“… so I spoke with the others—carefully, of course,” Clyntahn said, winding down at last, “and they agreed that I should accept Father Zh—ah, our mutual friend’s—invitation to … exchange views with you, Milady.”
“I’m honored by your trust,” Rebkah said, exactly as if she’d actually been listening to him rather than dwelling in her own thoughts. Of course, she hadn’t really needed to listen. Father Zhordyn had briefed her fully on Clyntahn and his motivations. “And I hope you’re prepared to go beyond a mere exchange of views.”
“I can’t commit the others until I know more about your plans, Milady.” Clyntahn met her gaze levelly. “For myself, I’d made up my mind before I climbed into the coach to come speak to you. I don’t know how much good I can do you if the others decline to commit themselves, but whatever I can do, I will. You have my word on that.”
“Yes, I believe I do,” she said slowly, smiling at him with the first true warmth she’d felt since he’d entered the solar.
She sat for a moment, listening to the rattle of sleet and the moan of wind, feeling the warmth radiating from the iron stove—the Charisian iron stove—while the coal burned in its belly like an echo of the rage burning in her own. Then she inhaled sharply.
“What we propose to do,” she began crisply, “is to overthrow the tyranny of the House of Tayt once and for all. We don’t expect it to be easy, but we have powerful allies in this. I’m not in a position to name names any more than you are, but I can assure you that they include some of the most powerful nobles in the entire Kingdom. Unfortunately, their lands—and thus their power base—lie outside Cherayth or the lands immediately around it. When we raise the standard of defiance, we’ll have an extensive base of operations in the western part of the Kingdom—a springboard for additional expansion which will also be compact enough to be easily defended at need. What we won’t have is the same reach into the eastern fiefdoms or into the towns and cities. You craftmasters, on the other hand, dominate the town and city councils. As respected members of your town and city governments, you have exactly the sort of reach our western allies lack.”
Clyntahn paled so slightly at her devastating frankness, but his expression never flinched, and she felt a fresh flicker of approval as he nodded gamely.
“Obviously, we have to be concerned about the Army,” she continued, “but most of the newly raised troops have already departed for Siddarmark or will board ship within the next few five-days. The training cadres will remain, but they’re overwhelmingly concentrated in Eastshare, Cherayth, Lake Shore, and Port Royal. By the time they could be combined to mount an expedition against our allies in the west, we’ll have consolidated our positions there. Indeed, all indications are that since we’ll be the ones choosing the time and place to proclaim our defiance and strike, we may well … neutralize many of those training cadres before they realize what’s happening.
“I’m sure your position in the Maikelberg Works makes you even more aware than most of the advantages of the new-model weapons. I assure you that we are, at any rate. Because of that, I’ve used some of my late husband’s contacts in the Army. Not everyone’s forgotten him or Duke Halbrook Hollow or the price they paid for their principles. One of those who remember, in the Quartermaster Corps, has arranged to divert several thousand rifles to our use. They aren’t the very latest weapons. They’re what he calls ‘Trapdoor Mahndrayns,’ and he’s been very forthright in his warning that they don’t fire as rapidly as the newer rifles. They’re enormously better than nothing—or muzzleloaders—however, and he should be able to provide nearly enough of them to offset the weapons remaining in the hands of the Army’s training cadres. And, of course, there’s also the possibility that at least two or three of the training regiments will join us, given all of my husband and Duke Halbrook Hollow’s remaining friends in the Army. After all,” she bared her teeth in a humorless smile, “they’ve been left home because they’re ‘tainted’ by their past friendships and not fully trusted in the field.”
Clyntahn nodded, his eyes intent, obviously reassured—to some extent, at least—by her calm, confident manner.
“We intend, assuming you and your friends decide to join us, to have several hundred of those rifles ‘misplaced’ in Cherayth itself. We don’t want you to go anywhere near them until and unless we’re in a position to threaten the capital. Then—then, when every man they have is mustered and sent out to meet us in the field—you and your friends will arm yourselves, seize the capital, and close its gates against the Army until we’ve destroyed it in battle. We’re confident we can take Cherayth in the end, with or without friends inside the walls, but it would obviously be easier—and many fewer innocent civilians would be injured or killed—if someone else takes control of it for us while we deal with the Army.”
She paused, then sat back in her chair with her hands folded in her lap.
“Those are only the bare bones, of course. Should your friends be interested, I can provide the detail to put flesh and muscle onto them. Trust me, we’ve given this a great deal of thought over the last several years, and none of us are interested in glorious failures. We intend to succeed, Master Clyntahn, and I’m confident we will.
“So, tell me. Do you think ‘your friends’ will want to hear more?”
* * *
Oh, I’m sure they will, Milady, Merch O Obaith thought, listening through the remote on the flu of Lady Swayle’s stove as she guided the recon skimmer towards Rydymak Keep. And thank you ever so much for drawing them out into the open for us! I’ll be interested to see how many of Master Clyntahn’s “friends” Sir Ahlber’s already identified. I’m willing to bet Nahrmahn and Owl have most of them, even if he doesn’t, but you can never ID too many of the rats in the woodwork when it comes to spotting traitors.
There were moments when she actually felt a little guilty for taking such shameless advantage of Owl and the SNARCs. But those moments were few and far between. She’d become just as fierce a partisan of Cayleb and Sharleyan Ahrmahk—and all their friends—as Merlin Athrawes ever had, and, like Merlin, she didn’t much care for anyone who wanted to murder the people she loved.
She wondered, sometimes, if Nimue Alban’s personality had always been that … direct, and she simply hadn’t realized it because all of her attention had been so focused on the hopeless, losing war against the Gbaba. Or was it the ultimate futility of that war—the knowledge that it could end only one way, whatever she might do—which had made her so direct?
Of course, Lady Swayle was going to be in for a few unhappy surprises. For example, Colonel Brekyn Ainsail, that friend of hers who was supplying her with the Trapdoor Mahndrayns out of the goodness of his heart and loyalty to her husband’s memory. Ainsail was actually just a bit more mercenary than that, and Duke Rock Coast’s marks spoke much more convincingly to him than any appeal to loyalty, whether to a friend’s memory or to the Temple. And he didn’t realize the ghost of a dead Emeraldian prince and an electronic being who’d never breathed had carefully tracked every payment, every piece of forged paperwork, every diversionary order, and every shipment of arms. They knew exactly where every rifle was, where it had come from, and how it had gotten there. Explaining how they knew in open court might be just a tad awkward, but she suspected Ainsail would be more than willing to help out. Once they showed him proof of his complicity, he’d accept any deal the Crown offered just as quickly as he could get the words out of his mouth. He’d be just delighted to show the investigators exactly where all of those weapons caches were, which would neatly solve the question of how the Crown had found them.