At the Sign of Triumph (Safehold)

.VII.

Rydymak Keep,

Cheshyr Bay,

Earldom of Cheshyr,

and

King Tayrens Chancellery,

City of Cherayth,

Kingdom of Chisholm,

Empire of Charis.

Rydymak Keep was spectacularly beautiful, in an old-fashioned, drafty-icehouse, freeze-one’s-arse-off sort of way.

Karyl Rydmakyr, the Dowager Countess of Cheshyr, still remembered the way the keep had struck her to the heart the first time she saw its steep-pitched, red-tiled tower roofs and sheer, storybook walls from the deck of the ship bearing her home to Cheshyr with her newlywed husband. She hadn’t known Styvyn well—indeed, when she came down to it, she hadn’t known him at all—before the wedding, but he’d been handsome, athletic, considerate of his young and very nervous bride, and unswervingly loyal to the House of Tayt. As a daughter of a cadet branch of that house, she’d understood how important that was. She’d also known how unusual it was among the Chisholmian aristocracy of her youth, for she’d been raised to be sensitive to the treacherous currents which swirled among the kingdom’s nobility. And because of that, she’d realized very clearly that Styvyn was a far greater matrimonial prize than the lord of an impoverished holding like Cheshyr might normally have been … especially then.

King Irwain had been a good man, and she’d respected him as her king, but he’d lacked the steel spine to stand up to the kingdom’s great nobles. His son, though … Prince Sailys had been a different sort. Young she might have been, but there’d never been anything wrong with Karyl Tayt’s brain, and despite the distance of their relationship—fifth cousins normally weren’t extraordinarily close—she’d strongly suspected her crown prince had plans he wasn’t discussing with his future adversaries.

More to the point, perhaps, her father had cherished the same suspicions, and when Prince Sailys had casually expressed himself as favoring the proposed match, Sir Ahdam Tayt had found it in his heart to accept the young earl’s offer for his second eldest daughter’s hand. It hadn’t been the sort of dashing, wealthy marriage young Karyl had dreamed of, but given the penurious fortunes of her branch of the Tayt dynasty, it hadn’t been anything to turn her nose up at, either. And he had been good-looking, her Styvyn. Better still, he’d had a sense of humor and a brain almost as good as hers. And even more than that, he’d had a heart that dearly wanted his new wife to be happy and to love him … in that order.

With all of that going for him, she thought now, smiling as she drew the shawl more tightly around her shoulders while she sat very close to the hearth, how could she not have done both?

The memory of his presence wrapped itself about her more warmly than any shawl, and her hazel eyes softened, gazing into the flames at something only she could see. They’d had thirty good years, she and Styvyn, years in which he’d risen to general’s rank in the Royal Army and stood foursquare by first Prince Sailys’ and then King Sailys’ side.

And he’d died by his king’s side, as well.

Her smile faded, and she huddled deeper into the shawl, turning away from the pain of that memory, choosing instead to remember again that first glimpse of Rydymak Keep against a spectacular summer sky of crimson coals and smoke-blue cloud banners. The Sunset Hills upon which it stood weren’t much, as hills went, compared to the lofty Iron Spine Mountains in whose shadows she’d grown to young womanhood. But in low-lying Cheshyr, they’d amply deserved the title, and she’d fallen in love with the stone cottages of her new husband’s capital city even before she’d finished falling in love with him. Even today, she made it a point, weather permitting, to walk Rydymak’s streets, personally visit the school built close up against the church, and chaffer with the vendors in the farmer’s market at least once every five-day. She often thought she knew every inhabitant by name, and if she didn’t, it certainly wasn’t for want of trying!

Yet for all its scenic beauty, Rydymak Keep was a monumentally uncomfortable place to live. Styvyn had built her a beautiful little solar as a fifth-anniversary wedding gift. Given the state of Cheshyr’s exchequer, it had been ruinously extravagant of him, but he hadn’t cared. And the bedroom of their suite had been carefully draft-proofed. He’d even installed an enormous Harchong-style tiled stove, despite her protests, and she’d scolded him mercilessly for that indulgence. After all, she’d grown up in Tayt! A Cheshyr winter was a mere trifle to an Iron Spine girl. Besides—she smiled again—she’d never needed a stove to keep her warm whenever Styvyn was home.

The rest of the keep, however, was just as drafty, cold, and thoroughly miserable in winter as it looked, and she wondered why she was sitting here in the library in the middle of the night. The high-backed, thickly cushioned chair was comfortable enough, but that could scarcely be said of the shadowy, high-ceilinged, frigid chamber in which it sat.

You’re sitting here because you’re lonely, you’re worried, and you’re frightened, she told herself tartly, looking up to watch the fire-flicker dance on the exposed beams overhead. And because this is the chair where you used to sit in Styvyn’s lap while the two of you read the same book. Because sitting here, with a little piece of him, you don’t care if you’re cold … and you’re just a little less frightened than you are lying awake in that big, warm, lonely bed.

She snorted and jabbed irritably at the single tear that leaked its treacherous way down her cheek. Feeling maudlin never solved a problem, she reminded herself sternly. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what was going to solve the one she found herself facing this time.

If only that miserable, unmitigated son-of-a-bitch hadn’t gotten his hooks into Young Styvyn, she thought bitterly. Or if only Young Styvyn had half the brain his grandfather and his father had! Bédard knows I love the boy, but—

She chopped that thought off. It wasn’t her grandson’s fault he wasn’t the most brilliant young man ever born, and maybe it was at least partly her fault that he’d fallen so readily into Zhasyn Seafarer’s hand. She did love him—she truly did—but she’d always been … disappointed by her inability to interest him in the books, the poetry, the history she and his grandfather—and, for that matter, his own father—had loved so much. Perhaps he’d sensed that disappointment, decided it meant she didn’t love him, or—even worse—that she thought poorly of him. Could that be why his glamorous second cousin had found it so easy to worm his poisonous way into the boy’s affections?

Doesn’t hurt that the slick bastard’s a duke and as rich as Cheshyr is poor, either, does it? she reflected. And he is family, whether I like it or not. Somehow that whole marriage didn’t work out the way Styvyn and Sailys hoped it would, and, oh, how I wish I hadn’t found myself in a position to say “I told you so” to the pair of them! I truly did love Pahtrysha, though. Of course, she couldn’t stand Zhasyn either. A brief, fond smile flitted across her lips. Always did have good taste, Pahtrysha did, especially for a Seafarmer. Look who she married!

The smile vanished as completely as the hope she’d once cherished that Pahtrysha Seafarmer’s marriage to her son Kahlvyn might open at least a small crack in the Dukes of Rock Coast’s adamantine opposition to the Crown’s dominance of Chisholm. The only Seafarmer they’d won to their cause in the end had been Pahtrysha herself … and she’d died in the same carriage accident which had paralyzed Kahlvyn and left him incapable of speech.

Sometimes I wonder what we did to draw Shan-wei’s hatred so strongly, she thought bitterly. Why has the world gone so far out of its way to demolish my family? Not even Father Kahrltyn can explain that one to me! It’s not like we haven’t always—

“Excuse me, My Lady.”

Karyl Rydmakyr bounced out of the chair with an agility at odds with her seventy-six winters. She landed at least a yard from it and whipped around, heart pounding, to stare at the blue-eyed young woman who couldn’t possibly be there. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak—or shout for help—the intruder raised a swift hand.

“Please, My Lady!” she said quickly in an accent that never came from Chisholm. “I’m a friend. In fact, Her Majesty sent me.”

Lady Karyl closed her mouth with a snap as she took in her impossible visitor’s blackened chain mail and the black-and-gold kraken and blue-and-white checkerboard blazoned across her breastplate. The mere fact that the intruder wore the accoutrements of the Imperial Charisian Guard didn’t guarantee one damned thing, but it certainly bore thinking upon.

“Friends don’t creep uninvited into locked rooms in someone else’s house, young woman!” she said acidly, instead of shouting for help.

Which might be just as well for the any servants in the house in question, she reflected as her pulse slowed and she took in the curved sword and what had to be a pair of the newfangled revolvers holstered at the intruder’s waist.

“They do if Her Majesty’s impressed them with the importance of making contact with you without anyone else knowing about it,” the young woman said respectfully, and Lady Karyl’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s an interesting assertion.” She settled her shawl around her shoulders. “I trust you’ll understand that I’d like some verification that it’s also a truthful assertion.” She smiled with very little humor. “I’m afraid I’ve become somewhat less trusting of late.”

“According to Her Majesty, My Lady, you’ve never been exceptionally trusting where enemies of your house are concerned.” The younger woman’s smile was much warmer than Lady Karyl’s had been. “She tells me that her father spoke to her often about your husband’s loyalty to the Crown … and yours. In fact,” those blue eyes, so dark they were almost black in the lamplight, met Lady Karyl’s levelly, “she told me to tell you she hopes the doomwhale is still hidden in the cliff lizard’s mouth.”

Lady Karyl never actually moved a muscle, yet her spine—as steely straight as the Iron Spines she’d grown up among—seemed to relax ever so slightly. She stood for several more seconds, gazing at the interloper through narrow hazel eyes. Then she stepped back to her chair and pointed imperiously at a corner of the library’s enormous hearth.

“Move where I can see you,” she said, settling back into the chair she’d shared so often with Styvyn. “Besides,” she added with a small, crooked smile as the other woman obeyed her, “you’ll be at least marginally warmer!”

“Yes, My Lady.”

Lady Karyl studied her more carefully. Cheshyr couldn’t afford to waste first-quality kraken oil on its lamps, even in the library, and her eyes were no younger than the rest of her. The brain behind them was still capable of careful observation, however.

The other woman was perhaps half a hand shorter than her own five feet and seven inches, with extraordinarily dark brown hair touched with auburn highlights. She was slim and graceful, almost delicate looking, yet there was nothing fragile about her. She stood very straight, despite the obviously heavy saddlebags over her shoulder, waiting patiently, sapphire eyes level, enduring Lady Karyl’s meticulous inspection with complete composure. Indeed, she was almost too composed for comfort, Lady Karyl thought. That sort of calm wasn’t normally the property of someone as young as she was.

“Very well, young woman,” she said finally. “Suppose you tell me what that nonsense about doomwhales and cliff lizards was all about.”

“I’d be happy to, My Lady … if I knew.” Her visitor, Lady Karyl discovered, had dimples. “From the way Her Majesty made sure I had it straight, I assume it’s some sort of recognition phrase. And if I had to guess, I’d guess it goes back to your husband’s relationship—or perhaps yours—with King Sailys. Unfortunately, a guess is all it would be.”

“I see.”

Lady Karyl gazed at her for another moment, then pushed back up out of her chair. Her father-in-law had disdained anything as effete as books, and in his day the room which had become Styvyn Rydmakyr’s library had been the keep’s trophy room. Since neither Styvyn nor Lady Karyl had wanted to shelve their precious books against an exterior stone wall, the trophies which had looked back into the room from between the windows during Truskyt Rydmakyr’s day looked back still, and she paused beside one of them.

The cliff lizard had been a giant among its kind, probably over three hundred pounds, and its mouth was open, displaying teeth equally apt for chewing meat or grazing. She laid a hand affectionately on it for a moment, then reached into that gaping mouth and extracted something that gleamed faintly in the lamplight. She carried it back over to the hearth and held it up, and it was the other woman’s eyes’ turn to narrow.

It was an exquisitely rendered doomwhale, about five inches long and cast in solid silver … except for the golden crown no true doomwhale had ever worn. That crown gleamed more brightly than the tarnished silver, and Lady Karyl turned it deliberately to catch the firelight on its thorny points.

“King Sailys gave this to Styvyn,” she said softly. “I believe there were less than twenty of them, and anyone who received one was charged to keep it hidden and keep it safe. Unless it was needed.”

She met those shadow-darkened blue eyes, and the other woman nodded.

“Tokens of his authority,” she said slowly, her voice soft. “From what Her Majesty told me, I knew your husband had been high in King Sailys’ confidence, but I hadn’t realized how high.”

“Few people ever did.” Lady Karyl’s long, still-strong fingers tightened around the small statue. “He and the King were careful to keep it that way, for a lot of reasons. And that fool thinks I’m going to forget everything Sailys—and Styvyn—fought and died for?!”

Her lips worked as if she wanted to spit, and the young woman laughed. There was very little humor in the sound. Indeed, if doomwhales had laughed, one of them might have owned a laugh very like it.

“That question I already knew the answer to, My Lady.” She bowed deeply, then straightened. “With your permission, I’d like to finish introducing myself.”

“Of course.” Lady Karyl seated herself once more, holding the doomwhale in her lap, clasped between both hands. “And when you’ve done that, perhaps you could explain how you got into this locked library without any of my admittedly understrength staff seeing you on your way here? Or, for that matter, without alerting me when the hinges shrieked like a soul in hell?”

“The introduction is easy, Lady Karyl.” The younger woman touched her breastplate in formal salute. “Men call me Merch O Obaith.”

“Ah.” Lady Karyl nodded. “I hope you’ll pardon my saying so, but your name seems rather … outlandish. In fact, it reminds me of a few other names I’ve heard. Would it happen you’re familiar with a gentleman named Athrawes?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Fascinating.” Lady Karyl leaned farther back and crossed her legs. “It would appear his reputation for coming and going as he wants despite any silly little things like locked doors is well deserved. And it would also appear seijins are coming out of the woodwork, as Styvyn would have said.”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far, myself, My Lady,” Obaith corrected politely. “Although, if pressed, I would admit they’ve become rather more visible. I believe The Testimonies say that seijins will appear when they’re most needed, though.”

“And at this moment, I need one very badly,” Lady Karyl said somberly.

“Perhaps the services of one, at least,” Obaith acknowledged. “I’m afraid that tonight I’m only a messenger, however.”

“And what sort of message do you bear?” Lady Karyl’s eyes were intent in the flickering firelight.

“My Lady, Her Majesty wants you to know her agents are aware of what’s happening here in Cheshyr, not to mention in Rock Coast and Black Horse. Those agents are keeping a very close eye on the situation, and I regret that it’s taken so long for her authorization to share that information with you to reach Chisholm. We know about Duke Rock Coast’s efforts to ensnare your grandson, and we also know they’re in communication with Lady Swayle. Unfortunately, there’s very little we can do about the Duke’s machinations where your grandson is concerned. It would be … awkward for Her Majesty to rely on the sort of evidence we could provide in a court of law, particularly given the way Zhaspahr Clyntahn and the Inquisition have branded all of the ‘false, so-called seijins’ demons and servants of Shan-wei. The fact that everyone with a working brain knows that’s a lie wouldn’t prevent the Duke’s supporters from fastening on it as a means of discrediting evidence procured by such … irregular techniques.”

“I can see that.”

Lady Karyl succeeded—mostly—in keeping the disappointment out of her tone. It wasn’t easy, but the decades she and Styvyn had spent working circumspectly on King Sailys’ behalf stood her in good stead.

“The fact that we can’t act openly against him and his fellow conspirators—yet—doesn’t mean we aren’t aware of their plans in far greater detail than they could possibly suspect.” Obaith shrugged. There may be some small details of their strategy we don’t know about, but if so, there are very few of them. And we’ve been sharing our information—fully—with Earl White Crag, Baron Stoneheart, and Sir Ahlber Zhustyn.”

“Thank God.” Despite herself, Lady Karyl sagged in her chair. She inhaled deeply, then ran both hands over her still thick and luxuriant silver hair. “I’ve shared what little I’ve been able to glean with them, as well, although finding ways to get that information to them without anyone’s suspecting I’ve done it hasn’t been the easiest thing in the world. But I’ve always realized I’m seeing only bits and pieces of whatever it is they ultimately intend.”

“Her Majesty realizes that. And although your grandson—Young Styvyn—doesn’t dream for a moment that his glamorous cousin might do anything that could endanger you personally, I’m afraid Her Majesty—and His Majesty, for that matter—are less confident of that. Especially given how much time the Duke spends with Father Sedryk.”

“That mangy son-of-a-bitch.” The cold, searing anger in Lady Karyl’s voice made the icy wind outside Rydymak Keep seem almost balmy for a moment. “If I could find a way to tie a rope to that bastard’s ankles and drop him into Cheshyr Bay with a hundred-pound rock for ballast, I’d die a happy old woman.”

Obaith chuckled.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to accomplish that minor chore for you, My Lady. Unfortunately, Father Sedryk’s rather more central to the conspirators’ plans than it might appear. I know you must especially hate the way he’s made himself Young Styvyn’s newest best friend, but, trust me, that’s only a small part of his role. Among other things, he’s most definitely not the Chihirite he pretends to be. The truth is—although it’s one of those things we can’t prove without resorting to those ‘irregular methods’ of ours—he’s actually a Schuelerite … and an Inquisitor. In fact, he was dispatched to Chisholm from Zion by Wyllym Rayno in person.”

Lady Karyl’s jaw tightened. She’d known Sedryk Mahrtynsyn was far more than the “simple priest” he tried to pass himself off as, but not even she had suspected he was a direct agent of the Office of Inquisition!

“My Lady,” Obaith’s expression was very serious, “we need Mahrtynsyn to implicate and incriminate Rock Coast and as many of the others as possible. So far, they’ve all been very cautious about anything that might be set down in writing, and we don’t anticipate their suddenly getting careless now. But as their plans move into the end game, they’ll have steadily more opportunities to create the chain of documentary evidence—or eyewitness testimony—we need. He’s only one of the people we’re hoping will do that for us, but he’s one of the bigger fish in that particular pond, and Her Majesty believes he’ll play a pivotal role in the actual exchange of any written messages.”

“And the longer you wait to net him, the more likely he is to draw my grandson into that pond with him to drown,” Lady Karyl said grimly. “He’s charming, he’s suave, and he flatters the hell out of a fifteen-year-old.”

“We know,” Obaith acknowledged unflinchingly, “and we don’t like it. Her Majesty intends to bear in mind every mitigating circumstance she possibly can where Young Styvyn is concerned, however. And from what we’ve seen, it’s highly likely that in the end, Rock Coast and Mahrtynsyn will make a serious mistake in his case. He’s young enough, and—forgive me—foolish enough to see something romantic and exciting about pitting himself against the Crown in the service of Mother Church. But he also loves you very much, My Lady. The time’s going to come when he realizes that whatever Rock Coast and Mahrtynsyn may tell him, they must know that when they demand you join them, you’ll tell them to go to hell. And when he realizes that, he’ll also realize they must have planned for that eventuality. Which means they’ve lied to him from the start when they promised no harm would come to you.” The seijin smiled. “He was very adamant about that from the very beginning, My Lady,” she said gently. “Far more adamant than Rock Coast ever expected he might be.”

Lady Karyl’s eyes softened and her mouth trembled for just a moment. Then she nodded sharply.

“Thank you for telling me that.” Her voice was husky, and she paused to clear her throat. “Thank you for telling me that,” she repeated. “I told myself that had to be the case, but—”

“But there’s been so much treachery,” Obaith finished for her. “And when someone like Rock Creek or Mahrtynsyn plays the ‘will of the Archangels’ card with a fifteen-year-old, the consequences can get very ugly very quickly.”

“Exactly.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, and then the seijin shrugged.

“While I’m speaking with you here, My Lady, another of Seijin Merlin’s friends is in Cherayth, where he’s delivering Her Majesty’s messages to Earl White Crag. As a consequence of those messages, you’re going to be in a position to augment your personal armsmen in the very near future. I realize you aren’t as plump in the purse as you’d like to be, and that you’ve been worrying that anyone willing to accept service with a small, out of the way earldom like Cheshyr—especially for the wages you’d be able to pay—might very well have been sent to you by someone who … wishes you ill.

“As far as the first of those points is concerned, Her Majesty sent along this,” the seijin said, and the saddlebags she’d held draped over one slim forearm clunked heavily as she set them on the floor.

She opened one of them, and Lady Karyl inhaled sharply as she saw the neatly rolled golden marks gleam in the dim lamplight. If both bags were equally full, she was looking at well over two years of Cheshyr’s revenues. How in Langhorne’s name had even a seijin carried that much weight as if it were a mere nothing?!

“There’ll be more funding if you need it, My Lady,” Obaith continued. “Obviously, you’ll need to be careful about revealing the fact that you’ve got it, but His Majesty observed that there are very few problems in ‘human relations’ that can’t be smoothed with a little gold, and it’s always nice to be able to outbid the opposition when you need to. Especially when the opposition doesn’t think you can.”

The seijin dimpled again, then sobered.

“You won’t need it to pay the armsmen who’ll begin trickling in to find work over the winter in the next few months, however. And you won’t have to worry about where they come from. I assure you they’ve been thoroughly vetted. Or they will’ve been, by the time they’re sent, at any rate.”

“They will?” Lady Karyl sat straighter again, and her hazel eyes began to glow in the firelight. “And just how many of these wandering armsmen are likely to come Cheshyr’s way, Seijin Merch?”

“How interesting that you should ask, My Lady.” The seijin’s smile would have turned a kraken green with envy. “As a matter of fact—”

* * *

“—so it’s essential, in Their Majesties’ view, that Lady Karyl’s security be bolstered at the earliest possible moment,” the tall, blond-haired man emphasized, leaning slightly forward over the conference table towards Braisyn Byrns, the Earl of White Crag and First Councilor of the Kingdom of Chisholm. Sylvyst Mhardyr, Baron Stoneheart, who served as Chisholm’s Lord Justice, sat beside White Crag, and Sir Ahlber Zhustyn, Sharleyan’s domestic spymaster, stood at the First Councilor’s shoulder.

“I’d rather just move in, round them up, and detach a few heads,” Stoneheart said flatly. “I’d think that would ‘bolster’ Lady Karyl’s security quite nicely!”

“Now, Sylvyst!” White Crag shook his head, his cataract-cloudy eyes gleaming with grim amusement in the lamplight. “Aren’t you the person in this room who should be most concerned with little things like due process?”

“I’ll be perfectly prepared to get back to due process the instant the blood stops spurting,” Stoneheart replied, and it was obvious he wasn’t even half jesting.

“I understand exactly why you feel that way, My Lord,” the man who’d introduced himself as Cennady Frenhines said.

Although his accent was that of Chisholm—indeed, he sounded as if he was from Serpent Hill, in the Earldom of Shayne—that was a name no Chisholmian had ever borne. Which was hardly surprising. As nearly as White Crag, Stoneheart, or Zhustyn could tell, every single one of the seijins who’d offered their services to the Empire of Charis had equally outlandish names.

“Her Majesty is adamant about this, however,” Frenhines continued very seriously. “It may not be my place to say this, but I think His Majesty would prefer to do it your way, because he’s worried about how many people may get hurt before this is over. But the Empress is determined to cut out this cancer once and for all. For that, she needs any nobleman as senior as Duke Rock Coast to implicate himself too thoroughly for anyone to question his guilt. I believe the phrase she used to the Emperor was ‘I need my own Zebediahs.’”

“And she’s right, with all due respect, My Lord,” Zhustyn told Stoneheart grimly. “This problem’s crept out of the shadows every few years from the moment King Sailys began the Restoration. And it’s going to keep on creeping until the people who want to turn back the clock finally get it through their heads—those of them who still have heads—that it isn’t going to happen. Her Majesty’s never been hesitant about doing what needs doing, but she’s in a far stronger position today than she ever was before. I understand exactly why Her Majesty wants these people to make their move. And I also understand why she wants enough object lessons to be sure the lesson finally goes home.”

Stoneheart looked back at the spymaster for several seconds while the midnight wind prowled restlessly around the eaves of the King Tayrens Chancellery. That wind was just as cold as the one whining outside a drafty library in Rydymak Keep, two thousand and more miles west of Cherayth, but this one was heavy with snow flurries turning rapidly into something much more like a blizzard.

“Sir Ahlber’s put his finger on exactly what Her Majesty hopes to accomplish,” the hawk-faced Frenhines agreed somberly, his wrist-thick braid gleaming under the lamps which were considerably brighter than those in Lady Karyl’s library. “But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want precautions taken.”

“What sort of precautions, Seijin Cennady?” White Crag asked.

“She’s sent along written instructions for General Kahlyns.”

Frenhines reached into the imperial courier’s shoulder satchel he’d carried into the chancellery and extracted a heavy canvas envelope. He passed it across to the First Councilor, who handed it on to Stoneheart without comment. The Lord Justice glanced at the label—unlike White Crag, his vision was still clear and sharp—and nodded to his colleague as he recognized Sharleyan Tayt Ahrmahk’s personal handwriting and seal.

“And did she summarize those instructions for you?” White Crag inquired, and smiled thinly when Frenhines nodded. “It’s unfortunate the General can’t hear your impression of them directly.”

“My Lord, it’s over two hundred miles from Cherayth to Maikelberg.” The seijin shook his head with a smile, sapphire eyes glinting. “Not even Seijin Merlin could be in both places at once when he was here with Their Majesties! And if there happened to be some way I might actually accomplish that, you know what Clyntahn would say the instant he heard about it!”

The other three chuckled, albeit a bit sourly. And Frenhines didn’t really blame them for that sourness. There wasn’t a more reliable, more honest man than Sir Fraizher Kahlyns in the entire Kingdom of Chisholm, but he wasn’t the Imperial Charisian Army’s most brilliant officer. It was unfortunately true that he was more comfortable with written orders when they were accompanied by the opportunity to clarify any ambiguities by personally discussing those orders with whoever delivered them.

“Sir Fraizher won’t have any qualms about these instructions, My Lord,” Frenhines assured White Crag, although he was actually speaking to all three of them. “The important thing is to keep Rock Coast, Black Horse, Countess Swayle, and Dragon Hill from realizing how many of the reinforcements he’s sending forward will have rather different actual destinations. And Their Majesties would really prefer for none of them to realize how many Marines will ‘just happen’ to be in Chisholmian waters come spring, either.”

“Oh, I like that,” Zhustyn murmured, and Stoneheart gave a sharp nod.

“In the meantime, however, we need to increase Lady Karyl’s personal security,” Frenhines continued. “One of my colleagues has been sent to discuss this with her, and Her Majesty suggests it might be possible for Sir Fraizher to release a few highly skilled, highly experienced, career Army noncoms from active service after … training accidents or some other mishap leaves them unsuited to arduous duty in the field. Obviously, men such as that will have limited skills for civilian life. So it should hardly be surprising if a few score of them were to trickle slowly into a place like Cheshyr—hitching rides on some of the coasting trade vessels, perhaps. And if men who’ve loyally and ably served the Kingdom find themselves out of work due to no fault of their own, I doubt anyone would be surprised if someone like Lady Karyl, given her own husband’s long Army career, found a way to put roofs over their heads. For that matter, she’d probably even find the invalids token positions in her own household—just to satisfy their self-respect, you understand.”

“That’s devious,” Stoneheart said approvingly.

“Her Majesty can be that way,” Frenhines agreed with a thin smile. “And His Majesty’s contribution was to observe that the frantic efforts to increase weapons output at Maikelberg almost have to have resulted in some clerical errors. Why, it’s entirely possible enough modern rifles, shotguns, and pistols to equip forty or fifty armsmen—perhaps even a mortar or two—could simply have been lost. And if that’s happened,” Frenhines’ smile turned even thinner and far, far colder, “there’s no telling where all those … mislaid weapons—and possibly even the ammunition for them—might eventually turn up, is there, My Lords?”