"Thank you, My Lord," she replied. "I wish my visit might have come under happier circumstances, yet the welcome I've received-not just from you, but from so many of Manchyr's people-has been far warmer than I'd anticipated."

He bowed again at the compliment, although there'd been a slight double edge to it. For that matter, there'd been a double edge to his greeting. The exact status of Prince Daivyn remained what diplomats referred to as "a gray area," and for all the genuine spontaneity of the cheers which had greeted Sharleyan, not everyone in the greeting crowds had been cheering. Indeed, she suspected that no more than half of them had, and quite a few of those who hadn't cheered had been stonefaced and grimly silent, instead.

"May I escort you to your throne, Your Majesty?" Anvil Rock asked, and she inclined her head in gracious assent before she laid the fingertips of her right hand on his forearm. He assisted her carefully (and completely unnecessarily) up the five steps to the top of the dais and she smiled at him before she turned and seated herself.

She looked out across the throne room, seeing the faces, trying to sample the emotional aura. It was difficult, despite all the hours she'd spent poring over the SNARCs' reports from this very city. She felt confident she'd assessed Manchyr's attitude accurately, at least in general terms, and she knew far more about the aristocrats and clerics thronging this room than any of them could possibly imagine. Yet these were still human beings, and no one could predict human behavior with total assurance.

A throat cleared itself quietly to her right, and she looked up at Archbishop Klairmant Gairlyng. He looked back at her gravely, and she smiled and pitched her voice to carry.

"Before we begin, would you be kind enough to thank God for me for my safe arrival here, Your Eminence?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," he agreed with a small bow, then straightened and gazed out across the throne room himself.

"Let us pray," he said. Heads bowed throughout the vast room, and he raised his voice. "Almighty God, the high and mighty ruler of the universe, we thank You for the safety in which You have brought our royal visitor to this court. We beseech You to smile upon her and so to show her Your favor that she walks always in Your ways, mindful of Your commands and the dictates of Your justice. Guide, we beseech You, all the nations of this Your world into the way of Your truth and establish among them that peace which is the fruit of righteousness, that they may be in truth Your Kingdom and walk in all the ways You have prepared for them. And we most especially beseech You to look down from Your throne and bless Your servant Daivyn and all who advise, guide, and guard him. Bring him, too, safely back to us, and so resolve and compose the differences between Your children that all rulers of clean heart and good intent may gather in the amity Your plan has decreed for all men. We ask this in the name of Your servant Langhorne, who first declared Your will among men to the glory of Your Name. Amen."

That was an interesting choice of phrasing, Sharleyan thought wryly as she joined the others in touching fingertips first to her heart and then to her lips. The tightrope here in Corisande was more complicated than almost anywhere else in the youthful Empire of Charis, and Gairlyng clearly understood that. He'd managed to avoid calling Sharleyan Corisande's ruler, and she'd noticed the "royal visitor," as opposed to the possible "imperial visitor." At the same time, he'd adroitly avoided calling her an interloper, either, and no one could very well take offense at his request for God's blessing on young Daivyn. And the "resolve and compose the differences between Your children" was straight out of the Church of God Awaiting's most ancient liturgy. Of course, the people who'd written that liturgy had never envisioned a situation quite like this one.

The stir and shuffle of feet, the rustle of clothing and clearing of throats, which always followed a moment of prayer in Sharleyan's experience whispered through the throne room. Then Anvil Rock turned towards her and bowed, wordlessly offering her the opportunity to speak without any awkward little formalities which might have conceded-or denied-her authority to do so.

"I thank you for the welcome I received at dockside this morning," she said, and saw one or two people look up sharply when she avoided the royal "we." Well, there'd be time enough for that later.

"A Charisian monarch-and such I find I've become, much though the idea would have astounded me as little as three years ago"-she smiled and a chuckle ran through the watching courtiers-"appreciates a welcoming port, especially at the end of a winter voyage which took rather longer than I might have wished. More than that, I realize how many difficult issues remain between the Princedom of Corisande and the Crown of Charis, and I take it as a favorable sign that so many turned out to wish me well upon my arrival here.

"At the same time," she allowed her expression and her tone to become more serious, "it's obvious not everyone here in Manchyr was equally happy to see me." She shook her head. "Under the circumstances, I can scarcely blame anyone who might continue to cherish reservations about the future, and it's only natural such reservations should express themselves in reservations about me, and about Emperor Cayleb. One of the reasons for Cayleb's visit here last year was to attempt to put some of those reservations to rest. That's also part of the reason for my visit this year. Of course"-her expression became grimmer-"there are other and less happy reasons, as well."

It was very quiet in the throne room, and she turned her head, surveying them all and letting them see her level eyes and firm mouth.

"It's never pleasant to be required to yield to force of arms," she said quietly. "Cayleb and I understand that. At the same time, I believe any fair-minded person must admit we were left very little choice. When five princedoms and kingdoms-including, I would remind all of us, my own-were required by 'the Knights of the Temple Lands' to league together against Old Charis, even though that kingdom had committed no crimes or offenses against any of them, Charis had no choice but to defend herself. And when it became evident that the corrupt vicars who'd seized control of Mother Church intended to continue their efforts to exterminate not just the Kingdom of Charis but any vestige of freedom of thought, the Empire of Charis had no choice but to carry the war to its enemies. And so that war came to your shores behind the banners of my Empire."

The quiet grew more intense, and she met it squarely, her shoulders straight.

"I won't pretend Chisholm lacked its own reasons for enmity with the House of Daykyn. I'm sure everyone in this throne room knows what they were and why they existed. But I will say that my enmity-and Cayleb's-was directed against the head of that house, and it stemmed from his actions, not from any ingrained hatred of Corisande or all things Corisandian. We had specific reasons to confront Prince Hektor on the field of battle, and so we did, openly and directly, with none of the diplomatic fictions, lies, and masks the 'Knights of the Temple Lands' had employed to hide their crimes."

She saw shoulders tighten as she took the bull firmly by the horns.

"I realize many continue to believe Cayleb ordered Hektor's assassination, and I suppose I can even understand why that belief should have gained such currency. But my husband is not a stupid man, my lords and ladies. Do any of you believe for one instant that the son of Haarahld of Charis could have failed to understand how Prince Hektor's murder on the very eve of his surrender would poison the hearts and minds of Corisandians against him? Can any of you think of an action better calculated to make the peaceful, orderly inclusion of Corisande in the Empire of Charis more difficult? Having sailed thousands of miles, having won his cause on the field of battle with one overwhelming victory after another, what could possibly have motivated anyone but a bloodthirsty monster to have not only Prince Hektor but his elder son murdered?"

She paused once more, for only a heartbeat this time. Then- "You've had the opportunity to see the policies General Chermyn has administered here on our behalf, and you know that at the core of those policies lies our desire to demonstrate that the Empire of Charis respects the rule of law and has no desire to rule through terror and the iron fist of oppression. Many of you have had the opportunity to meet personally with Emperor Cayleb, and those who have must surely realize that however resolute he may be, however dangerous in battle, he is not and never has been a man who relishes the shedding of human blood. I ask you to ask yourselves if the Crown which dictated those policies and the Emperor you met would have resorted to the murder of a foe who had been vanquished and was prepared to offer honorable surrender. An honorable surrender which would have been of far more value to the Empire politically, both here in Corisande and abroad, than his murder-his martyrdom-could ever have been."

A half-heard susurration, like a sharp breeze across a sea of reeds, ran through the throne room as more than one of those nobles and prelates realized exactly what she was implying. No one dared speak out in open rejection, however, and she sat silently, letting the thought sink home for a full ten seconds before she resumed.

"I fully realize that the Group of Four has excommunicated both me and Cayleb and laid the entire Empire of Charis under the interdict," she said then. "As such, in the eyes of Temple Loyalists, any oaths you may swear to us or to the Church of Charis have no force. Obviously, we disagree, and we have no option but to hold those who swear to the terms of that to which they have sworn. No ruler, even in time of peace, can accept anything less; no ruler, even in time of war, has the right to demand anything more.

"I'm here in Corisande, in no small part, because of that. All of you know what I refer to when I say that. I regret that such a reason should have brought me here, and I regret that many whose only crime was loyalty to Corisande, to the House of Daykyn, and to the clergy they'd been taught to revere were caught up in the treachery and plotting of a handful of individuals who saw the opportunity to take power into their own hands for their own uses and their own purposes. I have no choice-Charis has no choice-but to exact justice, yet I will endeavor as Charis has always endeavored to mitigate justice with mercy wherever that may be possible."

She paused yet again, the quiet so intense she could hear the surf once more, and the instincts developed in so many years on a throne tried to parse the mood of the people in the throne room. At least some of them seemed to be genuinely trying to reserve judgment, she thought. Others, however assiduously they might try to hide it, had clearly made up their minds already and weren't about to be swayed by anyone's words ... especially hers. She couldn't tell how many fell into which camp, but it seemed to her that the balance was tilted ever so slightly against those who had already committed themselves to hostility.

"We've made it clear we aren't prepared to cavalierly strip Prince Daivyn of his birthright and inheritance," she said finally. "Obviously, when a minor prince is in exile in a foreign court, far from his own lands, we can't simply resign into his hands that which we've won on the field of battle. By the same token, we can understand why Prince Daivyn and those who genuinely have his best interests at heart should hesitate to deliver him back into the power of those many believe had his father and older brother murdered. Whether we did or not, simple prudence would dictate that he not be brought back into our reach until those responsible for guarding his life and well-being are fully satisfied it would be safe to do so. I don't pretend we like the situation, yet I'm also well aware no one here in Corisande likes it, either.

"It was the need to bear all of those factors in mind which led Emperor Cayleb to recognize the Regency Council as representing Prince Daivyn, not the Charisian Crown. Obviously, the Regency Council must accommodate itself to the demands of Charis, just as Prince Daivyn would be required to do were he here and ruling in his own right. That, unfortunately, is the way things work in a world where disputes between realms are too often settled upon the field of battle. It's our hope that in the fullness of time, and preferably sooner rather than later, all these issues will be resolved without further bloodshed here in Corisande, and we earnestly desire to find in that resolution a way to finally end the anger and distrust, the hostility, which has lain between Charis, Chisholm, and Corisande for so long. In the meantime, we have no intention of expropriating Prince Daivyn's lands, whether as Prince or as Duke of Manchyr. Aside from the abolition of serfdom, we have no intention of interfering with Corisande's traditional law or the traditional rights of her aristocracy or her commons. And aside from those actions necessary to purge Mother Church of the corruption which has infected and poisoned her, the lies which have been told in her name, we have no quarrel with her, either ... and certainly not with God.

"And that, my lords and ladies, is what I've come here to Corisande to demonstrate for all to see. I will make no deals in secret. There will be no secret arrests and executions, just as there have been none yet. We will not torture confessions out of those we suspect of wrongdoing, and if we must inflict the death penalty, it will be carried out quickly and cleanly, without the torture in which Zhaspahr Clyntahn delights.

"In the end, you-as all of God's children-have a choice to make. You may choose to align yourself with the Empire and Church of Charis against the evil threatening to twist Mother Church and all we believe in into something vile and dark. You may choose to stand with Corisande and the rightful Prince of Corisande, and it's our hope that in the fullness of time Prince Daivyn will choose to stand with us. You may choose to reject the Empire and Church of Charis and fight them with all your power and all your heart, and that, too, is a choice only you can make. No Charisian monarch will ever seek to dictate your final choice to you, but we will do whatever we must to protect and nurture the things in which we believe, the causes for which we choose to fight and, if necessary, die. If our choices bring us into conflict, then so be it. Charis will not flinch, will not yield, and will not retreat. As my husband has said, 'Here we stand; we can do no other,' and stand we will, though all the forces of Hell itself should come against us. Yet whether you make yourselves our friends or our foes, I will promise you this much."

The stillness was absolute, and she swept the listening throng with that level brown gaze yet again.

"We may fight you. We may even be forced to slay you. But we will never torture or terrify you into betraying your own beliefs. We will never convict without evidence. We will never ignore your right to trial and your right to defend yourself before God and the law, never capriciously sentence men and women to die simply because they disagree with us. And we will never dictate to your conscience, or murder you simply for daring to disagree with us, or torture you vilely to death simply to terrify others into doing our will, and call that the will of God."

She looked out at those silent, listening faces, and her voice was measured, each word beaten out of cold iron as she dropped her sworn oath into the silence.

"Those things are what the Group of Four does," she told them in that soft, terrible voice, "and we will die before we become them."

.V.

Imperial Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis "I'm going to strangle that parrot," Cayleb Ahrmahk said conversationally. "And if I weren't afraid it would poison me, I'd have the cook serve it for dinner."

The parrot which had just stolen a pistachio out of the silver bowl on the wrought-iron table landed on a branch on the far side of the terrace, transferred the stolen nut from its beak to its agile right foot, and squawked raucously at him. Obviously no respecter of imperial dignities, it proceeded to defecate in a long gray and white streak down the lime tree's bark, as well.

There were quite a few similar deposits decorating the terrace, Cayleb noticed. In fact, there were enough of them for at least two heroic sculptures. Probably even three, unless they were equestrian sculptures.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," Prince Nahrmahn said, reaching out and scooping up a handful of the same pistachios, "first you'd have to catch it."

"Only if I insist on strangling it," Cayleb retorted. "A shotgun ought to do the job permanently enough, if a little more messily. It might even be more satisfying, now that I think about it."

"Zhanayt would be less than amused with you, Your Majesty," Earl Gray Harbor pointed out from his seat beside Nahrmahn. The first councilor shook his head. "She's turned that dratted bird into her own personal pet. That's why it's bold enough to swoop down and steal your nuts. She's been hand-feeding them to it for months now to get it to ride on her shoulder when she comes into the garden and it thinks it owns all of them. She'll pitch three kinds of fits if you harm a single feather on its loathsome little head."

"Wonderful."

Cayleb rolled his eyes while Nahrmahn and Gray Harbor chuckled. Princess Zhanayt's sixteenth birthday would roll around in another few five-days. That meant she was about fourteen and a half Old Terran years old, and she was entering what her deceased father would have called her "difficult stage." (He'd used a rather strong term when it had been his older son's turn, as Cayleb recalled.) Prince Zhan, her younger brother, was only two years behind her, but his engagement to Nahrmahn's daughter Mahrya seemed to be blunting the worst of his adolescent angst. Cayleb wasn't certain it was going to last, but for now at least the assurance that he would in just over three years' time be wedding one of the most lovely young women he'd ever met appeared to be giving him a level of confidence the mere fact that his brother was an emperor (and that he himself stood third in the line of succession) wouldn't have. Despite the inescapable political logic of the move, Cayleb had had his doubts about betrothing his baby brother to someone almost eight Safeholdian years older than he was, but so far, it was working out well. Thank God Mahrya took after her mother-physically, at least-rather than her father! And it didn't hurt that Zhan was far more inclined to be bookish than Cayleb had ever been. Nahrmahn's genetic contribution was obvious in Mahrya's keen wits and love affair with the printed page, and she'd been subtly guiding Zhan's choice of books for almost three years. He was even reading poetry now, which made him pretty nearly unique among fourteen-year-old males of Cayleb's acquaintance.

"Oh, come now!" Gray Harbor scolded the emperor. "I remember you as a teenager, Your Majesty. And I remember your father's description of you just before he sent you off on your midshipman's cruise."

"And that description would have been what?" Cayleb asked suspiciously.

"I believe his exact words were 'A stubborn, stiff-necked young hellion ripe for hanging,'" the earl replied with a smile. "I could be wrong about that, though. It might have been 'obstinate,' not stiff-necked."

"Why did everybody who knew me then persist in thinking of me as stubborn?" Cayleb's tone was plaintive. "I've always been one of the most reasonable people I know!"

Gray Harbor and Nahrmahn looked at one another, then back at their liege lord without saying a word, and he snorted.

"All right, be that way." He selected one of the roasted, salted pistachios, peeled the shell, and popped the nut into his mouth. He picked up another while he was chewing and tossed it at the parrot, which ignored the assault on its dignity with lordly disdain. The emperor shook his head and turned his attention back to Gray Harbor with a more thoughtful expression.

"So you think Coris is seriously contemplating some sort of an arrangement with us?" he asked, carefully projecting a note of skepticism. He couldn't very well tell Gray Harbor he'd been looking over Coris' shoulder-or that one of Owl's remotes had been, at any rate-at the very moment the Corisandian earl wrote the message Gray Harbor had received.

"I'd say he's definitely contemplating an arrangement, Your Majesty," Gray Harbor replied soberly. "Whether he actually wants to consummate anything of the sort is another matter, of course."

"You're saying you think this is in the nature of a sheet anchor?" Nahrmahn put in.

"Something like that, Your Highness." Gray Harbor nodded. "Whatever else he may have been, Coris was never a fool. I've come to the conclusion that he underestimated you rather badly, Your Highness, but then so did everyone else. And while he doesn't come right out and say so in his note, it has to be obvious to someone as astute and as well informed as him that it would've made absolutely no sense to assassinate Hektor and his son."

"I'm not sure I'd go quite that far, My Lord," Nahrmahn said thoughtfully. "About its making absolutely no sense, I mean. It would have been uncommonly stupid to have had him assassinated at that particular moment, I'll grant you, but I'm sure quite a few of the world's rulers wouldn't have shed any tears if an enemy like Hektor were to suffer a fatal accident after he'd sworn fealty ... and before he could get around to violating that oath."

"All right, that's true enough." Gray Harbor nodded again. "But my point about the actual assassination stands. Not only that, but he has to realize how ... convenient Hektor's murder was from the Group of Four's perspective. Assuming he's genuinely committed to young Daivyn's well-being, or simply to preserving his own future access to power in Daivyn's eventual court, he's got to be worried about someone like Clyntahn's deciding that Daivyn's death might be as helpful as his father's was. So as far as that goes, yes, I'm inclined to think he truly is looking for a way out of Delferahk if one should become necessary."

"But you don't think he's going to make a move in our direction unless he does decide it's necessary?" Cayleb asked.

"No, I don't. And to be fair, why should he? It's not as if we've done anything that would endear us to him, and for the moment at least it's entirely reasonable for his loyalty to Mother Church as well as whatever personal loyalty he feels towards Daivyn and Irys to push him towards staying out of our grasp. He was never as precipitous as Hektor, and I don't see any reason for that to change now. Especially when he knows that until he's actually forced to turn to us, he's in a far better bargaining position in Talkyra than he'd be in Tellesberg."

"So how do you think we should respond?"

"I've discussed that with Bynzhamyn and also with Ahlvyno," Gray Harbor replied, and Cayleb nodded. Bynzhamyn Raice wasn't simply Old Charis' spymaster and Ahlvyno Pawalsyn wasn't simply its finance minister; they were also two of Gray Harbor's oldest friends and most trusted colleagues.

"Both of them agree this is an opening that's far too valuable to pass up," the earl continued. "Obviously, we can't know where it's going to lead, but there's always the possibility it really will end up with Coris forced to seek asylum with us. From a political perspective, it would be impossible to overestimate the advantage of getting our hands-metaphorically speaking-on Irys and Daivyn. Whether we'd be able to convert that into any sort of willing cooperation on their part is another matter entirely, of course, and given Princess Irys' obvious influence with her younger brother and her evident conviction you did have her father and her older brother murdered, Cayleb, I'd say the chances were probably less than even. On the other hand, from all reports she's smart enough to recognize that whether we're her favorite people in the world or not, her brother probably has no option but to cooperate with us, at least officially. Especially if Coris does believe Clyntahn had Prince Hektor killed and he's managed to convince her of that."

"Well," Cayleb selected another pistachio and cracked it open, "I'm inclined to go along with you, Bynzhamyn, and Ahlvyno. So the next order of business is how we go about moving this courtship along, I suppose."

"I expect the biggest difficulty's going to be simply communicating back and forth," Nahrmahn said thoughtfully. "This isn't exactly something we can discuss with him over the Church's semaphore system, and speaking from the perspective of an experienced intriguer, that could be a real problem, especially in a case like this. How long did it take his message to get here, My Lord?"

"The better part of three months." Gray Harbor's sour tone acknowledged Nahrmahn's point. "I can't know what route it followed, but assuming it went downriver from Talkyra to Ferayd or Sarmouth before it found a ship to bring it to Tellesberg, it had over fifteen thousand miles to travel. Which means it actually made excellent time to get here as quickly as it did."

"But that's the sort of delay that introduces all sorts of potential 'cooling-off periods' into the courtship," Nahrmahn said. "And to be honest, the sort of thing that's most likely to force Coris' hand is also likely to come up in a much shorter time window than that. If he suddenly discovers Daivyn's in active danger from Clyntahn, for example, taking three months to get a message to us would make it all but impossible to coordinate any effective response with us. A six-month two-way communications time?" The Emeraldian shook his head. "That may work for the normal political seduction, but it won't in any sort of emergency situation."

"That's true, of course," Gray Harbor admitted. "We're still better off than we were, though, Your Highness."

"Oh, I agree!" Nahrmahn nodded vigorously. "It's just that I think we might be able to ... speed up message times. From his end to us, at least."

"And just how might we accomplish that?" Cayleb asked, sitting back and looking rather intently at the no longer quite so plump prince.

"Well, it occurs to me, Your Majesty, that I may have forgotten to mention one small capability of my erstwhile anti-Charisian intelligence service," Nahrmahn said with a charming smile. "As I'm sure you're aware, Emerald's always been famous for its racing, hunting, and messenger wyverns."

"I do seem to recall something about a wyvern salesman right here in Tellesberg, as a matter of fact," Cayleb replied somewhat repressively.

"Yes, that was one of our better cover arrangements, I thought," Nahrmahn agreed reminiscently. "It worked quite well for years."

"And the reason for this trip down memory lane?" Cayleb inquired.

"As it happens, Your Majesty, our royal wyvern breeders have been attempting to improve our messenger wyvern stock for quite a long time now, and not simply to help our wyvernries' sales. Some years ago-during my father's reign, as a matter of fact-we got a rather unexpected result when we crossed the Dark Hill line from Corisande with our own Gray Pattern line."

"Surely you're not proposing sending Earl Coris messenger wyverns, Your Highness," Gray Harbor said.

"That's precisely what I'm proposing, My Lord," Nahrmahn replied, and even Cayleb looked at him in disbelief.

Messenger wyverns had been a part of Safehold's communications system since the Creation. Now that he had access to Owl, Cayleb also knew the original messenger wyverns had been genetically engineered by Pei Shan-wei's terraforming teams to deliberately enhance the various breeds' natural capabilities for the specific purpose of creating a low-tech means to help tie the original, scattered enclaves together. Bigger, stronger, and much tougher than Old Terran carrier pigeons, the wyverns Shan-wei had designed had fallen into two main categories, either of which could carry considerably heavier messages than their tiny Old Terran counterparts. They could even be used to carry small packages, although it wasn't the most reliable possible way to deliver them.

The short-range breeds were faster, smaller, and more maneuverable than their larger brethren. Capable of speeds of up to sixty miles per hour (although some of the racing breeds had been clocked at over a hundred miles per hour in a sprint), their maximum effective flight range was mostly under six hundred miles, which meant they could deliver a message to their maximum range in as little as ten or eleven hours, on average. They were the most commonly used breeds, in large part because the logistics meant there was little call for ranges longer than that. Like carrier pigeons, they were a one-way communications system, since they returned only to the wyvernry they recognized as "home," wherever that might be, which meant they had to be transported from their home to their point of release. Shuttling them back and forth by wagon or on lizardback over distances much greater than six hundred miles simply wasn't practical for most people, although the Church and some of the larger mainland realms maintained special relay systems to supplement and back up the semaphore towers. In addition-and unlike carrier pigeons-they could be relatively quickly imprinted with another "home" wyvernry. In fact, it was necessary to take precautions to prevent that from happening inadvertently.

The longer-range wyverns were slower, but they also were capable of flights of up to four thousand miles. Indeed, there were rumors of legendary flights of up to five thousand, although substantiation for such claims was notoriously thin on the ground. Because they were slower-and because they had to stop to hunt and roost on the way-they were capable of no more than seven hundred and fifty miles per day under average conditions, but even that meant they could deliver a message over a four thousand-mile transit in less than six days. That was slower than the semaphore (under good visibility conditions, anyway), but faster than any other means of communications available ... at least to those who didn't have the advantage of communicators and satellite relays.

"As Rayjhis just pointed out, it's fifteen thousand miles from here to Talkyra by ship and boat," Cayleb said. "I realize it's shorter than that in a direct line, but it's still close to seven thousand miles even for a wyvern, Nahrmahn!"

"Yes, it is," Nahrmahn agreed. "And it just happens I have at my disposal a breed of messenger wyvern capable of making flights at least that long."

"I find that difficult-not impossible, Your Highness; just difficult-to believe," Gray Harbor said after a moment. "If we really do have wyverns with that kind of range, however, I'm entirely in agreement with you. The question becomes how we get them to Earl Coris in the first place."

"I've been thinking about that, too, My Lord," Nahrmahn said with a smile, "and I think I know just the messenger, assuming we can contact him."

He glanced at Cayleb, who raised his eyebrows.

"And exactly who were you thinking about calling upon?" the emperor inquired politely.

"It just occurred to me, Your Majesty, to wonder if you might have some means of getting into contact with Seijin Merlin's friend Master Zhevons." Nahrmahn smiled toothily at Cayleb's expression. "He did so well at ... motivating King Gorjah, and he's obviously at home operating on the mainland. It just seems appropriate, somehow, to get him into touch with Earl Coris, as well. Who knows?" His smile faded suddenly, his eyes meeting Cayleb's levelly. "It might just turn out that this is another situation that requires his special talents, Your Majesty."

.VI.

City of Gorath, Kingdom of Dohlar, and Royal Palace, Princedom of Corisande "They're here, My Lord," Lieutenant Bahrdailahn said quietly.

"Thank you, Ahbail," Lywys Gardynyr said. He inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the cabin door. "Show them in, please."

"Yes, My Lord." The flag lieutenant bowed considerably more deeply than usual and disappeared. A moment later, he returned.

"Admiral Manthyr, Captain Braishair, and Captain Krugair, My Lord," he announced unnecessarily, and Gardynyr bobbed his head to the newcomers.

"Gentlemen," he said.

"Earl Thirsk," Gwylym Manthyr replied for himself and his subordinates.

"I very much regret the necessity to summon you to this particular meeting," Thirsk said levelly, "but in the name of what honor remains to me, I have no choice. Admiral Manthyr, you surrendered your ships and personnel to me after a most gallant and determined defense-one which still commands my admiration and professional respect. At that time, I promised you honorable treatment under the laws of war. I regret that I face you as a man forsworn."

Bahrdailahn shifted slightly, face tightening in silent protest, but Thirsk continued in the same measured tone.

"I'm sure you recognized, as did I, that any promise on my part was subject to violation or outright revocation by my superiors or by Mother Church. As a loyal son of Mother Church it's not my place to criticize or dispute her decisions; as an officer of the Royal Dohlaran Navy, I am ashamed."