How Firm a Foundation (52 page)

The major had become one of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s favorites, although that outcome might not have been assured, given the way he’d deprived the Grand Inquisitor of one of his most anticipated prizes. Even Clyntahn had accepted that that
was scarcely his fault when he’d found himself face-to-face with Hauwerd Wylsynn in personal combat, however, and without Phandys, the Wylsynns might actually have managed to get out of Zion. They wouldn’t have gotten
far,
but the fact that they’d had the chance to run at all would have undermined the Inquisition’s aura of invincibility. The Grand Inquisitor had chosen to look on the bright side,
which explained how Captain Phandys had become
Major
Phandys.

“I understand your desire to make the best and fullest use of Major Phandys, Your Grace,” the archbishop said after a moment. “And I’m looking into possible replacements for him in his current assignment. With all due respect, however, at this time I think it would be wisest to leave him where he is.”

“Why?” Clyntahn asked tersely,
and Rayno shrugged.

“As the Major himself pointed out to me this afternoon, Your Grace, finding someone equally reliable to replace him as Vicar Rhobair’s chief guardian would be difficult. He’s prepared to recommend some potential candidates, but Vicar Allayn would be forced to juggle assignments rather obviously to put one of them into Major Phandys’ present position. And, to be totally honest,
the more I’ve thought about it the more convinced I am that we really do need to keep one of our best and most observant people in charge of Vicar Rhobair’s security.”

The Grand Inquisitor scowled, yet the point about keeping an eye on Duchairn was well taken, at least until they could find someone to replace him as Treasurer. Duchairn clearly knew Phandys was spying on him for the Inquisition,
but he seemed resigned to the fact, and the major had demonstrated a surprising degree of tact. He went out of his way to avoid stepping on Duchairn’s toes, and it was always possible the Treasurer actually appreciated his courtesy. As for Rayno’s other argument, personally, Clyntahn wouldn’t have given a damn if Maigwair had to rearrange assignments to put someone else into Phandys’ position,
but there was still that pestiferous, irritating need to preserve the fiction that the Group of Four remained fully united. If it became
too
obvious Clyntahn and Maigwair were assigning their own men to spy on Duchairn and Trynair, some of the currently cowed vicars might find themselves dangerously—or at least inconveniently—emboldened. And truth to tell, Duchairn was less predictable in many
ways than Trynair, given the Chancellor’s predictable—and manipulable—pragmatism and self-interest.

Rayno was right, he decided. Better to keep one of their best men right where he was until the time finally came to be shut of Duchairn entirely.

“All right,” he growled. “I hate wasting someone of his abilities as a glorified nursemaid, but I suppose you have a point.”

He frowned for another
few seconds, then shrugged.

“All right,” he said again, in a very different tone, changing subjects with his accustomed abruptness. “What’s this we hear from Corisande?”

“Obviously our latest information is sadly out-of-date, as always, Your Grace,” Rayno said a bit cautiously, “but according to my current reports, all of those arrested last year have now been tried. Formal sentencing is awaiting
the arrival of either Cayleb or Sharleyan—probably Sharleyan—but all indications are that the overwhelming majority of those arrested”—even the redoubtable Rayno paused almost imperceptibly to brace himself—“have been found guilty.”

Clyntahn’s expression hardened and his jowls darkened, yet that was all. Some people might have been relieved by his apparent lack of reaction, but Rayno knew the
Grand Inquisitor better than that.

“I don’t suppose,” Clyntahn said in an icy tone, “that anyone in that traitorous bastard Gairlyng’s ‘Church’ raised a single voice in protest?”

“So far as I know, no, Your Grace.” Rayno cleared his throat. “According to our sources, Gairlyng appointed clerics to the courts hearing the accusations as part of the farce that all the required legal procedures had
been followed.”

“Of course he did.” Clyntahn’s jaw muscles quivered for a moment. “We already knew that son-of-a-bitch Anvil Rock and his catamite Tartarian were willing to whore for Cayleb and his bitch any way they asked. So of course the ‘Church of Charis’ is going to just stand by and watch the judicial murder of Mother Church’s loyal sons and daughters! What else could we
expect
?”

His face
darkened steadily, and Rayno braced himself. But then, to the archbishop’s surprise, the Grand Inquisitor wrapped his hands tightly together on his desk, hunched his shoulders, and visibly fought his rage back under control. It didn’t come easily, and he didn’t manage it quickly, but he did manage it in the end.

“You say formal announcement of the verdicts is awaiting Sharleyan’s arrival?” he
asked at last in a hard, tight voice.

“Yes, Your Grace. In fact, if she’s kept to the schedule which was reported to us, she’s already there. She may actually be ready to depart by now.”

“So what you’re saying is that they
have
been announced by now. And, presumably,
carried out
, as well.” Clyntahn bared his teeth. “The bitch isn’t going to leave without the satisfaction of seeing them all killed,
now is she?”

“Presumably not, Your Grace.”

“Do we have any indication of how the population in general’s responding to all of this?”

“Not … really, Your Grace.” Rayno twitched his shoulders unhappily. “So far there haven’t been any indications of organized protest or outrage, but, again, all our reports are months out of date by the time they get here. It’s always possible people have been
waiting for confirmation of the verdicts before they reacted.”

“And it’s always possible they’re just going to sit on their asses and let it happen, too,” Clyntahn said flatly.

“I’m afraid so,” Rayno admitted.

“Then it may be time to stiffen their spines.” Clyntahn’s expression was ugly. “What’s the situation with Coris?”

“Nothing seems to have changed in that regard, Your Grace. As you know,
I’ve got one of our best men planted on him, and Bishop Mytchail has his own agent in King Zhames’ household, as well. Both of them agree Coris is doing what he was told to do.”

“And that he
will
do what we need him to do?”

“Almost certainly, Your Grace.”

“Only
almost?
” Clyntahn’s eyes narrowed.

“I doubt he’d hesitate for a moment, Your Grace, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone knows
he was Hektor’s spymaster—the man who managed Hektor’s assassins, among other things. He has a reputation for personal ambition, and it might occur to him that if anyone was going to be blamed as Cayleb’s tool in Daivyn’s assassination, it would be him. Under the circumstances, I think he’d probably prefer not to give any additional credence to that kind of charge. That assessment is based at least
in part on reports from Master Seablanket, our agent in his household.”

“Hmmmmm.” Clyntahn frowned, stroking his chin meditatively, eyes half-closed, for several seconds. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “that might not be such a bad idea. Letting Coris carry the blame for it, I mean.” He smiled thinly. “He and Anvil Rock and Tartarian all worked together with Hektor, after all. Saddling him
with responsibility—because he saw it as an opportunity to buy Cayleb’s favor the same way they have, no doubt—would smear the two of them by association, too, wouldn’t it?”

“It certainly might, Your Grace.”

“Do you think Seablanket could handle it?”

“I think he
could,
but I’d rather not use him, Your Grace.”

“Why not, especially if he’s already in position?”

“Because he’s too valuable, Your
Grace. If I’m following your logic properly here, we need for the assassin—or for
an
assassin, at any rate—to be taken or killed after the boy is dead. Preferably killed, I should think, if we don’t want any inconvenient interrogations. I’d hesitate to use up someone as capable as Seablanket if we don’t absolutely have to.”

“So who would you use instead?”

“My thought at this moment is that we
might use a team from the Rakurai candidates you approved but haven’t assigned, Your Grace. I’m sure we could select men who would be prepared to see to it that they weren’t taken alive. In fact, we have several more native-born Charisians available.”

Clyntahn cocked his head, then nodded slowly.

“That would be a nice touch, wouldn’t it?” He smiled unpleasantly. “Of course, it would tend to
direct suspicion away from Coris.”

“Only in the sense that it wasn’t actually his hand on the dagger, Your Grace,” Rayno pointed out. “As you suggested, even if he didn’t strike the blow himself, he might have connived with Cayleb. In fact, we might be able to help that perception along a little bit. At the appropriate time, we could instruct him to … creatively weaken Daivyn’s security to let
our assassins in. Seablanket’s in a perfect position to pass him the message when we need to, and it won’t hurt a thing at that point for Coris to realize we’ve been watching him more closely than he thought. And after the fact, if we decide to throw Coris to the slash lizard, the fact that he
did
let the assassins—the
Charisian-born
assassins—into Daivyn’s presence would be the crowning touch.
And if we decided
not
to throw him to the slash lizard after all, we simply wouldn’t have to mention what he did.”

“I like it.” Clyntahn nodded. “All right, pick your team. We’ll see how public opinion in Corisande reacts to Sharleyan’s executions before we actually order them to proceed, but it won’t hurt to have the pieces in position when the time comes.”

.II.

Twyngyth, Duchy of Malikai, Kingdom of Dohlar

Sir Gwylym Manthyr’s eyes opened as the hand shook his shoulder.

On the face of it, it was ridiculous that such a gentle summons could rouse him. Over the last five-day and a half, he’d learned to sleep despite the bone-jarring, jouncing, swaying, rumbling, grating progress of their mobile prison. Just the mind-numbing sound of steel-shod wooden
wheels grinding over the hard surface of the royal high road should have been enough to make anything like sleep impossible, but Manthyr was a lifelong seaman. He’d learned to steal precious moments of sleep even in the teeth of a howling gale, and sheer exhaustion made it easier than it might have been otherwise. He’d never been so tired, so worn to the bone, in his entire life, and he knew
it was even worse for many of his men.

He looked up into Naiklos Vahlain’s face and opened his mouth, but he had to stop and swallow twice before he could moisten his vocal cords enough to speak.

“What is it, Naiklos?”

“Begging your pardon, Sir, but we’re coming into a town. A big one. I think it’s Twyngyth.”

“I see.” Manthyr lay still for another moment, then reached up and grabbed one of
the wagon’s iron bars and used it to haul himself to his feet. He balanced there, despite the shock waves which exploded up his legs and jolted painfully in his spine with the wagon’s motion.

It was odd, a corner of his mind thought. Charis’ highways were adequate to the kingdom’s needs, but nothing like most of the mainland realms boasted. The reason for that, of course, was Howell Bay. Charis
didn’t
need
the sort of road network the mainlanders required, because water transport was always available and far more economical and speedy than even the best of road systems. Despite himself, Manthyr had been impressed by the sheer engineering ability and years of labor it must have taken to build the Dohlaran royal high roads, and their surfaces were hard and smooth, made of multiple layers
of tamped gravel rolled out and then covered with slabs of cement.

And that was what was odd. One wouldn’t have thought a surface that smooth could still be uneven, yet judging from the prison wagon’s painful progress, it obviously could.

He rubbed his aching, gummy eyes and peered through the bars.

Naiklos was right; they were approaching a sizable town or city. Once upon a time, Manthyr had
been accustomed to judging the size of the cities he encountered by comparison to Tellesberg, yet he’d discovered there were others which were larger still. Cherayth, in Chisholm, for example, or Gorath here in Dohlar.
This
town was much smaller than that—barely a third the size of Tellesberg—but it boasted fortified, bastioned walls at least twenty or thirty feet tall, and there was obviously
artillery atop those walls, which argued for a certain importance. And if Manthyr’s memory of the maps of Dohlar were correct (which it might well not be, since he’d been primarily interested in Dohlar’s
coasts
), this almost certainly was Twyngyth.

And won’t
that
be fun
, he thought grimly, knees flexing as his weary body anticipated the jolts. It wasn’t like being at sea, but there were some
similarities.
You had to go and help His Majesty kill that asshole Duke Malikai off Armageddon Reef, didn’t you, Gwylym? I’ll bet his loving family’s been just
praying
for the opportunity to entertain you on your way through
.

*   *   *

“Keep the crowd moving, Captain,” Father Vyktyr Tahrlsahn said. “I’m sure everyone wants to see these bastards, and I want to make sure everyone
gets
to see them,
too. See them from close enough they can smell the vermin’s stink!”

“Aye, Sir.” Captain Walysh Zhu touched his breastplate in salute, but behind that façade of stolid acknowledgment, his brain was busy.

Over the last several days, Zhu had realized Tahrlsahn was even more … zealous than the captain had originally thought. Zhu was as orthodox and conservative as only a Harchongese could be, and
he saw no reason heretics should be accorded the protections of
honorable
prisoners of war. Anyone who gave his allegiance to Shan-wei deserved whatever came his way, after all. On the other hand, Zhu took no particular pleasure from seeing them abused without some specific reason. He’d ordered his Guardsmen to show them why they’d be wise to cooperate that very first day, but there’d been a
purpose
to that beating, a way to establish discipline without actually killing anyone. And, if he was going to be honest, there
had
been a certain personal satisfaction in it, as well. Payback for what their bastard friends had done to the Navy of God and the Imperial Harchongese Navy in the Markovian Sea, if nothing else.