Through Fiery Trials Read online

  “It is the only option you have,” Eastshare said flatly.

  “No, it isn’t.” Merlin reached into his belt pouch and extracted a small, cylindrical rod of glittering crystal. “And someday, when the time comes, we’ll have another conversation, you and I. Until that day, I can only say I respect and admire you as much as I’ve ever respected or admired another human being and I would give anything in the universe to not have to do this.”

  .II.

  Tellesberg Cathedral, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis, Empire of Charis, and Nimue’s Cave, The Mountains of Light, Episcopate of St. Ehrnesteen, The Temple Lands.

  I am the resurrection and the life, says the Archangel Langhorne: he that believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever lives and believes in me and keeps the Law I have given, shall never die.

  “‘I know that the Archangels live, and that they shall stand at the latter day upon the world, and though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold Him, and not as a stranger.

  “‘We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord and his servants, the Archangels.’”

  Maikel Staynair’s deep voice rolled out across the hushed pews of Tellesberg Cathedral in the ancient Office of the Dead. There was not another sound as the people of Tellesberg gathered to support their empress in the moment of her grief. Every man and woman in that cathedral knew how deeply Sharleyan Ahrmahk had loved her aunt’s brother. And now, here in Charis, she’d lost both her uncle Byrtrym and his brother-in-law. And to lose him so suddenly, with so little warning, to a heart attack when he’d always been so healthy, so fit!

  Small wonder she sat silent and white-faced in the imperial box, clinging to her husband’s hand with one hand and crushing a tear-soaked handkerchief in the other.

  “Hear now the words of Chihiro, from the second Book of Chihiro, in the third chapter,” Staynair continued.

  “‘Out of the deep have I called unto you, O Lord; hear my voice. O let your ears consider well the voice of my complaint. If you, Lord, will be extreme to mark what is done amiss, O Lord, who may abide it? For there is mercy with you; therefore will you be feared. I look for the Lord; my soul waits for him; in his word is my trust. My soul flees on to the Lord before the morning watch; I say, before the morning watch. O Safehold, trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption. And he shall redeem Safehold from all the sins of the Fallen.’”

  The archbishop looked up from the gem-encrusted volume before him and closed it gently. He gazed out across the cathedral, and his expression was sad despite the serenity of his own faith.

  “My children,” he said, “our brother Ruhsyl lived his life in fearless faith and worshipful obedience to the Law we have all been taught. He was, as I can tell you of my own sure and certain knowledge, a faithful servant of Langhorne and of God. I have never known a man of whose integrity, whose honesty and strength of spirit, I was more positive, and it has been one of the deep and abiding honors of my life to have known him and to have called him friend, as well as brother in God. We are gathered today not to mourn his death, but to celebrate his life, and so I ask you now to join with me, and with our beloved Empress, as we say farewell to the mortal shell of one who was, and is, and always will be alive in our hearts and a faithful servant unto God.

  “Let us pray.”

  * * *

  Ruhsyl Thairis opened his eyes.

  For a moment, he simply lay there on a padded surface that was almost unbelievably comfortable, staring up at a smooth, polished stone ceiling he’d never seen before. Then his nostrils flared, he inhaled deeply and explosively, and jerked into a sitting position on the bed.

  “Hello, Ruhsyl,” a voice he’d never heard before said, and his head whipped around and his eyes went wide as he saw a very tall woman—at least six inches taller than he was—in a black-and-gold uniform unlike any he’d ever seen before. He stared at her, and then his jaw clenched as he recognized those sapphire eyes.

  “I know you believe ‘Merlin’ is a demon,” the woman said in that same contralto, and as he listened to it he heard an eerie echo of Merlin’s deep voice. “He’s not. Neither am I. But this is who I was born to be, so if I’m going to tell you the truth and you’ll ever believe me, I thought I should introduce you to Nimue.”

  “It doesn’t change anything,” he said harshly.

  “Probably not.” The woman smiled sadly. “But I have to try, Ruhsyl. I have to try because of how much Sharley and Cayleb love you and because of how much you mean to me. And because whether you believe me or not, everything I’ve told you is true and I know that you’re a man who believes in the difference between truth and lies.”

  “You’re right, I do. And that’s why nothing you can say to me will change the truth I already know. I don’t know why I’m still alive or why you’ve brought me to this place.” He waved one hand in a choppy gesture. “I suppose this is the ‘Nimue’s Cave’ the three of you were talking about.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then I don’t know why you’ve brought me here, because it won’t make any difference in the end.”

  “Maybe not, but I’ve got to try.”

  The woman—Nimue Alban—stepped closer to him, and he made himself stand motionless, not shrinking away from her, as she pressed a button set into the wall. The entire end of the chamber disappeared and he found himself looking out over a vast cavern crowded with shapes and … things the likes of which he’d never seen before.

  “These are the tools Shan-wei left me,” she said steadily. “And if you genuinely think I’m a demon and if I can’t convince you otherwise, then I’m sure you’ll simply write them off as more of her ‘demonic’ inventions. But I’d like to show them to you, like to give you a chance to see what they truly are. And I’d like to open the archives to you, let you compare the written record of Safehold’s history to the other records here in the Cave. You aren’t the only person we’ve told about this who’s had trouble accepting it, but most of them eventually recognized we’d told them only the truth and learned to handle it. I truly hope—wish—you can do the same.”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  “Ruhsyl, please.” There were tears in her eyes, he realized, and despite himself he wavered before the pleading in her voice. “We love you. We need you. Just … just open your mind a tiny crack, to the possibility that we’re telling you the truth.”

  “And the crack will become a leak, and the leak will become a torrent, and before I know it, my soul will’ve drowned in the tide of your lies, just like Sharleyan’s and Cayleb’s.” He shook his head firmly, fiercely. “No. I’ll die before I do that, Nimue or Merlin or whatever you are. Do your worst.”

  “That’s what the lie you cling to does, Ruhsyl, not us!” For the first time those sapphire eyes flashed angrily. “We’ve never tortured, or maimed, or killed in God’s name! Not like the lie you believe in!”

  For an instant, he wavered, but then he stiffened his knees.

  “No, you haven’t. But then again, every single person who died in the Jihad died because of the war you started.”

  “Bullshit!” Nimue Alban snapped, her eyes glittering. “Whatever else you may believe, Ruhsyl, you damned well know better than that! Zhaspahr Clyntahn started that killing, those murders, long before anyone in Zion could possibly know a thing about me. All I did was prevent him from slaughtering his way clear across Charis and then, eventually, starting in on Chisholm because you didn’t share his perverted view of what God wanted, either!”

  “And how do I know how long you and Shan-wei have been working on this? Whether or not you’re the ones who turned Clyntahn that direction in the first place?!” Eastshare demanded. There was a defensive edge in his voice—he heard it himself—but he shook his head angrily. “You say Clynta
hn was already launched against Charis. Maybe that was because God had told him something the rest of us didn’t know. I’m not defending Zhaspahr Clyntahn! The man was a monster. But even monsters can be used to do God’s will.”

  “And God chose someone like Zhaspahr Clyntahn instead of someone like Merlin Athrawes … or Sharleyan Tayt Ahrmahk?” Nimue asked in a soft, deadly tone.

  “It’s not my job to tell God who to choose. It’s my job to believe what He and His Archangels taught me as His Law! The fact that Zhaspahr Clyntahn and the Group of Four twisted Mother Church into something she wasn’t supposed to be doesn’t mean God gave you free rein to simply destroy Her forever! Cayleb and Sharleyan only wanted to repair what was wrong, the evil men had allowed to creep in. But you! You came along and twisted their devotion, their dedication to purging Mother Church, into something totally different.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said quietly. “I’m sorrier than I can ever say. But whatever you may think of me, whatever you may think of the truth I’m trying to tell you, I can’t and I won’t harm you, Ruhsyl. I’m sorry if you want to die a martyr, but I’m not much into making martyrs and, to be honest, I don’t think God really wants any more of them. Even Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s God has to’ve had a bellyful of that here on Safehold. So I will be damned if I give Him one more death than I absolutely have to, and I’ll never give Him yours.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” His voice was ribbed in iron. “I’ll never change my mind, never renounce God and the Archangels. And I won’t pretend otherwise. I will fight you, Merlin. Nimue. I’ll fight you with every breath of my life. So sooner or later, you will have to kill me.”

  “No,” she said. “I won’t. I can’t ever let you go home again—or not until we’ve settled accounts, one way or the other, with Langhorne and Bédard and their lies. I hate that, because I know how much Zhilyahn and Zohzet and Zohzef and Alahnah are all going to miss you. But I can’t. That doesn’t mean I have to kill you, though, and I won’t. Even if Cayleb and Sharleyan would—and you know, deep inside, that they wouldn’t agree to that in a million years if there was a single viable option—I won’t. Me, the one you think is Shan-wei’s own demon. I can’t.” She shook her head. “I’ve killed so many people, Ruhsyl. And a lot of them were good people, people who believed exactly what you believe, but if I hadn’t killed them, other good people would have died … and the truth would have died with them. Nimue Alban died a thousand years ago to see that that never happened, and I won’t let it. But I weep inside for every one of those people, and I won’t—I will not—weep for you, Ruhsyl Thairis. Not that way.”

  He looked at her, and despite himself, despite his steel-spined faith, he sensed the sincerity in her voice. Yet—

  “Maybe you really feel that way. And maybe I should encourage you to. But if you do, it will be the worst mistake you’ve ever made.”

  “We’ll see.” She smiled sadly. “Ultimately, the decision’s up to you, but what I would prefer to do is to make you a … prisoner of state. We can keep you confined here in the Cave indefinitely, Thairis, and not in some filthy cell in a cellar somewhere. You’ll be able to communicate freely with Cayleb and Sharleyan—any member of the inner circle, really—and you’ll have complete freedom of Owl’s library files. The one thing you won’t be able to do is go home again, and unless we tell Zhilyahn the truth, you won’t be able to speak to her or your children. And to be honest, we don’t tell anyone unless we think we have to because every time we do, we put that person in the same position we’ve just put you in. So we think about it—hard—every time.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I believe that’s what you want to do, and I’m not going to accept your offer. All I have to do is look around me to see how hellishly convincing you and all of this ‘Cave’ of yours can be. Hell, for all I know you are completely sincere! Maybe you’re not Shan-wei’s knowing servant but her dupe. I don’t know about that. Listening to you, hearing you, you’re either the greatest actor ever born or telling the truth as you know it. But it isn’t the truth, Merlin, and I’m not giving you the chance to dupe me, as well. No prisoners of state, no libraries, no more ‘convincing.’ So you’re going to have to do something else with me, and at least I know that whatever else you are, you aren’t Zhaspahr Clyntahn. So I’m pretty sure it’ll at least be quick.”

  He met her eyes fearlessly, and her nostrils flared.

  “And that’s your last word, isn’t it?” she said sadly. “Damn you, Ruhsyl! Why couldn’t you have at least an ounce of give in your integrity? Do you have any idea how much I’m going to miss you?”

  “I am who I am, and in the end, I am a son of Mother Church,” he said. “I can’t—I won’t—be anyone or anything else. Not for you. Not even for Sharley … or Zhilyahn and the kids. So get it over with.”

  “If you insist. But I’m still not going to kill you. I’m not sure that wouldn’t be kinder in the long run, but I can’t do that.”

  “Then do whatever it is you are going to do,” he said harshly. But then his voice gentled. “And tell Sharley she has my love.”

  * * *

  “He wouldn’t even listen?”

  “No, Sharleyan,” Merlin Athrawes replied over the com. He could hear the tears in her voice, but there wasn’t any surprise. Not really. “You know Ruhsyl. He’d made his decision.”

  “Oh, I wish he hadn’t,” she half whispered. “But then he wouldn’t have been the man he is, would he?”

  “No.”

  Merlin stood with one hand on the bronze-sheened, coffin-shaped cryo unit. It was featureless, aside from a small panel of brightly lit LEDs.

  “The procedure went smoothly?” Cayleb asked.

  “Yes.” Merlin patted the cryo unit. “And he never hesitated. I don’t know if he really believed I wasn’t going to kill him, but he looked me straight in the eye and said goodbye before the first injection. And he told me to tell you both that he loved you.”

  “Oh, Ruhsyl.” This time the tears had escaped her voice, running down her cheeks while Cayleb’s arms enfolded her. “Oh, Ruhsyl, I’m so sorry.”

  There was silence for a very long time, and then Cayleb cleared his throat.

  “Will you be home in time for that council meeting tomorrow, Merlin?”

  “No,” Merlin said, and knew they could hear the unshed tears in his voice. “No. I’ll be staying here to say goodbye to my friend for a little longer, Cayleb.”

  AUGUST YEAR OF GOD 903

  .I.

  Show-wan Hills, Tiegelkamp Province, North Harchong.

  The gunshot came with no warning.

  It also didn’t hit anything.

  Captain of Swords Dauzhi Pauzho jerked fully erect in the saddle, his head snapping towards the sudden, explosive crack of sound. It took him a second to realize what it had been, but then he relaxed. Only slightly, of course. Since it had been a shot, it had to have come from someone in the column, and he damned well meant to find out how one of his troopers could have been careless—or stupid—enough to accidentally discharge his carbine. For that matter, why had the idiot even been playing around with it? Captain of Horse Nyangzhi was going to have someone’s arse for it, and Pauzho fully intended for it to be someone else’s!

  But then his eyes narrowed. Gunpowder made Shan-wei’s own smoke—enough to guarantee it would be easy to identify the culprit. But where was it? Pauzho was near the head of the column. From his position, he could see almost half its length, despite the high road’s twisty path through the Show-wan Hills. And in all that field of view, there wasn’t a single puffball of smoke.

  Maybe it hadn’t been a shot after all?

  His brow furrowed. That was certainly what it had sounded like. But—

  His eyes rose from the roadway, sweeping the scrub wood of the steep slopes above the roadbed, and he stiffened. There was a smoke cloud, after all, but it was far up the hillside, at least eighty yards beyond the chest-high stone walls built to retain
the loose scree that often slithered down those slopes during the spring thaws. What in Chihiro’s name was one of their men doing scrambling around up there and accidentally discharging his weapon? There’d be hell to pay when Nyangzhi found out about that! And when he did, Pauzho hoped to Shan-wei he’d—

  Dauzhi Pauzho never finished that thought. A flash of movement at the corner of his eye brought his gaze back down from the hillside just in time to see the first serf rise out of concealment less than sixty yards from him. The staff sling snapped around once, then released, and the sharp point of the three-ounce, ovoid sling bullet struck him just above the left eye with forty-five percent more velocity than a crossbow bolt.

  His head snapped back in a grisly spray of red and gray and his horse reared as its rider was hurled abruptly from the saddle.

  He was dead by the time he hit the ground, so he never saw the rest of the slingers—over a hundred of them—who’d come to their feet in response to the signal of that single shot. He never heard the screams as the lethal, whizzing bullets peasants and serfs weren’t supposed to have smashed into the men of Captain of Horse Ruwahn Nyangzhi’s column. He never saw the wave of other crudely armed serfs and peasants explode out of the retaining walls’ concealment, vault across them, and sweep down across the column. Most of them had nothing better than converted agricultural implements, but however clumsy it might be, a straightened scythe blade at the end of an eight-foot shaft was as lethal as any sword ever forged.

  The slingers had concentrated on the column’s officers, not that it really mattered in the end. Surprise was total. The first warning the men on the flanks had was the sudden eruption of roughly dressed madmen screaming at the tops of their lungs, swinging clubs and threshing flails, stabbing with those horrible straightened scythes, thrusting with manure-encrusted pitchforks. The serfs swarmed over them, bellowing their hate, dragging them from the saddle, beating them to death, cutting their throats.