"I've lived here almost half my entire life, Sir Rayjhis!" Wynai said with an unusual flash of fire. "I'm not going to just run away from my neighbors and my friends-and my family!-and all the rest of my life because some people are letting their mouths run away with them!"

"I hope that's all it is," he said, turning back around to look at her. "You've seen the dispatches I'm sending home, though. You probably know more about what's happening here in the capital than I do, when it comes down to it. And you know I'm trying hard not to be alarmist and make a bad situation worse. But I'd be derelict in my duties if I didn't warn the Charisian community about the rumors we're picking up."

"Why did we ever have to start all this?" she asked, her eyes pained. "It's all ... all just crazy, Sir Rayjhis!"

"In some ways I agree with you," he said heavily. In fact, he agreed with her in a lot more ways than he was prepared to admit. His personal balancing act as a loyal son of Mother Church and the ambassador of the heretical Empire of Charis had become nothing but more difficult as the Church moved steadily towards an official declaration of jihad. Over the last year, since that declaration had actually come, it had gotten even harder, and deep inside himself he wondered what he was going to do if worse came to worst in the Republic. Only his overriding sense of duty to the House of Ahrmahk had kept him at his post this long, and he didn't know if even that could have done the trick if he hadn't seen so many indications Mother Church was striving to keep the Republic as close to neutral territory as it could. He'd had enough clear signs-signals that could only have come from Vicar Rhobair and Chancellor Trynair-that Mother Church actually wanted the embargo to continue "leaking" in Siddarmark's case. That had been enough to keep him in his office, still able to serve both of the causes which were so dear to his heart. But if that balance was shifting, if Mother Church was changing her mind, what did he do then?

"In some ways I agree with you," he repeated, "but we live when we live, and all any of us can do is pray for guidance to get through all this without trading away any more of our souls than we have to. And if we get an opportunity to do something which may make it even a little better-or at least less bad-than it would have been otherwise, then we give thanks on our knees."

"Yes, Sir." Wynai lowered her eyes, seeming a bit abashed at having spoken out, and he inhaled deeply.

"Go ahead and get clear copies of those written up," he told her in a gentler tone. "And tell Zheryld we're going to have a special dispatch bag for Tellesberg."

"Of course, Sir."

"And, Wynai, if you'd like to send any messages home to Charis, feel free to use the dispatch bag." She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. "I know you don't abuse the privilege, and at least this way they'll get home a little quicker."

"Thank you, Sir Rayjhis. I appreciate it."

Wynai gathered up her notepad and her pen and headed down the hall to her own little cubbyhole of an office. The door closed quietly behind her, and Dragoner returned his attention to the window, looking across those sunlit roofs at North Bay's sail-dotted azure water and thinking about the homeland which lay so far beyond it.

Wynai Thyrstyn closed her office door behind her and sat in the creaky, slightly rickety chair at her desk. She laid her shorthand notes on the blotter and stared down at them, thinking about them, wondering what she should do. Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and covered her lids with her hands while she tried not to weep.

There were times she felt almost unbearably torn by guilt as she sat in Sir Rayjhis' office, taking down his words, working on his correspondence, answering his questions about the Charisian and non-Charisian communities here in Siddar City. It was wrong of her to feel that way, she knew that. She wasn't doing anything she shouldn't be doing, and Sir Rayjhis was a good man, one who needed her help. She could see how he was aging before her, the way his hair was going progressively whiter, the lines carving themselves more and more deeply into his face. He'd revealed more of his own spiritual turmoil than he thought he had-she was pretty sure of that-and she wondered how much longer he could bear it. And how he was going to react when the inevitable happened.

And it was inevitable. She lowered her hands again, staring at the icon of the Archangel Langhorne hanging on the wall above her desk. God couldn't permit any other outcome, but why did it have to be so hard? Why did so many people-good people, and there were good people, on both sides-have to die?

The tears came despite her efforts to stop them as she thought of her brother Trai and her cousin Urvyn. Sir Rayjhis had tried so hard to comfort her when the terrible news came, tried to tell her it had all been some horrible accident, but Wynai knew better. She couldn't be certain, of course, but ... she knew better. If only Urvyn had been able to see the truth the way she and Trai had! But he hadn't, and they'd lost him to the heresy, and she'd still loved him so much, and, O Sweet Bedard, but it hurt so much to be so sure Trai had killed him ... and himself.

Forgive him, she prayed now, staring at the image of the Archangel on the wall before her, not entirely certain if she were praying for her heretical cousin or the brother who'd violated divine law by taking his own life. But then she shook herself. God couldn't possibly condemn Trai for giving up his life in His own service! Yet even so- Forgive all of them, please! I know Urvyn and the others are wrong, I know it's all so horribly wrong, but they're not really evil. They're doing what they think they have to do, what they think you and God want them to do. Do they really have to spend all of eternity paying for that?

The icon didn't answer her, but she hadn't really expected it to, and she drew a deep breath. A decisive breath.

She'd wanted to do more from the very beginning, but Trai had convinced her-no, be honest, he'd ordered her-not to. She remembered that first letter of his, the one which had filled her with mingled fear and elation. It was so like her big brother to take charge, to know exactly what to do, and she'd taken his warnings seriously. She'd never said a single word to anyone, not even her own priest and confessor, about the "personal letters" to her which she relayed to her husband's aunt in Zion. The letters which went from there directly to the Office of the Inquisition ... and the replies to which were transmitted to him in her own "personal letters." She had no idea what information and what instructions had passed back and forth, because Trai had been very clear about that, as well. At his request, the Inquisition had sent him a code book by an entirely separate route-she didn't know what it had been-and he and whoever he was actually writing to had buried their messages in the word puzzles and acrostics he and Wynai had shared regularly by mail ever since her marriage had taken her to the Republic so many years before.

But he'd been very specific in that first letter. She was to do nothing but relay letters. That was the most important thing she could possibly do, and she mustn't do anything that could compromise her ability to perform that task. So she'd had no contact at all with the Inquisition here in Siddar. She'd spoken as calmly and reasonably as she could when the inevitable debates erupted between Temple Loyalists and adherents of the Church of Charis, avoiding anything which could have gotten her labeled an extremist by either side. And she'd never, not once, used her privileged position here inside the embassy to provide information to Mother Church.

In a lot of ways, she'd been grateful Trai's instructions had precluded her from doing that. But Trai was gone now, and Urwyn, both of them sacrificed to the war impious man had declared upon God Himself, and that meant she was free. It would be a betrayal of Sir Rayjhis' trust, and she regretted that deeply, yet she had no choice but to serve God and the Archangels in any way she could.

She drew another deep breath and began transcribing her notes in the beautiful, clear handwriting she'd been taught as a child in Tellesberg. She had the dispatch bag to catch, and she would. But this time, instead of destroying her original notes the way she always had before, she would take them with her when she left.

It was very quiet in the tiny office, with only the soft, purposeful scratching of her pen to break the silence.

.VIII.

The Temple, City of Zion, The Temple Lands "God damn them! God damn all of them!"

Zhaspahr Clyntahn threw the entire file across the sitting room of his luxurious personal suite. It hit the outer wall's unbreakable transparent crystal with a thump and flew back, scattering pages across the thick, rich carpets, and the Grand Inquisitor snarled. His heavy-jowled face was purple with fury as he snatched up a priceless glass paperweight that was over three hundred years old and hurled it across the room, directly into a glass-fronted cabinet of crystal decanters. It struck with an ear-shattering crash and the sharp scent of expensive brandies and whiskeys as paperweight, glass, and bottles exploded in fragments.

Spectacular as it was, the destruction had no apparent effect on Clyntahn's rage, and he bent and snatched up the bronze coffee table. It had to weigh a hundred pounds, Wyllym Rayno thought, but the Grand Inquisitor didn't even seem to notice. He only hurled it after the paperweight with an explosive grunt of effort, demolishing the entire wet bar in a cascade of shattered snifters, goblets, liqueur bottles, and exquisite-and exquisitely expensive-cabinetry.

The Archbishop of Chiang-wu made himself as small and inconspicuous as he possibly could. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Clyntahn explode in all but incoherent fury, but it was never a pleasant experience. And he'd seldom seen the Grand Inquisitor this angry. In fact, it was entirely possible he'd never seen Clyntahn this angry.

Not even Zhaspahr Clyntahn in the grip of a monumental rage could throw something as heavy as that coffee table without consequences. He stumbled, nearly falling, and kept himself on his feet only by grabbing the back of a couch. He snarled, shoved himself back upright, and kicked the couch halfway across the room. It knocked over a display pedestal, and a marble bust of the Archangel Chihiro-carved from life by the second-century master Charkain-toppled to the floor in a crunching, face-first impact that sent fragments of white stone flying. He looked around, as if seeking something else expensive to destroy, then stomped out of the sitting room, kicking heirloom furniture out of his way, and Rayno heard more shattering sounds from the adjacent bedchamber.

Fortunately, Clyntahn hadn't ordered the archbishop to accompany him, and Rayno breathed a quiet prayer of thanks as he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his cassock and prepared to wait out his superior's rage.

From the sounds of things, it was going to take a while.

"All right," Clyntahn said flatly, the better part of two hours later. "Give me the details."

He and Rayno had withdrawn to the small conference room attached to the Grand Inquisitor's suite. The door had opened at their approach and then closed silently behind them, cool air whispered through the overhead ducts, and the conference room's soundproofing guaranteed that none of the white-faced servants creeping about while they dealt with the wreckage littering the wake of Clyntahn's rage would hear a word they said.

Rayno considered pointing out that all "the details" he possessed had been contained in the file, but he didn't consider it very hard. He'd quietly gathered up the file's scattered contents and brought them with him, but reminding Clyntahn he'd cleaned up behind him probably wouldn't be a good idea.

"I'm afraid there's not a great deal to add to what I've already told you, Your Grace," he said just a bit cautiously. "The destruction appears to be effectively total. Jahras' entire fleet seems to have been sunk, burned, or taken. All the navy yard facilities were burned. The artillery foundries in and around Iythria were all destroyed, and the port's batteries were blown up. As nearly as I can tell, Your Grace, the Imperial Desnairian Navy now consists solely of the twenty-one galleons in Desnair Bay. And, in all honesty, Your Grace, I'll be astounded if the heretics don't move against Desnair the City very soon now." His mouth twisted. "They made it clear enough at Iythria that they're not afraid to confront heavy fortifications or our galleons, and I don't think there's anything at Desnair that could stop them if Jahras couldn't stop them at Iythria."

"No?" Clyntahn glared at him, jowls tinged with just a hint of the purple which had suffused them earlier. "What about a fucking commander with at least a little guts?" he snarled. "What about a goddamned navy that remembers it's fucking fighting for God?!"

Rayno started to reply, then paused. From the casualty reports he'd read (and which Clyntahn hadn't gotten to before he'd launched off into his paroxysm of fury), the Desnairian Navy had fought-and died-hard before its final surrender. He thought about pointing out that of the ninety-plus ships with which Jahras had begun the action, the Charisians had kept only thirty-five or forty as prizes. The others had been so badly damaged Rock Point had ordered them burned. That didn't strike him as the sort of damage a fleet that gave up easily suffered. And Jahras' after battle report had pulled no punches about the devastating advantage the Charisians' new ammunition had provided them.

No, there'd been nothing wrong with the fighting spirit of Iythria's defenders. Not until after Jahras' surrender, at least. But pointing that out would be ... impolitic.

"I trust we have both of those things at Desnair the City, Your Grace," he said instead. "It is the Empire's capital city, after all, and the added motivation of fighting under Emperor Mahrys' own eye should help to stiffen their spines, as well. I know!" He raised a hand quickly as Clyntahn's eyes flashed. "The fact that they're fighting under God's eye should be motivation enough for any man. But you've always told me, Your Grace, that we have to allow for men's inevitable weaknesses, the way their fallen nature leads them to fall short of their duty. I've dispatched instructions to Archbishop Ahdym and Bishop Executor Mahrtyn to do all in their power to strengthen the faith and determination of the capital's defenders, and I'm sure they will. At the same time, though, if there are any purely secular ... motivators we can apply, I'm in favor of using them, as well."

The incipient glare in Clyntahn's eyes eased slightly under Rayno's reasonable tone. He continued to stare at the archbishop for a long, simmering moment, but then he shoved himself back in his chair with a choppy nod.

"Point taken," he said, his own voice once again flat and controlled. "I want Jahras and Kholman, though. They've failed Mother Church-betrayed Mother Church-and they have to pay the price."

"I agree entirely, Your Grace, and I'm already considering possible ways to see that they do. The fact that they've cravenly fled to Charis like the cowards they are is going to make it difficult, however."

In fact, Rayno thought, Baron Jahras and Duke Kholman had displayed prudence, not cowardice, in removing themselves from Clyntahn's reach. And unless he was mistaken, before their departure they'd done their best to report honestly and accurately-and warningly-on what they'd faced when the Charisian Navy came to call. Best not to make that point just yet, either, though.

"Our inability to operate with any degree of flexibility in Charis is going to work against us, as well," he continued instead. "At the moment, I don't think it would be possible to send in any of our agents to deal with them. Getting to them is going to require something like Operation Rakurai, and until we know exactly where the heretics are keeping them, even beginning to plan that kind of mission is going to be ... impractical, I'm afraid."

Clyntahn growled something under his breath, but he also gave another of those jerky nods. In fact, his color seemed to improve a little, and Rayno congratulated himself on having brought up Operation Rakurai. There'd been too little time for any reports to reach Zion yet, so it was impossible to say how well the Rakurai had fared. Clyntahn anticipated a high degree of effectiveness, however, and contemplating that seemed to take at least the worst edge off his fury over Iythria. Of course, if it turned out Operation Rakurai had been a failure, and not a success, his rage would simply return in redoubled force, but as the Writ said, sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof.

"All right," the Grand Inquisitor said again, after a moment. "I'll accept that-for now. But I want every member of their families who didn't flee with them. I want them here, in Zion, Wyllym. All of them, you understand me?"

"Of course, Your Grace." Rayno bowed slightly across the conference table. "In fact, I'd already anticipated your wishes. I've detailed a team of our most reliable inquisitors to oversee the process of taking them into custody."

"Good," Clyntahn grunted, then reached out and dragged the battered file away from Rayno.

He opened it, and the archbishop unobtrusively held his breath. This time, however, the Grand Inquisitor didn't explode. His lips tightened and his brows lowered as he turned through the pages, yet he had himself back under control, and his eyes darted over the sentences of the various reports.

Clyntahn was a very fast reader. Even so, it took him the better part of twenty minutes to work through the file, during which Rayno sat quietly, his expression one of calm, attentive patience. Finally, the Grand Inquisitor finished, slapped the file shut again, and shoved it away from him.

"Well, that's a fine pile of dragon shit," he observed in something very like a calm voice. "Jahras was obviously trying to cover his own ass, but I notice his report's dated before Kholman's decision to just hand over the entire fucking city. That probably means there's at least a trace of accuracy in it somewhere."

"That was my own impression, Your Grace."

"Well, if there is, we obviously need to push our own development of these 'shells' harder. Remind me to kick Allayn in the ass and find out how he's coming."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Clyntahn sat silent for another two or three minutes, lips pursed, eyes focused on something only he could see. Then he stirred in his chair once more and refocused his attention on Rayno.

"You know, one of the things that occurs to me is that they went after Iythria, not Desnair the City. I know Jahras had a lot bigger fleet based there, so I suppose it makes sense for them to have gone after it, but Desnair's only-what?-five hundred miles farther from Tarot than Iythria, and it's the Desnairians' capital. And let's be honest, Wyllym-Desnair's fortifications aren't any tougher than Iythria's were. So surely they had to have been at least tempted to go after the capital first. Think of what a fist in the eye that would have been!"

"I hadn't really considered that aspect of it, Your Grace."

Rayno considered adding that one reason he hadn't was that Iythria had represented well over three-quarters of Desnair's total shipbuilding capacity. And, for another, the Gulf of Jahras was-or had been, at least-far more important than Desnair Bay from any commercial perspective. With the Gulf under Charisian control, the Desnairian Empire's internal economy had taken a significant blow which was going to have major consequences in the not so distant future. The psychological impact of an attack on Desnair the City might have been profound, but from a hard-boiled military and economic perspective, there was no comparison between that and the value of the attack the Charisians had actually executed.

And the defection of two of the Empire's most prominent nobles-one of whom just happened to be the Navy Minister and the other of whom just happened to be the Navy's commanding officer-is probably a fairly adequate "psychological" substitute for attacking the capital, he reflected sourly.

"Well, it's obvious to me," Clyntahn emphasized the pronoun, "that they went after Iythria first because it's closer to Silkiah and Siddarmark."

Rayno managed not to blink. It had been painfully obvious for years that the Charisians had no intention of drawing the Church's attention any more forcefully than it could avoid to the Silkiahan and Siddarmarkian evasion of the Grand Inquisitor's embargo. Clearly, they'd wanted to do nothing to imperil that highly lucrative trade. In fact, as far as he could see, they'd probably decided to attack Iythria because of its military importance despite its proximity to Silkiah, rather than because of it.

"What do you think they're trying to accomplish, Your Grace?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, it's obvious, Wyllym!" Clyntahn retorted impatiently. "From the moment Harpahr blundered straight into disaster last year, the heretics've seen the opportunity to completely neutralize Mother Church's naval power in eastern waters. They're probably planning on getting around to Desnair the City sometime soon, and then, eventually, they'll go around the tip of Howard and demonstrate how gutless Thirsk is when the pressure's really on." His jaw tightened. "We're going to have to seriously consider putting somebody from the Navy of God in command of all our naval forces, since it's obvious our secular commanders aren't up to the task. Of course, Harpahr didn't exactly cover himself with glory, either, now did he?"

Rayno nodded silently, his mouth prudently shut, and Clyntahn grunted like an angry boar. Then he shook himself.

"But, back to my point. It's obvious that now they've cleared all our naval power out of eastern waters, from the Sea of Justice to the Icewind Sea, they'll take advantage of that to establish still closer economic ties with Siddarmark. Hell, there's not even a frigging rowboat left now to see what they're really sending in and out of that bastard Stohnar's harbors, is there? We don't have squat in the way of an eastern naval presence after this! You think somebody like Stohnar-or like Cayleb, for that matter-won't take advantage of that? They've just blown the embargo completely out of their way, and trust me, that son-of-a-bitch Stohnar's just waiting for the 'Reformist' movement in the Republic to get strong enough before he opens the door and invites in a military Charisian presence. He especially wants those new rifles and fieldpieces of theirs-think what the Siddarmarkian Army could do with those added to its arsenal! You think he doesn't just lie awake at night drooling over the possibility?

"Of course he does, and the Charisians know it, too. That's why they went after Iythria. Because it's closer to Siddarmark-and to Silkiah, of course-and it's going to have more impact in Siddarmark. They could care less what the effect in Desnair is! They want to show the Republic that they can go anywhere the hell they want and do anything the hell they choose to encourage the 'Reformists' to turn against Mother Church openly and to reassure Stohnar that they can assist him militarily when he seizes the opportunity to finally bury his dagger in Mother Church's back."

Rayno started to reply, then stopped and considered. He wasn't at all sure he shared the logic process which had led the Grand Inquisitor to his conclusion, and he was even less confident that the possibility of a direct military alliance with Siddarmark had played any part in the Charisian decision to attack Iythria. As far as he could see, that had been purely an example of their going after the most immediately valuable-and most immediately threatening-military objective they could strike.

Yet none of that meant their triumph wasn't going to have exactly the effect Clyntahn had just described. Not instantly, perhaps, but in the fullness of time. And while Rayno had always been less than convinced that Greyghor Stohnar was simply biding his time until the moment was ripe to move against the Border States and the Temple Lands, that had been when the entire world wasn't already at war. Not only that, it had been before the Inquisition began preparing the Sword of Schueler against the Republic. Unless the Lord Protector was far, far stupider than Rayno could bring himself to believe, Stohnar had to have become at least partially aware of the Sword. It was unlikely he realized everything Clyntahn and Rayno had in mind, and even if he did, it was even less likely he'd be able to survive. But he was almost certainly picking up at least some warning signs, and if he did decide what had happened at Iythria strengthened his hand-and especially if it encouraged the Siddarmarkian Reformists-he probably would begin cautiously exploring options with Charis.

"I see your thinking now, Your Grace," he said. "Of course, it's unlikely Stohnar will be able to act on the opportunity before the Sword strikes."

"I know that's the plan," Clyntahn said. "And hopefully, Rakurai's going to have knocked the bastard Charisians back on their heels, at least for a little bit, too. But they surprised us with this one, Wyllym. Let's not pretend they didn't. And everything we're hearing suggests the 'Reformists' are gaining ground steadily in Siddarmark. At least some of those bastards are likely to come out openly in support of Stohnar when the coin finally drops. For that matter, they're gaining ground in other places, too."

He glowered at Rayno across the table, and the archbishop nodded. Despite what the Church was reporting, the truth-which had a nasty tendency of leaking out through the producers of those accursed anti-Church broadsheets the Inquisition still couldn't run to ground-was that the Church of Charis wasn't being "heroically and defiantly resisted" in the "conquered territories."

That was to be expected in Old Charis itself, and probably to some extent in Emerald, as well, if only due to the princedom's proximity to the original source of the contagion. Yet the truth was that Chisholm, which definitely wasn't right next door to Old Charis, had reacted with appalling calmness to its renegade queen's decision to actually marry the heretic King of Charis. Still worse, in some ways, Zebediah had done the same. In fact, from all reports, Zebediah was actively embracing the Charisian Empire, and if that meant accepting the Church of Charis as well, its subjects seemed perfectly willing to do that, too. No doubt that was largely an inevitable reaction to how cordially hated Tohmys Symmyns had been, but that wasn't keeping it from happening. And, worst of all....

"You're thinking about Corisande, Your Grace?"

"I'm thinking about everywhere the goddamned Charisians go," Clyntahn said sourly, "but, yes, Corisande was the other major ulcer I had in mind. I know our reports from Manchyr are always out of date by the time they get here, and I know you've been trying to put the best face on the ones we do get," he shot Rayno a moderately frigid look, "but the goddamned 'Reformists' are obviously gaining ground in Corisande. And the dog-and-lizard show that bitch Sharleyan put on when she was down there's only pushing that process along. The damned Corisandians are going over to Charis, just like the Chisholmians and the Zebediahans, and you know it, Wyllym."

Unfortunately, Rayno did know it. And he had been trying to "put the best face on" his reports from Corisande, for that matter. It would have been nice if there'd been some actual good news in any of them, though.

It seemed evident to him (although even now he didn't propose to point it out to Clyntahn) that there'd always been a much greater Reformist sentiment in Corisande than anyone in Zion had realized. That sentiment hadn't extended-initially, at least-to actually embracing schism and heresy, yet it had been there. And it had grown only stronger after Clyntahn broke the Reformist Circle in Zion itself. Rayno understood why the Grand Inquisitor had done it, yet there was no point pretending Corisande-insulated from the object lesson by all of the salt water between it and the mainland-hadn't reacted with revulsion and anger. That had helped push more Corisandians into the arms of the Church of Charis, and the careful way in which Cayleb and Sharleyan had handled their occupation, coupled with Sharleyan's display of mercy in pardoning so many who'd been convicted of treason, had drastically undermined the purely secular anger evoked by Hektor's murder. Especially when she'd gone right on displaying mercy after she'd so nearly been killed on her throne! For that matter, the original outrage engendered by Hektor's assassination had begun to fade even before Northern Conspiracy's leaders had been arrested, far less convicted.

So, yes, the "damned Corisandians" were going over to Charis.

"The other thing we have to face here, Wyllym," Clyntahn continued flatly, "is that we're getting our ass kicked every time we go up against the Charisians at sea. Don't think anybody inclined to consider heresy's missing that point, either. Hopefully, the Rakurai are going to have demonstrated by now that we're not powerless when it comes to striking back, but the military momentum's clearly on the heretics' side for right now, and that's giving them the impetus where morale's concerned, as well. We need to grab that momentum back, regain the upper hand psychologically, the way we had it after we snuffed out the Wylsynns' conspiracy. Finally getting around to Punishing those bastards Thirsk captured was a start. Rakurai's going to be another step on the same journey, too, and the Sword's going to be a huge stride in the right direction. But I want to hit them in as many places as possible. I think it's time to poke up the fire in Corisande."

"Prince Daivyn?" Rayno asked, tilting his head while he considered options and possibilities.

"Exactly. And I want it to coincide with the Sword. I want those bastards in Tellesberg to take as many good, heavy kicks in the balls, from as many directions as we can manage, in the shortest time period possible."

"If you actually want to coordinate the two operations, Your Grace, we're going to have to tinker with the timing."

"What do you mean, 'tinker'?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace. That was the wrong word. I should have said we're going to have to consider the timing carefully. If we hold to our current planning and send in a team of 'Charisian' assassins, it's going to take at least a few five-days-possibly an entire month-to get them into position in Delferahk, so the question becomes how closely we want the assassination to coincide with the Sword. Do we want to delay events in Siddarmark in order to coordinate them with the assassination, or do we want to move as quickly as possible in Siddarmark and settle for approximate coordination between the Sword and the assassination?"

"I want them to happen as close to simultaneously as possible," Clyntahn said after a moment's thought. "I want Cayleb and Sharleyan to know we timed them to happen that way." He smiled unpleasantly. "After all, they're going to know they didn't kill Daivyn, no matter what happens. So let's just underscore the statement for them and see how they like that!"

"Of course, Your Grace." Rayno bowed across the table again. "I'll get started on that immediately."

.IX.

Queen Frayla Avenue, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis "I have a priority alert, Lieutenant Commander Alban."

Merlin Athrawes' head snapped up as Owl's voice spoke calmly over his built-in com. He stood in the window of his palace bedchamber, looking out into the steadily gathering twilight, and his expression was grim. Tellesberg-even Tellesberg, the city which never slept, which was never quiet-seemed hushed and somber. Lanterns and lamps were already beginning to illuminate the oncoming night, and his enhanced vision could see the longshoremen and the ships still loading and unloading cargo along the waterfront. But the city's tempo had clearly dropped, and people went about their business more quietly than usual, with a degree of fearfulness which grieved his heart.

The Gray Wyvern Avenue attack wasn't the only one Tellesberg had endured, although it had been the most costly of them all.

Another wagon loaded with explosives had been intercepted as it rolled through the gates of the Tellesberg dockyard. In the wake of Gray Wyvern Avenue, an alert Marine sentry had taken it upon himself to question all incoming deliveries unless the driver was known to him personally. His initiative had irritated the dockyard authorities immensely, since it had resulted in confusion and delays in the dockyard's always bustling movement of supplies and deliveries. In fact, his company commander had dispatched a sergeant with orders for him to cease and desist. Fortunately, the sergeant hadn't arrived yet when the officious sentry stopped an articulated freight wagon almost as large as the one used in Gray Wyvern Square. Unfortunately, that wagon driver had arranged one of the flintlock pistol-based detonators where he could reach it from his high box seat.

The explosion had killed another fifty-six people, including the sentry, and wounded over a hundred more, but it would have been far worse if the driver had managed to reach his intended destination.