't answer those questions for you."
He looked straight across at Cayleb, and Cayleb looked back into those strange sapphire eyes. The crown prince gazed deeply into them without speaking for at least a full minute. Then he inhaled deeply.
"You didn't have to do what you did this afternoon." His conversational tone sounded so normal it was almost bizarre, under the circumstances. "If you hadn't, I wouldn't have known what I know now, would I?"
"No," Merlin agreed. "You wouldn't. But that doesn't mean I didn't have to do it."
"No, it doesn't," Cayleb said. And then, to Merlin's astonishment, he smiled. It was an almost gentle expression, and the prince shook his head. "And that, Merlin, is the reason I do trust you."
"You do?" Despite himself, Merlin couldn't quite keep the surprise out of his own tone, and Cayleb chuckled softly.
"You showed me what you can do, the proof you're more than even a seijin, to save a pack of harbor urchin
s you didn't even know. You risked all the trust you've built up with me and my father for that. And I believe you did it without ever once considering not doing it."
"You're right. I didn't consider not doing it." Merlin shook his head. "I probably should have, but it never even crossed my mind."
"And that's why I trust you," Cayleb said simply. "A man—or even more than a man—who served darkness would never have let the lives of a handful of harbor brats weigh against his purposes. But you did. If you're prepared to risk throwing away all you've already achieved in order to save the lives of children, that tells me all I really need to know. Which isn't"—he flashed a sudden smile, suspiciously like a grin—"to say that I wouldn't like to know more, of course!"
"Your Highness," Merlin said, not even trying to keep the relief out of his voice, "on the day I can tell you more, if it comes, I will. I swear."
"I hope that day comes," Cayleb replied. "For now, though, I think you and I need to spend some time coming up with some sort of explanation for this afternoon. The good news is that no one on the shore, besides me, was in a position to see what actually happened. The bad news is that the children's version of what happened is pretty outrageous."
"You know how excitable children are, Your Highness." Merlin smiled. "I'm not a bit surprised if it all seemed even more impressive to them than it actually was!"
"All well and good," Cayleb said rather more soberly. "They've already brought in the carcass of one kraken, though. The one you harpooned. Trust me, there were more than a few raised eyebrows over that, even after I, ah . . . understated the range for the cast somewhat, let's say. Are there going to be even more if they bring up the other two?"
"Oh, I believe you can safely say there would be," Merlin admitted.
"And would that have something to do with the knife you stuck completely through the keel of that launch?" Cayleb asked politely.
"As a matter of fact, it would."
"Wonderful." Cayleb puffed his cheeks thoughtfully, then shrugged. "At least they were still in the main ship channel. The one you harpooned found its way into shallower water before it finally died, but the water's deep out there, and I understand there's a nasty tidal scour. We can at least hope the other two won't be recovered at all."
"That would undoubtedly be best," Merlin agreed, and sat for several seconds, gazing at the prince.
"Are you sure you're comfortable with this, Cayleb?" he asked finally.
"-'Comfortable' isn't the word I'd choose." Cayleb's smile was crooked. "In fact, it's not remotely close to the word I'd choose. But if you mean am I going to have second thoughts, the answer is no."
"I appreciate that," Merlin said gently. "Deeply."
"Well, let's look at it," Cayleb suggested. "So far, you've saved my life, saved Rayjhis' life, dealt with what was probably the most dangerous traitor in the Kingdom's history, broken both of the major spy rings in Charis, taught us the things which may actually save us from destruction, and now rescued five of my father's subjects from certain death. I'd say you've built up a considerable positive balance with me. So far, at least."
"I hadn't quite thought about it that way."
"Then you should have. As a matter of fact—" Cayleb broke off as someone knocked at the door.
He grimaced and shook his head irritably.
"I left instructions that we weren't to be disturbed," he said, then stood and faced the door.
"Enter!" he called in a voice which boded ill, in the absence of a very good excuse, for whoever was on the other side of the door.
It opened, and Ahrnahld Falkhan looked at the prince apologetically.
"I realize you left orders not to disturb you, Your Highness," he said. "But there's a courier boat from Tellesberg."
He held out an envelope sealed with crimson wax bearing King Haarahld's personal seal. Cayleb took it, his face suddenly expressionless, and broke the wax. Stiff, heavy paper crackled as he unfolded the brief message inside and read it. Then he looked up and met Merlin's gaze with a thin smile.
"It seems you and I are required in Tellesberg, Merlin," he said. "The Church's Intendant has . . . expressed a desire to speak to us."
II
Royal Palace,
Tellesberg
It was the first time Merlin had ever met Father Paityr Wylsynn, and as the upper-priest was ushered into the throne room, he devoutly wished that the meeting might have come under other circumstances. Almost any other circumstances.
Wylsynn was a young man, older than Cayleb but probably no older than Nimue Alban had been at the time of her biological death. He was slender, with red, curly hair, and a lively intelligence seemed to hover behind the gray eyes which, along with that hair, would have marked him as a foreigner to any Charisian.
He also wore the purple habit of the Order of Schueler, and the embroidered sword and golden flame on his sleeve marked him as the Church's Intendant in Charis, as well.
He followed the chamberlain to the foot of the dais and bowed gravely. First to Haarahld, then to Bishop Maikel, who stood at the king's shoulder, and finally to Cayleb.
"Your Majesty." His voice was a pleasant tenor, his accent that of the Temple and the City of Zion's elite.
"Father," Haarahld returned, his own soft Charisian accent sounding stronger than usual in contrast to the upper-priest's.
"I thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice," Wylsynn continued. "And I thank you for joining us, Your Eminence," he added, with another small bow to Bishop Maikel.
"You're most welcome, Father," the bishop said. "And allow me to thank you for notifying me you intended to seek this interview. The courtesy is deeply appreciated."
Wylsynn smiled and waved his hand in a tiny gesture of dismissal, as if his notification to Staynair had been a matter of no consequence. But it most definitely had not been any such thing. As the Church's Intendant, Father Paityr had the authority to go anywhere, at any time of his choosing, and interrogate anyone he chose without advance notice to anyone in the entire kingdom, including Bishop Executor Zherald.
"Your message requested the presence of Crown Prince Cayleb and Lieutenant Athrawes," Haarahld observed after a moment. "As you observe, both of them are present. May we now know the reason for which you wished to see us?"
"Of course, Your Majesty." Wylsynn inclined his head in what was not quite a bow this time, but was still a gesture of respect.
"I fear certain reports have reached the Temple concerning matters here in Charis," he said calmly. "Most, I suspect, are the product of natural exaggeration. Some, alas, may be maliciously intended by those whose interests are . . . not identical to those of your kingdom, let us say. However, when there's this much smoke, the Council of Vicars and the Office of the Inquisition feel an obligation to be certain there's no fire underneath it. Hence my request for this interview."
Haarahld sat silent for several seconds, gazing at the young upper-priest, his own expression thoughtful. Merlin kept his own face completely expressionless as he stood behind Cayleb's chair, but his mind was busy considering Wylsynn's explanation. The upper-priest's tone was calm and measured, but there was an undertone, a hint of something which might almost have been exasperation, and Merlin remembered a brief conversation with Bishop Maikel about the reasons Wylsynn might have been assigned to Charis.
"Forgive me, Father," Haarahld said after a moment, "but I must assume any such reports would be in reference to the new processes and devices which have been introduced here in Charis over the past few months. It was my impression all of those had been examined and found free of taint."
"You're quite correct, Your Majesty," Wylsynn agreed. "I have, indeed, personally examined all the processes and devices which were submitted, exactly as they ought to have been, to the Office of the Intendant for approval. And it was, indeed, my determination that none of them even approached a violation of the Proscriptions. That remains my opinion."
Had Merlin still been a being of flesh
and blood he would have inhaled a deep breath of relief. But Wylsynn wasn't finished, and he raised one hand slightly towards the king in a semi-apologetic gesture.
"Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I've been directly instructed by Archbishop Erayk to reconfirm my original determination. His semaphore message was, of course, quite terse, and didn't include the reasons he felt made such a reconfirmation desirable. I can only surmise that it's the result of those exaggerated reports I've already mentioned."
"I see. And I understand your responsibility to obey the Archbishop's instructions, of course. However," Haarahld allowed an edge of concern to creep into his voice, "since we'd been assured all these things were acceptable, we've already begun moving ahead with many of them. If we have to begin the examination process all over again, it's going to cause great hardship—and not a little financial loss—for many of our subjects who have acted in good faith."