By Heresies Distressed (90 page)

“So just when are you going to darken my doorway so we can begin working on this little problem?” Sharleyan asked, and her own tone was rather pointed, Cayleb noticed.

“Soon, I think,” he replied more seriously. “This afternoon, I met with Tartarian and Anvil Rock for the fifth time. There were a couple of points they wanted to talk about, but they obviously realize they have no choice but to sign on the dotted line in the end. They're going to, Sharleyan, and as soon as they do, I'm installing General Chermyn down here as my interim viceroy, and
Empress of Charis
and I are setting sail for Cherry Bay.”

“Good!”

“The only question in my mind is how I'm going to be greeted when I arrive,” Cayleb continued.

“If you mean here in the Palace, I don't think anyone could care less, either way, whether or not you had Hektor murdered,” Sharleyan replied. “Oh, some people are going to be worried about it, and still more are probably going to pretend to be horrified by the very notion, but the truth is that everybody knows Hektor would've had you and your father assassinated in a moment if he'd thought he could get away with it. In fact, I'd estimate that half the nobles in Chisholm think he was involved in Tirian's assassination plot, whatever Nahrmahn—or you—might have to say about it. And the possibility that you did order it is working in our favor, in some ways. I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find out Merlin's SNARCs are reporting that the members of the nobility most likely to conspire against us with the Temple Loyalists are . . . reevaluating their positions in light of the belief that you'll simply have them killed if they turn into too much of a problem.”

“Wonderful.” Sharleyan's imagination could almost literally see Cayleb rolling his eyes. “Who was that Old Earth political writer you mentioned to me the other day, Merlin?”

“Machiavelli,” Merlin replied. His voice was even clearer than Cayleb's, and that, Sharleyan realized, was because it was being transmitted directly from Merlin's built-in communicator.

“That was the one,” Cayleb agreed. “I guess I'm going to find out whether he was right about its being better to be feared than to be loved.” He sighed. “Well, Father always said it was essential that your
enemies
fear you. I'm not too sure I like the notion of being feared by my own subjects, though.”

“I think you only have to worry about that where the nobility is concerned,” Sharleyan said reassuringly. “The common folk are even more inclined to think you had Hektor killed. The difference between them and the nobility is that they don't have any reservations about it, if you did. In fact, they've been lighting bonfires to celebrate Hektor's death—and in salute to you for having brought it about—ever since the news broke. I have mentioned that Hektor wasn't very popular here in Chisholm, haven't I?”

“Once or twice, I suppose,” Cayleb conceded.

“Well, there you have it.” Sharleyan shrugged. “We can't do anything about the way the Church is going to use this for propaganda, and Nahrmahn and Merlin are both right. Even if the Church—or Clyntahn, at least—didn't actually order the murders, they're still going to use what happened as a hammer to beat both of us with. But as far as our own people are concerned, even if we did it, it's perfectly all right with them. As a matter of fact, some of them actually seem to regard it as a sort of appropriate vengeance for Halcom's attempt to murder
me
.”

“What?” Sharleyan heard the confusion in his voice and giggled.

“Of course it is, silly! I know we've officially exonerated Hektor of any involvement in Halcom's plot, but there's no way my people are going to give up a perfectly good conspiracy theory!”

“Wonderful,” Cayleb said again, his tone more than moderately disgusted. “If
they
all believe it, then it's going to be damned hard to convince anyone
else
of the truth.”

“We'll just have to do the best we can. And in the meantime, getting you back here to Chisholm to spend a few months with
both
of us in residence—like the Empire's constitution requires, if memory serves—should pretty much finish cementing Chisholm's acceptance of the new political arrangements. Of course,” she smiled wickedly out the window, “that's going to mean you get to spend the
winter
here in Chisholm. We have this thing here that you may not have seen in Charis. It's called ‘snow.' ”

“I
have
heard of the phenomenon,” Cayleb told her with dignity. “But surely you don't mean to say it's so cold in Chisholm that it actually sticks to the ground without melting, do you?”

“It has been known to happen,” she assured him solemnly.

“Well, in that case, from now on we're spending the winters in Charis.”

“That would be my choice, too, all things considered together. Or maybe not. Not at the moment, at any rate.”

“Why not?” He tried to keep his tone light, but she heard the sudden spike of worry in its depths, and smiled again.

“Don't worry. It's not because I mistrust our Charisians any more than I mistrust our Chisholmians. It's just that it's just occurred to me that it
is
going to be cold here in Cherayth, isn't it?”

“And?” Cayleb asked with suspicious caution.

“Well, if it's
really
cold, then a poor, thin-blooded southern boy such as yourself is going to be looking for any source of warmth he can find.”

“And?” Cayleb repeated.

“And,” she said sweetly, “right off the top of my head, I can't think of anything much warmer than a nice, big bed right here in the Palace, with big, thick quilts and comforters. If we manage it right, we might not have to come out at all before spring.”

We spend too much time in council chambers like this
, Rhobair Duchairn thought.
For that matter, we spend too much time inside the Temple, and too little time out in God's world. We're too busy enjoying the luxury of the Temple to appreciate the rest of the world the Archangels built for us. And the one everyone else has no choice but to live in all year round
.

It was a thought which had occurred to him with increasing frequency over the last year or two, and he'd made an effort to do something about it. Yet however hard he tried, the responsibilities of his offices, and the deepening dangers and challenges which confronted the Church on every hand, kept drawing him back.

It's going to be even worse, once winter settles in again
, he warned himself.
Once the snow gets deep enough, once it gets cold enough out there, you're going to find even more reasons to stay comfortably inside, insulated from all that . . . unpleasantness
.

There was a metaphor in that, he thought. And not one that had anything to do with weather.

He looked up as Zahmsyn Trynair came through the door. The Chancellor was running late, the last of the Group of Four to arrive, and he gave them a brief, tight smile of apology.

“Forgive me, Brothers,” he said. “My office had just received a dispatch from Desnair, and I thought it best to have it deciphered before I came.”

“And did it say anything interesting?” Zhaspahr Clyntahn growled from his place at the council table.

“There were some interesting observations in it,” Trynair replied. “Nothing particularly earth shattering. Most of it consisted of secondhand reports on what the Charisians have been doing to completely finish off Delferahk's shipping. Apparently, their Admiral Rock Point has begun sending cutting-out expeditions even into neutral ports now—in broad daylight, as often as not—to take out or burn any Delferahk-flagged ship. I've had copies made for all of us, especially for you, Allayn.”

Allayn Maigwair nodded in thanks, although the gratitude in his expression was scarcely unalloyed. He'd become painfully aware that his was the most precarious position of any of the Group of Four. Despite the fact that officially it was
he
who had realized the Church was going to require a navy of galleons, not galleys, the fact remained that no one—with the possible exception of Duchairn—could really count the number of marks which had been poured into their useless galley fleet, first. And there were persistent rumors that it was actually Clyntahn who had recognized Maigwair's initial mistake. Rumors, Maigwair strongly suspected, which had originated with the Grand Inquisitor himself . . . and which carried with them a damnation of Maigwair's own judgment which was, unfortunately, only too accurate in this instance.

“Was there anything more about Hektor's assassination?” Clyntahn asked.

“Only about the rumors and speculations swirling around in Desnair,” Trynair said. He looked at Clyntahn with carefully concealed speculation. “I haven't had any new reports about the actual event. Have you?”

“No.” Clyntahn shook his head. “If I had, I would certainly have brought them to everyone's attention.”

“Everyone,” in this case, meant the other members of the Group of Four, of course, Duchairn thought sourly.

“I wish we did have more reliable information about it,” he said aloud, watching Clyntahn's expression from behind outwardly calm eyes. “That whole affair still seems . . . odd to me.”

“What's ‘odd' about it?” Clyntahn snorted disdainfully. “Cayleb obviously had the man killed. He had reasons enough, as far as he was concerned, even before he married Sharleyan. And the entire world knows how much
that
bitch hated Hektor!”

Something about Clyntahn's dismissive, almost casual assignment of guilt clicked down inside Rhobair Duchairn. The Treasurer General's eyes flicked sideways to Trynair's, and saw the same realization there. Both of them, Duchairn knew, had wondered from the outset. Now they knew.

“Yes, well,” Trynair said, “whoever arranged it,” he was very carefully not looking in Clyntahn's direction, Duchairn realized, “it leaves us with some interesting dilemmas.”

“We've had enough of
those
for the last couple of years,” Clyntahn observed. “I don't see how a few more are going to make all that much difference.”

“I hope you'll forgive me, Zhaspahr,” Trynair said with just a hint of asperity, “but quite a few of
these
dilemmas are going to fall into the political arena. That makes them of rather more than passing interest to me and to my office. And, I would have thought, they'll undoubtedly have implications for the Inquisition, as well.”

Clyntahn's jowly face tightened for just an instant, but then it smoothed again, and he nodded.

“You're right,” he conceded, which was about as close to an apology as he ever came.

“Thank you.”

Trynair settled into his place at the head of the table and looked around at the other three faces.

“At the moment, of course, as we're all well aware, all of our information on Hektor's murder is fragmentary and secondhand, at best. I'm sure we all hope we're going to get more reliable reports—from Bishop Executor Thomys, preferably—soon. On the other hand, it's already September. It's not going to be many more five-days before the weather begins closing down our ability to send and receive messages, even with the semaphore. I think we're going to have to go ahead and decide how to begin responding to this with the information we already have, however unsatisfactory it may be in some respects.”

“Obviously, the first thing to do,” Clyntahn said, “is to condemn the bloody actions of Cayleb, Sharleyan, and the rest of the apostate leadership. I realize Hektor and his son were only two more lives against all of the thousands who have already died because of their defiance of Mother Church. But if they're prepared to murder reigning princes and their heirs this casually, it indicates an entirely new level of danger.”

“In what way, Zhaspahr?” Duchairn asked. He was actually a bit surprised he'd been able to keep his tone so neutral.

“The sheer brazenness of it, for one thing,” Clyntahn replied. “The fact that they're willing to murder their opponents so openly only underscores their contempt for the rest of the world's judgment and condemnation. And, of course, it's going to have implications for other princes and kings, isn't it? Who can ever be certain a Charisian assassin isn't stalking
them
if they appear to be some sort of obstacle to Cayleb's and Sharleyan's obscene ambition? Besides, we're talking about an act of
murder
, Rhobair. The murder of not just anyone, but of a prince consecrated by Mother Church herself, and one who was waging God's own fight against the forces of apostasy! I realize they've already demonstrated in Ferayd that they were willing to murder even priests of God, but now they've proven they'll murder anyone, and without even the benefit of a show trial like the one in Ferayd. Hektor's a martyr, yet another martyr in the holy war against Charis and the forces of Darkness. We owe it to his memory, to God, and to Mother Church to make that clear to every member of the faithful!”