At the Sign of Triumph (Safehold)

.V.

Lizard Island,

Hankey Sound,

and

Gorath Palace,

City of Gorath,

Kingdom of Dohlar.

“Sir, I think you’d better come see this.”

Lieutenant Bryahn Sathyrwayt lowered his cup of hot chocolate with a frown. Sergeant Maikel knew how he hated being disturbed at breakfast. One of the very few good things about being the senior officer of the Harlysville “garrison” was the plethora of seafood taken off Lizard Island’s shores and, especially, the spider crabs and shellfish harvested from Lamb Chop Shoal off the island’s northwestern coast. Before he’d been assigned to the grandiloquently named Coastal Defense Force and then shuffled off to Lizard Island he’d never considered the thought of seafood for breakfast. Now it was one of the simple pleasures to which he looked forward.

“See what, Ahmbrohs?” he inquired in repressive tones, looking up from his plate. “And why can’t it wait until I’ve at least finished breakfast?”

“Sir,” Ahmbrohs Maikel was a tall, lugubrious-looking man, with a long face and thinning gray hair, who walked with a pronounced limp courtesy of the wounds he’d suffered at Alyksberg, “you can wait until you’ve finished breakfast if you want. No skin off my nose. Don’t think Governor Alysyn’ll be too happy about that later, though.”

Sathyrwayt’s frown deepened. Maikel took a certain pleasure in finding suitable reasons to predict doom and gloom. And he was not, regrettably, a tremendous respecter of the dignity of twenty-year-old lieutenants who’d never heard a shot fired in anger. Still, there was usually a point to his less than deeply respectful moments—what Sathyrwayt’s uncle, a lay brother in the Order of Sondheim, was fond of calling a “teaching moment.” All of which suggested this was a day when breakfast should be deferred.

“All right, Ahmbrohs,” he sighed, took one last sip of chocolate, and pushed back from the table. “What’s so damned important?” he asked, walking across the tiny dining parlor of the house assigned for his use here in Harlysville.

“Best if you see it for yourself, Sir,” Maikel said, and pointed out to sea.

Harlysville lay at what was very nearly the northernmost point of Lizard Island, fronting the twenty-five-mile-wide Ghustahv Channel between Lizard and the much larger Dragon Island, its northern neighbor. The Ghustahv Channel was deep, suitable for the largest galleons, and there were usually a few sails visible upon its waters. Much less shipping had passed through it since the heretics’ seizure of White Rock Island, however. White Rock was nine hundred miles north of Lizard, but Charisian commerce-raiders had swarmed out from it to shut down the Trosan Channel and the Fern Narrows. What little shipping still moved across Hankey Sound came from South Harchong, not the north, and tended to hug the Sound’s southern coast as tightly as possible, staying close to ports it could dash into the instant a Charisian schooner’s topsails showed themselves. That meant no one was taking the shortcut through Ghustahv Channel. So what, Sathyrwayt thought irritably, could be so damned important that he had to leave his breakfast to get cold and—

“Sweet Langhorne,” he said very, very softly.

“Figure that’s about the only person who could help us now, Sir,” Maikel agreed with appalling cheerfulness. Sathyrwayt looked at him sharply, and the sergeant shrugged. “Already roused the platoon, Sir. Got both twelve-pounders manned, too. Don’t think it’ll make much difference, though.”

Sathyrwayt stared at him for several seconds, then back out at the forest of sails emerging from the morning fog. There had to be at least thirty or forty galleons out there, he thought numbly. And, far worse, were the two ships heading purposefully—and absurdly swiftly—towards Harlysville’s modest docks. The thick banners of smoke trailing from the single smokestack each of them boasted would have made their identity crystal-clear even without the silver, blue, and black banners flying from their yardarms.

Behind them, moving more slowly but trailing their own smoke, were at least two dozen much smaller vessels. They looked more like cargo lighters than anything else, except for their spindly smokestacks and the paddle blades churning the ocean behind them. Sathyrwayt had seen pedal-powered paddle wheels on a handful of canal boats, but he’d never seen paddle wheels that spun as rapidly and steadily as these did.

Maikel tapped him on the shoulder and extended the spyglass Sathyrwayt hadn’t noticed hanging from his shoulder. The lieutenant took it numbly, raising it and peering through it, and his jaw tightened as he recognized the black and blue uniforms of Imperial Charisian Marines. There were what looked like at least a couple of squads—probably more—packed into each of those oncoming “cargo lighters,” and his entire command consisted of a single understrength platoon of only twenty-seven men.

“I believe you’re right about how much difference the twelve-pounders are going to make, Sergeant,” he said, lowering the glass. “Why don’t you get back to the men and suggest they stand well clear of the guns? In fact, I think it would be a good idea to shove them through the embrasures. We can always fish them back out of the harbor at low tide later.”

“I think that sounds like a really good idea, Sir.” There was considerably more approval in Maikel’s voice than Sathyrwayt was accustomed to hearing from him. “I’ll just go and take care of that right now, shall I?”

“I think that would be a very good idea.” Sathyrwayt handed him back the spyglass with a thin smile. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll see about getting semaphore messages off to Governor Alysyn and Captain Ohygyns.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The sergeant touched his chest in salute and started down the narrow street towards the pathetic earthwork “battery” covering Harlysville’s three fishing piers, and Sathyrwayt headed for the semaphore office.

He fully intended to send those messages, but he rather doubted they’d come as any surprise to the island’s governor or the naval base’s commanding officer. It seemed … unlikely the Imperial Charisian Navy would waste its time occupying miserable little Harlysville unless they intended to take the entire damned island. And it seemed equally unlikely the Charisians would be guilty of botched timing. If they were moving in on Harlysville, they’d probably already made their presence known off Darth Town, as well.

* * *

Thunder bellowed, recoil shook HMS Gwylym Manthyr’s fifteen thousand tons underfoot, and the waves of overpressure blew back across him like a hot, mighty fist of wind. Dense brown smoke billowed, shot through with flame, and four 10-inch and seven 8-inch shells howled from his flagship’s guns.

Sir Dunkyn Yairley stood on his flag bridge—the first dedicated flag bridge ever built aboard a Safeholdian ship of war—and gazed through his double-glass. Fortunately, the wind was brisk and from the north, rolling the blinding smoke away rapidly. Despite that, the range hadn’t quite cleared before those shells crashed down on the old-fashioned, stonewalled fortifications on Battery Point. He couldn’t see the actual explosions as they landed like brimstone hammers, but as the smoke blew clear, he could easily see the hundred-yard section of that thick stone barrier which had just disintegrated.

The range was short, especially for Manthyr’s guns, at barely a thousand yards, and Lizard Island’s defenses hadn’t received priority for the new, heavy Fultyn Rifles. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had—not against Manthyr’s armor—but the battery’s 40-pounders were about as useful as stone-throwing catapults. They’d fired back defiantly as the enormous ship glided remorselessly across Darth Cove, Lizard Island’s one decent harbor, into her chosen position, but they’d accomplished less than nothing and Halcom Bahrns had ignored them almost disdainfully as he closed.

In many ways, Admiral Sarmouth would have preferred to leave those fortifications alone. He took no pleasure in massacring men who couldn’t fight back effectively, and that was exactly what he was doing at this moment. But if those artillery pieces couldn’t harm Manthyr, they most certainly could harm any of his landing craft or supporting galleons. They could also kill quite a few of his Marines when the time came. He had no intention of allowing that, and so Halcom Bahrns had brought his ship to within a bare five cables of Battery Point before he’d turned and opened fire at last. Now he steamed slowly in a huge, flattened oval, maintaining a bare knot’s speed through the water, while his ship’s massive armament methodically pulverized the defensive positions. At that range, firing from Manthyr’s rocksteady platform and waiting for the smoke to clear between salvos, his gunners were capable of pinpoint accuracy, and their heavy shells drilled effortlessly into the obsolete stonework.

Sarmouth turned from the systematic destruction of the naval yard’s defenses and gazed southwest at Darth Town, Lizard Island’s only real town, on the far side of Darth Cove. Fortunately, neither Styvyn Alysyn, the island’s governor, nor Ahlfryd Mahkgentry, Darth Town’s mayor, had been stupid enough to man the even more ancient and decrepit defenses covering the civilian harbor. He’d hoped that would be the case, although it had been something of a toss-up which way Mayor Mahkgentry would decide in the end. Alysyn was a reasonable man and about as far from a fanatic as a man could get, a career bureaucrat with no hankering for glory or illusions about his island’s ability to stand off an assault backed by ships like Gwylym Manthyr or the City-class ironclads. Mahkgentry was younger, a more fiery soul. He was more ardent, more impetuous … and more concerned about the Inquisition’s reaction to anything smacking of “defeatism.” In the end, though, he’d decided to abide by Alysyn’s orders. Quite probably, in Sarmouth’s rather cynical opinion, because those orders would offer him cover when the Inquisition came calling.

Except, of course, that the Inquisition isn’t going to call on anyone ever again once this jihad of Clyntahn’s is over, the baron thought grimly. Probably expecting a bit much for people like Mahkgentry to recognize that—or admit it, anyway, even to themselves—at this point, I suppose. On the other hand, there are people in Gorath who damned well should realize it. Be interesting to see if they react to our little Lizard Island visit the way Cayleb and Sharleyan predict they will.

He lowered the double-glass and glanced up at the sky. It was barely ten o’clock, the day’s heat was only beginning to build, and it wouldn’t be much longer before even Captain Ohygyns realized the only thing more resistance could accomplish would be to get more of his men killed. Major Anthynee Frughahty, the senior officer of the troops from the Coastal Defense Force assigned to Lizard Island, had already recognized that reality. The CDF was a new organization, hastily put together by Earl Thirsk out of whatever forces came to hand, and Frughahty’s contingent had been granted precious little time to shake down before it was sent out. They were scarcely what anyone could have called an effective fighting force yet, and he’d never had more than three hundred men, whereas Sarmouth was in the process of landing an entire brigade of veteran Marines. Even as the admiral watched, the steam-powered landing boats were churning back out across Darth Cove towards the transport galleons for the second wave of assault troops.

Not that it’s been all that much of an “assault,” Sarmouth reflected. More a matter of coming politely ashore and reminding the men to be courteous to the local civilians as long as they mind their manners. And it’s remarkable how well they’ve done just that!

He raised the double-glass again as a fresh broadside blasted from Gwylym Manthyr’s guns. He didn’t bother to examine the defensive battery when the smoke cleared this time. His double-glass was trained on the flagstaff above the naval yard’s semaphore tower, where the green wyvern on its red field still flew defiantly.

It was only a matter of time before that banner came down and he could order Bahrns to cease fire. All that remained was to see how much time—and how many more men—Ohygyns’ stubbornness was going to cost.

* * *

“I won’t hide the truth from you, Duke Fern.” Bishop Executor Wylsynn Lainyr’s voice was chill across the conference table, his expression bleak. “Mother Church finds this latest news from Lizard Island disturbing. Most disturbing.”

“I hope you don’t think there’s anyone on His Majesty’s council who doesn’t find it equally disturbing, Your Eminence,” Samyl Cahkrayn replied. “Lizard Island is less than four hundred miles as a wyvern flies from this very chamber. For that matter, it’s less than seventy miles off Start Point and barely five hundred miles from Gorath by sea! If our reports about those Shan-wei-spawned ‘steamers’ of theirs are correct, that’s less than two days’ voyage from His Majesty’s capital. And forgive me for pointing this out, but I doubt the timing of this attack—the fact that it comes when the Army of the Seridahn is already under such massive pressure—was precisely a coincidence.”

“That’s exactly my point, Your Grace,” Lainyr’s voice was even colder. “Governor Alysyn and Captain Ohygyns know the Army of the Seridahn’s fallen back for almost a hundred and fifty miles in less than a month. Now, at the first sign of the heretic navy, they’ve surrendered an entire island and all of Mother Church’s children living on it, to the forces of Shan-wei! And, in the process, provided the heretics with a naval base which—as you’ve just pointed out—is only five hundred miles from this very city! One cannot avoid the suspicion that news from the Army of the Seridahn’s front might have … undermined the determination of Lizard Island’s defenders.”

Silence lingered for several moments in the palatial council chamber as Lainyr gazed at the Kingdom of Dohlar’s first councilor with bleak eyes.

“That’s a very serious charge, Your Eminence.” Duke Salthar broke that silence from Fern’s side of the table, and Lainyr’s eyes swiveled to the Royal Dohlaran Army’s commanding officer. “If I understand you correctly,” the duke continued in a level, almost dispassionate tone, meeting those eyes, “you’re suggesting Governor Alysyn and Captain Ohygyns surrendered out of cowardice.”

The silence which followed those words was more intense, and considerably icier, than the last one had been. Then Lainyr cleared his throat.

“‘Cowardice’ is, perhaps, a stronger word than any I might choose, Your Grace,” he said. Ahbsahlahn Kharmych stirred in his chair at the bishop executor’s elbow, disagreement flickering in his eyes, but Lainyr ignored him and continued steadily. “At this time, Mother Church is prepared to accept the honesty of this report.” He tapped a copy of the message lying on the table before him. “But even accepting that the Governor’s explanation of his thinking is completely honest, Mother Church finds it very disturbing that he thought that way in the first place. From his own words, it appears evident he never truly contemplated defending the island. He might have held out for some time had he not agreed to parley with the heretic Sarmouth within less than six hours of Sarmouth’s arrival. Calling his decision ‘cowardice’ might be excessive, but I believe his entire attitude might reasonably be described as … defeatist. Mother Church has a right to expect at least some effort to defend her loyal children from the corruption and damnation of Shan-wei’s servants, Your Grace.”

“Your Eminence,” Fern said before Salthar could respond, “with all due respect, I think the results of Captain Ohygyns’ defense of the navy yard demonstrate that Governor Alysyn’s assessment of the situation was entirely accurate. The Captain’s gallant efforts produced, so far as we know, not a single heretic casualty. His artillerists, on the other hand, suffered at least eighty dead, with twice as many wounded, and all but four of his own guns had been put out of action or completely destroyed before he surrendered his command. To me, that clearly suggests Governor Alysyn, with far weaker batteries and no more than three hundred men, could have achieved nothing besides the pointless sacrifice of still more of our soldiers’ lives. And that, of course, doesn’t even consider the civilians of Darth Town who might have been caught in the fighting.”

Lainyr’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the first councilor’s firm, almost hard tone, but Fern continued levelly.

“Lizard Island’s defenses were never intended to stand off a major attack. It would have been physically impossible for Duke Salthar and Duke Thorast to defend every single mile of the Kingdom’s coast, much less islands completely surrounded by sea, especially now that the heretics effectively control the entire Gulf of Dohlar. It simply couldn’t be done—not out of the Kingdom’s resources, at any rate. Choices had to be made, and that meant less vital objectives had to be left exposed. Just creating the Coastal Defense Force to provide at least some sort of garrisons for our smaller ports constitutes a severe drain on our available troop strength. And while I completely agree that every soul must be protected from the poisons of Shan-wei, Lizard Island is less than ninety miles long from north to south. Its entire civilian population is under eleven thousand. I deeply regret that any of Mother Church’s children should find themselves even temporarily under heretic control, but surely the number of Lizard Islanders is minute compared to the many, many thousands who’ve already fled Thorast ahead of the heretic Hanth or, far worse, found themselves unable to flee, trapped behind his lines. Are you suggesting we should have attempted to reinforce someplace like Lizard Island to a level that gave it a realistic chance of resisting attack by the heretics’ armored ships rather than strain every sinew to protect the far greater number of His Majesty’s subjects—and Mother Church’s children—on the mainland?”

Lainyr’s expression was a mask for his thoughts, but Kharmych’s face had darkened steadily as the first councilor spoke.

“Are you questioning Mother Church, Your Grace?” he demanded.

“I’m simply seeking clarification, Father. We have only so many men and only so many weapons to give them. Our manufactories are stretched to the limit arming them, or we might be able to put more of them into the field. We understand why Mother Church is unable to assist us with men or weapons at this time, and we also understand why priority’s been given to equipping the Mighty Host. As the purely secular servant of His Majesty, I find those priorities … regrettable, but we understand what’s driven them. Unfortunately, like Mother Church, we have to make decisions about where to deploy our finite—very finite, Father—resources. If Archbishop Trumahn or Mother Church would prefer for us to deploy them in other places, towards other ends, we need to know that.”

Kharmych’s face grew even darker, but Lainyr laid one hand on his arm.

“As you say, Your Grace,” the bishop executor said coldly, “Mother Church’s resources are strained to the breaking point at this time. I’m sure Archbishop Trumahn—and Mother Church, of course—realize this Kingdom’s resources are equally strained. Under the circumstances there can be no question about the need to give you and King Rahnyld a free hand in how you employ your own soldiers and sailors. And you’re quite right to point out the much greater number of Mother Church’s children here on the mainland. My concern—Mother Church’s concern—has less to do with your deployment plans, than it does with the … tenacity of your troops and their commanders. Especially after the recent … lamentable reverses your Navy and Army have suffered.”

Salthar’s jaw clenched, but Fern only nodded.

“We have, indeed, suffered ‘reverses’ in Mother Church’s cause.” He emphasized the last four words ever so slightly, and Kharmych’s eyes flashed. “There can be no higher calling than to defend God and His Church,” the first councilor went on steadily, “and this Kingdom—and its soldiers and sailors—remain firmly and deeply committed to it. The mainland ports, starting with Gorath, are much more heavily fortified and defended than a tiny, isolated island like Lizard Island ever could be. I regret that Duke Thorast was unable to be here to recount all the actions he’s taken—is taking, even now—to see to that. We’re currently laying up all our remaining galleons to free additional men for harbor defense, and in God’s good time, when we’re able to provide them with rifles, many of those men will reinforce the Army, as well. I’m confident the heretics will find it far more difficult to take a city like Gorath or Bessberg against those reinforced garrisons and batteries. But in all honesty—and I owe Mother Church nothing less than the truth—I can’t guarantee a successful defense anywhere the heretics can deploy ships like the one they used against Darth Town.”

The bishop executor’s surprise at the frankness of that admission was obvious. Kharmych, on the other hand, looked like a man who’d swallowed a shellhorn and just felt its first sting. The silence was so intense it seemed to ring in the council room’s air.

“What His Grace means, Your Eminence,” Salthar said after a moment, “is that the heretics have demonstrated their ability to bombard our ports at will, just as they’ve demonstrated that our galleons dare not meet their ironclads at sea. So Duke Thorast has ordered that our warships’ artillery be landed and incorporated into our coastal defenses.”

Fern suppressed a sudden, inappropriate urge to smile at that last sentence. It hadn’t been Thorast’s idea to lay up the fleet. In fact he’d initially denied Earl Thirsk’s request to do so. He’d been overruled by Fern, however, and much as it galled him to agree to anything Thirsk suggested, even he had been forced to admit that what had happened at White Rock Island—and now, again, at Lizard Island—had proven Thirsk was right.

“Like Duke Fern,” Salthar continued, “I believe our strengthened defenses will be much more effective. The Navy is currently preparing and emplacing as many sea-bombs as possible, in addition to the new, heavy, rifled artillery. I believe the rockets which have been adapted for coastal defense may well also be effective. No one can guarantee that, however. Without completely neutralizing our defenses and defeating our Army garrisons, a successful invasion remains most unlikely; bombardments like those carried out against the Harchongians and Desnairians last year are another matter, unfortunately. Unless the sea-bombs prove even more effective than we expect, I very much fear that we’ll be unable to prevent them from doing the same things to our coastal cities. If they do, the consequences will, of course, be severe.”

Lainyr compressed his lips, eyes narrowed, and examined the councilors on the other side of the table for a long, tense moment. Then he nodded.

“I’m no military man. As such, I’m not remotely qualified to pass judgment on the provisions you’ve made to defend your Kingdom and your King’s subjects. I have neither the intention nor the instructions to interfere with them in any way, and I’ll pray most earnestly for their success. This is a time of grave peril when many of God’s loyal children will be asked for painful sacrifices, and I deeply regret—as I’m confident the Grand Vicar himself deeply regrets—the price the people of Dohlar have already paid so gallantly in His service.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Fern said, and the bishop executor nodded curtly to Kharmych and began to stand. But the first councilor raised a hand before Lainyr was completely out of his chair.

“A moment more, Your Eminence, if you please.” The duke’s tone and expression were courtesy itself, but there was a hint of granite in his brown eyes. “There’s one other matter we wished to discuss.”

“Indeed, Your Grace?” Lainyr’s voice was neutral, and so was his face.

“Yes. Duke Salthar’s received a report we find … somewhat troubling, and we hoped you might cast some light upon it.”

“What sort of report?” the bishop executor asked even more tonelessly.

“Your Eminence, according to General Iglaisys, General Rychtyr has been relieved of command and is returning to Gorath accompanied by an Army of God escort,” Salthar said. “I gave no such order, and it’s my understanding that it was delivered by Father Rahndail in Mother Church’s name.”

The tension in the chamber ratcheted upwards abruptly and Lainyr sat back down in his chair and folded his hands on the table before him.

“General Iglaisys is correct, Your Grace,” he said flatly.

“With all due respect, Your Eminence, the Army is answerable first to me, then to Duke Fern, and then to the Crown. I am answerable to Mother Church for the success or failure of that Army. If I feel one of my field commanders is no longer giving of his best, or if I feel he’s proven ineffective, then surely it’s my prerogative—and responsibility—to replace him.”

“No, Your Grace.” It wasn’t Lainyr; it was Kharmych, and the intendant’s eyes were fiery. “You’re correct that it’s your responsibility to replace ineffective or halfhearted commanders, but those commanders—like every other child of God—are directly answerable to Mother Church as God’s bride. Mother Church’s concerns with General Rychtyr’s … state of mind were shared with you and Duke Fern. You chose to exercise your military judgment by leaving him in command of the Army of the Seridahn—as was your legal right. Since that time, the Army of the Seridahn has been driven back deep into the Kingdom, suffering massive casualties, and reports from our inquisitors in the field indicate that its spirit and zeal are … not what they might be. Indeed, those reports are one reason Bishop Executor Wylsynn expressed concern over the fighting spirit of the Lizard Island garrisons. The employment of your troops is a matter for your decision, and as you say, your responsibility—one for which you’ll be accountable in the eyes of God. But if the faith, the spiritual strength, of those troops is being permitted to erode … that, Your Grace, is a matter for Mother Church and the Inquisition.”

“Are you suggesting General Rychtyr is more responsible than the chaplains assigned to him for the manner in which his men’s morale responds to military defeats, Father?”

A dangerous edge of challenge glinted in the depths of Salthar’s tone, but Kharmych only nodded.

“Ultimately, Your Grace, the commander of an army is responsible for everything pertaining to that army, is he not? That’s always been true in a secular sense—at least, as I understand it. So, yes, General Rychtyr carries a major share of the responsibility for his troops’ spiritual well-being. It’s possible our reports are less than accurate or overstate the severity of the problem.” The intendant’s voice made it crystal clear he didn’t believe that for a moment. “If that’s true, I’m sure General Rychtyr will be returning to his command quite soon.”

“I hope that’s the case, Father,” Salthar replied. “The General is deeply respected by the entire Army, and I’m confident no man could be better qualified—from a military perspective—to command the Army of the Seridahn. I’m sure his removal from command would … sit poorly with his officers and men.”

Something murderous flashed in Kharmych’s eyes, but Lainyr laid a hand on his forearm again before the intendant could speak. He gazed at Salthar for a long, thoughtful moment, then stood, beckoning for Kharmych to join him.

“I understand your concerns, Your Grace,” the bishop executor said coolly. “And I have no desire to … unsettle the Army’s command at this critical time. I assure you that we’ll delve to the bottom of this as swiftly as humanly possible.”

“As loyal sons of Mother Church, we can ask no more, Your Eminence,” Duke Fern replied for both councilors as they also stood.

“Until later, then,” Lainyr said, and sketched Langhorne’s scepter in blessing. Then he and Kharmych turned on their heels and swept out of the council chamber in silence.

* * *

It was a far smaller council chamber, tucked away in a little used corner of the palace, and the men seated around the table had arrived very quietly, one at a time. Now Duke Fern leaned back in his chair and swept his eyes across his fellows’ faces. There were only three of them: Duke Salthar; Sir Zhorj Laikhyrst, Baron of Yellowstone, who served as the Kingdom of Dohlar’s foreign minister; and Hairahm Kortez, Baron Windborne, the minister of the treasury. Once again, the Duke of Thorast was conspicuous by his absence.

“I think,” the first councilor said quietly, “that … recent events require us to reconsider our existing plans for the prosecution of the Jihad.”

“Since it’s coming down to a matter of survival, I think that’s probably fair enough,” Salthar said, and Fern nodded. The fact that Salthar was here while Thorast wasn’t said quite a lot about how those “recent events” had … reshaped thinking in Gorath, given how supportive of the Jihad Salthar had always been, the first councilor thought.

“What sort of reconsideration did you have in mind, Samyl?” Yellowstone asked.

“There are several new bits of information we need to evaluate,” Fern replied. “Our ability to continue to pay for the weapons we need is also a matter for some concern. That’s one reason we’ve asked you to attend, Hairahm.”

Windborne nodded, although from his expression, he was less than delighted to have been invited to this particular meeting.

“Before we turn to those, however,” Fern continued, “Shain and I—and Aibram, of course—have rethought some of our earlier deployment plans. We’ve decided that the reinforcements we’ve assembled for the Army of the Seridahn need to be held closer to Gorath for the immediate future.”

Yellowstone stiffened ever so slightly, and Windborne frowned. By straining every muscle, combing every possible man out of garrisons throughout the kingdom, they’d managed to collect and arm—after a fashion—almost sixty thousand men, exclusive of the additional Coastal Defense Force detachments Thirsk was organizing out of the seamen he’d sent ashore. Since they’d come from so many disparate sources, it was essential to give them at least some time to drill together before they were thrown into combat, and they’d been assembled outside Gorath, in close proximity to the manufactories charged with producing their rifles. Given the Army of the Seridahn’s desperate situation, however, they needed to be started for the front soon. With the heretics’ closure of the eastern end of the Gulf of Dohlar, they’d have to be sent up the Gorath River, to the St. Nytzhana Canal, to the Fronz River, and then northwest to Fronzport on Lake Sheryl, over a hundred miles in the Army of the Seridahn’s rear, and that would take time. A lot of time.

“We haven’t taken that decision lightly, of course,” Fern continued, his expression grave. “The heretics’ capture of Lizard Island, however, suggests they intend to intensify their attacks all along our coast. While the operating range of their smaller ironclads appears to be limited, the loss of Lizard Island clearly brings the capital itself into their reach, and it’s obvious the operating range—and gun power—of their new, big ironclad are both much greater. Given that, we see no choice but to delay the deployment of those troops to Thorast until we’re confident they don’t intend an invasion in force at some vital point.”

Windborne and Yellowstone glanced at one another, then nodded slowly.

“You don’t suppose the heretics were so obliging as to allow Governor Alysyn’s report to reach us in hopes we’d worry about exactly that, do you?” Yellowstone asked after a moment. “Or that its arrival had anything to do with Archbishop Trumahn’s ‘unavoidable recall’ to Zion?”

“I imagine both those things are entirely possible,” Fern conceded. “I can’t speak to the Archbishop’s schedule,” he added drily, “but I’m quite sure they told us about Lizard Island—or let Alysyn tell us for them—specifically to encourage us to hold General Rychtyr’s—I mean, of course, the Army of the Seridahn’s—reinforcements right where they are. But whether that’s the case or not, we have no choice but to honor the threat until we know more.”

“And have you communicated that decision to Mother Church?” Yellowstone asked.

“Not yet. We only reached it a few hours ago, and we want your input on how best to draft a message explaining our intentions and the reason for them.”

“I’m flattered.” Yellowstone’s tone was dry enough to turn Gorath Bay to dust.

“I knew you would be.” Fern smiled briefly. Then his expression sobered. “We’ve made one other decision, as well. Under the circumstances, wherever those replacements end up, they’ll need the best, most experienced commander we can give them—especially now that General Rychtyr is … temporarily unavailable.”

“I can see that,” Windborne said slowly. “Who do you have in mind?”

“General Ahlverez,” Fern replied, and this time his tone was very flat. “Shain and I have discussed it at some length, and we can’t think of a single other general as experienced against the heretics as Sir Rainos. Or—” he let his gaze meet Yellowstone and Windborne’s levelly “—one with a better understanding of the Kingdom’s enemies—all the Kingdom’s enemies—and how they think.”