doubled up into a ball with a shrill, whistling cry of pain and then lay grunting and gasping for breath while the petty officer watched him with a mildly interested air.
The priest was just starting to get his breath back when the man named Zhaksyn returned with a Delferahkan dragoon. The man had been wounded, and a rough dressing around his upper left arm was stained black with blood in the moonlight, but the shock of such abrupt defeat when victory had seemed certain was obviously more debilitating than any sword cut.
“This here’s the senior sergeant, near as I can tell, Sir,” Zhaksyn said.
“Thank you.” Aplyn-Ahrmahk turned to the Delferahkan. “ Are you the senior prisoner?” he asked.
“Aye, that I am… Sir,” the Delferahkan said. “Leastwise, I am if the Lieutenant’s really dead.”
“Oh, he’s dead, mate,” the petty officer said. “Shot in the back of the head, and from real close, too.”
“What?” The Delferahkan looked back and forth between Aplyn-Ahrmahk and the petty officer. “That don’t make no sense… Sir. The Lieutenant, he was behind us. And the Father said he was dead before any of you lot started shooting from the hills! I thought the shot had to come from here.”
He jabbed the index finger of his good hand at the rocky edge of the pool.
“That’s exactly what you were supposed to think, Sergeant,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said grimly. “This Schuelerite bastard murdered your lieutenant in order to turn what should have been an orderly surrender into a massacre. And it would have worked if we hadn’t already been here keeping an eye on things-and you-when your lot first arrived, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t know as how-” the sergeant began uncomfortably, then stopped. “Aye, Sir,” he admitted in a lower voice. “Aye, it would’ve, that it surely would.”
“This is all lies!” the priest sputtered suddenly, still more than a little breathless from that kick in the belly. “Lies by heretics and blasphemers-by excommunicates! Sergeant, you can’t take their word for this! Why, it probably was one of them, deliberately shooting poor Lieutenant Wyllyms down from ambush without warning, just to discredit me! Is it my fault I was standing so close to him I was splashed with his blood when they killed him?!”
The sergeant looked down at the priest for a moment, then met Aplyn-Ahrmahk’s eyes in the moonlight.
“He weren’t the very smartest officer nor I ever served under, the Lieutenant,” he said, “but he were a good lad, an’ he always tried to do what was right. Didn’t always manage it, but he tried, Sir. And in a fair fight, all the holes would’ve been in the front, not the back like this. It ain’t right, Sir.” He shook his head, his voice stubborn. “It ain’t right.”
“No, it isn’t, Sergeant,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk agreed. “So I have only one more question for you.”
“Sir?” the Delferahkan said a bit cautiously.
“This man is obviously a Schuelerite,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said. “Can you confirm that he’s also an inquisitor?”
“Aye, Sir,” the Delferahkan replied. “That he is. Attached to Colonel Tahlyvyr special by Bishop Mytchail. Heard him telling the Colonel myself, I did.”
“Think what you’re doing, Sergeant!” the priest snapped. “By God, I’ll see you put to the Punishment for collaborating with heretics! I’ll-”
The Delferahkan flinched, but then his shoulders hunched stubbornly and he glared down at the priest.
“He’s an inquisitor, Sir,” he said firmly. “Sure as sure.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Aplyn-Ahrmahk nodded to the Delferahkan, then looked at the petty officer. “Stand him up, Mahlyk,” he said flatly.
“Waste of good sweat, Sir,” the petty officer said. “He’ll only be back down in a minute or two.”
“Even an inquisitor should have the chance to die on his feet, Stywyrt,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk replied in a voice of iron.
“What?” The priest stared up at him in shock. “What did you just say?”
“You and your friend Clyntahn should pay more attention to proclamations coming out of Tellesberg,” Aplyn- Ahrmahk said coldly. “Some of those men you tortured and butchered in Zion were friends of mine, and every damned one of them was innocent. Well, the blood on your cassock says you’re not, and my Emperor and Empress’ policy where inquisitors are concerned is very clear.”
“You can’t be-I mean, I’m a priest! A priest of Mother Church! You can’t just-”
“I know priests,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk told him as Stywyrt Mahlyk hauled him to his feet by the collar of his cassock. “I even know a Schuelerite priest-a good one, the kind who truly serves God. And that’s how I know you aren’t one, whatever that fat, greedy bastard in Zion might say.” He drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it. “If you want to make your peace with God, you have thirty seconds.”
“ Damn you! Who do you think you are to threaten a consecrated priest of God! You wouldn’t dare -!”
“You don’t want to make peace?” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said. “Fine.”
His hand rose, his finger squeezed, and Dahnyvyn Schahl’s eyes were just starting to widen in disbelieving terror when his head disintegrated. The body dropped like a sring-cut puppet, and Aplyn-Ahrmahk turned to Earl Coris and Princess Irys.
“I apologize for the delay,” he said as the muzzle smoke of his pistol wisped away on the cool, damp breath of the fall. “Now, I believe those boats are still waiting for us.”
FEBRUARY, YEAR OF GOD 896
Nimue’s Cave, The Mountains of Light, The Temple Lands, and Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis
“So just exactly how was it you were planning to get home again without raising any eyebrows?” Cayleb Ahrmahk asked, leaning back in the rattan lounge and gazing up at a spectacular sunset.
His daughter lay curled on his chest, her nose pressed into the angle of his neck while she slept with the absolute limpness possible only for small children and cat-lizards, and Empress Sharleyan’s crochet hook moved busily as she looked across at him and smiled.
“Why should I get home without raising any eyebrows?” Merlin responded over the com plug in his ear. “I’m a seijin- the mysterious, deadly, probably magical Seijin Merlin!” There was a clearly audible sniff. “I come and go, and no man sees me pass.”
“You’re getting remarkably full of yourself, aren’t you?” Sharleyan inquired sweetly.
“Well, I think I’ve done fairly well the last few five-days,” he pointed out.
“That’s true, I suppose,” Cayleb said judiciously. “I especially liked the bit with the voices shouting to each other there at the end, on top of the gunshots. No wonder they thought all of you were right in front of them!”
“If you’ve got a programmable vocoder for a voice box, you might as well use it,” Merlin replied smugly, but then he sighed. “Actually, though, I think I’m blowing my ego out of my ears because I’m bored and I want to come home.”
Sharleyan looked across at Cayleb, and her expression softened.
“We’re looking forward to seeing you at home,” Cayleb assured him, speaking for them both. Then he shrugged-very gently, so as not to disturb the sleeping child next to his heart. “I agree sending you personally to oversee Irys and Daivyn’s rescue was the right move, but having you operate openly that far away’s inconvenient as hell in a lot of ways.”
“I’ve noticed that myself,” Merlin said dryly. “I’m thinking about adding a few extra members to Master Zhevons’ ensemble cast. It can be a pain covering for absences on my part while Zhevons-or someone else, for that matter-runs around in the middle of Howard, but it saves us from having to account for all of this damned ‘transit time’!”
“I see your point, but I think it was a good thing you were ‘running around in the middle of Howard’ this time,” Sharleyan said soberly, and Merlin shrugged.
“I’m inclined to agree, given my own modest contribution to getting them out of Talkyra and delivering them to the rendezvous, but Hektor did pretty well himself, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Cayleb agreed. “Yes he did. Especially for someone as young as he is.”
“This from the gray-bearded septuagenarian sitting on the throne of Charis, I see,” Merlin replied, and
