By Heresies Distressed (26 page)

“Thank you.” The man in the poncho nodded and headed down the indicated hallway. He paused outside the door of the taproom for just a moment, almost as if he were drawing a deep breath. Then he knocked once, crisply.

The door opened quickly, and he found himself facing a youngish man dressed like a moderately successful merchant or shop owner.

“Yes?” the younger man said courteously.

“I have a message for Master Dahryus,” the man in the hallway said once more.

If there might have been a flicker of something in the tavern-owner's eyes, the brief tightening of the younger man's expression was unmistakable. But he stepped back courteously enough, inviting the other man into the small taproom, then closed the door behind him. There were just under a dozen other men present, and all of them turned their heads, looking at the newcomer with expressions which varied from calmness to obvious uneasiness. In some cases, possibly even fear.

“Ah,
there
you are!” another voice greeted the new arrival as yet another man—this one considerably older and rather better dressed than the fellow who had opened the door for him—looked up from a quietly intense conversation with one of the others seated around the small tables.

“I apologize for my tardiness . . . Master Dahryus,” the newcomer said. “It was a bit difficult to get away without raising any questions.”

“That wasn't a criticism,” the man called “Master Dahryus” said reassuringly. “I'm just happy and relieved to see you after all.”

The man in the poncho bowed slightly, and Master Dahryus' waving hand invited him over to take a seat.

“Seriously,” Dahryus continued as the late arrival obeyed his unspoken invitation, “I was beginning to feel a bit anxious. Baron Wave Thunder's agents have proven even more effective than I'd anticipated.”

“I've noticed the same thing, My Lord.”

“I believe we might stay with simple ‘Master Dahryus,' even here,” Dahryus said.

“Of course.” The man in the poncho colored very slightly, and Dahryus chuckled and reached across the table to pat him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry about it so much, my son. Old habits die hard, and this isn't exactly something any of us expected to be facing, now is it?”

“No, it isn't,” the other man said feelingly, and this time two or three of the others snorted or chuckled in harsh agreement.

“Unfortunately, we are facing it,” Dahryus continued, “and given that we've all just agreed that Wave Thunder's agents appear to be everywhere, we'd all best get into the habits of successful conspirators. Which is why, even though I realize one or two of you already know one another, I think we'll avoid using any names tonight. Agreed?”

Everyone nodded, and he smiled thinly.

“Very well, my friends. In that case, it's time we were getting down to business. We have much to discuss—much which will come as a surprise to many of you, I suspect. And, as I promised when first we came together, the time to strike draws rapidly closer. Indeed, if tonight's meeting goes as planned, that time is almost upon us.”

The others looked back at him in silence, their expressions a blend of excitement, anticipation, determination, and fear, and his smile grew broader and warmer.

“Yes, we do indeed have much to discuss and to plan. But first, will you join me in a moment of prayer?”

“—confident you can see why the arrangements near the convent are critical to our success,” Master Dahryus said some hours later. “And given the location of your manor, you're definitely the one of us best placed to see to those details. So, if you're willing to shoulder the responsibility—and the risk—we'll leave their arrangement in your hands. The most important thing to remember is that none of the rest of us can play our part until those arrangements are solidly in place. If any problem should arise, or if you should discover that you require additional funds or any other assistance, you must let us know promptly so we can adjust our schedule. Father Tairyn will know how to contact me at any time, should there be need. It may take some days for any message from him to reach me, but be assured that it will.”

“Of course, Master Dahryus,” the man to whom he'd been speaking said, and pushed back his chair. He stood, bowed to Dahryus and the two others who were still present, then left the taproom.

Even as he stepped through the doorway, the abrupt, torrential rush of a thunderstorm came pounding down on the Laughing Bride's roof. Thunder crashed suddenly almost directly overhead, shaking the tavern about its bones, and Dahryus shook his head as the door closed behind the departing man.

“I fear Langhorne is providing an appropriate backdrop for this evening's meeting,” he said.

“In more ways than one,” the man who'd arrived late agreed dourly. “I'm not looking forward to the walk clear back to the Palace through
this
.”

He twitched his head in the direction of the taproom's shuttered windows, and the man who'd assumed the name of Dahryus chuckled.

“At least it should mean you're unlikely to meet anyone who might wonder where you've been, Father,” he pointed out, relaxing his own security rules in recognition that all of those remaining already knew one another's identities. “In fact, that might be the very reason God provided this little shower.”

“If He did, I'm sure He knows best, My Lord,” the priest said. “On the other hand, not every task God sends us is equally enjoyable.”

“No,” Dahryus said, his tone and expression both darkening. “No, it isn't.”

“My Lord—I mean, Master Dahryus—” one of the others began, his voice quiet in the rushing-water sound of the thunderstorm.

“I think we can be a little less circumspect at this point, Mytrahn,” Bishop Mylz Halcom said.

“Yes, My Lord. Thank you.” The other man smiled briefly, but his obvious unhappiness didn't ease appreciably. “I was just going to ask . . . is
this
task really necessary?”

“Unfortunately, I believe the answer is yes,” Halcom said. “It's not the sort of thing I ever thought God would call me to do, and I don't expect it to be easy for any of us. Yet the truth is, my sons, that when Shan-wei works her evil in the world of mortals, sometimes men who stand for the Light find themselves called to hard tasks.”

The man who'd asked the question nodded, but his expression remained troubled, and Halcom gave him a gentle, sad smile.

“When Sharleyan voluntarily joined with Cayleb in his attack upon Mother Church, she made herself an enemy of God, Mytrahn,” he said. “I've never actually met her, of course. Everything I've ever heard of her would seem to indicate she's always been a good ruler, with a deep interest in justice and the well-being of her people. But whatever she may have been in the past, she no longer is. It may well be she truly believes what she and Cayleb are doing is God's will. If so, however, both of them are wrong. And, in many ways, a good and sincere person mistakenly serving Shan-wei's ends, with absolutely no evil
intention
, is the most deadly threat of all. Those who openly and obviously serve corruption are easily denounced, easily discredited. Those who fall into sin through good but misguided intentions and mistaken understanding often sound reasonable and convincing. They have no evil
motives
, however evil the ultimate outcome of their actions may be, and people such as that are far more seductive than the open and deliberate enemies of God.

“That's always true, but it takes on an even greater significance in Sharleyan's case, I'm afraid. Just look at how her popularity here in Charis is already working to bolster Cayleb and the other schismatic leadership, even in the face of excommunication and interdict.”

Heads nodded around the table, and more than one face tightened. The writs of excommunication for Cayleb Ahrmahk and Maikel Staynair, along with the proclamation of the interdiction of the entire Kingdom of Charis, had arrived less than two five-days earlier. The shock, however, had been less profound than one might have anticipated, given the severity of the penalties involved, and there was very little sign of any significant reaction against the authority of the Crown or of the Archbishop of the Church of Charis. Partly, no doubt, that was because Staynair and Cayleb had foreseen the probability of such an action from the very beginning and had carefully warned their supporters that it might be coming. Another major factor was that the Church itself in Charis had blithely ignored the proclamations. Despite the interdict, churches were open and sacraments were administered. When the priesthood scorned the legitimate decrees and proclamations of Mother Church, how could the laity be blamed for following suit? Especially when the very grounds for the schismatics' rejection of Mother Church's authority further undercut the legitimacy of those writs through their scorching condemnation of the corruption of the vicarate which had issued them?

But there was another factor, as well, Halcom felt certain. Sharleyan had
not
been excommunicated, obviously because no one in Zion had anticipated the possibility of her marriage to Cayleb when the writs were originally issued two months earlier. The fact that she hadn't been, coupled with the way in which she had taken the heart of Charis by storm, made her a sort of legitimating source of the authority and fealty the Church had formally stripped away from Cayleb.

“At the moment,” he continued, “Sharleyan's very reputation as a good and just ruler, the fact that she's so
likable
, has put a smiling face on Shan-wei's corruption. That's bad enough. But she genuinely believes in what she's doing. She hasn't been misled or deceived by Cayleb, and her commitment, in my judgment, is every bit as powerful as his own. She isn't going to allow herself to be used as a weapon against something in which she truly believes. That's why I believe our friend in the Palace is mistaken.”

“I'm afraid you're right about that,” the priest who'd shed the poncho said heavily. “I believe he's sincere, although I'm also inclined to think his motivations aren't quite as selfless as he says. In fact, I think they aren't quite as selfless as he truly
believes
they are. And, of course, there are all of those other, more personal, factors involved in his thinking. But however sincere he may be, he simply doesn't want to face hard, unpleasant facts.”

“Which ones?” the man who'd questioned Dahryus asked, and the priest raised his hand, counting off points on his fingers as he made them.

“First, I don't think he truly wants to admit she's become an enemy of God. He desperately wants to believe she's only temporarily mistaken. That, given time, she'll return to her senses. And, second, he doesn't want to admit how deeply and sincerely attached to her the majority of her subjects actually are. I think he underestimates the importance of her support among the common-born folk on this issue, probably because he's not one of them himself. That's more than a little ironic, in light of past events, but I suppose it's also possible that he's fooling himself on this point because he doesn't want to face the logical implications.

“But whatever he may be thinking, or why ever he may be thinking it, the truth is that she's genuinely loved. In fact, his entire plan revolves around using that love for our own ends, and superficially, it's a very attractive concept. When she not only held the throne after her father's death but also proved to be one of the strongest rulers in Chisholm's history, she won their hearts as well as their loyalty. Despite how deeply they respect her, the common folk also feel actively possessive about her, almost as if she were a favorite, beautiful sister or daughter, not just their monarch. Our friend is well aware of that, but what he's persistently overlooking is that a huge percentage of Chisholmians will follow her straight into apostasy and heresy simply because of how much they love her. Every dispatch from Green Mountain and the Queen Mother only underscores that fact. He simply doesn't want to admit it, just as he's underestimating, in my opinion, the degree to which the Chisholmian commons are going to be automatically suspicious of anything which holds even the slightest possible taint of some sort of aristocratic cabal. Every other scheme he's come up with for actually discrediting her has foundered on that same rock, but he honestly believes this one will work because it's supposed to discredit the
reasons
for her decisions, rather than the decisions themselves, and do it in a way she can't directly counter. Unfortunately, I don't think it will have the effect he's predicting . . . and without Green Mountain's active support—which even he realizes would be impossible to secure—I'm even more doubtful about his ability to manage the commons well enough to keep the situation under control in the long run.”

“So am I,” Halcom said, nodding slowly and regretfully. “And if he's wrong, if he can't discredit her policies
and
deprive her of the power to counterattack his actions, then we have no choice but to consider more . . . direct action.”