At least a thousand men had poured into Constitution Square from the south while the mob’s attention was concentrated on the Lord Protector’s Palace. There wasn’t a single pike among them, either-every one of them was armed with a musket, and Sahdlyr’s belly twisted with sudden nausea as he realized they weren’t matchlocks. They were the new model flintlocks, and they had the new bayonets, as well, and that was just as impossible as all the rest of it. Mother Church had forbidden the Republic to purchase more than five thousand of the new weapons, and Father Saimyn’s agents knew where all five thousand of those weapons had gone. Over three thousand were at Fort Raimyr, but that wasn’t where these had come from. The men carrying them were no Army musketeers; they wore civilian clothing of every imaginable color and cut, but every single one of them also wore an identifying white sash from right shoulder to left hip.
Sahdlyr clung to his vantage point, and his eyes went cold and bleak as a fourth volley crashed out. There were only three ranks of the newcomers, which meant the first rank had fired and then reloaded in no more than twenty or twenty-five seconds, and that was vastly better than matchlocks could have done. Worse, the successive, deafening, smoky cracks of thunder had carpeted a sixth part of the square with dead, dying, and wounded men.
The newcomers were still outnumbered-badly-but they were a formed, cohesive unit, with all the organization his own mob lacked. Worse, they were far better armed, and their sudden, totally unanticipated appearance had stunned his own men. However willing the “spontaneous” mob might have been when it started out, no amount of willingness could armor it against that kind of surprise.
And once a mob like this breaks, Schueler himself couldn’t get it back together again, Sahdlyr thought numbly. If it breaks once, it’ll turn into a rabble forever, and then -
A fifth volley roared, and then came an even more dreadful sound-the unmistakable high, baying howl of the Imperial Charisian Marines.
No! Sahdlyr shook his head in wild denial. Those can’t be Marines! There’s no way they could have gotten here, even if the Charisians had figured out what was coming, and-!
But it didn’t matter whether or not Charisian Marines could be in the heart of Siddar City. What mattered was that the mob, already worse than simply decimated by those deadly, crashing volleys, recognized the Marines’ war cry when they heard it. And they knew what they and their fellows had already done to the Charisian Quarter… and how Charisian Marines would react to that.
Four hundred and seventeen of the “spontaneous rioters” were trampled to death by their fellows trying to get out of Constitution Square in time.
Little more than half of them made it.
Greyghor Stohnar passed through the Lord Protector’s Palace’s gate with a guard of thirty pikemen. They had to pick their way carefully over Constitution Square’s corpse-littered, blood-slick paving stones. No one had even begun to count the bodies yet, but there had to be at least a couple of thousand of them.
He approached the command group of the mysterious musketeers who’d appeared in the proverbial nick of time, and his eyebrows rose as a slender figure stepped forward to meet him. Slim hands rose, pushing back the hood of a heavy coat, and he inhaled deeply. They’d never been introduced, but he recognized her without any trouble at all.
“Madam Pahrsahn, I see,” he said as calmly as he could.
“Lord Protector,” she replied with a masculine bow some people might have criticized as scandalously abbreviated and informal, given Stohnar’s exalted position. Considering the circumstances under which he was alive to receive it, however, Stohnar had no bone to pick with it.
“This is a surprise,” he observed, and she laughed as if they were at one of her soirees rather than knee-deep in bodies in the heart of the Republic’s capital.
“I’m sure Lord Henrai’s been keeping you apprised of most of my activities, My Lord,” she replied. “All of the ones he knew about, anyway.” She gave him a dimpled smile. “Obviously, he didn’t know about quite all of them.”
“We were aware you’d acquired a… modestly substantial number of rifled muskets, My Lady,” he responded. “Obviously we didn’t know everything we should have, of course. For example, none of us realized you’d somehow managed to train men to use them without anyone’s noticing.”
“Well, just buying guns and not learning how to use them properly would be pretty silly, don’t you think?” She smiled again. “I’m sure Master Qwentyn told you I’ve been heavily invested in agriculture for years now, as well. An interesting thing about a big, commercial farm, My Lord-it’s got a lot of empty space. Plenty of room for five or six retired Charisian Marines to train men one company or so at a time without drawing a great deal of attention. Especially if you’ve taken pains over the years to turn any ears that might overhear them into friends of yours by seeing to it that the local freeholders and their families are treated well.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Stohnar said. “And it would appear to be fortunate the Group of Four clearly underestimated you even more badly than we did.”
“They’ve had more experience underestimating me than you might expect, My Lord,” she agreed, and this time her smile was cold and ugly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve crossed swords, so to speak, with the Grand Inquisitor.”
“No?” He considered her for a moment, head cocked, then barked a laugh. “Somehow I find that easy to believe, My Lady! Might I assume that your opportune rescue of myself and my government indicates you intend to continue ‘crossing swords’ with him?”
“Oh, I think you could, My Lord.” She smiled that cold, ugly smile again. “I think you could.” .
Sarm River, Kingdom of Delferahk
“Easy,” Lieutenant Aplyn-Ahrmahk said quietly as the boat moved slowly towards the riverbank in the dim predawn gloom. The water gleamed faintly as the first blush of yellow and rose touched the eastern horizon, and a wyvern whistled querulously from somewhere ahead of them.
“Over the side and find the bottom, Braisyn!” he continued. “Can’t be too deep this close in.”
“Easy for you to say, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, Sir,” Braisyn, a tall young topman who’d been part of Mahlyk’s boat crew for over two years, replied feelingly.
“Oh, nonsense! Pretend it’s beer-I know that’ll make you feel better about it!”
Several members of the boat crew chuckled, and Braisyn grinned at the lieutenant.
“Does that mean you’re buying when we get back to the ship, Sir?” he asked, and Aplyn-Ahrmahk laughed.
“For you? ” The lieutenant shook his head. “I’d rather buy water for fish at whiskey prices. It’d cost me less!”
Braisyn’s grin got even bigger, and then he slipped over the side of the boat, hanging on to the gunwale while his feet felt for the bottom.
“Don’t like my beer quite this cold, Sir,” he informed Aplyn-Ahrmahk. “And it’s a mite- Ow! ” He yelped, hauling himself higher in the water and shaking his head. “Found the bottom, Sir. Little rocky for my taste!”
“Then next time, keep your shoes on, you stupid bugger!” Stywyrt Mahlyk suggested helpfully.
“Don’t like squelching around in soggy shoes, Cox’in,” Braisyn replied cheerfully.
“Just take us in, Mahlyk,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said in a tone of exaggerated patience. “Lieutenant Gowain wants us hidden again before sunrise.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Mahlyk said. “Give way all. And you, Braisyn-keep your damned delicate tootsies out of the rocks so you don’t bruise ‘em!”
“Keep that in mind I will, Cox’in,” Braisyn assured him with another grin.
Aplyn-Ahrmahk shook his head, yet the banter between Mahlyk and the members of his boat’s crew was the best possible (and welcome) proof that the men’s morale was doing just fine.
They were just over a hundred and eighty miles up the Sarm River, two-thirds of the way across the sparsely populated Earldom of Charlz, and that was a long, twisty way from the salt water that was a Charisian sailor’s natural element. True, rivers were full of water, but they were also full of rocks, bugs, and shallows where boats had to be dragged across sandbars or portaged around rapids. Fortunately, they hadn’t encountered any
