By Heresies Distressed (44 page)

Coris looked dubious, but he allowed the point to drop, and Hektor turned his attention back to Anvil Rock and Tartarian.

“I don't know if I'm completely convinced by your logic, Rysel. It sounds reasonable, mind you, and I don't have any better analysis to offer. I just don't want us to get too wedded to the belief that he's going to simply sit there until he's recalled more of his transports. For now, though, I see no option but to continue as we are while pressing the fortification of the capital as hard as we can.

“In the meantime, though, there is one precaution I want to take.”

He paused, and his advisers looked at one another as the silence stretched out. Finally, Coris cleared his throat.

“Yes, My Prince?”

“I want Irys and Daivyn safely out of Corisande.”

Hektor said the words as if they cost him physical pain, and Coris' eyebrows rose in astonishment.

“I know Irys will fight me on this one,” Hektor continued. “And I know there are risks involved, and not just the ususal ones of a normal voyage long enough to get them somewhere more or less safe. Outside my protection, the two of them become potential hostages. But if they're outside Cayleb's reach, as well, they also represent a potential trump card tucked away in my tunic pocket. He can't simply arbitrarily reject an invitation to negotiate in favor of taking my head when he knows that Daivyn will still be alive to be used against him even if both Hektor and I are killed. And, to be honest, I'm not
quite
as confident as I'd like to be that he won't decide it's time to be rid of the House of Daykyn once and for all. Or of its
male
members, at any rate,” he added just a bit more harshly, and his face turned briefly hard as marble.

“But where would you send them, My Prince? And how would you get them past Cayleb's navy?”

“I'll get them past Cayleb by selling half my soul and my left testicle to the Siddarmarkian ambassador,” Hektor said dryly. “He's almost Charisian in his taste for nice, tall stacks of marks. I think he'll agree to grant them sanctuary if I come up with the right inducement, and any ship flying his personal standard is the same as his own embassy. Siddarmark is too important to Charis for Cayleb to violate its flag, I think, even if he knows Irys and Daivyn are aboard.”

“My Prince,” Tartarian said very seriously, “I advise against relying on that.” Hektor raised an eyebrow, and Tartarian shrugged. “First, Siddarmark is friendly enough with Cayleb that I'm not completely convinced we can trust Stohnar's ambassador in something this important. Secondly, I wouldn't be a bit surprised, given that friendship, if Cayleb isn't already receiving regular spy reports from someone on his staff. And if Cayleb
does
learn Irys and Daivyn are onboard that ship, he certainly will intercept it. No doubt he'll be properly horrified by the way one of his captains has exceeded his orders and violated Siddarmarkian neutrality. I'm sure he'll promptly release the vessel, and probably apologize profusely and pay a handsome indemnity, to boot. But if he does, I can assure you that your son and daughter will
not
be aboard that ship when she docks in Siddarmark.”

“You may be right,” Hektor said after a long, silent pause. “But I still want them in safety. And not just for political reasons, Taryl.”

“My Prince, all of us know that,” Tartarian said gently. “But if that's what you desire, please let us try to find a way which is less likely to deliver them directly into your enemies' hands.”

“Such as?”

“Not even Cayleb's navy can be everywhere at every moment, My Prince. I doubt very much that I could possibly get any of our war galleons to sea without having them intercepted. I think it would be possible to get a single small, fast vessel out of one of the secondary ports which isn't as heavily picketed, however. Especially if we pick our time and weather carefully. And once a small, unimportant-looking vessel flying, say, Siddarmarkian or Harchongese colors is well away, it's unlikely any Charisian cruiser or privateer is going to bother her, even if they manage to sight her in the first place.”

Hektor looked suddenly more thoughtful.

“You really think that's possible?” He looked at Tartarian with the eyes of an anxious father, as well as a prince, and his naval commander nodded.

“My Prince, I know how much you love all your children,” he said, very carefully not saying the word “daughter,” then raised one hand, palm uppermost. “I can't say there's no risk involved in my suggestion. I won't say that. But I will tell you, as one father speaking to another, that if they were my own children, this is still what I would recommend. Of course there's risk involved. I simply believe it's the lowest risk available to us.”

“Let me think about it,” Hektor said. “You've raised some very telling points, and I'll be honest. The thought of exposing them to this sort of risk, even aboard one of our own ships, frightens me.”

“If you do send them out of the princedom, My Prince, where would you send them to?” Coris asked.

“I don't have a very long list to choose from,” Hektor said dryly. “For what it's worth, I think they'll probably be safest with Zhames of Delferahk at the moment.”

The others frowned, clearly considering what he'd just said. Delferahk was scarcely the most powerful of the mainland realms, but Queen Consort Hailyn was Hektor's fourth cousin. That would give Irys and Daivyn at least some blood claim upon King Zhames' protection. And the fact that Delferahk wasn't a player in the traditional power struggles of the mainland's larger kingdoms should minimize the temptation to use Hektor's children as pawns. In addition, reports of what had happened to Ferayd had reached Manchyr. It seemed unlikely Zhames was going to feel like doing any favors for Cayleb anytime soon, so he was most unlikely to simply turn Irys and Daivyn over to Charis.

Which left—

“My Prince,” Coris said quietly, “do you think the Temple will allow them to remain in Delferahk?”

“I don't know,” Hektor confessed, his face tightening. “If Clyntahn decides any surrender I arrange shows I'm disloyal to the Temple—or, at least, to his precious Group of Four—there's no telling how he'll react. And if we're wrong, if Cayleb does decide he needs my head, and if anything happens to Hektor, Irys and Daivyn will suddenly become even more valuable than they are now. It's not a good solution; it's only the best one I can come up with.”

Coris nodded, but his expression was still troubled, and Hektor smiled faintly.

“I have come up with one way to give them at least a little additional protection, Phylyp.”

“You have, My Prince?” Coris' tone was suddenly the slightest bit wary, and Hektor's smile grew broader.

“Indeed I have. In addition to getting Irys and Daivyn out, Taryl is going to get
you
out. I'll provide you with a writ of authority as Irys' guardian until she comes of age, and of regency in Daivyn's name, in case, well—”

He shrugged, and Coris frowned.

“My Prince, I'm honored by your trust, but—”

“Don't say it. I know a lot of people are going to assume the worst about how you ‘came by' those writs. After all, you
are
my spymaster, aren't you? However, it will be witnessed by the entire Council, and I think you'll be able to make its legitimacy stand up. More to the point, I'm going to
need
someone like you looking out for them. Someone who's accustomed to outthinking other players. I know you don't want to go, and I fully realize that if Cayleb is feeling vengeful here in Corisande, your chances of retaining your earldom won't be very good. But of everyone I can think of here in Manchyr, you're the one best suited to advise Irys and keep her out of the Church's clutches for as long as you can.”

Coris looked as if he was tempted to argue. But then, instead, he closed his mouth and nodded.

“Of course I will, My Prince,” he said quietly.

Hektor met his eyes for a moment, then nodded briskly.

“Very well,” he said crisply. “In that case, I think we're done here for the day.”

Empress Sharleyan angled her parasol carefully as she crossed the mountain valley's grassy field at Earl Gray Harbor's side. The first councilor had wanted to provide her with a carriage, but after one look at the narrow, twisting track—calling it a “road” would have constituted physical assault on a perfectly respectable noun—Captain Gairaht and Sergeant Seahamper had flatly rejected
that
possibility. Fortunately, Sharleyan had always been an excellent horsewoman, although she suspected her style of horsemanship had come as something of a shock to her new Charisian subjects. Well, that was too bad, and she hoped their sensibilities hadn't been bruised, but she wasn't about to begin learning to ride sidesaddle at this late date.

At least she'd had time to have the palace seamstresses run up a new riding habit for her, with the divided skirt made of cotton silk rather than the heavier—and sweatier—fabric she would have been wearing in Chisholm at this time of year. She'd found that her northern complexion was profoundly grateful for the Charisian innovation of the parasol, but she'd also decided which five months of the year she wanted to spend in Charis and which in Chisholm. Snow was all very well in its place, and no doubt she would eventually miss February in Cherayth. Probably by the time she was, oh, sixty or so, at the very latest.

She smiled slightly at the thought, but the smile faded as she considered the loose ring of bodyguards surrounding her alertly even here.

Gairaht and Seahamper kept an eagle eye on everything around her. She considered suggesting that they might relax just a little bit, but she knew better. She'd had far too many years to grow accustomed to that sort of omnipresent protectiveness. Besides, it would have hurt their feelings, and at least they'd managed to get over a dozen of Cayleb's Charisian guardsmen integrated into their own detail, and still more would be joining it over the next few months. She suspected Gairaht had been tempted to protest, at least initially, but if he had, he'd been far too smart to succumb to the temptation. Sharleyan wasn't about to surround herself with a “bunch of foreigners” as if she didn't trust the Charisians to protect her. And she was rather amused by “her” Charisians' reaction to their new assignment. If anything, they were even more fanatical about protecting their new empress than her original Chisholmians were about protecting their old queen.

And the fact that the Church has finally gotten around to placing the entire Kingdom under the interdict—and I'm sure they'll extend it to the rest of the Empire (and me) as soon as they find out the Empire exists—only makes things worse
.

She managed not to grimace as she realized that she'd probably
already
been excommunicated. Surely the Temple had learned about her marriage by now, in which case the Group of Four's response ought to be arriving fairly shortly.

The more fanatical Temple Loyalists probably wouldn't have worried about it either way, but now even the more hesitant among them can console themselves with the knowledge that the Church has formally absolved them of any lingering loyalty to Cayleb and the Archbishop. God only knows where
that's
likely to lead! No wonder Wyllys and Edwyrd—and all the rest of them—are so nervous. And I don't like to think about the way Chisholm is likely to react when word reaches Cherayth. Uncle Byrtrym may be more alarmist than he has to be, but that doesn't mean he's completely wrong, either
.

She did grimace—mentally at least—at that thought, but then she made herself put it aside. There wasn't anything she could do about it, anyway, except to trust her bodyguards here in Charis, and Mahrak Sahndyrs and her mother in Chisholm. And so she'd deliberately reached for the distraction of what had brought them here.

“I'm really looking forward to this, My Lord,” she told Gray Harbor quietly as one of Seamount's aides tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see her approaching. They were still a good two hundred yards away, though, and Gray Harbor looked at her as they continued to stroll towards the naval officer and his assistants.

“To be honest, Your Majesty, I'm not at all sure that I am,” the earl admitted. She arched a surprised eyebrow, and he grimaced. “I was a sea officer for too many years, Your Majesty, and Cayleb, Seamount, and Howsmyn have already managed quite enough innovations to give an old sea dog like me nightmares. Solid shot is hard enough on a wooden hull without adding
this
to it. And if Seamount and Howsmyn can figure out how to make this work, then so can someone else. So eventually, we're going to find other people's navies firing the same sort of thing at
us
, and I don't expect we'll enjoy
that
very much. For example, I don't like to think what could have happened to the Ferayd attack if
their
batteries had been equipped with some of these ‘shell'-firing guns Seamount is talking about.”

“I see your point,” she said thoughtfully, although the mention of Ferayd reminded her of other worries.

No one in Charis knew—yet—how the Group of Four was going to respond to the inquisitors' executions. Not that anyone had any intention of sitting around, paralyzed by indecision, while they waited to find out. Copies of the documents Admiral Rock Point had captured had been handed to the printers, and the presses had turned out thousands of additional copies for distribution throughout the Empire . . . and every mainland seaport. She had no intention of rethinking that decision, yet she had to admit that she felt more than a little wary whenever she contemplated the Group of Four's possible responses.

She'd written her husband a long letter which had been
mostly
about political matters and decisions, and enclosed a copy of Rock Point's official report, as well as printed copies of the captured documents, along with it. She knew he was going to be as grimly satisfied with the outcome as she'd been, and she'd already suggested that perhaps some additional knighthoods might be in order. But as she reviewed that same report mentally once more, she realized that Gray Harbor had every right to be concerned about what explosive shells might have done to the admiral's galleons.