He paused, regarding his nephew for several seconds, until Wind Song nodded. In fact, of course, if they were forced back that far, there weren’t enough reinforcements in all of Harchong to save the Jihad. Far too much of the Mighty Host’s irreplaceable artillery would have to be abandoned in the face of the obscenely mobile Charisians, and losses in small arms were already far beyond anything the Church could quickly replace.
“I’m not confident His Majesty’s ministers have a proper sense of urgency in this matter,” Rainbow Waters resumed once Wind Song had nodded. “Accordingly, I’ve composed a detailed report, laying out our current status and my best projections and earnestly urging them to expedite troop movements to the very best of their ability. Given the vital importance of the entire matter, I’ve also decided that rather than relying upon the semaphore, it’s necessary to send an officer of sufficient stature—and one sufficiently familiar with my thinking to answer any questions—to deliver my messages in person.”
Wind Song stiffened in his chair. It was over six thousand miles for a wyvern from Chyzwail to Shang-mi. The battle for West Wing Lake would be decided five-days before any messenger could reach the capital.
“I’m sure I can find the proper messenger, Uncle,” the baron said, holding Rainbow Waters’ eyes levelly.
“In my view, there’s really only one choice,” Rainbow Waters replied. “Of all of my staff officers and aides, you’re the one most fully privy to my thinking.”
“Which is precisely the reason I can be least readily spared.” Wind Song’s gaze never wavered.
“I must insist upon making my own determinations in this matter,” his uncle said sternly. “I’m quite prepared to make it a direct order.”
“I would most respectfully urge you not to do that, My Lord. It would grieve me to defy your wishes.”
“It would not be my wish, Baron Wind Song. It would be my direct order as your superior.”
“In which case I would most regretfully be forced to resign my commission. After which, of course, your orders would no longer be applicable to me.”
“Some might consider your resignation an act of cowardice in the face of the enemy!”
“It would be difficult to construe it that way, My Lord,” Wind Song said serenely, “when I then volunteered to serve in the ranks.”
Rainbow Waters glared at him for several tense seconds. Then his shoulders slumped.
“Please, Medyng,” he said, and his voice had frayed around the edges. “I promised your mother I would bring her son home to her.”
“And I promised to bring her brother home, My Lord,” Wind Song said softly. “I’ve never in my life done anything as important as what you and the Mighty Host are doing right here, right now. And I’ve never felt so privileged as I have to serve as your aide while you do it. There are no words to express my pride in you, Uncle, so I won’t embarrass both of us by trying. But I will be here at your side, whether as an officer or a common trooper, to the end, whatever that end may be.”
Their eyes held, and then, slowly, Rainbow Waters smiled. It was a sad smile, but genuine, and he shook his head.
“Your grandmother always said I was the most stubborn of her children,” he said then. “Personally, I always believed she was wrong, since your mother was always far stubborner than I. It would appear she’s passed that trait on to you, as well.”
“I believe she’s said something to that effect to me herself, Uncle.”
“An excellent judge of character, your mother.” Rainbow Waters nodded, then drew a deep breath and picked up one of the heaped folders on his blotter.
“Very well, Captain of Horse Wind Song, I’ll send my dispatches by semaphore … for whatever they’re worth. In the meantime, please review this estimate of the portability of the heretics’ balloons and give me your thoughts on it.”
.IV.
Merlin Athrawes’ Chamber,
Siddarmarkian Embassy,
and
Cayleb Ahrmahk’s Study,
Charisian Embassy,
Siddar City,
Republic of Siddarmark.
“Merlin? Merlin!”
Sapphire eyes popped open. A PICA had no real need for sleep in the biological sense of the word, but Cayleb Ahrmahk had been right when he’d insisted, years ago, that Merlin get at least six hours of “downtime” every night.
It wasn’t quite like biological sleep, although he and Owl had worked out a subprogram which actually gave him the equivalent of REM sleep. And there were times when he simply ignored Cayleb’s orders and capitalized on the ability of a PICA to remain alert, active, and deadly for days on end.
In this case, however.…
“This had better be really important, Nahrmahn,” he subvocalized over his built-in com link, glaring at the image Owl projected into his vision and very careful not to disturb the head resting peacefully on his shoulder or the body nestled close against him.
“I never realized Nynian snored,” Nahrmahn replied with a twinkle. “That’s actually sort of reassuring. I mean, she’s so formidable in so many ways.”
“You may already be dead,” Merlin told him, “but I don’t think you’d like what a good, strong power spike would do to you.”
“Point taken.” Nahrmahn chuckled, but then his smile faded. “And I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s something we need to discuss. And it’s a good thing Nynian’s here, because we definitely need her input on this one.”
* * *
“So this fellow just walked into Mahkbyth’s shop?” Cayleb Ahrmahk said skeptically, gazing at Merlin and a silken-robed Nynian across the chocolate cup in his hands. “Why does that make me feel all suspicious?”
“Because paranoia is a survival tool,” Sharleyan said tartly from her own bedchamber. Dawn was just gilding the sky over Tellesberg, and she sat before her mirror, brushing her hair.
“All of our sources—everything we’ve gotten from the SNARCs, and everything Helm Cleaver and the Sisters have reported—underline how tense the situation in Zion’s gotten,” Nynian pointed out. “I don’t find it difficult to believe it’s going from tense to critical very quickly, Sharley. Especially not in the wake of what happened to Trynair!”
“I just don’t like the way this ‘opportunity’ has dropped onto us out of the clear blue sky,” Cayleb said. “It’s got ‘trap’ written all over it.”
“I don’t think so,” Merlin said thoughtfully, leaning back in an overstuffed armchair. “For it to be a trap, the Inquisition would have to know who Ahrloh is—or what he is, at least—and we know from what happened to Zhorzhet and Marzho exactly what they’d do in that case. Do you really think Rayno or Clyntahn would mount some sort of elaborate ploy at this point instead of producing a real, live terrorist for the Punishment?”
“And there’s always the question of just who they could plan on trapping,” Nynian added. “They’ve obviously figured out our communications loop lets us turn messages around at least as quickly as their own semaphore, so I don’t doubt they expect Ahrloh to be able to pass the message on to us quickly, assuming he really is one of our people. But I doubt they could expect anyone from outside Zion to just … appear in Ahrloh’s shop tomorrow. So the only people they could logically try to ‘trap’ would have to be already in Zion, or at least very close to the city. And if whoever they’re after is that close, the Inquisition’s typical thinking would be to grab Ahrloh and torture his superior’s location out of him. Rayno might be more subtle under some circumstances, but not under the current ones.” She shook her head. “No, at this point, Clyntahn would want fast results. He’d settle for whatever he could get quickly, and he definitely wouldn’t take a chance on a fish like Ahrloh wiggling out of the net.”