By Heresies Distressed (17 page)

Nahrmahn Baytz looked into the no longer gleaming brown eyes which had gone hard as frozen agates and recognized the truth when he heard it.

“And I'll also admit that I wanted to make the consequences of attacking
my
kingdom crystal clear, not simply to the Earl, but to the entire world. The next ruler the Group of Four bribes or coerces into attacking Charis will never be able to pretend he didn't know ahead of time exactly how Charis was going to respond. And in case anyone missed that after my conversation with Thirsk, I rather suspect they'll take my point after our message to King Zhames.

“But I also figured it wouldn't hurt for people like Clyntahn and Trynair to think they heard a young man's arrogance talking. My father once told me it was a wonderful and always-to-be-treasured thing to be loved by your friends, but that it was essential to be
feared
by your enemies. And after fear, the next most essential thing where your enemies are concerned is that they
under
estimate you. Better never to be attacked at all, but if you are going to be attacked, the more overconfident your enemy is, the better.”

Nahrmahn gazed for several seconds at the young man who had become his emperor, and then he bent his head in a gesture of respect.

“I'm feeling better and better every day about the fact that I ended up losing to you and your father, Your Majesty.”

“Really? Because I'm such a splendid and lovable fellow?”

“No, not really,” Nahrmahn said dryly, and Cayleb snorted in amusement. Then the Emeraldian continued. “The reason I'm deciding I don't feel so bad after all is that at least I didn't lose to someone who simply stumbled into the ability to kick my well-padded arse up between my conniving ears.”

The scorching sun was hot high overhead as
Empress of Charis
hove to outside the breakwater of the city of Carmyn.

Zebediah's capital didn't look especially impressive to someone who'd grown up in Tellesberg, Cayleb decided, but he had to admit that the anchorage itself was superb. Protected by the full extent of the Gulf of Talisman and Hannah Bay—not to mention the sheltering land masses of Grass Island and Shoal Island—it offered excellent security from the elements, which was a not insignificant reflection in these latitudes, especially during hurricane season. And the approaches to the port were just as good, with deep water and very few hazards to navigation until one got quite close to the city.

Of course, the fact that it was also barely fifty miles north of the equator produced a climate in which even a Charisian felt as if he were being roasted on a spit whenever he stepped out into the direct noon sunlight.

The harbor waterfront was reasonably well guarded by shore batteries, but Grand Duke Zebediah had sadly neglected the fortification of the islands dotting the approaches to his capital. There were several places where batteries would have seriously inconvenienced, at the very least, an attacking fleet, but no guns had been emplaced.

Which might not owe a thing to Zebediah's neglect, now that I think about it
, he reflected.
After all, Hektor knows the Grand Duke even better than Nahrmahn does. He probably made damned sure
his
navy wouldn't have to fight its way past those batteries if any little unpleasantness arose. And that might not be a bad thing for
me
to be remembering, either, I suppose
.

The other ten galleons Cayleb had brought with him lay protectively about
Empress of Charis
, with their guns run out and manned. That might not be considered the most diplomatic stance possible, but Cayleb didn't really care about that. His own flagship's guns
weren't
manned, and that was about all the concession to international proprieties he intended to make.

He watched the ornate barge pulling out of the harbor towards
Empress of Charis
, then glanced at Merlin, who was examining the same barge through a spyglass. The emperor suppressed a temptation to smile as he privately bet himself that Merlin's eye was actually closed. After all, a mere spyglass would only get in the way of someone with Merlin's “natural” eyesight. It did give him an excuse to ask the
“seijin”
questions. However.

“I take it the rowboat with all the gold paint is our friend the Grand Duke?”

“I believe that's correct, Your Majesty,” Merlin replied gravely, never lowering the spyglass. “At any rate, there's a fellow sitting in the stern sheets who's
got
to be about ready to suffer heatstroke, given all the gold and embroidery he's wearing.”

“That would be Zebediah,” Nahrmahn agreed from Merlin's other elbow. “He's always been insistent about maintaining the ‘proper appearance.' ”

The Emeraldian wore tastefully embroidered and tailored garments, but, like Cayleb, they were as utilitarian as they were elegant, and their cotton silk and steel thistle silk were as light and cool as was physically possible. Despite the extra weight Nahrmahn was carrying about with him, he looked far more comfortable than the approaching grand duke could possibly feel.

“In that case, perhaps we should keep him here on deck while we talk?” Cayleb suggested with an evil smile. “If he's about to melt down into a puddle of fat, he'll scarcely be at his naturally treacherous best.”

“Tempting, Your Majesty,” Nahrmahn agreed with a smile of his own. “But not very practical, I fear. I'm sure he's already memorized everything he intends to say, and I'd be extraordinarily surprised if anything as silly as rational thought or debate was likely to change any of it. That being the case, I think the advantages for
your
thinking of getting into the shade outweigh the remote possibility that he might suffer the
seijin
's heatstroke.”

“It's not
my
heatstroke, Your Highness,” Merlin remarked mildly, lowering the spyglass at last and turning to look at Nahrmahn. “I was merely offering an analytical statement, not expressing any sort of personal desire.”

“Oh, of course not,” Nahrmahn agreed.

“Stop it, both of you,” Cayleb half-scolded.

It was remarkable how well Merlin and Nahrmahn got along, he reflected. In fact, it was obvious they actually liked one another, which wasn't something Cayleb would have been willing to place any wagers on. And, he admitted, he found the fact that Merlin did like Nahrmahn remarkably reassuring.

“Stop what, Your Majesty?” Merlin inquired innocently. “All I said was—”

“I heard exactly what you said,” Cayleb said severely. “And let me remind you, that it's most unbecoming of a Charisian Imperial Guardsman to think it would be a good idea for a visiting nobleman to suffer a fatal heatstroke. Until
after
he's signed the surrender terms, at least.”

“Surrender terms, Your Majesty?” Nahrmahn's eyebrows rose. “Somehow I don't recall that particular phrase having been used in any of the correspondence you've exchanged with Grand Duke Zebediah. Or, at least, in any of it which you've shared with your advisers.”

“That's because it wasn't used,” Cayleb said with another of those thin smiles. “Believe me, though, Your Highness. Before the Grand Duke gets back into his rowboat this afternoon, there's not going to be much doubt in his mind about what he's just signed. He can
call
them whatever he wants, but I don't think he's going to be left in any uncertainty over what they really are . . . or what's likely to happen to him if he should chance to violate them.”

“That doesn't sound extraordinarily ‘diplomatic' to me, Your Majesty,” Merlin observed. The emperor looked at him, and the
seijin
shrugged. “Not that I have any problem with the desired outcome,” he added. “Personally, I think reasoned dialogue and fair-minded negotiation are overrated at times. I mean, yes, they have their place, and they
can
work. But sometimes a good, hard punch in the mouth is more effective than any number of diplomatic notes. Well, more enjoyable, anyway. And from all I've heard, this sounds to me like it might be one of those times.”

“Good.”

Prince Nahrmahn, Cayleb decided as he exchanged bows with Tohmas Symmyns, the Grand Duke of Zebediah, on
Empress of Charis'
quarterdeck, had a pronounced gift for accurate thumbnail descriptions. If Zebediah could have been rendered down, his natural oil content could have lit every lamp in Tellesberg Palace for at least a year.

Which would probably be the best use to which he could possibly be put
.

The grand duke was a man of average height and average build, with a prominent nose, thinning dark hair, and eyes which appeared to be only about a quarter of an inch deep. They met other people's gazes with laudable steadiness, but there was an opacity, an armor, just under the surface, that reminded Cayleb of certain species of poisonous hedge lizards.

“It was most kind of you to come all this way to meet me, Your Grace,” Cayleb said, straightening from his own bow.

“You're an emperor, Your Majesty,” Zebediah said, showing large, even, white teeth in a gracious smile. “Emperors, like kings, are entitled to their little quirks and foibles. And, to be completely honest,” he allowed his smile to fade into an expression of sobriety, “under the circumstances, I would have been astonished if your advisers had even considered allowing you to anchor your flagship within range of the harbor batteries of someone with whom your realm is still officially at war.”

“True enough.” Cayleb produced an expression which was almost a pout, and glanced sideways at the expressionless bodyguard towering at his shoulder in the livery of the House of Ahrmahk. Then the emperor returned his attention to the grand duke. “There are times when those ‘advisers' of mine can be just a little . . . overprotective. It's been even worse since Father's death. There are times I think I'm
never
going to be allowed to do anything spontaneous again.”

“I'm afraid great rank and great responsibility bring with them their own limitations, Your Majesty,” Zebediah said sympathetically.

“I know.” Cayleb sighed, then drew a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.

“Forgive my manners, Your Grace,” he said. “Here I stand, keeping you talking on deck, rather than getting you into the shade and offering you some refreshment. Will you join me in my cabin?”

“I would be honored to,” Zebediah assured him.

“Well, I thought that went rather well,” Cayleb remarked, some hours later as he stood on
Empress of Charis'
quarterdeck once more, watching Zebediah's ornate barge pull back towards the city.

“You did, did you?” a deep voice asked, and Cayleb smiled up at Merlin. The two of them stood by the rail, with one of the quarterdeck carronades between them, and out of easy earshot of anyone else, as long as they kept their voices down.

“Of course I did,” the emperor replied, returning his attention to the departing barge. “Didn't you?”