At the Sign of Triumph by David Weber
Between Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s purges and the Fist of God, the vicarate had been reduced by more than a third since the Armageddon Reef campaign, and well over a quarter of the survivors had retired to private life, mostly to avoid lengthy imprisonments, over the past few months. Forty-two of their fellows hadn’t been given that option. Much of the evidence against what had come to be known as “the Forty-Two” had been assembled over decades of patient effort by the murdered Wylsynn brothers and their allies, and Grand Vicar Rhobair had pressed their prosecutions relentlessly. Thirty-four had already been sentenced—eighteen of them to death—and the remaining eight trials were in their closing stages. Acquittal was … unlikely, and Stohnar suspected the Grand Vicar had been motivated almost as much by his debt to the Wylsynns as by the need to see justice done.
Yet justice must be done—not only done, but seen to be done—if anyone was ever to trust the Temple again. The man Zion called the Good Shepherd understood that the Church of God Awaiting must be cleansed, restored and—especially—reformed as transparently as possible. That was one reason he’d refused to fill the vacancies in the vicarate by appointment. That had been the grand vicar’s prerogative under church law that went back over five centuries, but these vacancies would be filled by election by their fellow vicars.
Not that he wasn’t prepared to use his prerogatives ruthlessly where he deemed necessary.
The Temple Lands were in the process of a major political reorganization. Stohnar suspected the Grand Vicar would have preferred to shift from direct ecclesiastic rule to some form of secular government. That clearly wasn’t going to happen, but he had managed to end the practice which had developed over the last two hundred years of appointing vicars to govern the episcopates. Instead, they’d become what they’d been originally: archbishoprics, governed by prelates appointed by the Grand Vicar with the advice and consent of the vicarate. He’d also abolished the Knights of the Temple Lands and eliminated the special privileges and exemptions of the Temple Lands’ clerical administrators. And, for good measure, he’d decreed that henceforth Mother Church’s archbishops would follow the Charisian model and spend a minimum of eight months out of every year in their archbishoprics, not Zion.
He’d overhauled the system of ecclesiastic courts just as completely as the vicarate and the episcopate. They’d been removed from the Order of Schueler’s jurisdiction and restored to the Order of Langhorne. The office of Grand Inquisitor had been abolished and a new Adjutant, Archbishop Ignaz Aimaiyr, had been appointed to oversee the Inquisition’s complete reform. Aimaiyr was about as popular a choice as anyone could have been … which, admittedly, wasn’t saying a great deal at the moment.
The Grand Vicar had come under enormous pressure to push even farther and simply abolish the Punishment, or, at least, to renounce its use as the Church of Charis had, but he’d refused. Horrible as the Punishment was, it was too deeply established within the Holy Writ to abolish it without fundamentally rewriting the Writ, and that was farther than a man like Rhobair Duchairn was prepared to go. Yet he’d taken steps to prevent the way in which it had been abused and perverted.
To insure there would be no more Zhaspahr Clyntahns, he’d replaced the office of Grand Inquisitor with a new three-vicar Court of Inquisition with its members drawn from the Orders of Langhorne, Bédard, and Pasquale; the Order of Schueler was specifically denied a seat. The Grand Vicar would formulate policy for the Inquisition; the adjutant would administer it; and the Court would determine who had—or hadn’t—violated fundamental doctrine. Never again would a single vicar possess the authority to condemn even a single child of God, far less entire realms, for heresy. Moreover, any conviction for heresy by the Court of Inquisition could be appealed to the vicarate as a whole, and the Punishment of Schueler could be inflicted only after the sentence had been confirmed by a majority vote of the entire vicarate and the Grand Vicar.
The Punishment would remain … but whether it would ever again be applied was another matter entirely, given the restrictions with which Grand Vicar Rhobair had hedged it about.
There were some—including Greyghor Stohnar—who had mixed feelings about that. The Lord Protector could think of at least two dozen Inquisitors who’d thoroughly earned their own Punishment. But if they’d escaped the Punishment, they hadn’t escaped punishment. The Grand Vicar had promised justice as the critical component of the minimum peace terms the Allies would accept, and he was keeping that promise. Over three hundred ex-Inquisitors, most of them from the concentration camps, had been stripped of their priestly office so that they might be arraigned before secular Siddarmarkian courts for crimes which ran the gamut from theft and extortion to rape, torture, and murder.
There were those, Stohnar knew, who felt the Grand Vicar was casting too wide a net. Who pointed out—quietly—that some of the accused had acted not as Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s tools but from the genuine belief that God Himself had called them to extirpate heresy by any means necessary.
Maybe they truly thought they were serving God, the lord protector thought now. And maybe in some grand scheme of things that makes a difference. But it doesn’t make one to me, by God.
Twenty-six million people had lived in the third of the Republic which had been occupied by the Army of God. Seven million of them had been murdered in Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s concentration camps. Another four and a half million had died during the Sword of Schueler’s violence or perished more slowly from starvation or exposure trying to escape it. And another four and a half million had fled from the Republic, or been forcibly resettled to the Temple Lands by the Church’s military. Eleven and a half million dead and four and a half million refugees represented twelve percent of the Republic’s pre-Jihad population, and that didn’t count the military casualties suffered by the Siddarmarkian Army, both during the Sword of Schueler and after it.
The refugees, especially, were going to be a thorny issue. The hatred between the Temple Loyalists who’d supported the Sword of Schueler and the Church’s invasion and those who’d remained loyal to the Republic was arsenic-bitter and as deep as the Western Ocean. Stohnar didn’t know if it could ever be healed … and even if it could, it would be the work of generations.
Ultimately, we’ll have to find some way to address the refugees’ status. Figure out if they can ever come home—or, for that matter, what happens to property they abandoned when they refugeed out. But I’ll be damned if I see any answers. Hell, at least a quarter of them are probably guilty of murder! So do we insist on trying to investigate them all somehow? Figure out who’s guilty and hang the bastards? Or do we admit we can’t do that at this point? Just let them all come home with some sort of blanket amnesty, if that’s what they want? And how the hell do I keep the Sword’s survivors from massacring them all if they do?
A solution—or, at least, a resolution—would have to be found … eventually. That was why he and the Grand Vicar had appointed Arthyn Zagyrsk, the Archbishop of Tarikah, Zhasyn Cahnyr, and Dahnyld Fardhym to a commission which was very quietly attempting to address the issue. Stohnar didn’t expect them to succeed, but if anyone could find an answer, it would probably be those three.
And the truth is that dealing with that one is probably the easy part!
Despite all Grand Vicar Rhobair’s efforts, a chasm yawned between the Temple and Siddarmark, one Stohnar doubted could ever be fully bridged. Too many in Siddarmark had lost too much—and too many—to the atrocities the Temple had permitted to happen. Perhaps a quarter of Siddarmark’s remaining population self-identified as Temple Loyalists. Another twenty percent had formally embraced the Church of Charis. But that left over half who weren’t prepared to become members of the Church of Charis but were equally determined never to submit to the doctrinal authority of the Temple again.
I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing how all that settles out. At least Duchairn’s been smart enough to officially proclaim that neither the Church of Charis nor the “Church of Siddarmark”
The Church of Charis continued to deny the authority of the Grand Vicar, whoever that Grand Vicar might be, which constituted a significant violation of church law. But Grand Vicar Rhobair had declared that there was a difference between church law and church doctrine, and that so long as any church adhered to the teachings and requirements of the Holy Writ, it could never be heretical. He held out hopes—officially, at least—that reconciliation and reunification might someday be possible.
Might get the first of those, Stohnar thought. No way in hell is he going to get reunification—not with Charis. But maybe reconciliation and peaceful coexistence will be good enough. Surely to God we’ve all learned that oceans of blood aren’t the way to resolve doctrinal dis—
“Excuse me, Your Majesties.”
A deep voice pulled Stohnar up out of his thoughts.
“Yes, Merlin?” Emperor Cayleb said, turning to face the seijin who’d just entered the sitting room.
“Merlin!” the crown princess squealed, holding out her arms to her godfather, and the tall, armored seijin laughed.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he told her, touching the tip of her nose with an index finger. “I’ve got the duty tonight.”
“Oh.” Alahnah frowned, but she was the daughter of monarchs. She’d already started learning about duty. “Breakfast?”
“Probably not.” Merlin’s sapphire eyes met Cayleb’s. “There’s something the grown-ups have to do tomorrow morning. I think it’ll probably keep us busy at least until lunchtime, but I’ll see you then.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, promise. Satisfied, Your Imperial Highness?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her nose in a credible imitation of one of her father’s sniffs. Merlin chuckled, but then he looked back at Cayleb and Sharleyan.
“Earl Thirsk and his daughters have arrived,” he told them. “I showed them to the dining room. Irys and Hektor are keeping them company, and I told them you’d be joining them shortly.”
“Was Archbishop Staiphan able to come?” Sharleyan asked, reaching up to lift Alahnah down from her perch.
“Not yet, Your Majesty. Earl Thirsk tells me the Archbishop’s been delayed but still hopes to be able to join you this evening. The Earl’s best estimate is that he’ll be another hour or so. And he says the Archbishop specifically ordered him to tell you not to wait supper. Something about warming pans, chafing dishes, and desecrating the second-best kitchen in Siddar City.”
“That sounds like him.” Cayleb chuckled, then looked at his daughter. “Now, let me see. Would you rather eat the supper with a bunch of boring grown-ups or eat upstairs in the nursery with Zhosifyn and Zhudyth?”
“Upstairs!” Alahnah said promptly, and Cayleb shook his head mournfully.
“Abandoned again,” he sighed.
“I’ll take her, Your Majesty,” Glahdys Parkyr said, and Sharleyan kissed the top of her head before she passed her across to the nanny.
“I wonder how many dynastic alliances come out of suppers in nurseries?” Stohnar mused as Alahnah was carried away, waving a grand farewell to the adults, and it was Sharleyan’s turn to chuckle.
“I don’t know if it’s going to turn into a ‘dynastic alliance,’ My Lord, but I can’t see how well she and Earl Thirsk’s granddaughters get along hurting anyway!”
That was one way to put it, Stohnar reflected. Lywys Gardynyr had been confirmed not simply as First Councilor of Dohlar but as regent to King Rahnyld V, following Rahnyld IV’s abdication. It would be a four-year regency, and given Thirsk’s age, he’d probably retire as soon as he’d seen his new king take up his crown in his own right. It looked as if the youngster would be a marked improvement on his father, who—to be fair—had never wanted to be king, and if Thirsk planned on retiring, Sir Rainos Ahlverez, the newly created Earl of Dragon Island and the Duke of Salthar’s successor on the Royal Council, would maintain a certain continuity. For that matter, Staiphan Maik, the new Archbishop of Dohlar, was also a member of the Regency Council, and unless he wound up elevated to the vicarate—a distinct possibility, at least in a few years—he’d be yet another steadying influence on the youngster.
In the meantime, the Kingdom of Dohlar had established remarkably cordial relations with the Empire of Charis. The fact that Cayleb and Sharleyan’s seijin allies had saved Thirsk’s family from almost certain death despite what had happened to Gwylym Manthyr and his men hadn’t been lost on the kingdom at large. Nor had the care Baron Sarmouth had taken to avoid civilian casualties in the attack on Gorath … or Caitahno Raisahndo’s return, unharmed, along with every Dohlaran sailor, soldier, and officer who’d surrendered to the Charisians. A lot of Dohlarans and Charisians had killed one another over the last eight years, but compared to the carnage in Siddarmark, they’d fought a remarkably clean war. It had ended in mutual respect, and according to Henrai Maidyn, at least a dozen Charisians, including Duke Delthak, were already pursuing Dohlaran investment opportunities.
In fact, Dohlar seemed poised to come out of the jihad in remarkably good shape. There were moments when Stohnar found himself resenting that, but Charis was making even more investments in Siddarmark. And however well Dohlar might be doing, Desnair and Harchong were a rather different story.
The Desnairians still had their gold mines. That was about it, and Desnairian fury had been unbridled, albeit impotent, when the Allies announced that the Republic and Empire of Charis jointly guaranteed the independence of the Grand Duchy of Silkiah in perpetuity. And Stohnar took a certain pleasure out of contemplating the reaction in Desnair the City when Emperor Mahrys learned about Charisian plans to deepen and broaden the Salthar Canal to permit actual oceanic shipping to cross the grand duchy without ever touching a Desnairian seaport. Delferahk probably wouldn’t be hugely pleased by the notion, either.
As for the Harchongians, South Harchong appeared to be relatively comfortable with Grand Vicar Rhobair’s reforms. For that matter, the South Harchongians were in the process of extending cautious feelers towards Charis and the acquisition of the new manufacturing techniques, as well. They weren’t pleased with the outcome of the war, and South Harchong had shown no desire to embrace the Church of Charis or the Church of Siddarmark, but they were … pragmatic. And they were eager to finalize a peace settlement with the Allies in order to reclaim their captured military personnel.
It was a very different story in North Harchong. The North Harchongians were clearly digging in to resist the changes sweeping towards them. Their aristocrats continued to reject the existence of the schismatic churches for a lot of reasons, including their “pernicious social doctrines.” And while their political establishment, including the professional bureaucracy, had professed its loyalty to the Temple, they were clearly unhappy with Grand Vicar Rhobair’s “liberalism.” In fact, the Church in North Harchong was dragging its feet about surrendering the Inquisition’s power, and Stohnar wouldn’t be surprised to see a Church of Harchong emerge. That could produce all sorts of interesting—and unfortunate—consequences. And while the South Harchongians wanted their soldiers returned home, North Harchong wanted nothing of the sort. Its aristocrats had been infuriated by Captain General Maigwair’s insistence on arming and training thousands upon thousands of serfs. The last thing they wanted, especially in light of Grand Vicar Rhobair’s reforms, was the Mighty Host back, and there was no doubt in Stohnar’s mind that Earl Rainbow Waters and most of his senior officers would be assassinated within five-days if they ever dared to go home.
“I suppose we should head on down to the dining room,” Cayleb said, pulling the lord protector back up out of his thoughts. “Wouldn’t want to keep our guests waiting. And—” he smiled, and his smile was suddenly cold “—I imagine they’re going to enjoy supper rather more than your guest, Merlin.”
“One tries, Your Majesty,” Merlin said. “One tries.”
* * *
Zhaspahr Clyntahn looked around the chamber in which he’d
It wasn’t a very large chamber, and its furnishings were austere, to say the least. Despite which, he felt a familiar flicker of contempt at the heretics’ flabby softness. He’d come to terms with his fate. He didn’t look forward to death, and especially not to execution like a common felon, but the cowards who’d condemned him lacked the courage—the strength of their own convictions—to send him to the Punishment. He took a certain pleasure out of that, out of reflecting upon the thousands upon thousands of heretics he’d sent to the Punishment as God demanded. In a way, it was almost as if he’d had his vengeance upon his captors before he ever fell into their grasp.
As for the traitors who’d deserted Mother Church in her hour of need, who’d betrayed him by their gutless incompetence, they’d learn the error of their ways in the end. The cowards who’d run at the heels of those bastards Duchairn and Maigwair like frightened dogs would know the full cost of their sin when they beheld him sitting in glory at Schueler’s right hand, waiting as the Archangel passed judgment upon them. And there’d be a special corner of hell, a pit deeper than the universe, for Rhobair Duchairn who’d betrayed God Himself and surrendered Mother Church to the perversion, the apostasy, the depravity of the “Church of Charis” and the so-called Reformists!
He looked at the remnants of his meal. His last meal, this side of Heaven. It was a far cry from the repasts he’d enjoyed in Zion, and the wine had been barely passable. Of course, that had been true of all the meals they’d allowed him, and he’d lost a lot of weight, although he could scarcely say he’d wasted away.
He pushed away the tray and stood, crossing to the window that looked out across the vast square in front of Protector’s Palace. It was too dark to see it now, but he’d seen the gallows waiting for him. They’d made sure of that.
He glanced at the copy of the Holy Writ on the shelf beside the window, but he wasn’t like Duchairn. He didn’t need to paw through printed words to know he’d been God’s true champion! Shan-wei had proved stronger this time, gotten her claws and fangs into too many men’s hearts, but in the fullness of time, God would avenge him. God knew His own, and Zhaspahr Clyntahn treasured the damnation, the devastation and ruin God, Schueler, and Chihiro would decant upon His enemies—His and Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s—in the fullness of time.