At the Sign of Triumph (Safehold)

.VI.

Nimue’s Cave,

Mountains of Light,

The Temple Lands.

“You’re joking.”

Nahrmahn seemed oddly put out, Merlin reflected.

“No, we aren’t. You’ve seen the imagery yourself. For that matter, I know damned well you were listening in while he had the conversation.”

“Well … yes,” the deceased little prince admitted.

“Then what seems to be the problem?” Merlin asked suspiciously, and Nynian snorted.

Merlin looked across at her. The two of them sat in comfortable chairs in Nimue’s Cave with glasses of forty-five-year Glynfych—a parting gift from Ahrloh Mahkbyth—in front of them, and now she shook her head at him.

“His professional pride’s offended,” she explained, and smiled affectionately at Nahrmahn’s avatar. “That’s it, isn’t it, Nahrmahn? You never saw this coming, and that offends you.”

“I probably wouldn’t choose the verb ‘offend,’” he replied. “I do feel a trifle … irritated, however.”

“Oh, for the love of—!” Merlin shook his head, torn between amusement and irritation of his own. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, Nynian never saw this coming, either!”

“Do you really want to tick off both of us?” Nynian inquired with a commendably straight face only slightly undermined by the twinkle in her eye.

“No, I want both of you giving us your best analysis,” Merlin said.

“Second the motion,” Cayleb threw in from Siddar City.

“As do I,” Maikel Staynair added. “And unlike Nahrmahn, I was unable to watch the conversation as it happened. Perhaps you could go over the high points for those of us not already familiar with them? Because I have to agree with Nahrmahn that the whole business seems flatly impossible!”

“Yes,” Paityr Wylsynn said, and his voice was far softer than the archbishop’s, almost husky. “Please. I was otherwise occupied at the time, myself. If I’d had any idea what Duchairn had to say, I would’ve made time to watch it! But I didn’t, and I can’t believe.… I mean, I want to believe, but.…”

“Believe me, I understand that, Paityr,” Nynian said gently. “He was your uncle, but he was my friend—my very dear friend. And now I know he died the way he did at least in part to protect me. And whatever qualms you may feel about being directly descended from Androcles Schueler, the ‘Stone of Schueler’ proves Phandys was telling us nothing but the truth. I don’t think he told us everything—for that matter, he told us he wasn’t telling us everything. But what he did tell us was the truth, and that means we can thank your Uncle Hauwerd for all of it.”

“And Rhobair Duchairn,” Nimue Chwaeriau said soberly from Manchyr Palace. She stood behind Irys as the princess and the Earl of Coris sat on a palace balcony, looking out over Manchyr Bay as the sun settled towards the horizon behind them. “I have to say I didn’t see that one coming, either.”

“I’m … less surprised than I might have been,” Sharleyan said slowly from Tellesberg. “If I’d ever suspected anything like this was possible, I’d have picked Duchairn as the one most likely to be behind it. It’s been obvious from his actions in Zion, especially his efforts to properly care for the poor and the destitute, that he’s had something like a genuine regeneration of his faith. In fact, I’d wondered how he’d avoided openly breaking with Clyntahn long since—how a man who obviously hated everything Clyntahn stood for with every fiber of his being could have continued to make one accommodation after another with him. I put it down to cowardice, in the end, and God knows he had ample proof that any rational human being should be terrified of Zhaspahr Clyntahn. But this … this puts a very different face on those ‘accommodations’ of his.”

“It does, indeed,” Merlin agreed, then turned slightly in his chair to face Paityr Wylsynn’s projected image squarely.

“The short version of it, Paityr, is that your uncle was a … more proactive fellow than your father in many ways. He absolutely supported your father’s candidacy for the Grand Inquisitorship, and he agreed a hundred percent with the need to collect the evidence your father would need to clean up the abuses and the corruption of the vicarate. But he also knew what really happened to Saint Evyrahard, and he was determined to keep that from happening to your father if he could. Unfortunately, according to Major Phandys, he also knew your father wouldn’t have approved of his efforts, so like a lot of younger brothers, he just … neglected to mention them to him.

“After Clyntahn won the election—or, rather, after Rayno cooked the vote to give him the election—your uncle continued quietly pursuing his efforts. I don’t know exactly what he hoped he might achieve by them, but remember that there was no Army of God, no Mighty Host, when he set out. The only real armed force in Zion—or anywhere else in the Temple Lands, if you come down to it—was the Temple Guard. I suspect he hoped he might eventually recruit a large enough cadre from its junior officers to actually let him convince your father a military coup against Clyntahn and the Inquisition could succeed.”

“I think that’s exactly what he hoped,” Nynian murmured, her eyes soft with affectionate memory. “Of course, Samyl never would’ve agreed to anything of the sort. You know what he was like, Paityr!”

“Yes.” Paityr had to stop and clear his throat. “Yes,” he said then, more strongly. “I do. But I also know how … convincing Uncle Hauwerd could be. I’m not prepared to say he couldn’t have brought Father around to it in the end.”

“Well, if anyone in the world could have, it would’ve been Hauwerd,” Nynian conceded, then she chuckled. “And if he couldn’t convince Samyl, I wouldn’t have been one bit surprised to see him stage the coup on his own and then offer your father a fait accompli!”

“Whatever he might have done under other circumstances,” Merlin continued, “when he and your father realized Clyntahn intended to purge them and all their friends, he must have been bitterly tempted to try a coup then. But he wasn’t ready, and he refused to ask the officers and men who’d given him their allegiance to throw away their lives in a vain effort to save his and his friends’. I think, from some of the things Phandys said—and, even more, from the way he said them—that he had a hard time keeping them from trying, anyway.”

He shook his head, his eyes distant, then refocused on Paityr.

“Phandys had a hard time getting out the truth about how he died. He confirmed the rumor that your uncle killed your father himself rather than permit him to be taken for the Question and the Punishment.” Anguish twisted Paityr’s face, but it was anguish for the decision his uncle had been forced to make, not condemnation, and he nodded. “And Phandys also confirmed that he was the one who actually killed your uncle. In fact, he was also the one who denounced your father and your uncle to Zhaphar Kahrnaikys. He was actually the one who inserted the passage request that sent Kahrnaikys after your uncle into the logbook to begin with.” Paityr stared at him, his face white. “It was the best way your uncle could think of to divert any possible suspicion from Phandys … and Phandys was your uncle’s guarantee that he’d never be put to the Question. Could never be made to tell anyone about the names on that list. Or about anyone else he suspected of … anti-Inquisition activities.”

Merlin’s eyes flitted ever so briefly to Nynian, then returned to Paityr.

“And Phandys did it,” he said very softly. “That’s a tough, hard man, Paityr, and he broke down twice telling us about it, but he by God did it. And he didn’t do it to protect himself. He did it as the last service he could ever perform for a man he profoundly respected. I know a little something about the kind of human being it takes to engender that kind of loyalty, Paityr. I wish to God I’d had the chance to know your uncle.”

“He was … special,” Paityr agreed.

“And a good judge of character,” Nynian said. “When he realized what was going to happen, that there was no escape, he passed the names of the guardsmen he’d recruited to Rhobair Duchairn, of all people. To the one member of the Group of Four who’d experienced a genuine spiritual rebirth. My God, what that must’ve been like for Duchairn! He had in his hands the names of dozens of ‘traitors.’ All he had to do was hand them to Clyntahn and Rayno, and he would’ve proved his loyalty to them at a time when anything they saw as disloyalty was a death sentence. And if he didn’t hand them over, especially if he actually tried to take up Hauwerd’s task, he guaranteed himself the Punishment if a single thing went wrong. Can you imagine what a man who could accept the charge Hauwerd passed to him must have felt when he was compelled to play the part of Clyntahn’s accomplice?!” She shook her head slowly, her beautiful eyes huge and dark. “It must have been a living hell for him, a thousand times—a million times—worse than anything Thirsk had to endure.”

“I’m sure it was,” Baron Rock Point said after a moment from his flagship in Tellesberg Bay, but his voice was considerably harder and colder than Nynian’s had been. “I’m sure it was, and I have to respect the courage he’s shown since Hauwerd handed him the list. And I don’t have any doubt that Maikel would tell me that any soul can be redeemed and that good works are part of how that redemption works, sometimes. But let’s not forget the role he played in creating this entire jihad.”

“I’m not suggesting we do anything of the sort,” Nynian said. “But I’ve seen an awful lot of what the human heart’s capable of, for good or ill, Domynyk. In this case, I’d have to come down on your brother’s side. This is a man who’s been working his passage for years now, from the very belly of the beast. I’m prepared to cut him some slack.”

“And I’m inclined to agree with you,” Cayleb said soberly.

“But how did Phandys make the connection to Mahkbyth?” Irys asked.

“It would appear that whatever Paityr’s father may have thought, his Uncle Hauwerd cherished a few suspicions about Ahnzhelyk Phonda,” Merlin said. “It would also appear—” he smiled almost mischievously at Nynian “—that he and Ahnzhelyk were … rather closer friends than most people realized.”

“That was then, and this is now,” Nynian said, and Merlin chuckled. But then he looked back at Paityr again.

“We’ll never know exactly what he suspected about ‘Ahnzhelyk,’ but he’d obviously figured out she was involved with her own activities, as well as the role she’d taken in your father’s circle of Reformists. I wouldn’t be surprised if part of it was just the recognition of a kindred soul. Whatever else happened, however, he clearly overheard a conversation he wasn’t supposed to overhear.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Nynian said thoughtfully. “It’s more likely that I was too impressed with my own cleverness. I’m willing to bet I knew perfectly well he was listening to the conversation when I spoke with one of the members of Helm Cleaver right there in my mansion. A lot of them passed through, you know. In fact, Sandaria wasn’t the only member who worked for Ahnzhelyk.” She smiled. “All those remarkably handsome, muscular young footmen who kept themselves handy to protect my ladies belonged to Helm Cleaver, you know.”

“No.” Merlin chuckled and shook his head. “Actually, that never even occurred to me, Nynian!”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to suggest I could be devious or anything.…” She smiled. “But from the way Phandys described it, I’d be willing to bet that Hauwerd caught something I thought would go right past him, since he didn’t know about Helm Cleaver’s existence. At any rate, that’s where the ‘Seijin Kohdy’s Premium Blend’ came from.”

“And as far as Phandys’ decision to approach Ahrloh, Irys,” Merlin said, “that was a combination of an inspired guess on Hauwerd’s part and desperation on Duchairn and Phandys’ part. Hauwerd was the one who convinced Zhustyn Kyndyrmyn to write up an accurate report of what happened to Ahrloh’s son and his wife. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been tempted to approach Chief Sergeant Mahkbyth himself when he was recruiting his list of potential traitors, but he didn’t. Probably because he figured that a man who’d already lost his only child and was caring for an invalid wife had enough responsibilities—and had suffered enough—without dragging him into a possible coup against the Inquisition, as well. But he knew about Ahrloh and his family, and because he’d passed that report on to Nynian, he knew she knew about them. Phandys knew Ahrloh, too—they’d served together—and your uncle knew ‘Ahnzhelyk’ had been instrumental in setting Ahrloh up as a shopkeeper in Zion. So when he saw the sort of clientele she was subtly steering in his direction, he concluded there was an excellent chance he’d been recruited for whatever organization she was involved with. That was one of several things he discussed with Phandys when he realized Clyntahn was closing in on him and his friends … just before he ordered Phandys to denounce him.”

“And why did the Major approach him now?” Irys asked, her expression intent.

“Because of what happened to Zahmsyn Trynair,” Merlin said. “I don’t think they’ve acted out of fear for their own lives. If they’d been going to do that, they’d have done something a long time ago. I think what we’re seeing is a combination of factors. Trynair’s death—and Clyntahn’s threats to Duchairn and Maigwair—have convinced both of them that he’s prepared to pull the entire Church down with him rather than face the personal consequences of defeat. At the same time, Zion’s become a pressure cooker. When you combine the news from the battle front with the casualty totals, the number of families who’ve lost someone they loved, the number of people the Inquisition’s ‘disappeared’ in the capital, Helm Cleaver’s actions and the way they’ve provided detailed lists of their victims’ crimes, and the way the broadsheets we’ve been putting up all over the capital for years now flatly contradict Clyntahn’s version of events, the reservoir of reverence and piety that always supported the Inquisition has pretty much evaporated. There are a lot of people in Zion who no longer believe a single thing Zhaspahr Clyntahn says, Irys. A lot of them. And there’s a much smaller but still significant number of people who find themselves actively opposing him, passively at least. That’s been a factor in the success of several of Helm Cleaver’s operations. People who might have been able to give information to Rayno’s agents inquisitor frequently don’t.

“What it boils down to is that Clyntahn’s maintaining his power through a reign of terror, and every report that comes in from Tarikah or Cliff Peak or the South March—every word about the front that goes up in one of our broadsheets—is one more piece of evidence that the Temple is about to lose the Jihad. Clyntahn and his core supporters are unwilling to admit that, but they’re probably the only people in Zion—maybe even in the entire Temple Lands—who don’t understand that the war’s lost. And it’s a funny thing, Irys. People have a strong aversion to seeing their sons and husbands die in a war that’s already lost, especially when they realize they were systematically lied to about the reasons that war was begun in the first place. That’s true even when they haven’t come to the sneaking suspicion that God Himself is on the other side.

“So right now, Clyntahn’s control is stretched thin—maybe even thinner than he realizes—in Zion at the very moment when he’s about to commit the Church and every Temple Loyalist to an apocalypse that will kill millions of more people. If Duchairn’s ever going to act, it has to be now, and he doesn’t think he can succeed, even now, solely out of his own resources. So he sent the Major out to see if he could find the help he needs.”

“So Phandys was on a fishing expedition when he approached Master Mahkbyth,” Earl Coris murmured. “He didn’t know anything for certain, and all he had was what might or might not have been a code phrase Vicar Hauwerd overheard used in a conversation more than a decade ago. Is that about it?”

“Just about,” Nahrmahn agreed. “And that’s one reason my ‘professional pride’ is offended. This isn’t the sort of carefully calculated, exquisitely coordinated, brilliantly polished strategy upon which I pride myself, and it’s still about to do one hell of a lot of damage to Zhaspahr Clyntahn.”

“That remains to be seen,” Maikel Staynair said rather more somberly. “There are a million things that could go wrong. And even if there weren’t, we haven’t actually decided we’re going to give Duchairn the help he’s looking for.”

“What?” Irys twitched upright in her chair. “Of course we are!” She looked around the images projected onto her contact lenses, then turned to Coris … and saw the expression on his face. “Aren’t we?” she asked almost plaintively.

“Irys, if we help Duchairn—and, I’m pretty sure, Maigwair, even though Phandys refused to name anyone besides Duchairn—we may sabotage our own ultimate objective,” Sharleyan said quietly. “If Duchairn, with or without Maigwair, topples Clyntahn and manages to retain control afterwards—which is scarcely a given, I realize—he’ll offer us everything the Church of Charis has been demanding from the start. He’s already pledged to do that through Phandys, and while he may have lied to Phandys, Phandys definitely didn’t lie to Merlin or Nynian.”

Irys looked at Sharleyan’s image, her expression perplexed, and Coris sighed.

“Irys, we want to overthrow the Church of God Awaiting. Duchairn wants to reform it. He wants to stamp out its abuses, rein in the Inquisition, root out the corruption and the corrupters, and make as much honest, forthright restitution and recompense as he can for all the atrocities Clyntahn’s version of the Church has committed. If he offers to do those things, we can’t reject the offer. We can’t explain to our own people, much less to Greyghor Stohnar or all the other people trapped in this war, that we need to destroy the entire religion in which all of them believe. We just can’t do it, for the same reasons we haven’t been able to openly explain it to anyone already. So if we help Duchairn save the Church rather than continuing the war in hopes Clyntahn will ultimately destroy it, we may throw away our best chance to accomplish Nimue Alban’s true mission.”

“But all those people, Phylyp,” Irys half whispered. “All those people who might not have to die!”

“And that’s the heart of the problem, Irys,” Sharleyan said compassionately. “How far are we prepared to go to accomplish the objective we can’t tell anyone else about? And how many good and courageous people—like Major Phandys—are we willing to abandon to death while we do it? Because the one thing I can tell you for certain from having watched his conversation with Merlin and Nynian is that whether we support them or not, he and Duchairn are going to try.”

A long moment of silence hovered over the com link, and then Merlin smiled crookedly.

“You said this wasn’t one of your brilliant strategies, Nahrmahn,” he said, “and you’re right. What it is is more up Maikel’s alley than yours.”

“I beg your pardon?” The archbishop arched his eyebrows.

“It’s what you’ve talked about again and again, Maikel—the finger of God moving in the hearts of men. Think about how much how many people have sacrificed to bring us to this moment, to this decision point. Think about Samyl and Hauwerd, think about Zhorzhet and Marzho, about Duchairn and Phandys, and about the Sisters and Helm Cleaver. Think about all of that, and the chance Duchairn and Phandys took just contacting us in the first place. And then think about all the lives—our soldiers’ lives, not just those on the other side—we could save. That we might save. Do you really think we have a choice?”

He shook his head, and Nimue Chwaeriau’s holographic eyes met his across the link. Met his and agreed with them.

“God wouldn’t have given us this opportunity if He didn’t want us to take it,” Merlin said softly. “Maybe I’m wrong about that, but you know what? If I am, I don’t care. Not now. We’ve killed enough people. I’ve killed enough people. We’re not going to kill any more than we have to, whichever side they’re on, and we’ll just have to trust God to give us another opportunity somewhere down the road to accomplish Nimue’s mission. Because if He doesn’t want us to do this, then He’s been Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s God all along, and I know damned well He hasn’t.”