By Schism Rent Asunder Read online

  Smoke billowed up and lurid flames began to leap, turning the pitch-black night into something very different. More flames erupted as other in­cendiaries ignited their targets, and scattered voices began to shout in alarm as the town of North Bay abruptly awakened. Muskets cracked as the Marines detailed to Symyn's support attacked the harbor batteries from be­hind. Only two guns in each battery were actually manned after nightfall, and the handful of sleepy gunners were no match for the Marines storming in among them out of the darkness. Still more fires ignited along the harbor front, and a sharp, thunderous explosion echoed as one of the incendiaries found an unexpected store of gunpowder in a harbor barge beside a galleon undergoing conversion into a commerce raider. The explosion set the ship heavily ablaze and hurled flaming fragments into three other vessels and onto at least a half-dozen warehouse and tavern roofs.

  "Look, Sir!" one of Symyn's men shouted, and the lieutenant saw the bright, sudden sparkle of more musketry against the pitch-blackness to the west of the city.

  "It's the Marines!" he shot back. "No telling how long Major Zheffyr will be able to slow the bastards up, so hop to it!"

  "Aye, aye, Sir!"

  * * * *

  Major Harmyn lurched to his feet as the explosions and screams erupted. He grabbed up his sword belt and dashed for the office door, swinging the belt around him as he ran. His clerk and orderly were still coming out of their chairs as he erupted into the anteroom.

  "Get your weapons, goddamn it!" Harmyn barked, and charged out the office block's front door onto the parade ground between the two long rec­tangles of the barracks.

  Flames were already beginning to dance and glare through the barracks windows, and he heard a second wave of explosions as the Charisian seamen threw another dozen grenades into each building. Some of the wounded's shrieks ended abruptly, but other sounds of agony replaced them.

  Harmyn's belly knotted as he realized the attackers had already com­pletely eliminated his borrowed company as a cohesive fighting force. He didn't know how many of "his" men were actually dead or wounded, but even the ones who weren't would be too demoralized and terrified to offer any sort of effective resistance.

  And even if Tyllytsyn might have been able to rally them, I won't be, he thought grimly. They don't even know me, so why in Hell should they listen to me in a mess like this?

  The beginning sputter and crackle of musketry from the west told him no one was likely to arrive to reinforce him, so—

  Major Bahrkly Harmyn hadn't thought about the way he'd just silhouet­ted himself against the lit window of the orderly room behind him. Nor did he ever . . . just as he never heard the sharp "crack" of the rifled musket which killed him.

  * * * *

  Sir Dunkyn Yairley allowed himself to feel a profound sense of relief as he ob­served the same musket fire Symyn had seen and Harmyn had heard. Obviously, the Marines had gotten into position to cover the road from the main fortress west of the town. According to their spies' reports, there were at least three thou­sand men in that fortress' garrison. It was unlikely Major Zheffyr's two hundred Marines could hold them off forever, but surprise and confusion ought to keep them tied up for at least a while. Besides, Zheffyr's rate of fire and ring-mounted "bayonets ought to go a fair way towards equalizing the odds between them.

  A cannon boomed from the fortress. Yairley had no idea what the gunners behind it thought they were firing at. God knew the fortress' garrison had to be hopelessly confused by the sudden eruption of explosions and flames from the quietly sleeping town below its lofty headland perch. For all Yairley knew they actually thought they'd seen Charisian galleons standing in to the attack.

  At least two dozen ships were thoroughly ablaze. More were smoldering, and the stiff breeze was blowing sparks, cinders, and flaming debris from one ship to another. The warehouses which served the harbor were taking fire nicely, as well. Yairley hoped the flames wouldn't spread to the city proper, but he wasn't going to lose any sleep over the possibility.

  He looked out across the black mirror of the harbor, painted crimson with the rising torrents of flame, and saw more of his boats pulling strongly towards the merchant vessels anchored farther out. He also saw more than a few boats pulling away from those vessels, as their vastly outnumbered anchor watches of merchant seamen beat hasty retreats.

  They're probably going to hear about things like "deserting their posts" later this morning, Yairley thought. Not that they could have accomplished anything—except getting themselves killed—if they'd stayed.

  "All right, Master Aplyn-Ahrmahk," he said to the midshipman at his side. "Let's see to starting a few more fires of our own, and then I think it'll be time to go."

  "Aye, aye, Sir!" Aplyn-Ahrmahk replied with a huge grin, and twitched his head at Stywyrt Mahlyk. "Come along, Cox'in!" he said, and went trot­ting along the waterfront, blowing on his slow match while Mahlyk hauled out the first incendiary and Yairley tagged along behind.

  .XII.

  Royal Palace,

  City of Eraystor,

  Princedom of Emerald

  Prince Nahrmahn looked up from the latest dispatch and grimaced. "Well," he said mildly, "that's irritating." The Earl of Pine Hollow couldn't quite hide his disbelief as he looked across the table at his cousin. Nahrmahn saw his expression and snorted in harsh amusement. Then he laid the dispatch on the tabletop beside his plate and reached for a fresh slice of melon.

  "I take it you were expecting a somewhat. . . stronger reaction, Trahvys?' "Well. . . yes," Pine Hollow admitted.

  "Why?" Nahrmahn popped a bite of melon into his mouth and chewed. "Aside from the fact that Bishop Executor Wyllys' permission to use the church semaphore network means we got the news a little quicker than we might have, there's no real surprise here. Is there?"

  "I suppose not," Pine Hollow said slowly, trying to analyze Nahrmahn's mood. There was something . . . peculiar about it.

  "Militarily, burning North Bay to the ground—although, mind you, I ex­pect we'll find the damage is less extensive than these first reports might indicate—doesn't make a lot of sense," Nahrmahn acknowledged. "Politically, though, it makes perfect sense."

  "Meaning what, My Prince?"

  Personally, Pine Hollow couldn't see any sense in the attack at all. Aside from two small war galleys which had been anchored there, and half a dozen of the merchantmen Commodore Zhaztro had been converting into light cruisers for commerce-raiding purposes, most of the damage which had been inflicted struck him as pure, wanton destruction. The merchant ships tied up at North Bay's wharves and the idle warehouses, filled with goods which were simply collecting dust in the face of the Charisian Navy's blockade, hadn't been what he would have considered militarily important targets, at any rate. Not only that, but North Bay was the next best thing to seven hun­dred miles from Eraystor, and not exactly the largest and most important town in the princedom, either.

  "Meaning that Cayleb—or, more probably, Admiral Rock Point, acting within the general scope of Cayleb's instructions—is sending me a message."

  Nahrmahn cut another piece of melon and regarded it critically for a mo­ment before sending it after its predecessor. Then he looked back across at Pine Hollow.

  "They're demonstrating that as long as they have control of the sea, they can do this to us whenever they want. You might think of it as a pointed re­minder that despite everything Commodore Zhaztro can do, we can't really hurt them, but they can certainly hurt us. It's a point I was discussing with Bishop Executor Wyllys just yesterday, as a matter of fact."

  "Really?" Pine Hollow's eyes had narrowed speculatively. He'd known about the meeting between Nahrmahn and Bishop Executor Wyllys Graisyn, the highest-ranking churchman in the princedom, given Archbishop Lyam Tyrn's abrupt decision to return to Zion to . . . confer with his colleagues as soon as word of Darcos Sound reached Eraystor. But his cousin hadn't told him what that meeting had been about. Until now, at least, he thought as Nahrmahn gave him a somewhat off-
center smile.

  "The good Bishop Executor is concerned about the degree of our com­mitment to the ongoing war against Charis."

  "Commitment?" Pine Hollow blinked, then shook his head in disbelief. "He thinks that after Darcos Sound and Haarahld's death we think Cayleb is going to welcome us as allies?" he asked incredulously, and Nahrmahn chuck­led mirthlessly.

  "I think that letter from Archbishop Maikel—excuse me, from the apos­tate heretic and traitor, Maikel Staynair—to the Grand Vicar has Graisyn a bit. . . rattled, let's say. I don't think he put any more credence in the reports about Haarahld's violations of the Proscriptions than we ever did. Not, at least, as long as it was supposed to be a nice, simple matter of wrecking Charis from one end to the other according to Clyntahn's timetable. Now that the boot is on the other foot and those idiots in the Group of Four have managed to drive Cayleb into outright public defiance, he's feeling just a tad exposed here in our welcoming bosom."

  "Nahrmahn," Pine Hollow's tone was as worried as his expression as his initial incredulity faded into something else, " it's not safe to be—"

  "What?" The prince's eyes challenged him across the table. "Honest? Straightforward?"

  "I'm only saying I'd be astonished if the Inquisition didn't have ears closer to you than you know," Pine Hollow said soberly.

  "I know exactly who the Inquisition's chief agent here in the palace is, Trahvys. In fact, he's been reporting exactly what I wanted reported for about three years now."

  "You bribed an agent of the Inquisition?"

  "Oh, don't be so shocked!" Nahrmahn scolded. "Why shouldn't Clyn­tahn's spies be bribable? Only a drooling idiot who was also blind and deaf— which no agent of the Inquisition is likely to be, I think you'll agree—could be unaware of the graft and bribery that goes on every day in the Temple it­self! When the entire Church hierarchy is as corrupt and venal as a batch of dockside pimps selling their own sisters, why shouldn't their agents be just as corruptible as their masters in Zion?"

  "You're talking about God's Church," Pine Hollow pointed out stiffly.

  "I'm not talking about God, and I'm not talking about His Church," Nahrmahn shot back. "I'm talking about the Church that's been taken over by people like Zhaspahr Clyntahn, Allayn Maigwair, and Zahmsyn Trynair. Do you really think for a moment that the Group of Four gives a good god­damn what God wants the Church to be doing? Or that anyone else on the Council of Vicars is going to risk his own sweet, rosy arse by standing up to Clyntahn and the others just because they happen to be lying, self-serving bastards?"

  Pine Hollow was considerably more than simply shocked. Nahrmahn had grown steadily more open in his disgruntlement with the Temple since Darcos Sound, but he'd never before expressed himself that frankly about the Church and the men who controlled its policies. Oh, he'd never made any secret of his opinion of Vicar Zhaspahr and his cronies, either, at least with his cousin, but he'd never openly extended his contempt for the Grand Inquisi­tor and the Group of Four to the entire Church hierarchy!

  "What's the matter, Trahvys?" Nahrmahn asked more gently. "Are you shocked by my lack of piety?"

  "No," Pine Hollow said slowly.

  "Yes, you are," Nahrmahn corrected in that same gentle voice. "You think I don't believe in God, or that I've decided to reject His plan for Safehold. And you're afraid that if Graisyn or the Inquisition figure out the way I actually feel, they'll decide to make an example out of me . . . and maybe out of you, as well, since you're not only my first councilor but my cousin."

  "Well, when you put it that way, you may have a point," Pine Hollow conceded even more slowly.

  "Of course I do. And I'm not surprised that you're surprised to hear me say it, either. It's the first time I've ever expressed myself quite this frankly to anyone, except possibly Ohlyvya. But I think it's time I discussed the matter with someone besides my wife, under the circumstances. Well, someone besides my wife and Uncle Hanbyl, I suppose, if I'm going to be completely accurate."

  "Under which circumstances?" Pine Hollow asked warily, and there was active alarm in his eyes now.

  There was a reason his anxiety level had just soared to entirely new heights, because Hanbyl Baytz, the Duke of Solomon, was not simply his and Nahrmahn's uncle. Despite the fact that he was over seventy, Solomon remained vigorous and sharp as a razor. Physically, he was very nearly Nahrmahn's antithesis; in every other sense, he and the prince were very much alike, except for the fact that, unlike his nephew, Solomon abhorred politics. Little though he might like the "great game," though, there'd never been the least question about either his competence or his loyalty to the family interests, or to Nahrmahn himself. Which was why he was the commander of the Emeraldian Army. It was a post to which he was well suited, and one which allowed him to spend as little time as humanly possible in Eraystor, dealing with politics.

  Which, Pine Hollow reflected now, has served Nahrmahn well upon occasion. Uncle Hanbyl is the dagger in his sheath, but he's so much "out of sight, out of mind" that even clever people have a tendency to leave him out of their calculations.

  "There are two separate things to consider here, Trahvys," Nahrmahn said, in response to his question. "Well, three, actually."

  He pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, his face and body language both unwontedly serious.

  "First, from a political and military standpoint, Emerald is fucked," he said bluntly. "And, no, I didn't need Uncle Hanbyl to tell me that. Anytime Cayleb wants to put troops ashore, supported from the sea, he can do it That's one of the things that little business in North Bay was supposed to bring to my attention, in case it had managed to escape me thus far. For the moment, he's probably still building up his troop strength; God knows the Charisian Marines are good, but he didn't have a lot of them when this whole business started. On the other hand, we have even less in the way of an army don't we? Especially given how much of it was serving as Marines when our navy suffered its little mishap. It's not going to be all that much longer before he's ready to come calling here in Eraystor, probably with a siege train of ar­tillery in tow to knock on any doors that get in his way, and I doubt very much that Uncle Hanbyl is going to be able to do much more than inconve­nience him when he does.

  "Second, from a diplomatic standpoint, our good friend Hektor isn't about to stick his neck out to help us in any way. And I'll be deeply surprised if Sharleyan doesn't decide she'd rather be allied to Charis than to us or to Hektor, under the circumstances. Which means we're . . . 'swinging in the wind,' is the term I want, I believe. We're the most exposed, we're the ones who tried to assassinate Cayleb, and we're the ones who don't have a single hope this side of Hell that anyone is going to come sailing to our rescue."

  "And, third . . . third, Trahvys, every single word Staynair and Cayleb have said about the Group of Four, the Grand Vicar, and the Church herself is true. You think that just because I recognize the corruption of men like Clyntahn and Trynair and their sycophants on the Council of Vicars I don't believe in God?" The prince's laugh was a harsh bark. "Of course I believe in Him—I just don't believe in the bastards who've hijacked His Church! In point of fact, I think Staynair and Cayleb have the right idea . . . if they can make it stand up. And that's exactly why Graisyn is so concerned, the reason he keeps pushing us so hard to figure out some way to take the offensive, keeps probing to see how 'loyal' I am to Hektor."

  "And how loyal are you, My Prince?" Pine Hollow asked softly.

  "To Hektor?" Nahrmahn's lip curled. "About as loyal as he is to us— which is to say I'm just as loyal as it will take to get into reach of his throat with a nice sharp knife. Or do you mean to the Church?"

  Pine Hollow said nothing. He didn't need to, for his expression said it all.

  "My loyalty to the Church extends exactly as far as the reach of the Inquisition," Nahrmahn said flatly. "It's time we stop confusing the Church with God, Trahvys. Or do you think God would have permitted Charis to completely gut the combined fleets of an alliance that
outnumbered it five-to-one if Haarahld had actually been defying His will?"

  Pine Hollow swallowed hard, and the pit of his stomach was a hollow, singing void. Deep inside him somewhere a schoolboy was repeating the catechism in a desperate gabble of a voice while he hunched down and stuffed his fingers into his ears.

  "Nahrmahn," he said very, very quietly, "you can't be thinking what I think you're thinking."

  "No?" Nahrmahn tilted his head to one side. "Why not?"

  "Because, in the end, Charis is going to lose. It can't be any other way. Not when the Church controls all of the great kingdoms completely. Not when its purse is so deep and so much of the world's total population lives on Haven and Howard."

  "Don't be too certain of that." Nahrmahn leaned back, his eyes intent. "Oh, I know the 'Group of Four' sees it that way. Then again, we've just had a rather pointed lesson in the fallibility of their judgment, now haven't we? I suspect they're about to find out that the world is less monolithic than they'd been assuming, and that's going to come as an even more unpleasant shock to them. All Cayleb really needs to do is to survive long enough for his example to spread, Trahvys. That's what has Graisyn running so scared. I'm not the only ruler or noble who understands what's going on in the Council of Vicars right now. If Charis is able to defy the Church, others are going to be tempted to follow Cayleb's example. And if that happens, the Church is going to find herself much too busy putting out local forest fires to put together the kind of fleet it would take to break through the Royal Charisian Navy. And that assumes Charis is trying to stand off the Church all by itself."

  "But—"

  "Think about it, Trahvys," Nahrmahn commanded, overriding Pine Hollow's attempt to object. "It's not going to be long before Sharleyan becomes at least Charis' de facto ally. For all I know, she may choose to make it official and join him in openly defying Clyntahn and his cronies. When that happens, Hektor is going to find himself flanked by enemies, cut off from anything the Church could do to help him. And when Sharleyan and Cayleb split Corisande and Zebediah up between them, and when Cayleb adds us to Charis proper, he and Sharleyan between them will control over a third of the total surface of Safehold. Of course they won't have anywhere near as large a fraction of the world's people, but they will have most of the world's naval power, a lot of room to expand into, and all of the resources they'll need for their economies . . . or their military power. How easy do you think the Church is going to find it to squash him after that?"