Heirs of Empire

proclaimed Holy War against them.”

“Lies!” Surmal thundered. “We are Mother Church, God’s chosen shepherds for His people! When heresy stirs, it must be crushed, root and branch, lest the whole body of God’s people be poisoned and their souls lost to damnation forever! He who defies us in this defies God Himself, and whatever this ‘Lord Sean’ claims, he and his fellows are—must be!—demons sent to destroy us all!”

“Your Grace,” Ortak said quietly, “I wasn’t called to the priesthood, but to serve God as a soldier, in accordance with the commands of the Temple. It may be that I’ve failed in that service, despite all I could do, yet a soldier is all I know how to be. I tell you not what I believe, but what I was told by Lord Sean. Whether or not and how he may have lied is for you to judge, Your Grace; I only answer your questions as best I may.”

Vroxhan raised his hand, cutting off Surmal’s fresh, angry retort, and his hooded eyes were thoughtful. Fresh silence lingered for over a minute before he cleared his throat.

“Very well, Ortak—speak as a ‘soldier’ then. What is your estimate of this Lord Sean as a soldier?”

Ortak gazed back up at the high priest, and then Vroxhan frowned in surprise as he slowly and painfully lowered himself to his knees. High-Captain Marhn dared the assembled prelates’ wrath by assisting his wounded commander, but Ortak never took his eyes from Vroxhan’s.

“Holiness, heretic or no, demon-worshiper or demon-spawn as he may be, I tell you that not once in a hundred generations has Pardal seen this man’s equal as a war captain. Wherever he may spring from, whatever the source of his knowledge, he is a master of his trade, and the men he commands will follow where he leads against any foe.”

“Even against God Himself?” Vroxhan asked very softly.

“Against any foe, Holiness,” Ortak repeated, and closed his eyes at last. “Holiness, my life is forfeit, if you choose to claim it. I gave of my very best for God and the Temple, yet I speak not in any effort to excuse my failure or save myself when I tell you no Guard captain is this man’s equal. His army is far smaller than any of us believed possible, yet no captain has held a single field against him. As a soldier I know only the art of battle, Holiness, but that I do know. Do with me as you will, yet for the sake of Mother Church and the Faith, I beg you to heed me in this. Do not take this man lightly. Were every Guardsman in both Hylars, Herdaana, and Ishar gathered in one place, still I fear he would defeat them. Demon or devil he may be, but as a war captain he is without peer on all Pardal.”

The kneeling high-captain bent his head, and shocked silence filled the chamber.

* * *

“So at last the enemy has a face and a name,” Vroxhan said softly. He and the Inner Circle had withdrawn to their council chamber, accompanied only by Lord Marshal Surak.

“For all the good it does us,” Corada replied heavily. “If Ortak is correct—”

“He isn’t correct!” Surmal snapped, and turned to Vroxhan. “I claim Ortak for the Holy Inquisition, Holiness! Whatever else he may or may not have done, he has fallen into damnation by the respect he grants this demon. For the sake of Mother Church and his own soul, he must answer to the Inquisitors!”

Surak stirred, and Vroxhan looked up at him.

“You disagree, Lord Marshal?” he asked in a dangerous voice.

“Holiness, I serve the Temple. If the Circle judges that Ortak must answer, then answer he must, but before you decide, I beg you to weigh his words most carefully.”

“You agree with him?” Corada gasped, but Surak shook his head.

“I didn’t say that, Your Grace. What I said is that his words must be weighed. Mistaken or not, Ortak is the most experienced officer to have met the demon-worshipers and survived, and he has spoken to them. Perhaps this has corrupted his soul and led him into damnation, yet his information is our only firsthand report of the heretics’ leadership. And,” Surak looked at Surmal, “with all due respect, Your Grace, punishing him will not make any truth he may have uttered untrue.”

“Truth? What truth?” Vroxhan demanded before Surmal could respond.

“The truth that the demon-worshipers have defeated every army sent against them … and that we have no more armies to send, Holiness.” Deathly silence fell, and Surak went on in a grim, hard voice. “I have forty thousand Guardsmen to garrison the Temple itself. Aside from them, there are less than ten thousand of the Guard in all eastern North Hylar. The secular lords of the north have been defeated—no, My Lords, crushed—as completely as Lord Marshal Rokas and High-Captain Ortak, and the better part of the levies of Telis, Eswyn, and Tarnahk with them. We have fifty thousand of the Guard west of the Thirgan Gap and another seventy thousand in South Hylar, yet they can reach us here only by ship, and it will take many five-days to bring any sizable portion of that force to bear. The secular levies of the remaining eastern lands amount to no more than sixty thousand. They, and the men I have here to guard the Temple, are all we can throw against the heretics, and every officer who returned with Ortak reports the same of the demon-worshipers’ army. It is far smaller than our original estimates, yet every man in it appears to be armed with a rifle which fires more rapidly than a joharn, not less.”

“Which means?” Vroxhan prompted when the lord marshal paused.

“Which means, Holiness, that I can’t stop them,” Surak admitted in a voice like crushed gravel. The prelates stared at him in horror, and he squared his shoulders. “My Lords, I am your chief captain. My responsibility to you before God Himself is to tell you the truth, and the truth is that somehow—I do not pretend to know the manner of it—this ‘Lord Sean’ has built an army which can crush any force on Pardal.”

“But we’re God’s warriors!” Corada cried. “He won’t let them defeat us!”

“He has so far, Your Grace,” Surak replied flatly. “Why He should let this happen I can’t say, but to pretend otherwise would violate my sworn oath to serve God and the Temple to the best of my ability. I’ve searched for an answer, My Lords, in prayer and meditation as well as in my map rooms and with my officers, without finding one. At present, the heretics are less than three five-day’s march from the Temple itself, and the last army in their path has been destroyed. If you command it, I will gather every man in the Temple and every man the remaining secular levies can send me and meet the heretics in battle, and my men and officers will do all that mortal men can do. Yet it is my duty to tell you our numbers may actually be lower than the heretics’, and I fear our defeat will be complete unless God Himself intervenes.”

“He will! He will!” Corada cried almost desperately.

Surak said nothing, only looked at Vroxhan, and the high priest’s hands clenched under the council table. He could almost smell the panic Surak’s words had produced, yet even in his own fear, he knew the lord marshal had spoken only the truth. Why? Why was God letting this happen? The thought battered in his brain, but God sent no answer, and the silence after Corada’s outburst stretched his nerves like an Inquisitor’s rack.

“Are you telling us, Lord Marshal,” he said at last, in a carefully controlled voice, “that the Temple of God has no choice but to surrender to the forces of Hell?”

Surak flinched ever so slightly, but his eyes were level.

“I am telling you, Holiness, that with the forces available to me, all I and my men can do is die in the Faith’s defense as our oaths require us to. We will honor those oaths if no other answer can be found, yet I beg you, My Lords, to search your own hearts and prayers, for whatever answer God demands of us, I do not believe it lies upon the field of battle.”

“What if … what if we accept the heretics’ offer to parley?” Bishop Frenaur said hesitantly. The entire Circle turned on him in horror, but the Bishop of fallen Malagor met their eyes with a strength he hadn’t displayed since Yortown. “I don’t mean we should accept their terms,” he said more sharply, “but the Lord Marshal tells us his forces are too weak to defeat them in battle. If we pretend to negotiate with them, could we not demand a cease-fire while we do so? At the least, that would win time for our forces in western North Hylar and our other lands to reach us!”

“Negotiate with the powers of Hell?” Surmal cried, but to Vroxhan’s surprise, old Corada straightened in his chair with suddenly hopeful eyes. “Our very souls would—” Surmal went on wildly, but Corada raised his hand.