Hell's Foundations Quiver (92 page)

“All right, we can't do anything more about that, at least until Ahbaht gets back to Claw Island and Sharpfield finds out what happened,” Cayleb said briskly. “So, getting back to Ruhsyl's surrender terms. Should I take it from what's already been said that there's general approval?”

“I could point out, Your Majesty, that there doesn't need to be
general
approval as long as
you
approve,” Pine Hollow said. “Since I'm far too dutiful a first councilor to do anything of the sort, however, I'll just say that they seem to make sense to me. Leaving aside the exchange provision—which we're all perfectly well aware he intended primarily as a political and psychological ploy—the only other thing he could have done with them was to carry out reprisals against the rank and file for what happened to General Stahntyn. If Kaitswyrth hadn't killed himself, I'd recommend executing
him
for that, at the very least. But with him and Zavyr—and two-thirds of his division commanders and
all
of his inquisitors—already dead, I don't really see a point in piling the bodies any deeper, Cayleb. Besides, all those strong backs will come in useful for the harvest. And we're going to have some canals to repair, for that matter. Ahlverez and Harless' waifs seem to be working out quite well in that regard. I don't see any reason the Army of God shouldn't make a similar contribution to the cause.”

“You've got that part right, Trahvys,” Merlin said, amid a general nodding of heads.

The Army of Shiloh's survivors had been allowed to surrender, for which most of them were pathetically grateful, given what had happened to the Fort Tairys' garrison and the wretched, ragged semi-starvation to which they'd been reduced even before Eastshare sprang his trap upon them. The Safeholdian rules of warfare permitted prisoners who hadn't been paroled to be employed at forced labor, with the proviso that they be properly fed. Accordingly, the Desnairian and Dohlaran POWs had found themselves in southeastern Siddarmark—which included eastern Shiloh, the province which had been their destination—working on the massive farms which had sprung up to replace the western cropland lost to the Sword of Schueler.

Those farms would more than replace the food supply which had been so brutally interrupted that first winter, which was a good thing, considering the half million or so prisoners who had to be fed, as well. None of the guards and supervisors riding herd on the POWs were inclined to be overly gentle, especially in Shiloh, but there was very little overt brutality. Discipline was tough, the hours were long, and the work was hard, yet probably not a great deal longer or harder than the conditions most of the Desnairian serfs would have faced back home. And while the prisoners' freedom of conscience was respected and Temple Loyalist clergy were made available to them, the Church of Charis had seized the opportunity for a little missionary work. Men who'd been as utterly defeated as the Army of Shiloh, the Army of the Sylmahn, and now the Army of Glacierheart might be excused for wondering if God had truly been on their side to begin with, and the Charisian clergy had made some significant inroads among those who'd been in custody longest.

“Do you think Stohnar and Parkair will object to their ‘leniency,' Aivah?” Cayleb asked.

“I think Daryus would prefer to collect their heads and let the rest of them rot, to be honest,” Aivah replied. “And, frankly, now that I think about it, it occurs to me that he and Greyghor are going to insist that any Army deserters who mutinied during the initial insurrection and then went over to the Army of God should be turned over to face court-martial.”

“Oh, damn! She's right, Cayleb.” Merlin's expression was chagrined. “I never even thought about that, and I damned well should have—we
all
should have. I guess it didn't occur to me because his cousin pretty much took care of that with the Army of the Sylmahn and it never came up for discussion. But now that someone with a working brain's suggested the possibility, I'm sure just about everyone in the Republic—the part that stayed loyal to Stohnar, at least—would stand up and cheer if the mutineers in the Army of Glacierheart got the same treatment. For that matter, they're not covered under your and Sharley's promise not to seek reprisals against anyone but inquisitors, and they damned well are guilty of mutiny
and
treason under the Republic's law.”

“Ruhsyl did include them—at least provisionally—in the terms he offered to the Army of God, though.” Pine Hollow sounded faintly troubled. “Or he didn't draw any distinctions
between
them and the AOG regulars, anyway. If we ‘go back' on the terms he stipulated—and they accepted—does that create bigger problems down the road?”

“No,” Cayleb said firmly. “First, because Aivah and Merlin are right. They are mutineers and they are traitors, and if Greyghor and Daryus want them, then they damned well get them. And, second, because any military commander's terms are always subject to confirmation by his political superiors, just like Thirsk's terms to Gwylym were.” The emperor's mouth twisted around the bitter taste of his own words, but he continued unflinchingly. “In this case, the political superiors in question are our allies, and they and their country have paid a pretty damned horrible price. We ought to've given him specific instructions about this before he ever launched his attack, and I'm frankly surprised—now that I think about it—that the Siddarmarkians didn't insist on our doing exactly that.”

“I think they may have taken it as a given that any mutineers taken in enemy service would automatically be handed over to them,” Green Valley said after a moment. “Which means it's a good thing Ruhsyl's dispatch will be coming to
you
before it goes to Stohnar or Parkair. We've got time for you to get out in front and point out to them that this was an oversight and that, obviously, mutinous members of the Siddarmarkian Army aren't covered by it.”

“That sounds like a very good idea to me, Cayleb,” Pine Hollow said firmly. “We don't really owe the traitors in question anything, and any problems we may have with the other side ‘down the road' are a hell of a lot less important than making sure we don't offend our allies. Especially over something like this.”

“I agree,” Cayleb said, and glanced at the clock on the study wall. “And on that note, I hereby declare this com conference adjourned.”

 

.VII.

HMS
Chihiro
, 50, Gorath Bay, Kingdom of Dohlar, and HMS
Destiny
, 54, Claw Island, Sea of Harchong

The Earl of Thirsk sat back from the report on his desk with a face of stone. He was alone in his day cabin. He'd deliberately sent Mahrtyn Vahnwyk, his personal secretary, off on an invented errand to ensure that he would be alone when he read Caitahno Raisahndo's report. He'd read the brief initial dispatch the semaphore had transmitted immediately after the battle, so he'd already known a great deal of what this follow-on, detailed report was going to say when the dispatch boat delivered it, just as he'd known why it was from Raisahndo rather than Sir Dahrand Rohsail. And because he'd known what it was going to tell him, he'd also known the last thing he'd needed was for anyone else to see his reaction when he actually read it.

He tried to feel regret that it had been left to Raisahndo to write the final report of the Battle of the Kaudzhu Narrows, but it was difficult. Although Rohsail had adapted far better to the realities of the reformed Dohlaran Navy than Thirsk had once believed would have been possible, he remained rebellious where many of Thirsk's reforms—primarily those relating to the discipline of enlisted personnel and the earl's prohibition of capricious use of flogging and the cat—were concerned, and no one would ever mistake him for a Thirsk partisan. His reflex arrogance didn't exactly endear him to those about him, either. Thirsk un-grudgingly acknowledged the determination and initiative which had made possible the Royal Dohlaran Navy's greatest victory in at least the last half-century, but he still couldn't bring himself to
like
the man.

And berating yourself for that is another way to postpone dealing with what's staring you right in the face, isn't it, Lywys? But it's not going to go away, however much you want it to
.

He shoved up out of his chair and stalked aft to stare grimly out
Chihiro
's stern windows. The bright, late-afternoon sun beaming down on the city of Gorath, the colorful banners popping and snapping against the blue sky and puffball white clouds, and the white horses following one another across the harbor on the wings of the sharp northwesterly wind were a stark contrast to the darkness swirling about within him. He tried to recapture the emotions he'd felt when news of Rohsail's great victory first reached Gorath. There'd been no report then of enemy casualties … or prisoners. He'd been free to think about—
feel
about—the battle the way any secular admiral might have felt, and what he'd felt had been exultant elation … and somber, proud pain for the price his reformed and reorganized navy had paid to win it.

Yet even then, the exultation had been flawed, for he'd already known (whether he'd wanted to admit it yet) there would be prisoners. Or, if there weren't, there'd be the knowledge that his navy had slaughtered its defeated foes rather than offering quarter. And the truly hellish part of it, before Raisahndo's report put the doubt to rest, was that he'd almost hoped it would be the latter.

It hadn't been. Reading between the lines, he knew quite a few of those defeated Charisians
had
been killed out of hand, and he found himself wondering how many of the men behind those killings had done it out of fury and hatred … and how many had done it for the same reasons
he
would have? He'd never know, but he knew now that there were five hundred and twenty-three Charisian prisoners headed back down the canals towards Gorath, and his jaw clenched against the need to curse out loud.

Damn you, Caitahno
, he thought harshly.
Oh
, damn
you for doing this to me! Don't I have enough innocent blood on my hands already?!

He leaned his forehead against the glass, closing his eyes, and forced the bitter, bitter anger to subside. He knew exactly why Raisahndo had opted to send the Charisians back to Gorath via the canals, and he wondered if Zhaspahr Clyntahn's wrath would descend upon the other admiral. No doubt the Inquisition would be of the opinion that they should have been dispatched directly to Zion by the fastest possible route, and he rather doubted Clyntahn would accept Raisahndo's reasoning for not doing exactly that.

The admiral who'd inherited command of the Western Squadron had pointed out that more than half his surviving ships were badly damaged. He'd needed every hand he had to deal with their repairs and to reinforce ships' companies which had been brutally winnowed in the battle. He would have been able to provide—by his estimate; Thirsk more than suspected that estimate was purposely low—no more than half a dozen galleons to transport the prisoners, and he knew at least four Charisian galleons had escaped. It was entirely possible additional Charisian ships had been dispatched to reinforce Earl Sharpfield at Claw Island, as well, and there was always the possibility that his six galleons might have been intercepted en route to Saram Bay or Malantor. In that case, both they and the prisoners might very possibly have been lost to the enemy. Sending them to Gorath by canal barge would take longer—they wouldn't arrive until the middle of the month—but in the long run, it would be safer and more secure, at least until they knew the Charisians
hadn't
reinforced Sharpfield.

It was nonsense, although if Raisahndo and Thirsk both insisted the logic was sound—and there truly was a
smidgen
of logic to it—and both of them kept their faces straight while they did it, they might make it stand up. But Raisahndo's real reasons were perfectly clear to Lywys Gardynyr.

You watched me send Gwylym Manthyr and his men to Zion, didn't you, Caitahno? Oh, it was the Inquisition who transported them there, but you watched me let the fucking inquisitors take them. Watched me stand there like a gutless coward while men who'd surrendered honorably—surrendered honorably to you and
me—
were handed over to be tortured to death by that fat, sick, sadistic bastard. And you couldn't do it again, could you? You couldn't be the one who
personally
sent these men to Zion to die exactly the same way. So you're sending them here, instead … so
I
can be the one to do it all over again
.

Caitahno Raisahndo was a good man, a loyal officer, even a friend, and Thirsk tried hard—
hard
—not to hate him for what he'd done. And the truth was that Raisahndo was completely justified, both legally and morally. The Earl of Thirsk was the Royal Dohlaran Navy's senior uniformed officer and King Rahnyld and his entire government were located right here in Gorath. In the absence of standing orders on the subject of prisoners of war, his decision to send them home to his superiors was perfectly correct.

And it left Lywys Gardynyr face-to-face with the horror of his own past blood guilt, the hideous prospect of culpability in yet more acts of murder, and the terrible decision about what to do about it.

*   *   *

The midmorning sun was climbing towards noon as HMS
Destiny
and the rest of her squadron made their way close-hauled on the larboard tack between Hardship Shoal and Hog Island. The wind was out of the north-northwest, which would have been dead foul for an attempt to use Snake Channel, farther to the south, but once they rounded the tip of the shoal and made the turn into North Channel they could make the anchorage with a leading wind—what was often called a “soldier's wind”—from just abaft the beam.