By Schism Rent Asunder Read online

  "The Archbishopric of Charis, as the Kingdom of Charis, rejects the au­thority of murderers, rapists, arsonists, and thieves. If you cannot purge the Church of such cankers and poisons, then we will cleanse ourselves of them, and, God willing, in the fullness of time, we will purge Mother Church her­self of those who profane the vestments and rings of their offices with every breath they breathe, every decision they make.

  "We do not come lightly to this point, to this decision," Maikel Staynair told the far distant head of the Council of Vicars while his eyes bored into the faces, expressions, and souls of his flock. "We come to it with tears and sorrow. We come to it as children who may no longer serve a mother they have always loved because her only ambition has become the systematic enslavement and murder of her own children.

  "Yet however it may grieve us, however deeply we may wish that it were not so, we have come to this point, to this decision. Here we will stand, for we can do no other, and we appeal to the ultimate judgment of the God who created us all to judge between us and the true fathers of corruption."

  .IV.

  Royal Palace,

  City of Tellesberg,

  Kingdom of Charis

  Merlin Athrawes stood just inside the council chamber door, wearing the black and gold of the Charisian Royal Guard, and watched a young man gaze out a window across the Tellesberg waterfront at the latest in the line of rain squalls marching towards the city across Howell Bay. The youngster in question was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and on the tall side for an inhabitant of the planet of Safehold, and especially of the Kingdom of Charis. He was also barely twenty-three years old, which came to only twenty-one in the years of the planet on which (though he did not know it) his species had actually evolved. That made him very young indeed to wear the emerald-set golden chain whose glittering green fire was the emblem of a king.

  Many people would no doubt have been struck by his youthfulness, the fact that, despite his already powerful physique, he clearly had filling out still to do. Others might have noted the restless energy which had driven him to the window after the better part of two hours of discussion and planning. They might have confused that restlessness with boredom or lack of interest. . . but only until they saw his eyes, Merlin thought. They were no longer as young as once they had been, those eyes, and the mouth below them was thinner, with the set of a man far older—wiser, tougher, and more ruthless— than his years. They were the eyes and mouth of Cayleb Zhan Haarahld Bryahn Ahrmahk, King Cayleb II, ruler of Charis, who had—in the space of barely three local months—won the three most crushing, one-sided naval victories in the entire history of Safehold, lost his father, inherited a crown, and thrown his defiance of the four most powerful men in the entire world into the teeth of God's own Church.

  And they were also the eyes and mouth of a king whose kingdom still faced the short end of a battle of extinction unless he and his advisers could think of a way to avert that outcome.

  Cayleb watched the distant rain for several more moments, then turned back to several of the advisers in question.

  The group of men seated around the massive table weren't the entire Royal Council. In fact, they weren't even most of the Council. . . and they did include several people who weren't Council members at all. Cayleb was well aware that some of the Councilors who weren't present resented—or would resent—their exclusion when they discovered it. if they discovered it. But while his father's tutelage had seen to it that he was far from oblivious to the political imperatives of maintaining a broad base of support, especially in the present circumstances, he was also perfectly willing to live with that resent­ment for the moment.

  "All right," he said, "I think that deals with all of the immediate domestic reports?"

  He looked around the table, one eyebrow quirked, and the compact, distinguished-looking man sitting at its far end nodded. Rayjhis Yowance, the Earl of Gray Harbor, had served Cayleb's father as Charis' first councilor of Charis for the better part of fourteen years; now he served his new king in the same role.

  "For the moment, at any rate, Your Majesty," he said. Despite the fact that he'd known Cayleb literally all his life—or possibly because of it—he had made it a point to address his youthful monarch with a greater degree of for­mality since Cayleb's ascension to the throne. "I believe Maikel here has at least one additional point he wishes to address, although I understand he's waiting for a few more reports before he does so." Gray Harbor's rising in­flection turned the final part of the statement into a question, and he raised one eyebrow at the man sitting at the far end of the council table from the king in the white cassock of the episcopate.

  "I do," Archbishop Maikel confirmed. "As you say, however, Rayjhis, I'm still waiting for two reports I've requested. With your permission, Your Majesty, I'd like to reserve a few minutes of your time tomorrow or the next day to discuss this."

  "Of course," Cayleb told the man who had been his father's confessor and who—despite certain . . . technical irregularities—had been elevated to Archbishop of all Charis.

  "I also expect additional reports from Hanth in the next few days," Gray Harbor continued, and smiled thinly "Current indications are that Mahntayl is considering a rather hasty relocation to Eraystor."

  "Probably the smartest move the bastard's made in years," someone mur­mured so softly even Merlin's ears had trouble overhearing him. The voice, Merlin noted, sounded remarkably like that of the Earl of Lock Island.

  If Cayleb had heard the comment, he gave no indication. Instead, he sim­ply nodded.

  "Well," he said, "in that case, I suppose it's about time we considered breaking up. It's coming up on lunch, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry. Is there anything else we need to look at before we eat?"

  "Zhefry reminded me of several items this morning, Your Majesty," Gray Harbor replied with a slight smile. Zhefry Ahbaht was the first coun­cilor's personal secretary, and his ability to "manage" Gray Harbor's schedule was legendary.

  "Despite his insistence, I think most of them can probably wait until after lunch," the earl continued. "He did, however, point out that the Group of Four ought to be getting their copies of the writs in the next five-day or so."

  One or two faces tightened at the reminder. Cayleb's wasn't one of them.

  "He's right," the king agreed. "And I wish I could be a fly on the wall when Clyntahn and Trynair open them." His smile was thinner—and much colder—than Gray Harbor's had been. "I don't imagine they'll be particularly pleased. Especially not with your personal log for the fire, Maikel."

  Several of the other men sitting around the table smiled back at him. Some of their expressions were even more kraken-like than his own, Merlin noted.

  "I don't imagine they've been 'particularly pleased' about anything that's happened in the past few months, Your Majesty," Gray Harbor agreed. "Frankly, I can't think of any message you could have sent them that could possibly have changed that. "

  "Oh, I don't know, Rayjhis." Admiral Bryahn Lock Island was the com­mander of the Royal Charisian Navy. He was also one of Cayleb's cousins. "I imagine that if we were to send them a mass suicide note, that would proba­bly cheer them up immensely."

  This time there were a few outright chuckles, and Cayleb shook his head admonishingly at Lock Island.

  "You're a bluff, unimaginative sailor, Bryahn. Remarks like that demon­strate exactly why it's such a good idea for us to keep you as far away as possi­ble from the diplomatic correspondence!"

  "Amen to that!" Lock Island's pious tone was at least eight-tenths sincere, Merlin judged.

  "Speaking of 'bluff unimaginative sailors,' " Ahlvyno Pawalsyn said, "I have to say, although I'd really rather not bring this up, that your current plans for expanding the Navy worry me, Bryahn."

  Lock Island looked at the other man and cocked his head. Ahlvyno Pawalsyn was also Baron Ironhill . . . and Keeper of the Purse. That made him effectively the treasurer of the Kingdom of Charis.

  "I assu
me that what you mean is that figuring out how to pay for the ex­pansion worries you," the admiral said after a moment. "On the other hand, what's likely to happen if we don't continue the expansion worries me a lot more."

  "I'm not trying to suggest it isn't necessary, Bryahn," Ironhill replied mildly. "As the fellow who's supposed to come up with a way to finance it, however, it does leave me with some . . . interesting difficulties, shall we say?"

  "Let Nahrmahn pay for it," Lock Island suggested. "That fat little bug­ger's still got plenty tucked away in his treasury, and he's got damn-all for a navy at the moment. We're already camped in his front yard, and he can't be any too happy about the way we've sewed Eraystor Bay shut like a sack. So why don't I just make his day complete by taking a couple of squadrons in close and sending a few Marines ashore to deliver a polite request from His Majesty here that he finance our modest efforts before we burn his entire miserable waterfront around his ears?"

  "Tempting," Cayleb said. "Very tempting. I'm not sure it's a very practical solution, though."

  "Why not?" Lock Island turned back to the king. "We won; he lost. Well, he will lose, whenever we finally get around to actually kicking his fat arse off his throne, and he knows it."

  "No doubt," Cayleb agreed. "Assuming we add Emerald to the Kingdom, however, we're going to have to figure out how to pay for its administration. Looting its treasury doesn't strike me as a particularly good way to get started. Besides, it would be a onetime sort of thing, and just expanding the Navy isn't going to solve our problems, Bryahn. Somehow we've got to pay for main­taining it, too. With the Church openly against us, we don't dare lay up large numbers of ships. We'll need them in active commission, and that means we'll have a heavy, ongoing commitment on the Treasury. We couldn't rely on regular 'windfalls' the size of Nahrmahn's treasury even if we wanted to, so we're going to have to figure out a long-term way to pay for it out of our own ongoing revenue stream."

  Lock Island's eyebrows rose as he gave his young monarch a look of re­spect. Ironhill, on the other hand, positively beamed, as did Gray Harbor, and Merlin nodded mentally in satisfaction, as well. All too many rulers twice Cayleb's age would have settled for whatever got them the ships they needed in the shortest possible time and let the future take care of itself

  "Actually, Your Majesty," another of the men seated at the table said, "I think paying for the Navy isn't going to be quite as difficult as it might first appear. Not, at least, as long as we're not trying to raise mainland-sized armies, at the same time."

  All eyes turned to the speaker. Ehdwyrd Howsmyn was short, stout, and very well dressed. At forty-one years of age (thirty-seven and a half, standard, Merlin automatically translated mentally), he was the youngest man in the council chamber after Cayleb himself. He was also, almost certainly, the wealthiest. It was his foundries which had produced the artillery and the cop­per sheathing for the galleons Cayleb and his captains had used to smash the recent attack upon the kingdom. In fact, his shipyards had built half a dozen of those galleons, as well. Howsmyn was not officially a member of the Royal Council, or even of Parliament. Neither, for that matter, was Rhaiyan Mychail, the sharp-eyed (and almost equally wealthy) man sitting next to him. Mychail was at least twice Howsmyn's age, but the two of them were business partners of long-standing, and Mychail's textile manufactories and ropewalks had produced virtually all of the canvas for those same galleons' sails, not to mention most of the cordage for their standing and running rigging.

  "Unless you and Master Mychail intend to build ships gratis, we're still going to have to figure out how to pay for them," Ironhill pointed out. "And without access to Desnair's gold mines, we can't just coin money whenever we need it."

  "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Ahlvyno. And, no, I'm not planning on building them gratis. Sorry." Howsmyn grinned, and his eyes twinkled. "Neither Rhaiyan nor I have any intention of gouging the Treasury, of course. That'd be an outstandingly stupid thing for either of us to be doing at this particular moment. But we do have to manage to pay our own workers and our suppliers, you know. Not to mention showing at least a modest profit for ourselves and our partners and shareholders.

  "What I was getting at, though, was that as long as the Navy can keep merchant shipping moving, the balance of trade is going to provide quite a healthy cash flow. And under the circumstances, I don't see me or any of my fellow shipowners complaining if the Crown decides to tack on a few extra duties and taxes on the Navy's behalf so that it can keep trade moving."

  "I'm not as certain as you seem to be about that cash flow, Ehdwyrd." Ironhill's expression was far more somber than Howsmyn's. "If I were the Group of Four, the very first thing I'd do would be to demand that all of Haven's and Howard's harbors be closed to our shipping immediately." He shrugged. "They have to be as aware as we are that the Kingdom's prosperity hinges entirely on our merchant marine. Surely they're going to do every­thing they can to cripple it."

  Gray Harbor frowned, and some of the others went so far as to nod in sober agreement. Howard and Haven, the two main continents of Safehold, contained at least eighty percent of the planetary population. The kingdoms, principalities, and territories in which that population lived were the markets upon which Charis' merchant marine and manufactories had built the king­dom's wealth. If those markets were taken away, Charisian prosperity would be doomed, but Howsmyn only chuckled.

  "The Group of Four can demand whatever they want, Ahlvyno. I doubt they're going to be stupid enough to issue that particular decree, but, then, they've already done some spectacularly stupid things, so it's always possible I'm wrong. In fact, I rather hope I am and that they do try it. Even if they do, though, it's not going to happen."

  "No?" Ironhill sat back in his chair. "Why?"

  "Why do I wish they would? Or why do I think it's not going to happen even if they do?"

  "Both."

  "I wish they would because giving orders you know won't be obeyed is one of the best ways I know to destroy your own authority. And the reason an order like that wouldn't be obeyed is that no one in Haven or Howard can possibly provide the goods those markets require. I don't mean just that they can't provide them as cheaply as we can, Ahlvyno, although that's certainly true, as well. What I mean is that they literally don't have the capacity to pro­vide them at all. And that even if they had the capacity, or developed it as quickly as possible, they still wouldn't have the ability to transport those goods at anything like the economies of cost we can achieve." Howsmyn shook his head. "That's one of the minor details the Group of Four left out of their calculations, actually. I'm astonished Duchairn didn't warn the other three what would happen if they succeeded in what they had in mind."

  "Would it really have been that bad for them, Ehdwyrd?" Gray Harbor asked, and Howsmyn shrugged.

  "It would've been bad, Rayjhis. Maybe not as bad as I think it would have been, I suppose, if I'm going to be fair. After all, my perspective is bound to be shaped by my own business interests and experience. Still, I think most people—including a lot of people right here in the Kingdom— don't understand how thoroughly we've come to dominate the world's mar­kets. There was a reason Trynair chose King Haarahld's supposed ambition to control the entire world's merchant traffic as his pretext for supporting Hektor and Nahrmahn against us. He knows there are plenty of people in Dohlar, Desnair, Harchong—even the Republic—who deeply resent our domination of the carrying trade. And quite a few of them—the smarter ones, to be honest—resent their own growing dependency on our manufactories, as well.

  "All of that's true, but their resentment can't change the reality, and the reality is that better than half—probably closer to two-thirds, actually—of the world's merchant galleons fly the Charisian flag. And another reality is that somewhere around two-thirds of the manufactured goods those galleons transport are made right here in Charis, as well. And a third reality is that it takes four times as long and costs five or six times as much to transport the same goods to their ult
imate destinations overland as it does to ship them by sea. If, of course, it's even possible to ship them overland in the first place. It's just a bit difficult to get something from Siddarmark to Tarot by wagon, after all. There's this little thing called the Tarot Channel in the way."

  One or two of the others looked dubious. Not at his analysis of the man­ufacture and transport of goods. That was something any Charisian under­stood on an almost instinctual level. Some of them clearly thought Howsmyn's assumptions were overly optimistic, however. Ironhill appeared to be one of them; Gray Harbor and Cayleb did not, and behind his own out­wardly expressionless guardsman's face, Merlin frowned thoughtfully. He wasn't certain of Howsmyn's actual numbers. No one on Safehold kept that sort of statistic, so anything Howsmyn said could be no more than an in­formed estimate. On the other hand, he wouldn't be very surprised to dis­cover that those estimates were, in fact, very close to accurate. No one got as wealthy as Ehdwyrd Howsmyn from international trade without a keen grasp of the realities of finance, shipping, and manufacturing.

  And, Merlin reminded himself, Charis was already well along the way towards a purely water-powered Industrial Revolution, despite the Church's proscriptions against advanced technology, even before I put in my own two cents' worth.

  "Over the past year and a half or so," Howsmyn continued, very carefully not looking in Merlin's direction, "our ability to produce goods, especially textiles, quickly and at even lower cost has increased dramatically. No one in Haven or Howard is going to be able to match our productivity for a long time to come, and that assumes that nothing happens"—he was even more careful not to glance at Merlin—"to further increase our manufactories' effi­ciency. And as I say, even if they could produce the goods we can produce, trying to transport them overland instead of shipping them by water would add enormously to their expenses. No." He shook his head. "If the Group of Four had succeeded in destroying Charis and our merchant marine, they would have created a huge problem for themselves. It truly would have been a case of killing the wyvern that fetched the golden rabbit."