Rayno didn’t like that possibility at all … almost as much as he didn’t like the single, unsubstantiated report indicating that Thirsk and Ahlverez, of all people, had met clandestinely on at least two occasions. Letting that fall into Clyntahn’s hands would have precipitated the worst explosion since the destruction of Armageddon Reef, and it was not only unsubstantiated, it was suspect, since it came from Kharmych who hated both men with a blinding passion and was perfectly willing to fabricate evidence against them. After all, the Inquisition routinely fabricated evidence against people it knew were guilty rather than pursue the long, hard investigation to acquire the actual proof, and Kharmych had been an agent-inquisitor for over twenty years before his present post. He knew how the game was played, and Rayno knew he was quite capable of using the same tactics out of personal choler and spite. That was why he hadn’t passed along Kharmych’s report at the time. And because he hadn’t passed it along then it would be extraordinarily dangerous to pass it along now, when Clyntahn would almost certainly see the delay as proof Rayno had concealed evidence of Thirsk’s disloyalty well before the Battle of Shipworm Shoal.
And then there was the minor worry of what would happen if it turned out, against all odds, that there’d been something to Kharmych’s report after all. If Clyntahn summoned Maik to Zion and he refused to go and Thirsk and Ahlverez protected him, the consequences might be deadly. Unless the Inquisition in Dohlar was able to take all three of them into custody almost instantly, the best outcome they could hope for would be either a civil war or a repeat of what had happened in Desnair. The worst outcome would be to create a new, even more dangerous Corisande—or even Siddarmark—right here on the mainland.
Deep inside, Wyllym Rayno felt a growing dread that the Jihad was lost, yet he saw no way forward except to fight to the bitter end, trusting in the intervention of the Archangels. And after what had happened at St. Thyrmyn Prison, he was far less confident of the Archangels’ intervention than he might once have been.
No, that wasn’t quite true, a small still voice, all but inaudible in his heart of hearts, told him. He remained completely confident of the Archangels’ intervention to prevent the triumph of evil.
He was simply no longer confident they’d intervene on the side of the Group of Four.
.VIII.
HMS Gwylym Manthyr,
Howell Bay,
and
Tellesberg Palace,
City of Tellesberg,
Kingdom of Old Charis,
Charisian Empire.
The stupendous vessel swept across the dark blue water like one of Langhorne’s own rakurai. She was enormous, the biggest mobile structure ever built on Safehold: over four hundred and fifty feet between perpendiculars—four hundred and thirty feet long on the water line; twice the length of even a Zhenefyr Ahrmahk-class galleon or a Rottweiler-class ironclad—and seventy-eight feet across the beam. Her 10-inch guns—four of them, mounted in pairs fore and aft—were the heaviest ordnance ever sent to sea, and they were backed by no less than fourteen casemated 8-inch guns, with another twelve four-inch guns behind shields in deck mounts. She displaced over fourteen thousand tons at normal load, and the vast white furrow of her bow wave turned back on either side of her sharply raked prow as she sliced across Howell Bay at twenty knots … with at least another five knots in reserve.
The wind was out of the southwest, but it was little more than a light breeze, not enough to break the day’s heat or raise much in the way of a sea … and scarcely even a zephyr compared to the wind generated by her passage. The thick banner of black coal smoke pouring from her twin funnels hung heavy above the water, shredding only slowly. It lingered far behind her, like an airborne mirror of her broad, white wake, and Captain Halcom Bahrns stood on the open wing of her navigating bridge, both hands on the bridge rail in front of him, his uniform tunic pasted to his chest—the sleeves fluttering—as the wind of her passage swept back across him.
My God, he thought, she’s real. She’s really, really real! Deep inside, I never believed she was—not truly—even when I came aboard.
He’d been devastated when they told him to hand Delthak over to Pawal Blahdysnberg and return to Old Charis. Despite his deep initial doubts, he’d come to love every bolt, every plank, of his unlovely, ungainly command, and she’d never refused a single thing he’d asked of her. After everything he and his ship’s company had been through, it seemed bitterly unfair to be summoned home with no explanation at all. Zherald Cahnyrs, Delthak’s second officer, had been ordered home with him, and although the lieutenant was too disciplined and professional to say it, Bahrns knew he’d been just as disappointed.
But only until they reported to Admiral Rock Point—not at Tellesberg, or Lock Island, or even King’s Harbor, as they’d expected, but at Larek, at the mouth of the Delthak River—and found out why they’d been recalled.
He’d stood on the deck of HMS Destroyer, Rock Point’s flagship, staring at the enormous vessel moored at the fitting out dock, her decks and upper works aswarm with workmen, and he’d been unable to believe what he was seeing.
“Bit of a surprise, is it, Captain?” the one-legged high admiral had asked with a crooked smile.
“Oh, yes, My Lord,” Bahrns had replied fervently. “In so many ways! I never imagined I might be considered to command one of them! And even if I had—!”
He’d broken off, shaking his head, and Rock Point had snorted. The sound had been harsh, but it had also contained amusement. And possibly something almost like … satisfaction.
“After the Delthak Fire, I’m not surprised you’re surprised,” he’d said. “And hopefully Clyntahn, Maigwair—and Thirsk—will go right on thinking what you thought. We’ve certainly done our damnedest to help them do that, anyway!”
“I can understand why you’d do that, My Lord, but does that mean the fire was actually less destructive than the rumors said?”
“Unfortunately, no.” If there’d been any amusement in Rock Point’s voice a moment earlier, it had disappeared. “In fact, it was even worse than we first thought, especially given the need to continue producing the Army’s artillery. Frankly, little though anyone in Navy uniform would like to admit it—I know I sure as hell didn’t want to!—equipping the Army’s even more important than equipping us, at the moment. I imagine—” he’d given Bahrns a very sharp look “—you probably understand that better than most, Captain.”
“Yes, My Lord, I do.” Bahrns’ expression had tightened. “Earl Hanth’s been working miracles, but his people’re paying in blood for him to pull them off. Mind you, there’s not a man in this world who could do a better job than the Earl, and all of us know the price’d be even higher under anyone else. But I know those people, My Lord. They’re real to me, not just names in dispatches or newspaper articles. I’m in favor of anything that knocks that price down.”
“As it happens, Captain, so am I.” Rock Point had rested a hand on Bahrns’ shoulder. “And to be honest, the way you’ve coordinated with the Army so well—starting with the Canal Raid and continuing straight through the Seridahn Campaign—is one reason your name jumped the queue when we found ourselves looking for a skipper on short notice.”