At the Sign of Triumph (Safehold)

.XIV.

St. Nezbyt’s Church,

City of Gorath,

Kingdom of Dohlar.

“I wish I was sure this was a good idea, Sir,” Captain Lattymyr said quietly as the closed carriage turned into the courtyard behind St. Nezbyt’s Church.

“You wish you were sure?” Sir Rainos Ahlverez laughed shortly. “This has the potential to turn into something very un-good, Lynkyn. That’s why I should have put my foot down and refused to let you tag along!”

“Wouldn’t have had much luck with that after all this time, Sir,” Ahlverez’s aide replied with a slow smile. “Besides,” the smile faded, “I doubt it would’ve mattered in the end.” He shrugged. “Been made pretty clear to me that the Army doesn’t need my services at the moment any more’n it needs yours.”

“And for that I’m truly sorry,” Ahlverez said quietly.

“No, Sir.” Lattymyr shook his head, eyes stubborn. “You did exactly what needed doing, and an officer of the Crown could be in a lot worse company.”

“But not much more dangerous company,” Ahlverez pointed out as the carriage drew up in the courtyard. “And this particular meeting’s not likely to make that company any less dangerous.”

“Maybe not, but I didn’t have anywhere else I needed to be this evening, Sir. Might’s well spend it watching your back.” The tough, weathered-looking captain smiled again, briefly. “I’m getting sort of used to it, actually.”

Ahlverez chuckled and reached out to clasp his aide’s shoulder briefly before he reached down and unlatched the carriage door.

The driver—a solid, phlegmatic-looking Schuelerite monk with iron-gray hair and dark eyes—had already climbed down from the box. Now he unfolded the carriage’s steps and stood holding the open door.

“Thank you, Brother Mahrtyn,” Ahlverez said, climbing down, and the monk nodded.

“I’m happy to have been of service, General,” he replied in a deep voice. There was a rasping edge to the words—from an old throat injury, Ahlverez suspected, looking at the scar on the side of the man’s neck—and the monk bobbed his head in a respectful but far from obsequious bow.

Ahlverez nodded back and waited until Lattymyr had joined him. Then he raised an eyebrow at the monk in silent question.

“The side chapel, My Lord,” the Schuelerite replied, addressing him with the courtesy due the general’s rank no one had yet gotten around to formally taking away from him. “Langhorne’s, not Bédard’s.”

“Thank you,” Ahlverez murmured once more and led Lattymyr up the steep flight of stairs to the church’s backdoor while Brother Mahrtyn climbed back up to the high driver’s perch and drove the carriage back out of the courtyard.

This really could be an incredibly stupid idea, the general told himself as he opened the ancient wooden door at the head of the stairs. Even assuming the son-of-a-bitch has something worth listening to, the mere fact that you’re meeting him could be enough to get both of you handed over to the Inquisition.

Yes, it could. And he’d never have accepted the … invitation if it hadn’t been hand-delivered by Brother Mahrtyn. And, he admitted bleakly, if he hadn’t had so much personal experience with arrogant, incompetent superiors who completely ignored their subordinates’ advice—and reality. That had forced him to reconsider certain previously held views, and events since the Army of Shiloh’s destruction had lent their own weight to his decision to come.

But it was still hard—harder than he’d expected, really.

He stepped through the door into the smell of incense, candle wax, printer’s ink, leather bindings, and dust that seemed a part of every truly old church he’d ever visited. Saint Nezbyt’s was older than many, and saw less use than most, though its parish had once been a bustling, thriving one, if never precisely wealthy. Located in the harbor district near the docks, that parish had lost members gradually for several decades as workers’ homes were slowly but steadily displaced by commercial and Navy warehouses. Then the shipyards’ tremendous expansion to meet the needs of the Jihad had accelerated that displacement enormously. In fact, Archbishop Trumahn and Bishop Executor Wylsynn had seriously contemplated closing Saint Nezbyt’s entirely. In the end, they’d decided not to. Probably because Mother Church always hated closing churches—and, the more cynical might have added, depriving parish priests of their rectories—but also because Bishop Staiphan Maik and his staff had needed office space in his capacity as the Royal Dohlaran Navy’s intendant.

None of that staff was present at this late an hour on a Wednesday, however. The nave and sanctuary were deserted, lit only by the gleam of presence lamps around the main and side altars, as Rainos and Lattymyr skirted the organ and the choir loft. A crack of light showed under the closed door to the side chapel dedicated to the Archangel Langhorne, and Rainos rapped lightly on the varnished wood.

“Enter,” a voice responded, and Rainos’ eyebrows rose in surprise as he recognized it. Despite the avenue by which the invitation had reached him, he hadn’t really expected Maik to be personally present. Most churchmen would have avoided something like this like the plague, and the potential consequences for a bishop in Maik’s position if things went badly didn’t bear thinking upon.

The general opened the door and stepped through it into the lamp-lit chapel, Lattymyr at his heels. The aide closed the door behind them, and Ahlverez looked at the man who’d invited him here.

“My Lord,” he said rather coldly.

“Sir Rainos,” the other man said. “Thank you for coming. I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision … for several reasons,” the Earl of Thirsk added.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it.” Ahlverez twitched a brief smile, then bent to kiss the Staiphan Maik’s ring. “My Lord,” he said again, in warmer tones.

“I, too, thank you for coming, my son,” Maik told him as he straightened. The silver-haired bishop’s brown eyes were very steady. “As Lywys, I know it must have been a difficult decision. Unfortunately,” it was his turn to smile, and the expression was sad, “many people face difficult decisions at the moment.”

“Yes, they do, My Lord,” Ahlverez acknowledged, then looked back at the Thirsk and raised both eyebrows in silent question.

* * *

Lywys Gardynyr watched those eyebrows rise and murmured a mental prayer. There were more ways this meeting could go disastrously wrong than he could possibly have counted, and he was frankly amazed Ahlverez was here at all, given the bitter hatred between the Ahlverez family and himself. Maik had been openly dubious when Thirsk broached the possibility of the meeting, and the earl hadn’t blamed him a bit. But he trusted Shulmyn Rahdgyrz’ judgment as much as that of any man in the world, and Rahdgyrz had been Sir Rainos Ahlverez’ quartermaster during the disastrous Shiloh campaign. His reaction when Thirsk cautiously sounded him out about Ahlverez had been … enlightening.

And, it would appear, judging by the fact that he’s actually here, that Shulmyn had a point, the earl thought now. Of course, I suppose it’s always possible he only wants to hear what I have to say in hopes I’ll come up with something so incriminating he can hand me straight over to the Inquisition.

Given what he had in mind, the possibility certainly existed. Thirsk opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Bishop Staiphan raised his hand, his ruby ring glowing in the lamplight.

“Excuse me, Lywys,” he said, “but as the host of this little meeting—or, at least, as the bishop providing a site for it—I think explanations to the General should come from me, first.”

Thirsk hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head.

“Of course, My Lord,” he murmured, and Rainos turned back to the prelate.

“The idea for this meeting was Lywys’, Sir Rainos,” he said. “Initially, he was hesitant to mention it to me, for reasons which are probably fairly evident. But he suspected he might need a suitable … intermediary to convince you to accept his invitation. And then, too, of course, it probably wouldn’t have been very healthy for either of you if he or a member of his staff had contacted you. Especially after Mother Church’s reaction to the suggestion that Admiral Rohsail’s prisoners not be delivered to the Punishment.” The bishop smiled fleetingly. “I realize the suggestion—which I also supported, as it happens—came from neither of you. I’m afraid certain … senior churchmen don’t truly believe that, however.”

He paused, head tilted, and Ahlverez nodded his understanding.

“I’m also aware of the long-standing … animosity between your family and him,” Maik continued levelly. “I know the reasons for it, and I’ve had to deal with its consequences virtually every minute of every day since I was assigned to Gorath by Archbishop Wyllym.” His eyes hardened. “I can tell you of my own certain knowledge that Lywys Gardynyr has never once, in all the time I’ve known him, made a decision out of personal pettiness or done a single inch less than his duty required of him. I know Duke Malikai was your cousin and the husband of Duke Thorast’s sister. But I am as certain as I am of God’s love that what happened off Armageddon Reef was not Lywys’ fault. That he did all he could do to prevent it. And I strongly suspect, Sir Rainos, that you know the same thing, whatever Duke Thorast is willing to admit.”

He paused again, waiting, and silence stretched out. Ahlverez’ face was hard, his eyes dark. But then, finally, his shoulders settled ever so slightly and he seemed to sigh.

“I don’t know that, My Lord,” he said. “I have, however, been forced to come to believe it.” He smiled bleakly. “It’s not a subject I’m prepared to discuss over the family dinner table, you understand. But—” he looked squarely at Thirsk “—Faidel was always a stubborn man. And a proud one. He wasn’t the type to allow anyone else to shoulder his responsibilities … or to rely on a subordinate whose authority might seem to challenge his own. Or, for that matter, to defer to a subordinate whose knowledge might underscore his lack of knowledge. It’s not easy for me to say that, but I’ve had some experience standing in your shoes, My Lord. So, yes, I can believe you did your utmost to prevent what happened … and were ignored.”

“Sir Rainos,” Thirsk said frankly, “I think I know how difficult it must have been for you to come to that conclusion. And to be fair to your cousin, while I think what you’ve just said about him was accurate, it’s also true that I had no more idea of what the Charisians—” he watched Ahlverez’ eyes very carefully as he deliberately avoided calling them heretics “—were about to do to us at Armageddon Reef than he did. No one outside Charis had any clue about the galleons, the new artillery, the new tactics—any of it. Even if Duke Malikai had actively solicited my advice and taken every word of it to heart, Cayleb Ahrmahk still would have devastated our fleet.” He shook his head. “He went right ahead and completely destroyed the portion of it under my direct command in Crag Reach, after all. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that simply because you feel you can’t blame me for everything that happened, it would be the height of unfairness to blame your cousin for everything, either. I’ve done that, in the privacy of my own thoughts,” he admitted. “More than once. And I’ve come to the conclusion that I felt that way at least partly to excuse my own failure, when it was my turn at Crag Reach. After all, if it was all because he hadn’t listened to me, then none of it was my fault. But the truth is that however many mistakes he made, however stubborn he might have been, in the end we were simply beaten by a foe who was too powerful—and too unexpected—for it to have ended any other way, no matter what we did.”

Ahlverez’ nostrils flared. He hadn’t expected that, and for a moment he felt a flicker of anger that Thirsk should think he could be flattered into some sort of sloppy-minded lovefest. But then he looked into the earl’s eyes and realized he meant every word of it.

“I think that may have been as hard for you to say as it was for me to admit Faidel might have been more at fault than you, My Lord.”

“Not so much hard to say as hard to accept in the first place,” Thirsk said wryly, and Ahlverez surprised himself with a sharp snort of amused understanding.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear what you’ve both just said,” Maik said, smiling warmly at them. “I don’t know you as well as I’ve come to know Lywys, Sir Rainos, but what I do know convinces me that both of you are good and godly men. That both of you are conscious of your responsibilities to God, the Archangels, Mother Church, and your kingdom … in that order.”

The last three words came out deliberately, and he paused yet again, letting them lie in the chapel’s stillness for several seconds before he inhaled sharply.

“This is a time of testing,” he said very, very quietly. “A time of testing such as Mother Church and this entire world have never seen since the War Against the Fallen itself. As a bishop of Mother Church, it’s my responsibility to recognize that test, to respond to it, to be the shepherd her children have the right to demand I be … and that’s a responsibility I’m not convinced I’ve met.” He shook his head. “I’ve done my best, or what I thought was my best, at least—as you and Lywys have—but I fear I’ve fallen short. Indeed, I’ve become convinced I’ve fallen short, especially since what happened to Lywys’ family.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Staiphan. You did everything you could to protect them. You know you did!” Thirsk said quickly, his eyes distressed, but Maik shook his head again.

“Despite what you may have heard, Sir Ahlverez,” the bishop said, his own eyes sad, “Commander Khapahr was no Charisian spy, nor did he attempt to murder Lywys when he was ‘unmasked.’ Indeed, he was the most loyal—and one of the most courageous—men I’ve ever been honored to know, and his death was a direct consequence of my actions.”

Ahlverez’ eyes widened, and Thirsk shook his head violently.

“It was not!” the earl half-snapped. “Ahlvyn was the bravest man I’ve ever known. He chose his actions, and if anyone’s to blame for what happened to him, it’s me. Because I knew what he’d do if he thought my girls, my grandchildren, were in danger. I knew, and I didn’t try to stop him.”

Thirsk’s voice quivered, and Ahlverez realized there were tears in his eyes.

“You couldn’t have stopped him, Lywys,” Maik said gently. “That’s the sort of man he was, and I knew it as well as you did.” The bishop turned back to Ahlverez. “I summoned the Commander to a meeting, Sir Rainos, where I informed him, indirectly, that arrangements were being made to transport Lywys’ family to Zion ‘for their protection.’ I didn’t know, then, that he’d take unilateral action to smuggle them out of Gorath without informing Lywys but I did hope that he’d deliver my warning to Lywys. Except that he didn’t, and when the Inquisition discovered his arrangements, he deliberately implicated himself as a Charisian agent to divert suspicion not simply from Lywys, but from me, as well. And when he shot Lywys, it was to provide the strongest ‘proof’ of Lywys’ innocence he possibly could. That’s the sort of man Ahlvyn Khapahr was.”

Ahlverez swallowed, seeing the pain in Thirsk’s face, the regret in Maik’s eyes, and he knew it was true.

“All—” To his surprise, he had to stop and clear his throat. “All honor to him, My Lord. A man blessed with friends that loyal is blessed indeed. But why tell me about it?”

“For several reasons, my son. First, because I think it’s further proof of the sort of man Lywys is.” Maik allowed his eyes to flit briefly to Lattymyr, standing a pace behind Ahlverez. “A man doesn’t inspire that sort of loyalty without earning it.”

Ahlverez nodded slowly, and the bishop shrugged.

“A second reason to tell you is because his actions underscore the sacrifices good and godly men are willing to make for those they love and respect … and for what they believe.” His eyes were back on Ahlverez now. “Neither side in this Jihad has an exclusive claim to honesty of belief, to devotion to God, or to courage, My Lord, whatever certain people may say. I think that’s something any child of God needs to understand, no matter how mistaken he thinks his brother or sister may have become.

“And a third reason,” the bishop’s voice became no less measured, no less steady, but it was suddenly sadder than it had been, “is because the reason the Commander ran those risks, made that sacrifice, was that he understood why Lywys’ family was to be transported to Zion … and that it had nothing at all to do with their protection. That the official reason for it was a lie, and that their ‘safety’ was the farthest thing from the mind of the men who ordered them moved.”

Those steady brown eyes held Alverez’ unflinchingly.

“But perhaps even more importantly,” Maik continued in that same, unwavering voice, “I told you so that you would understand what I’m about to say. Understand that this is no sudden, irrational conclusion on my part, but rather the result of a process it’s taken me far too many months to work through. A conclusion which is the reason I summoned the Commander that night for the meeting which led to his death.”

“What sort of … conclusion, My Lord?” Ahlverez asked as the prelate paused yet again.

“It’s a very simple one, my son. One too many people—including me—have failed to reach … or to remember. And it’s merely this: Mother Church is not the mortal, fallible men who happen to choose her policies at any given moment. The Archangels are not the servants of men who think they know God’s will better than God Himself. And God is not impressed by mortal pride, overweening ambition, or the narcissism which makes a man like Zhaspahr Clyntahn seek to pervert all that Mother Church was ever meant to be—to drown the world, all of God’s creation, in blood and fire and terror—in the name of his own insatiable quest for power.”