Two more, similar explosions had racked Tellesberg in the next twelve hours. Fortunately, they'd been smaller, but they'd created something entirely too much like panic for Merlin's taste. They'd also led to the declaration of martial law and a decree freezing all wagon traffic until the authorities could put some sort of security system into place.

The attackers' tactics had been shrewdly chosen to hit Tellesberg where it was most vulnerable, Merlin thought grimly. Not only had they targeted the leaders of the Empire's government-what had happened to Gray Harbor, Waignair, and Nahrmahn was proof enough of that-but Tellesberg's commerce was its very life's blood. The city's coat of arms, quartered with galleon and freight wagon, was nothing but accurate in that regard, and the grating, rumbling roar of those heavy wagons was both the bane of Tellesberg's repose and the source of a perverse pride.

Now those wagons had become a source of fear, not civic pride, for who knew which of them might be yet another bomb rolling towards its destination?

Cayleb and Sharleyan had seen no option but to impose unprecedented controls on the movement of freight through the city. No system could be perfect, but they'd moved quickly to begin issuing permits and licenses which were to be carried at all times and displayed upon demand. Moreover, every cargo load would now have to be documented, with a detailed bill of lading that would be inspected before it was allowed into the waterfront area or access to any cathedral, church, or public building.

Fortunately, the majority of the capital's freight was moved by professional drayage firms, all of which were already required to be bonded and inspected twice a year. Given those records' existence, they'd been able to move far more rapidly than someone like Clyntahn probably would have expected, and at least limited wagon traffic had been allowed to resume within two days of the initial attack. The smaller independents, who hadn't been in the records, were another matter, and some of them were suffering severe economic hardship while they tried to get the documentation and licensing which had never before been required. Baron Ironhill, aware both of the hardship for them and the consequences for the city's economic sector in general, had already set aside a fund to help reimburse some of those independent drayers' losses.

Even under the best circumstances, however, all the new inspections and regulations and licenses had begun imposing a significant drag on the Tellesberg economy. The cost of stationing City Guardsmen and Marines to do the inspecting was going to be a non-trivial budget item, as well. Yet even worse was the pervasive apprehension, the fear that yet another attack was inevitable. Tellesbergers refused to be cowed, and their anger at the indiscriminate slaughter of men, women, and children far eclipsed their fear, yet that fear was there, and Merlin was sadly certain it wasn't going away anytime soon.

"What sort of priority alert?" he asked Owl tersely now.

"A wagon has just entered one of the primary surveillance zones," the AI replied in that same calm tone. "As per your standing instructions, I have placed a parasite sensor in the wagon bed. It confirms the presence of high concentrations of gunpowder."

Tailahr Ahndairs suppressed a highly inappropriate urge to swear as he turned the wagon down Queen Frayla Avenue and one wheel bumped jarringly over the cut-granite curb between the roadway and the sidewalk.

He'd been selected for his mission because of his religious fervor and his Charisian accent, both of which were completely genuine. Unfortunately, he was a tinker by trade, not a drayman, and there'd been less time to teach him the rudiments of managing a heavy freight wagon than he might have wished. The traffic in Tellesberg was also far, far heavier than he'd ever really anticipated, which only made things worse, but at least there were some advantages to the controls on movement the heretics had slapped down. Operation Rakurai's planners hadn't counted on their being able to do that as quickly as they had, and Tailahr was unhappily aware that he had neither permit nor license. If he was stopped, there was no way he could pretend to be anything but what he was. On the other hand, there was far less traffic than there had been, so even if he had no license, he also had fewer other wagons to contend with and-hopefully-his own poor driving would be less of a problem.

It had been so far, at least, and he didn't have much farther to go.

He looked along the street ahead of him. Quite a few heads turned, eyes watching him warily as he rumbled past, and he exulted inside at that proof the heretics had been hurt. They were afraid now, and well they should be! It bemused him that they should go through their lives showing so little concern for the eternity of punishment their actions were storing up in Shan-wei's hell, yet react so strongly-exactly as Archbishop Wyllym and Vicar Zhaspahr had predicted they would-to a threat to their merely mortal, transitory bodies. He didn't-couldn't-understand that sort of thinking, but he didn't have to understand to recognize the effect, and he smiled grimly at the proof of what he and his fellows had already accomplished.

Lights were beginning to glow in the establishments around him. Most of them were shops or eateries, and he saw couples and families gathering around the tables of the open-air cafes in the comfort of the cool, breezy evening. The traffic around him was primarily pedestrian, with a smattering of private vehicles and an occasional dragon-drawn streetcar. There were very few freight wagons in the area, however, which made Tailahr's wagon stand out even more. That was also the reason his wagon was so much smaller than the others had been, because there was nothing here to justify the presence of one of the huge, articulated vehicles. The fact that he only had to manage a simple pair of draft horses instead of one of the dragons was an additional plus, but mostly it was because he needed to appear as unthreatening as possible until the moment came. He was simply one more driver, obviously there to drop off deliveries of fresh vegetables for the restaurants, and he reminded himself to smile and wave reassuringly at the pedestrians who stopped as they saw him passing.

Ahead of him, on the left, he saw the sentry box and the Imperial Charisian Marines standing guard at the open wrought-iron gate of his target. He wasn't going to be able to get as close as he would have liked, but that had been factored into his plan. His wagon wasn't loaded just with gunpowder; it had been packed with bits and pieces of scrap iron, old nails, cobblestones, and anything else he could find to use as projectiles. When he set off the charge, it would turn the vehicle into an enormous shotgun, hurling its improvised grapeshot for hundreds of yards-inaccurately, but with lethal power.

He felt the tension coiling tighter at his center as the moment approached. To be chosen for this particular attack had been an enormous honor. His chances of successfully killing his primary target were probably less than even, given how far from the building he'd be when he detonated his weapon, but he could always hope. And according to their best information, the apostate traitor's office faced on the street and he normally worked far later into the night than this. So there was at least a chance, and even if he missed Wylsynn, he'd get scores of the bastard's assistants. He was about to strike a devastating blow at the center of all those accursed perversions of the Proscriptions, and that- Tailahr's thoughts broke off abruptly as a man materialized out of nowhere. One instant he wasn't there; the next he was reaching up, catching the driver's seat's grab rail, and vaulting up beside Tailahr with impossible, fluid speed.

Tailahr flinched away, instantly and automatically, instead of immediately reaching for the cocked and ready pistol grip concealed in the seat beside him, and before he could even begin to recover, a hand moving with blurring speed had caught his left wrist. He screamed as that same hand effortlessly twisted his arm up until the back of his wrist pressed his shoulder blades; then another demonically strong hand gripped the nape of his neck, and Tailahr screamed again as his captor stood upright on the wagon seat, dragging him with him.

Even through the pain in his arm and shoulder, the anguish of the iron vise locked around the back of his neck, Tailahr's eyes bulged in disbelief as he realized the man who'd leapt into the wagon with him was actually holding him at arm's length with his toes an inch in the air. Then, without even a grunt of effort, the monster who'd sprung upon him leapt effortlessly down from the high seat.

Tailahr's scream was a shriek this time. Something crunched noisily and agonizingly in his shoulder socket, sending lightning bolts exploding through his entire body, as they hit the ground and his hand was wrenched abruptly even higher. And then the hand on his neck was driving him down. He found himself flat on the paving stones, his useless left arm thumping down beside him with a fresh stab of agony, as if it belonged to someone else, and a knee slammed painfully into his spine while his right arm was captured and twisted up behind him as casually as the other one had been.

Voices were beginning to shout in alarm, and he heard the clatter of boots as at least one of the Marine sentries ran towards them, shouting a challenge, but he managed somehow to turn his head. He looked up, and his entire body jerked in disbelief and terror as he saw the sapphire eyes, gleaming in the glow of his own wagon's driving lights, and recognized the livery of the Imperial Guard.

"I think you and I have a lot to talk about," Captain Merlin Athrawes told him coldly.

OCTOBER,.

YEAR OF GOD 895.

.I.

Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis "I, Nahrmahn Gareyt Baytz, do swear allegiance and fealty to Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan of Charis," the young man said, kneeling before the side-by-side thrones with his hand on the cover of the Holy Writ, "to be their true man, of heart, will, body, and sword. To do my utmost to discharge my obligations and duty to them, to their Crowns, and to their House, in all ways, as God shall give me the ability and the wit so to do. I swear this oath without mental or moral reservation, and I submit myself to the judgment of the Emperor and Empress and of God Himself for the fidelity with which I honor and discharge the obligations I now assume before God and this company."

Cayleb and Sharleyan looked down at him, seeing the unshed tears behind those brown eyes, hearing the grief in the young voice which refused to remain completely steady despite all its owner could do. Cayleb felt his own throat closing, and he glanced at Sharleyan, saw the tears glistening in her eyes, as well, as they stretched out their hands to cover the boy's.

"And we, Sharleyan Ahdel Alahnah Ahrmahk and Cayleb Zhan Haarahld Bryahn Ahrmahk," Sharleyan said, her voice clear but soft, "do accept your oath. We will extend protection against all enemies, loyalty for fealty, justice for justice, fidelity for fidelity, and punishment for oath-breaking. May God judge us and ours as He judges you and yours."

There was a moment of intense silence as the three of them gazed into one another's eyes, their hands still joined atop the Writ. Then Cayleb cleared his throat.

"There was a day," he told the young prince kneeling before him, "just over three years ago this month, when another Prince of Emerald named Nahrmahn knelt where you are today, Your Highness. He came as a defeated foe, making the best terms he could for his House and his people, knowing my wife and I, as his sworn enemies, might well have demanded his head in return. He came anyway, despite that danger, and knelt on the same cushion and swore the same oath you've sworn this day. I'd been raised all of my life knowing Emerald was the enemy of Charis. There'd been decades of spying and maneuvering for position and-finally-war between us. We had every reason to hate one another, and very little reason not to.

"Last month, that prince died." Cayleb had to pause and clear his throat again, and despite himself his voice was husky when he continued. "He died protecting his wife-and your mother-with his own body. He died at the hands of an assassin who murdered thirty-seven other people with the same bomb. He died having fought with all his marvelous intelligence and wisdom, at my side and Sharleyan's, for three years. Having fought for that in which he believed, for that which he loved ... and for that for which he gave his life. And my lifelong enemy died not simply as our vassal, but as my friend, my ally, and my brother. In a few more years, my younger brother will wed your older sister, but know this-our Houses are already joined, and while Sharleyan and I weep at bidding your father go with God, we rejoice at welcoming you to the throne you now assume. I know how much your father loved you, Nahrmahn Gareyt, and I know how much you loved him. Remember him, as we will, and follow the example he set for you. If you do that you'll become not simply a prince to be respected and obeyed, but a man to be loved and celebrated."

The young man who would be sixteen Safeholdian years old-fourteen and a half, in the years of Old Terra-in four more five-days gazed up at his emperor and empress. Then he bent his head, his forehead on their clasped hands until Sharleyan withdrew hers and rested it on his dark, curly hair. Nahrmahn Gareyt's shoulders quivered, ever so slightly, and the empress' smile trembled as she stroked his hair. Then she drew a deep breath.

"Rise, Prince Nahrmahn Gareyt, Nahrmahn III of Emerald. You are summoned to our Imperial Council, and we have much of which to speak."

Nahrmahn Gareyt was already taller than his father had been. He was also athletic and muscular, without Nahrmahn the Elder's undeniably portly physique. His eyes were much the same, however-dark and sharp. It remained to be seen if the brain behind them was the equal of his father's, but the signs were hopeful, Sharleyan thought. The young man had never expected or wanted to take a throne so young, yet his parents had trained him well, both as a potential ruler and as a boy growing steadily into manhood, and those sharp eyes drank in every detail of the council chamber.

He was also clearly aware of his youth as he sat in the chair which had belonged to his father. There was a definite nervousness in the ever so slightly too erect posture, in the way he watched whoever was speaking. There was still too much grief in that youthful face, as well, and every so often his left hand touched the black mourning band on his right arm. Yet he showed far more composure than many a man twice his age might have, and Sharleyan remembered a girl child, even younger than he, who'd also come to a throne untimely because her father had been assassinated. She'd always felt close to Nahrmahn Gareyt, and now that common bond of murder had drawn them closer still.

"I meant what I said in the throne room, Nahrmahn Gareyt," Cayleb said, looking down the table to where Nahrmahn Gareyt sat at its foot. "I didn't expect even to like your father before we met, but both of us were rulers, both of us knew the survival of our realms and our people required us to find an accommodation. I never anticipated how much we'd come to treasure one another, or how valuable his wisdom and counsel would be. I'm sure you know Sharleyan and me well enough by now to realize how sincerely attached we were-and are-to your entire family, little though any of us expected that outcome. And despite your youth, you're a full voting member of the Imperial Council. You are the Prince of Emerald, the second ranking noble of the Charisian Empire, and we'll value your input and opinions. I'm sure you'll be more hesitant than your father was to offer an opinion." Despite the solemnity of the moment, Cayleb's lips twitched. "God knows Nahrmahn was never shy about offering opinions!"

A mutter of laughter ran around the council chamber, and even Nahrmahn Gareyt smiled at the emperor's wry expression.

"That hesitancy is only to be expected, given the combination of your age and how recently come to your throne you are," Cayleb continued more seriously as the moment's humor ebbed. "When you do wish to speak, however, you have not only the right but the responsibility to do so. I trust you understand I mean every word I've just said?"

"I do, Your Majesty. And Your Grace," Nahrmahn Gareyt said, bowing down the length of the table to Sharleyan. His voice hadn't yet settled completely into its adult register, but he met his monarchs' eyes steadily. "And you're right. For at least a while I'm going to take my mother's advice."

"Oh?" Sharleyan cocked her head. "And what advice did Princess Ohlyvya give you, Your Highness?"

"To keep my mouth shut in official settings even if I think people are going to assume I don't know what they're talking about rather than open it and prove I don't," Nahrmahn Gareyt told her with something approaching his normal grin. "She, ah, suggested it would be wise of me to mostly listen until I actually have a clue what the people around me are discussing."

"A wise woman, your mother, Your Highness," Cayleb observed with an answering smile.

"I think so most of the time myself, Your Majesty. Although there have been times when her idea of 'wisdom' and mine weren't exactly the same."

"I can imagine," Cayleb said feelingly. Then he shook his head and looked around at the other councilors seated at that table, and his amusement-welcome though it had been-disappeared.

Some of the faces had changed. Nahrmahn's left a painful gap, but much as Cayleb would miss the plump little Emeraldian, the gap where Sir Rayjhis Yowance had sat for so long was even more painful to him. And yet, as bitterly as he missed the man who'd been his friend, mentor, unofficial uncle, adviser, and, finally, servant, he felt no qualms when he looked at the man who'd replaced him.

Trahvys Ohlsyn, the Earl of Pine Hollow, had been Prince Nahrmahn's first councilor for many years, but he would be unavailable to Prince Nahrmahn Gareyt in that role, because Cayleb and Sharleyan had stolen him for the Empire. Quite a few Charisian noses had been put out of joint by their decision to name Pine Hollow to succeed Gray Harbor, yet no one had complained too loudly. Partly that was because the people who might have done the complaining suspected how little patience the emperor and empress would have shown their protests. Perhaps equally importantly, however, was the irreproachable job Pine Hollow had done managing Emerald's affairs while Nahrmahn was distracted by his responsibilities as Sharleyan and Cayleb's imperial councilor for intelligence.

In the process of doing that job, Pine Hollow had also spent a great deal of time in Tellesberg, conferring with Gray Harbor and the council members permanently based there. He'd gotten along particularly well with Gray Harbor himself, and they'd carried on a lively correspondence even when he wasn't in Tellesberg. As a result, he was very much a known quantity, with a command of the issues he would confront in his new position which very few of his new colleagues on the council could have matched and none could have excelled.

There were other reasons to name him to that position as well, of course. One was to demonstrate Cayleb and Sharleyan's willingness to step outside their own realms of Old Charis and Chisholm to fill such a vital position. It was another proof they'd genuinely meant it when they declared that the Empire of Charis was to be an empire of all its peoples. In addition, Pine Hollow had the advantage of having understudied one of the most skilled, cunning, and devious rulers in Safehold's history, which would undoubtedly prove valuable. And, finally, in the wake of Nahrmahn's death, the Brethren of Saint Zherneau had finally (if tardily) accepted the Emeraldian's recommendation that Pine Hollow be added to the inner circle.

Cayleb would have given literally anything to have Gray Harbor still sitting in that chair, but if he couldn't have that, at least he had someone who was every bit as determined and every bit as intelligent as Gray Harbor had been himself. And one who knew the full truth about the struggle they confronted ... and who had access to Owl and the coms which tied the inner circle together.

Now if we could only get those lovable old fossils to let us bring Ironhill fully on board, Cayleb thought. Then he snorted mentally. Just like you, isn't it, Cayleb? Never content, never satisfied! Why don't you just concentrate on the things the Brethren have managed to do right and contemplate some of the things they may have kept you from doing wrong, instead?

"Bynzhamyn," he said out loud, turning to where Bynzhamyn Raice sat next to Nahrmahn Gareyt, "I suppose we should start with you."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Baron Wave Thunder looked as weathered and solid as ever, yet it was clear he'd taken the suicidal attacks hard. His expression was grim, and the mood of the entire council darkened perceptibly as its members turned their attention to him. All of them knew they weren't going to like what he had to report, but only those who were also members of the inner circle knew there was even worse he couldn't report yet.

"As of my most recent figures," he said, "the death toll from all of the attacks stands at one thousand seven hundred and sixteen. Over half of those were from the Gray Wyvern attack. In addition, according to the Order of Pasquale, we have at least another twenty-five or thirty in hospital who may yet succumb to their injuries. And over ninety who are expected to live, although some of them have lost limbs."

His voice was harsh, and his eyes met Cayleb's. Both of them knew those numbers were low, although neither could say so, since no reports had come in as yet from Chisholm. That meant there was no acceptable way for them to know another three hundred plus people had died in Sharleyan's kingdom. Baron Green Mountain, her own first councilor and beloved mentor, might still be one of them, too, although the healers seemed to have him stabilized.

"The only good news is that we did manage to take at least one of Clyntahn's agents alive," Wave Thunder continued. "It was only blind luck, of course." In fact, it had been Owl's SNARCs and Merlin Athrawes' ability to sprint halfway across Tellesberg under cover of darkness at superhuman speeds, but, again, that was something he couldn't very well explain to the council at large. "We were all lucky Captain Athrawes happened to be outside the Patent Office to notice the wagon approaching the building. If he hadn't become suspicious and overpowered the driver before he could reach the detonating mechanism-"

"Captain Athrawes does seem to have a talent for that sort of thing, doesn't he?" Sharleyan observed, deliberately pitching her voice to lighten the mood as she turned her head to smile at the sapphire-eyed Guardsman standing just inside the council chamber door.

"He has proved a moderately useful fellow upon occasion, I suppose," Cayleb agreed in a judicious tone.

"One tries, Your Majesty," Merlin replied respectfully, and the entire council laughed. A mere bodyguard might not have been expected to reply to an emperor that way in most realms, but this was Charis, the bodyguard was Merlin Athrawes, and they needed that cleansing laughter.

"At any rate, Your Majesties," Wave Thunder said, "the one man we've managed to capture hasn't been the least bit reticent about who he is or why he's here, or even who sent him. In fact, Master Ahndairs is proud to have been personally selected by the Grand Inquisitor as one of his 'Rakurai.' His only regret seems to be that he was captured before he killed himself blowing up the Patent Office and as many people who worked in it as possible-and Father Paityr, in particular-and he's boasted to anyone who would listen that he and his companions were only the first wave of the attacks Clyntahn intends to launch."

There was no laughter this time, and faces hardened all around the table.

"I suppose something along these lines was only to be expected, eventually, given how uniformly unsuccessful they've been in regular military confrontations with us," Pine Hollow said quietly. "Given the timing, it was probably the Markovian Sea that actually pushed Clyntahn into this strategy, I expect."

"I agree, Your Majesties," Baron Ironhill said, his expression grim. "Granted, it never occurred to any of us, since we tend to think of wars as something in which you try to minimize carnage among civilians and innocent bystanders. We should have remembered that as far as Clyntahn's concerned, there are no 'innocent bystanders' in Charis. He doesn't give a damn who he slaughters."

His voice went hard and ugly with the last sentence, and not just because of the carnage Clyntahn's "Operation Rakurai" had wreaked. The official report of the murder of Sir Gwylym Manthyr and his remaining men had reached Tellesberg, as well. In fact, the version of their deaths the Inquisition was trying hard to suppress across Haven and Howard had come to Tellesberg, courtesy of the tiny, highly stealthy, purely passive remote Merlin Athrawes had deployed to within visual range of the Plaza of Martyrs. That remote had seen Gwylym Manthyr's final gesture of defiance, and the propaganda broadsheets going up throughout the mainland realms contained a detailed etching of Manthyr's spittle hitting Clyntahn in the face to give the lie to the Grand Inquisitor's claim that Manthyr had confessed to all of the crimes and blasphemies charged against him.

Yet that remote had also recorded the agony in which those Charisians had died. Ironhill hadn't seen it, but he didn't need to. Cayleb and Merlin had seen it, driven by their loyalty to Gwylym Manthyr, and wished with all their hearts they hadn't. Sharleyan-wiser, perhaps, than either of them-had refused to look. She honored Manthyr's dauntless courage, yet she preferred to remember him as he had been, unshadowed and unmarred by the hideous death he'd died.

"You're right, of course, Ahlvyno," Cayleb said now. "And we'll be watching for similar attempts, I assure you. I just pray we can protect ourselves against this kind of thing without turning into some kind of suppressive tyranny ourselves."

"I'm afraid we're going to have to put at least some additional precautions in place, Your Majesty," Wave Thunder replied unhappily. "They succeeded in large part because we weren't expecting it, and I think future attacks on the same scale are unlikely. I doubt they're going to be rolling around the city with wagonloads of gunpowder again, for example, especially with our new licensing and inspection systems in place. No system's perfect though, and we obviously can't guarantee they don't have the men and materials in place to keep testing it for weak spots when we still don't even know how they got the gunpowder into the assassins' hands to begin with!"

"We still don't have any clues about that, My Lord?" one of the other councilors asked, and Wave Thunder grimaced in disgust.

"No," he admitted flatly. "And I'm reasonably certain the one 'Rakurai' we managed to capture doesn't know how they did that, either. No one's going to torture any confessions out of him, but we haven't been especially gentle and understanding about questioning him." He smiled thinly. "He's told us where he went to collect his explosives, but they were delivered to him by another of Clyntahn's agents-the one who detonated the Gray Wyvern Avenue bomb, unless I'm mistaken. He got the gunpowder from a source-a pickup point-here in Old Charis, but our prisoner doesn't know where that was. What we do know, unfortunately, from examining the wagon Merlin kept him from blowing up in Queen Frayla Avenue is that the powder originally came from us."

"What?!" the other councilor demanded, sitting up sharply in his chair, and Wave Thunder grimaced.

"Forty pounds of it were still in its original kegs," he said, "and they carried the markings of the Hairatha Powder Mill. I think we have to assume that's why the powder mill was blown up. My current theory is that Commander Mahndrayn, Baron Seamount's assistant at King's Harbor, noticed a discrepancy somewhere in one or more of the shipping manifests from Hairatha. Most of you may not know that Captain Sahlavahn, the commanding officer at Hairatha, was Commander Mahndrayn's cousin. It would have made a certain degree of sense for him to take any suspicions to his cousin in an effort to handle things as quietly as possible, and it seems likely that whoever was responsible somehow realized Commander Mahndrayn and Captain Sahlavahn had become aware he'd diverted powder from the mill. I don't know how that happened, how the Commander and Captain Sahlavahn might have given away their suspicions, but if I'm right about what happened, he blew up the entire powder mill to conceal his actions."

"That's speculative," Cayleb observed, "but it does make sense. And it suggests that getting large quantities of gunpowder into the Empire isn't going to be as easy for Clyntahn as simply sending in lunatics willing to blow themselves up as long as they get to kill as many Charisians as possible. Of course, the reverse side of that mark is that we don't know how much powder was diverted from Hairatha. There could still be tons of it sitting around somewhere."

"Indeed there could, Your Majesty." Wave Thunder nodded. "Which is why I have my best agents and all of our resources looking for it." He didn't add that "all of our resources" included Owl's SNARCs. "In addition, we're trying to make all City Guardsmen aware of the need to look for anything out of the ordinary. They don't have to use wagons to get bombs into position, especially if they can work out some reliable way to set them off with a delayed timer of some kind, and even a fairly small explosion in a crowded market square will inflict a lot of casualties. This time around, Clyntahn ordered his 'Rakurai' to specifically target senior clergy and secular leaders; all the dead and maimed civilians were simply a happy side effect of that, according to Master Ahndairs. Next time, the bastards may simply choose to go for as much death and destruction as they can inflict.

"At the same time, we have to be on the lookout for completely different techniques. For example, if they could get their hands on our own gunpowder, they may manage to get access to our grenades, as well. For that matter, they could make grenades or similar small explosive devices of their own without much trouble. An attack like that couldn't kill anywhere near as many people as their ... wagon bombs, but they'd also be harder to detect, and they'd probably be better at penetrating any security we set up."

Heads nodded soberly, and Cayleb's expression was grim. He wondered how the rest of his councilors were going to react when they discovered that a "Rakurai" with four grenades under his tunic had entered Cherayth Cathedral less than twenty-six hours before this very meeting, waited for Archbishop Pawal Braynair to arrive to celebrate mass, and then seized one of the processional candles and used it to light the fuse. He'd managed to kill only three people ... but that was only because Braynair and two other men had tackled him and smothered most of the explosion with their own bodies.

"I'm afraid one of the precautions we're going to have to take-and you're not going to like it, Maikel," Wave Thunder, who did know about Braynair's death, said, looking directly at Maikel Staynair, "will be stationing guardsmen outside all public buildings, including cathedrals and churches, and requiring anyone entering to demonstrate he's not carrying a bomb under his tunic."

"I won't have armed guards outside God's house," Staynair said flatly, but then even the redoubtable archbishop jerked in his chair as Cayleb's open palm slapped the tabletop like a gunshot.

"Perhaps you won't, Maikel," the emperor said even more flatly, "but I will!" Their eyes locked, and the index finger of the hand which had slapped the table tapped it in emphatic time with Cayleb's words as he continued. "You may choose to risk your life in the service of God, and I'll respect you for it, even as I cringe inside every time I think about how readily you expose yourself to murderers like these 'Rakurai' of Clyntahn's. That's your option, though, Maikel, and I won't dictate to you. But you have no right to expose other people to that same risk. We're not talking about three men with knives this time-we're talking about people who blow up entire city squares! I am not opening the doors of God's house to that kind of wholesale murder and massacre. Don't fight me on this one, Maikel; you'll lose."

Silence hovered tensely for long, still moments. Then, finally, Staynair bowed his head.

"I ... hadn't thought of it exactly that way," he admitted. "I still don't like it. In fact, I hate the very thought, but you're right, I suppose."

"We don't like the thought either, Maikel," Sharleyan said gently. "And if we can find a better way, we will. But for now, it has to be this way."

Staynair nodded silently, and Cayleb inhaled deeply as the council chamber's tension eased perceptibly.

"We'll look forward to hearing anything more you turn up on this front, Bynzhamyn. In the meantime, though, we can't afford to let our concern over these murders divert us from other problems. I'm sure that's at least partly what Clyntahn hopes to accomplish. So since we're not going to let that bastard have anything he wants, I suggest we turn our attention elsewhere. For one thing, I'd like to hear anything you and Trahvys can tell us about the situation in Siddarmark."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Pine Hollow said, after a glance at Wave Thunder. "Bynzhamyn and I have been looking at reports from certain of our sources in the Republic." Pine Hollow hadn't yet had as much experience as his predecessor in not looking at Captain Athrawes when he made comments like that, and his eyes flicked briefly in Merlin's direction. It was only a very brief glance, however, and he continued calmly. "We don't have anything like detailed information, I'm afraid, but it would appear the Group of Four intends to strike at the Republic very soon now."

Expressions turned grave once more, and the new first councilor shrugged.

"It seems evident from the reports that someone-almost certainly agents of the Inquisition-is skillfully fanning public unrest and anger directed first and foremost at the Charisian community in Siddar City and the other eastern provinces, but also at Reformists in general. The most telling aspect, in my opinion, is that the propaganda we've become more recently aware of directly links Lord Protector Greyghor and his government to the 'support and protection' of 'heretics and blasphemers' throughout the Republic. And you may find this of particular interest, Ahlvyno," he said, glancing at Ironhill, "but they're also emphasizing the way in which the Charisian immigrants are 'taking food out of our babies' mouths' and somehow managing to simultaneously make the consequences of Clyntahn's embargo our fault."

"That's insane," the Charisian Keeper of the Purse said, and Pine Hollow chuckled harshly.

"And you were of the opinion propaganda has to make sense to be effective?"

"No, I suppose not," Ironhill sighed.

"And what happened at Iythria-especially the destruction of the port-is going to play into their propaganda efforts, as well," Sharleyan observed. "I'm not sure how, but no doubt they'll figure out a way to suggest we're about to do the same thing to the Republic-with Stohnar's connivance!-for some nefarious reason of our own."

"Probably," Cayleb agreed. "And that being the case, what do we do?" He looked around the council table. "Suggestions, anyone?"