At the Sign of Triumph by David Weber
Kharmych’s eyes gleamed, and he couldn’t quite keep an edge of triumph out of the glance he shot Fern and Salthar. But Thorast wasn’t quite done yet.
“Despite that,” he continued in that same grave tone, “as a military man, I find myself in unhappy agreement with Duke Salthar. General Rychtyr’s done brilliantly in slowing the heretics as much as he has, particularly after the … rash fashion in which the Army of Justice was hazarded—and lost—in the Shiloh Campaign.” He shook his head. “With all the other heavy charges upon the Kingdom—especially those of the Navy, with which I’m particularly familiar—it hasn’t yet been possible for us to reconstitute the strength we lost in Siddarmark. We have well over five and a half thousand miles of coastline, Your Eminence, whereas our entire land border frontier runs less than a thousand miles north-to-south, and after the Western Squadron’s destruction, the heretic navy’s in a position to threaten every single mile of that coast.” He shrugged ever so slightly. “It’s our responsibility—my responsibility, as a servant of the Crown and a member of the Royal Council—to protect all of His Majesty’s subjects, not just my own duchy. Beset by threats from so many directions, we have no choice but to spar for time while we rebuild the strength to take the battle to the heretics. Until we’ve done that, the best we can hope to do is to continue General Rychtyr’s delaying tactics. In time—when our own forces are stronger, or when the results of Mother Church’s other armies have forced the heretics to rethink their posture here in the south—not only will we stand and fight, we’ll retake the offensive and drive the Jihad through to final victory. Until then, however, I believe General Rychtyr’s strategy is the best available to us. And I also think the Army of the Seridahn as a whole has a great deal of confidence in him. If we were to relieve him at this time, the damage to the army’s morale might be severe.”
Kharmych sat back in his chair, his thunderous expression one of mingled anger, frustration, and surprise, and Fern hid a tart smile.
Didn’t see that one coming either, did you, Father? he thought. Wouldn’t have, either, if Shain and I hadn’t worked on him for a couple of hours first! Probably wouldn’t have brought him around in the end, anyway, if he realized Thirsk’s the one who wrote that analysis he just delivered instead of Shain! Or if most of the wealth in Thorast wasn’t in the west, closer to Erekston and Lake Sheryl, for that matter. Aside from Shandyr the only things eastern Thorast has are farmers and forests, and those don’t pay much in the way of taxes. But he did come through nicely in the end. So now what do you do?
The first councilor kept his eyes on Kharmych, but his attention was actually focused on Lainyr. The intendant was probably a better barometer of Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s attitude, but Lainyr would offer a far better measure of the Group of Four’s actual policy.
“Your Grace,” the intendant said, rallying and leaning forward once more, “while I know you speak from the heart, surely—”
“A moment, Ahbsahlahn,” Lainyr said.
The bishop executor’s expression was stony, his eyes hard, but he placed a restraining hand on Kharmych’s arm and inclined his head ever so slightly in Fern’s direction.
“Your Grace, I see you and your colleagues have, indeed, thought these issues through.” He showed his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “While I might … differ with certain of your conclusions, Dohlar is your Kingdom. The spiritual welfare of King Rahnyld’s subjects is the duty of Archbishop Trumahn, Father Ahbsahlahn, and myself, but the burden of their secular welfare rests rightfully upon the King’s shoulders and in your hands, as his servants. Certainly no one could fault the energy and devotion Dohlar’s brought to the Jihad from the very beginning. If it seemed in any way that I’d suggested differently, I assure you that was never my intention. If you, as the secular authorities here in Dohlar, are satisfied with General Rychtyr’s strategy, then certainly I am! It was never a question of his devotion to God or Mother Church. I believe Sir Clyftyn may well have a point about his mounting fatigue, and as one of his spiritual shepherds, I beg you to keep watch upon him. Don’t drive him beyond his breaking point or lay burdens upon him which may be too heavy for his weary shoulders. Beyond that admonition, I leave the conduct of the battle against the heretics here in Dohlar in your capable hands.”
Well, someone in Zion’s developing a case of nerves, Fern thought. I wonder who? It’s got the feel of Trynair’s touch, but Clyntahn must be more … anxious than I’d thought, too. Maybe even he can figure out how badly he got his fingers burned here in Dohlar with that whole business with Thirsk’s family?
Whatever it was, the decision not to push if King Rahnyld’s ministers declined to relieve Rychtyr had clearly come from Zion, not from Archbishop Trumahn or from Lainyr. That was interesting. In fact, that was very interesting.
They’re afraid we’ll become another Desnair and they obviously need us more than they needed the Desnairians. But this goes farther than that. We’re in deep trouble, but we’re not exactly on the brink of collapse yet. But I have to wonder about this … reasonableness on Clyntahn’s part. We’re not simply anchoring their southern flank right now, we’re also a lot closer to Zion and the Temple Lands—for that matter, to the Mighty Host!—than Desnair. That give them a bigger stick in our case, so, logically, they should be less concerned about us deciding to … opt out of the Jihad. And if they’re worried about I anyway, why the velvet glove? Where are Clyntahn’s decrees and demands? The command that we recall Rychtyr … and the veiled—and not so veiled—threats like the ones he used against Thirsk if we decided to be obstinate about it? Could he be becoming less confident about the Inquisition’s power here in Dohlar? Or is there something else in play? Something about this summer’s campaign they haven’t told us about?
“Your Eminence,” he said out loud, “I never thought for a moment that you questioned Sir Fahstyr’s courage or devotion.” He shook his head with a smile. “No one who knows him could question either of those! But it’s certainly fair for others, especially friends like Sir Clyftyn, to worry about the strain of the burden he’s carried for so long. The fact that he expressed those worries to you, and that you—as the acting shepherd of the entire archbishopric—brought them in turn to us speaks well for the regard in which Sir Fahstyr is held by all those who know him.”
The first councilor of Dohlar smiled again, bending his head in a graceful nod of thanks.
“I assure you, Your Eminence,” he continued, “we’ll be mindful of both the burdens we ask him to bear and of the responsibility we bear, as you’ve just reminded us, for the secular welfare of all of King Rahnyld’s subjects.”
.V.
Protector’s Palace,
Siddar City,
Republic of Siddarmark;
and
Claw Island,
Sea of Harchong.
“Congratulations, Cayleb!” Greyghor Stohnar, Lord Protector of the Republic of Siddarmark, extended his hand with a huge smile as Cayleb Ahrmahk entered the conference room with Aivah Pahrsahn at his side and Merlin Athrawes at his heels. “I’ve just been reading the copy of Baron Sarmouth’s dispatches you forwarded to us. We don’t use decadent things like patents of nobility here in the Republic, of course, but if we did, I’d say that man deserves promotion to some title way beyond a mere baron!”
“Yes, he has done rather well by us, hasn’t he?” Cayleb responded, clasping the Lord Protector’s forearm firmly. “On the other hand, I’m not too sure he’d actually like being known as ‘Earl Shipworm,’ you know!”
Stohnar laughed in acknowledgment, but then Cayleb grimaced.
“He got hurt worse than we could wish, but you’re still right. I hate losing even one man we don’t have to, but in cold-blooded terms, the elimination of Raisahndo’s squadron was worth every drop of blood it cost. And neither he nor Earl Sharpfield like to let the grass grow under their feet.”
“I have to admit I spent a rather pleasant evening last night—with a good bottl
He bestowed another kiss on the back of her hand and beamed at her, and she smiled in gracious acknowledgment of the compliment. Someone from a cave hidden in the Mountains of Light made a rude sound in her earplug, but she ignored it. Someone had to be the public face of the strategy, and they couldn’t exactly credit a prince who’d been dead for several years.
“It’s been obvious from all our reports that they’d on shipping in an awful lot of the support he’ll need covering the Snakes and protecting Tymkyn Gap,” Parkair continued in a tone of profound satisfaction. “This means Teagmahn—and Walkyr, now that he’s reached Glydahr—will have to share their part of the overland supply route with him. So he’s going to be short of the material support he’d anticipated, and Walkyr won’t be able to build up as rapidly or as strongly as he’d hoped, either. We’ve always been a land power, and I don’t think I ever fully appreciated how valuable seaborne logistics could be. Which is probably because no one’s ever fought a war on this scale before. But you Charisians have shown me a thing or three, and I think the lesson Baron Sarmouth’s just taught the Temple Boys is a lot more painful than my lessons’ve been.”
“Fair’s fair,” Cayleb said. “We Old Charisians never had an army to speak of, but even Sharleyan’s Chisholmians had a lot to learn about mainland logistics—especially canals—from you people.”
“That’s probably true,” Parkair conceded. “With both sides trashing canals as they retreat, though, that seaborne side of things is even more important. And when the ice melts in the Passage and your slash hounds get loose again in those waters, those Temple bastards—all those Temple bastards—will find themselves between the proverbial rock and a hard place.”
“Yes, they are,” Cayleb acknowledged with an answering smile. But then, as Merlin pulled out one of the heavy chairs at the conference table and seated Aivah in it, that smile faded a bit around the edges.
“They are, but that simplifies the strategic equation for them, as well as for us. The only way we can come at them is from the front, and they know it.” He grimaced. “The decision to move Silken Hills south helps from our perspective, but those damned fortifications of his are still going to be there. Walkyr may not be as well-equipped to defend them as the Mighty Host would have been, but his men will be a lot more effective—and kill a lot more of our men—fighting from them than any of us is going to like.
“I have to admit, I’d almost prefer to let Walkyr get himself thoroughly settled while we very quietly pulled troops back to the Passage coast on Baron Green Valley’s right. If we did that and combined them, the Army of the Hildermoss, and some of the new drafts from Chisholm, we could put together a tidy little amphibious force to drop on the Temple Lands coast the same way we got around behind the Corisandians in Manchyr. They couldn’t pull enough men to stop us back from the Host without uncovering the Holy Langhorne, and now that they’re basically sending every man the Army of God has forward to cover Rainbow Waters’ right flank they wouldn’t have a reserve that could stand up to us any more than General Gahrvai did in Corisande.”
“That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?” Parkair murmured, a speculative light gleaming in his eyes, but Cayleb shook his head.
“First of all, we can’t count on their sending everything forward to Walkyr. As you just pointed out, what’s happening in the Gulf of Dohlar’s going to force them into some fairly fundamental logistic reconsiderations, and they may decide it’s more important to move artillery and ammunition than manpower. More importantly, though, the Mountains of Light are just a bit more of a barrier than the Dark Hills were, and unless we could simultaneously cut the Holy Langhorne behind then—which would mean we’d still have to punch through their front somewhere—we couldn’t starve the Host out the way we could General Gharvi’s army. If we couldn’t finish them off in the field before winter—or at least link up with Green Valley through the Mountains of Light so our people didn’t starve over the winter—we’d have to pull them back out, and that would be a copper-plated bitch.”
“I agree it would be a decisive stroke, if we could pull it off,” Stohnar said soberly, sinking into his own chair. “But you’re right. Too much could go wrong. Sometimes it’s better to stick with the frontal approach, even if you know it’s going to be costly, if you’re confident it will still work. And barring the sort of miracle those bastards in Zion sure as hell don’t deserve, this will work, Cayleb.”
“I think it will, too,” Cayleb acknowledged, taking his chair at the other end of the table, with Merlin at his shoulder.
“That doesn’t mean it’s not going to be bloody as hell, though,” the emperor continued more bleakly. “It would help a lot if Rainbow Waters was as incompetent as Kaitswyrth.”
“Although I realize Duke Harless would tend to disprove what I’m about to say,” Parkair said dryly, “no one has any right to expect two opponents as toweringly incompetent as Kaitswyrth in a single generation, far less the same war.”
“I’m afraid that’s true,” Samyl Gohdard, the Republic’s keeper of the seal, agreed sourly.
“Then let’s be grateful for the ones we’ve been given,” Aivah suggested.
“And the fact that we have been given more than one of them would seem to further underscore whose side God is truly on,” Archbishop Dahnyld Fardhym put in. “Of course, I’m probably a little biased on that subject.”
A mutter of laughter ran around the table, and Stohnar grinned.
“I think we all find ourselves in agreement on that point, Dahnyld,” he told the archbishop.
“Absolutely,” Cayleb said firmly. “And, sort of on that head, there’s another bit of news I’d like to deliver before we get into discussing our most recent status reports from Duke Eastshare, Baron Green Valley, and General Stohnar.”
“More evidence God’s on our side?” Stohnar leaned back and crossed his legs. “That sort of thing is always welcome, Cayleb!”
“Well, this is actually more Aivah and Merlin’s news than mine.” The emperor waved one hand in an airy gesture. “More of that devious, underhanded, sweaty spy stuff Daryus has just been talking about, you understand.”
“Only too well, Your Majesty,” Henrai Maidyn, the Republic’s chancellor of the exchequer and spymaster, said feelingly.
He remained astonished and perplexed—in a pleasant but nonetheless worrisome fashion—by the incredible efficacy of Charis’ seijin-backed spy networks. For the present, he was delighted by that efficacy, but even the closest of allies would need to keep an eye on their friends once the war against the Group of Four ended and the more usual game of thrones resumed. If the seijins continued to support Charisian intelligence efforts when that longed for day arrived.…
“Madam Pahrsahn?” Stohnar invited.
“Our agents report that the Dohlaran Council—or at least its two most important members, Fern and Salthar—are being … less than totally subservient to the Group of Four’s demands,” Aivah said. “There’s nothing overt we can point to, and they certainly aren’t defying the Temple. But Clyntahn, at least, would clearly like to see Rychtyr removed from the Army of the Seridahn in favor of a more aggressive commander, and Fern and Salthar have declined to do anything of the sort. Not only that, they appear to be sitting on Thorast in that regard, despite the fact that Earl Hanth is well into Thorast’s duchy.”
“I suppose I’m happy to hear Fern and the others may finally be growing big enough balls—you should pardon the expression, please, Aivah—to stop licking Clyntahn’s hand like obedient little puppies,” Stohnar said. “On the other hand, I’d love for them to put someone
“True,” Aivah agree with a smile.”But that’s only one straw in the wind. A significant one, perhaps, but not as significant as some of our other reports. There are indications—and I stress that at this point they’re only indications—that Earl Thirsk and General Ahlverez may be thinking in terms of … a Dohlaran exit strategy completely independent of anything Fern may have in mind.”
Stohnar came upright in his chair and Parkair’s eyes widened abruptly.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” the Lord Protector said after a moment. Aivah nodded, and Stohnar frowned. “I realize you said you had only indications, but how strong are they?”
“We can confirm that they’ve held several meetings now,” she said. “Given the enmity between them prior to the Shiloh Campaign, that would be informative enough in its own right, I think. Anything that could bring the two of them together—my destiny, especially with Ahlverez still under such a cloud in the Church’s eyes and what just happened to Thirsk’s family, would have to be pretty important. In this case, however, the individual who’s brokered those meetings may be even more significant.”
“Really?” Maidyn leaned forward with an intent expression. “And who would that individual be?”
“Staiphan Maik,” she said simply, and Parkair muttered an incredulous oath.
“Thirsk’s intendant is … facilitating secret meetings between him and Ahlverez?” Stohnar said in the tone of a man who wanted to be very sure he’d understood correctly.
“That’s exactly what he’s doing.” Aivah nodded. “It appears that what happened to Thirsk’s family was something of a tipping point for Maik, as well.” Her tone was somber. “The man may be a Schuelerite, but evidently his order hasn’t managed to amputate his conscience the way it’s done for so many of Clyntahn’s other hand-picked representatives.”