Hell's Foundations Quiver (40 page)

Metzlyr's face tightened, for he had, indeed, read the dispatches. It was unlikely Sir Rainos Ahlverez would ever reach home; it was even more unlikely more than a handful of the Army of Shiloh's troops would be with him if he did. The Royal Dohlaran Army had suffered catastrophic losses, and the stark truth was that the Army of the Seridahn was the only field force it had left. Duke Salthar and Duke Fern were laboring frantically to rebuild, calling up thousands of militia and enlisting even more thousands of new recruits. But while the militia could be integrated into existing, understrength regiments stationed at home in Dohlar, and while the depot companies each of the field regiments had left behind to train replacements could be expanded into full regiments in their own rights,
equipping
that militia would be a far harder task. And raising, training,
and
equipping entirely new regiments would be harder still. The ugly truth was that neither the Jihad nor the Kingdom of Dohlar could afford to lose the Army of the Seridahn. For that matter, they could no longer afford to exchange casualties with the heretics even on a one-for-one basis.

“What, exactly, are you proposing, my son?”

“Father, we
must
retreat from Evyrtyn. We have to get far enough from the river to be outside the range of the ironclad's guns, and we must destroy the locks behind us so that it can't follow us along the canal.”

To his credit, Rychtyr's tone was completely level and he met Metzlyr's gaze squarely.

“And how far will be far enough, my son?” the Schuelerite asked softly.

“I can't say for certain,” Rychtyr admitted, still holding Metzlyr's gaze. “I wouldn't've believed they could reach targets three miles from the riverbank, frankly. As it is, I think we have to assume they still have additional range in reserve. Operating on that assumption, I believe we should fall back for at least five miles.”

“Five miles?” Metzlyr couldn't hide his dismay, but Rychtyr only nodded.

“At
least
five miles,” he emphasized. “Father, giving additional ground to the heretics has to be disappointing to anyone. On the other hand, we're still over three hundred miles from the Dohlaran border. In my opinion, our best option at this time is to keep the canal open behind us but deny the heretics the use of it in
front
of us and be willing to retreat along it if they press us. With your permission, I'd like to request additional civilian laborers. At the moment, we don't have enough weapons to equip large numbers of new troops, but civilians can wield shovels as well as trained soldiers. If we have the workforce available, we can throw up an entire succession of strong points between Evyrtyn and the border—entrenchments and field works we can withdraw into at need.”

“But if we fall back far enough to beyond reach of the ironclad's artillery.…”

“Father, the heretics have destroyed the Army of Shiloh. They didn't simply defeat it or drive it back—they
destroyed
it. That means every regiment they had tied down against Duke Harless and Sir Rainos is available to be used
somewhere else
.” Rychtyr's face was carved out of iron. “If I were Eastshare or Cayleb or Stohnar, that ‘somewhere else' would be driving directly along the canal and into Dohlar. Admittedly, I'm a Dohlaran, so perhaps that course of action seems more obvious to me than it will to them. After all, there's Silkiah and the Salthar Canal to the south, and there's also the Army of Glacierheart to the north. Either of those would certainly constitute worthwhile strategic objectives, and much as it pains me to admit it, it'll be months—probably even next year—before the Kingdom can field another army powerful enough to threaten the heretics.”

He did not, Metzlyr noticed, comment on the Charisian galleons currently rampaging through the western reaches of the Gulf of Dohlar. Exactly what the heretics intended to do once they finished ravaging the coasts of Harchong remained to be seen, but no one expected it to be good for King Rahnyld. And if the Charisians could put together yet another army, one that could be transported east from Chisholm rather than west from Charis.…

“Very well, my son,” the upper-priest said heavily. He reached out and laid a hand on Rychtyr's shoulder. “I know how little you must relish giving ground, whatever the strategic wisdom in doing so.” He squeezed the general's shoulder, looking into his eyes. “I also know the courage it's taken for you to be this honest with me. And I agree about the need to fall back immediately. For that matter, I agree with the wisdom of your larger plan. I can't promise anything about the reaction in Gorath—or in Zion—when they hear your proposal, but I
can
promise you this: when they hear it, it won't be
your
proposal, it will be
ours
.”

“Thank you, Father.” Rychtyr couldn't keep the gratitude out of his tone. For that matter, he didn't even try. He stood for a moment, looking back at the Schuelerite, then turned to Mohrtynsyn and Gohzail. “I think we'd better be climbing back into the saddle,” he told them, his voice harsh. “We've got some orders to write, so we'd best get back to headquarters and get started.”

 

.XX.

Wyllym Rayno's Office, The Temple, City of Zion, and Nimue's Cave, Mountains of Light, The Temple Lands

Wyllym Rayno, Archbishop of Chiang-wu, frowned at Father Allayn Wynchystair. It was unlike the upper-priest to enter his office without arranging an appointment ahead of time.

Wynchystair managed to look nondescript even in his inquisitor's cassock; when he'd been an under-priest, that ability to fade into the background had served him well as an agent inquisitor who'd specialized in covert operations. These days, he spent most of his time in an office three doors down the hall from Rayno's own, and the record of successes which had put him in that office had also dumped responsibility for combating the “Fist of Kau-Yung” upon him.

From the expression on his face, he hadn't called upon the Inquisition's adjutant to announce a glorious success.

“I'm afraid you should see this, Your Eminence,” Wynchystair said. One of his virtues was a willingness to bring bad news to his superiors without trying to dress it up in more palatable clothing. “We lost another agent inquisitor last night—a sexton assigned to the Vicar Sebahstean murder.” His lips tightened. “That's bad enough, but they found this pinned to his cassock. It was brought to me still sealed and unopened. I took it upon myself to open it when I saw that it was addressed to you, however, in case its contents suggested there might be other information I should bring to you at the same time.”

He extended an envelope marked with ominous reddish-brown stains.

Rayno looked at it for a moment. Those sorts of envelopes had become unhappily common over the past several months. The rest of them, however, had been left with inquisitors operating in Siddarmark, not right here in Zion.

“What was our man doing before he was killed?” he asked.

“According to his last report, he was looking into the possibility that the assassins”—even Wynchystair hesitated to use the term “Fist of Kau-Yung” in conversation with his superior—“had suborned one of the Vicar's bodyguards. The one who simply disappeared following the attack.”

“And?”

“And as nearly as I can reconstruct it, he'd gone to speak with an informant without taking any backup.” Wynchystair shook his head wearily. “I've warned all my men to be insanely cautious about that sort of thing, Your Eminence. But the truth is, if they want to turn up the information we need, they have to take chances.”

Rayno grimaced in agreement. It hadn't always been that way, yet the Fist of Kau-Yung's record of successes—and its ability to vanish like smoke after one of its attacks—required riskier tactics. Worse, the Inquisition couldn't resort to open searches and manhunts without admitting to Zion's citizenry in general that someone was systematically assassinating the Grand Inquisitor's allies in the vicarate. And as long as they had to operate in the shadows, without drawing attention to the threat.…

“Understood,” he said and, finally, held out his hand. He unfolded the letter, and his face tightened as he read it.

To Wyllym Rayno, Archbishop of Chiang-wu and traitor to God:

This is to inform you that Brother Vyktyr will file no more reports about Vicar Sebahstean's unfortunate demise. We were tempted to send him back to you alive, lest you replace him with someone competent. Instead, however, we take this opportunity to inform you that your own security is less than perfect. Last Thursday, when you visited St. Evyryt's, you entered by the eastern door, as you always do. If you send one of your agents inquisitor to check, you will discover a twenty-pound charge of powder in the crypt below the walkway you used. We can't imagine how it might have gotten there.

While the attitude which has led your subordinates to dub us “the Fist of Kau-Yung” is no doubt flattering, we prefer another, more accurate designation. And so we inform you that, in time, the Fist of
God
will come for you as we have already come for so many of Zhaspahr Clyntahn's corrupt and venal tools in the vicarate. For now, however, it best suits our purposes to leave you exactly where you are … for the same reason we were tempted to send Brother Vyktyr back to you alive.

Rayno made himself read it completely through a second time, then refolded it with meticulous care and laid it neatly on his blotter.

“This is a new departure,” he observed in a toneless voice.

“It is, Your Eminence.” Wynchystair nodded. “And there are three things about it which concern me most deeply.”

He paused, and Rayno waved for him to continue.

“First, I did send three of our agents inquisitor to Saint Evyryt's, and I'm afraid they found the gunpowder exactly where the heretics said we would. Whether it was there
Thursday
or not is more than we can say at this point, but in my judgment, it would be wise to assume it was. In either case, Your Eminence, they're much too well informed about your own movements, even if only after the fact. I think we're going to have to begin taking greater precautions to ensure your safety. No doubt that's exactly what they want us to do, but I don't see that we have any other option.”

Rayno's nod was noncommittal, an invitation to continue rather than a sign of agreement, but deep inside the archbishop felt a stab of fresh dismay. The Inquisition had been forced to take a more and more open role in policing Zion and the Temple. Officially that was because the Temple Guard had been cut to the bone to find the men the Army of God required, yet the real reason had been to be sure of the Inquisition's grip upon the city of God on earth. The regular city guard knew better than to challenge the Order of Schueler's authority, but the Grand Inquisitor had decided it was time to make sure of that. As for the Temple Guard, the Inquisition knew who its friends were within its ranks, and on Zhaspahr Clyntahn's orders, Rayno had assigned special intendants to the
Guard
as well as the regular army. Every bit of armed force in Zion was firmly under the Inqusition's control … and
still
the heretics had murdered Brother Vyktyr and gotten their gunpowder into Saint Evyryt's!

“Second,” Wynchystair continued, “the fact that they know our agents inquisitor have begun referring to them, at least among themselves, as the Fist of Kau-Yung is troubling. There might be several explanations for how they came by that knowledge. I think, however, that we must assume they do, indeed, still have agents of their own in the ranks of the Inquisition. It's entirely possible that, as in the case of tightening your own security, that's exactly what they
want
us to assume. Unfortunately, I don't believe we have any other choice.

“But, third, Your Eminence—and what concerns me the most, frankly—is the way in which this note to you emulates the ones the false
seijins
have been leaving at the scenes of
their
crimes. It seems to me that this is a clear-cut declaration that this ‘Fist of God' is in—or has entered into—a direct alliance with ‘Dialydd Mab' and his accomplices.”

Rayno considered Wynchystair's analysis for several moments, his expression far calmer than the icy fury and—little though he cared to admit it even to himself—the fear behind it. And then, slowly, he nodded.

“As usual, you've cut straight to the heart of the matter, Father Allayn.” He picked up the letter and returned it to the upper-priest. “File this in the Level One files, but have a single copy of it made and returned to me first. No one other than your own document clerk is to see it or know of its contents.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.” Wynchystair tucked the letter into the sleeve of his cassock and folded his hands before him. “And then, Your Eminence?”

“And then I want you to begin a point-by-point consideration of my own and—especially—Vicar Zhaspahr's security. Clearly, this ‘Fist of God' wants us to be … anxious about our safety. As you say, however, their accomplishments to date leave us no option but to take them seriously.”

“I'll discuss that with Bishop Markys this very afternoon, Your Eminence. I'll take Father Byrtrym along to be sure he's briefed in, as well. I'm sure the Bishop will want his input,” Wynchystair said, and Rayno nodded.

Markys Gohdard was one of Rayno's senior deputies, charged with the supervision and coordination of his own and Zhaspahr Clyntahn's personal security. Byrtrym Zhansyn had been one of Wynchystair's best agents inquisitor until he'd been wounded in a Fist of Kau-Yung ambush which had killed two other agents inquisitor. Zhansyn had been left for dead when the Temple Guard responded to the sound of the shooting. His injuries had left him with a permanent limp, and the fact that the terrorists had obviously figured out who he truly was had taken him out of the field. Since then, he'd been attached to Gohdard as Wynchystair's personal liaison.