"I'm glad you understand, Your Highness." Wave Thunder sat back in his chair. "One of those 'need to know' things is precisely how our spies go about gathering much of the information and knowledge which comes to us here. Frankly, we have great respect for your ability as an analyst, and we intend to make the best use of it we can. However, as often as not-and, to be honest, probably more often than not-you may never know how the information we're asking you to analyze came into our possession in the first place."

"I trust you'll forgive me for pointing this out, Baron, but quite frequently the source of a piece of information has enormous bearing on its reliability, and that, in turn, has obvious implications for its analysis."

"Your Highness," Wave Thunder smiled even more broadly, "it truly is a pleasure to discuss these matters with someone who understands the niceties of the spymaster's art. However, one of the reasons I brought these"-he tapped the stack of folders-"is to give you a demonstration of how reliable our spies are."

"In what way, if I may ask?" Nahrmahn inquired when the Charisian paused.

"Pick a day-any day you wish-from the third five-day of May," Wave Thunder invited.

Nahrmahn blinked at him, then shrugged.

"Very well," he said. "I pick Thursday."

"Very good, Your Highness." Wave Thunder sorted through the folders until he found the one he wanted. He separated it from the others, then laid it carefully on the table in front of him and opened it.

"On Thursday, May the fourteenth," he said, looking down at the notes before him, "you summoned Commodore Zhaztro and Earl Pine Hollow to Eraystor Palace. You met in the Blue Salon, where you discussed the recent capture of the Church dispatch boat carrying dispatches from Bishop Executor Thomys to Bishop Executor Wyllys. Commodore Zhaztro informed you that there was no way to guarantee the safe passage of even Church dispatch boats into Eraystor Bay in the face of our blockade. He suggested, however, that not even our navy could blockade every minor port, and that it would be possible for Church couriers to use those secondary ports. You pointed out that the Bishop Executor felt using such minor ports would be undignified, but you also instructed the Commodore to draw up a list of them for future use, after which you dismissed him and had a most interesting conversation with the Earl. In the course of that conversation you shared with him your own analysis of the confrontation between Charis and the Group of Four and your belief that things would get far worse before they get better."

Wave Thunder glanced up from his notes. Despite decades of experience at self-discipline and self-control, Nahrmahn's jaw had dropped as the Charisian spymaster continued his deliberate, devastatingly accurate summarization of the meeting at which only three men had been present.

"I would make two points at this moment, Your Highness," the baron said calmly. "First, it was in fact your words to Earl Pine Hollow, and several other, similar conversations with him, which played a not insignificant part in the terms which Emperor Cayleb was prepared to offer Emerald. And, secondly, if you're thinking either Commodore Zhaztro or Earl Pine Hollow must have betrayed your confidence for us to have this information, let me turn to a later point in that same day."

He turned pages unhurriedly until he found the one he wanted, then cleared his throat.

"Later that same evening," he resumed, "you had a private meeting with Baron Shandyr. At that meeting, you touched once again, if less strongly, upon the same analysis of the Church's position you had shared with Earl Pine Hollow earlier. You also pointed out to the Baron-as, indeed, you had pointed out to the Earl earlier-that the Group of Four's entire plan had been as stupid as it was arrogant. And you pointed out that Prince Hektor was unlikely to risk his own security to come to Emerald's aid. In fact, your exact words were 'Why should that bastard risk one pimple on his precious arse for us?' After which"-the baron looked up at Nahrmahn once again-"you instructed the Baron to review his arrangements for passing the execution order, if you'll pardon the choice of words, to the assassins you have in place in Manchyr."

Nahrmahn's astonishment had gone far beyond mere shock as Wave Thunder calmly closed the folder once again.

"As you can see, Your Highness," he said, "for us to have obtained this information through any avenue with which you may be familiar, both Earl Pine Hollow and Baron Shandyr would have to have been agents of Charis. Which, I assure you-and I'm quite sure you already know it to be the truth-neither of them would have dreamed of becoming."

"I. . .".

Nahrmahn's voice trailed off, and he shook himself. Then he cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, gazing intently into Wave Thunder's eyes.

"I certainly wouldn't have believed either of them would have betrayed me," he said at last. "On the other hand, I can't see any other way for you to have learned the details of two separate private conversations."

"Your Highness, I allowed you to pick the day," Wave Thunder pointed out. "If you would care to pick another day-as, for instance, the following Friday, when you had a private conversation with Commodore Zhaztro, or perhaps Monday, when Bishop Executor Wyllys met with you to 'discuss' your suggestion that 'Mother Church's messengers creep about, like poachers or smugglers, from one wretched little rathole to another'-I'm quite prepared to share the summaries of those other days with you, as well."

"But how-?"

Nahrmahn chopped the question off. He stared at Wave Thunder for several more seconds, then inhaled deeply.

"I begin to understand what you meant about 'needing to know,' My Lord. Understanding it will make my curiosity burn no less brightly, but I'm not about to ask you to compromise your access to information that detailed. And please believe me when I tell you that the realization that you and the Emperor have access to it should quite neatly depress any temptation on my part to even contemplate betraying my oath of fealty to him. After all," the Emeraldian prince showed his teeth briefly, "it's extraordinarily difficult to concoct an effective plot without even talking to your fellow conspirators!"

"I must confess I'm relieved to hear that, Your Highness. And if I'm going to be totally honest, that was, in fact, one of the conclusions both His Majesty and I hoped you would reach. Nonetheless, I was also completely honest when I said we would all appreciate any insight into this information which you might be able to help us to gain."

"I'll be delighted to help in any way I can," Nahrmahn assured him.

"I'm glad. Ah, there is one other minor point I need to touch upon, however, Your Highness."

"Which would be what, Baron?"

"His Majesty is aware that you and Baron Shandyr did, in fact, order Hektor's assassination," Wave Thunder said rather delicately. "Now, in the normal course of things, the Emperor would shed no tears if Hektor were to . . . suffer a fatal accident, shall we say? And, to be honest, it would seem a most appropriate fate for someone like Hektor. Unfortunately, we believe any attempt upon Hektor's life would have no more than an even chance of success, at best. And, more to the point, perhaps, there's no doubt in our minds as to who the Corisandians will blame for any such attempt at this time. While we cherish no illusions about the opinions already held in Corisande where Charis is concerned, we're deeply concerned about the propaganda value the Group of Four might be able to extract from such an attempt. In fact, in many ways, Hektor's assassination-especially if it could be reasonably charged that Charis was responsible-would be more valuable to the Group of Four than Hektor himself, alive, is. With his navy neutralized, and his realm open to invasion whenever we choose to strike, he's scarcely a military asset any longer, nor is there any way the 'Knights of the Temple Lands' could come to his assistance, even if they wished to. So, since he no longer has value as a living ally, someone like Chancellor Trynair, at the very least, would be quick to recognize his greater value as a dead martyr, treacherously slain by murderous Charisian assassins."

Nahrmahn considered that, then nodded.

"I can see your point, My Lord," he acknowledged, not even attempting to pretend he hadn't given exactly the instructions Wave Thunder had said he had. "At the time, for obvious reasons, I was less concerned about how Hektor's demise might affect Charis than I was about how a sudden power vacuum in Corisande might have attracted Charisian attention there and away from me. Obviously, that portion of my calculations requires some rethinking under the new arrangement."

"Oh, indeed it does, Your Highness," Wave Thunder agreed with a smile. "And your comment about 'rethinking' brings me to my final point for this meeting. You see, Prince Nahrmahn, Emperor Cayleb doesn't believe you'll find it possible to stop scheming and plotting. Oh," the Charisian raised one hand and waved it back and forth, like a man brushing away an irritating fly, "that doesn't mean he suspects you of some fell intent to betray the oath you just swore. It simply means you are who you are, Your Highness, and this is the way your mind works. More than that, you're very good at it-much better than Hektor even begins to suspect-and it would be foolish of His Majesty to allow such a sharp and serviceable sword to rust into uselessness through disuse. Which is why he has a proposal he would like you to consider."

"What sort of proposal, My Lord?" Nahrmahn asked, his eyes narrowed in speculation.

"His Majesty, with Her Majesty's concurrence, wishes for me to remain here, in my existing post as the Kingdom of Charis' senior spy. It makes particularly good sense in light of the fact that I'm also the man in charge of our domestic security and investigations. Given the potential for internal unrest which the schism with the Church creates, this is scarcely the time for me to be taking my finger off of that particular pulse.

"By the same token, they wish for Baron Shandyr to retain his post in Emerald, and Sir Ahlber Zhustyn to do the same thing in Chisholm. That, however, leaves a glaring vacancy which they're considering calling upon you to fill."

"You can't be serious, My Lord," Nahrmahn said. Wave Thunder cocked his head, raising one eyebrow, and Nahrmahn shook his head. "It's been less than three days since I swore fealty to Cayleb, and less than three years since I attempted to have him assassinated. Whatever else he may be, Cayleb is neither an idiot nor a fool!"

"You're absolutely right, he isn't," Wave Thunder agreed. "Nonetheless he and Empress Sharleyan propose precisely what you were thinking about. The Empire will require an imperial spymaster, and you, Your Highness, have both the aptitude and the rank and authority to fill that post admirably."

"But only if Cayleb can trust me!" Nahrmahn protested.

"First, His Majesty wouldn't have offered you the terms he offered you if he'd felt you'd be likely to betray him. You've just seen the sort of information upon which he based that assessment, and I assure you it wasn't a judgment which was arrived at lightly. Second, do you truly believe, given what you've just learned, that he would be unaware of any actions on your part if you should succumb to the temptation to plot against him? And, third, Your Highness, Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan-and I, for what it matters-believe you truly mean the things you've said about the Group of Four, Mother Church's corruption, and the inevitable consequences of the events Clyntahn and Trynair have set in motion. In short, we believe you have no reasonable motive to betray any trust the Crown might place in you, and every reason to support the Crown against Clyntahn and his cronies. You may rest assured that neither the Emperor nor the Empress is so foolish as to forget to . . . keep an eye on you until they're certain their judgment is accurate, of course. But as the Emperor pointed out, after so many years of 'playing the great game,' as I believe you've put it upon occasion, it's foolish to think you'll somehow be able to magically stop, however genuine your resolve to do so might be. That being the case, he prefers to channel your natural bent into a useful occupation, rather than letting it tempt you into some sort of . . . mischief, instead."

" 'Mischief,' is it?" Nahrmahn repeated with a snort, and Wave Thunder shrugged.

"Actually, Your Highness, I believe his exact words to the Empress were, 'We're never going to be able to shut that man's brain off, whatever we do. So, the way I see it, either we find a way to make it work for us, or else we disconnect it-and the head it lives in-from the rest of his body. And that's so messy.' "

Despite himself, Nahrmahn sputtered with laughter. He could just see Cayleb saying exactly that, even picture the glint in the emperor's brown eyes- And the fact is, he's got a point. I really do intend to behave myself, but even I'm not positive I'll be able to manage that. Yet even so- "My Lord," he said frankly, "I'm not at all certain His Majesty isn't making a very serious mistake here. And whatever I may think about it, I strongly suspect that certain of his own nobles aren't going to be any too enthralled by the notion of suddenly finding me in such a critical post. Despite all that, though, I have to confess I'm . . . intrigued by the possibility."

"I realize it's come at you as something of a surprise," Wave Thunder said with generous understatement. "Obviously it's something you're going to have to think about, and His Majesty realizes that. In fact, he recommends you discuss it with your wife. He and the Empress have a lively respect for her intelligence, and she undoubtedly knows you better than anyone else in the world. Including, if you'll forgive me for pointing this out, yourself. See what she thinks about it before you give the Emperor your answer."

"Now that, My Lord," Nahrmahn Baytz said with total sincerity, "sounds like a very good idea, indeed."

.IV.

The Temple,

City of Zion,

The Temple Lands

Rhobair Duchairn wondered if he would ever again cross the Plaza of Martyrs without recalling the bloody horror of Erayk Dynnys' execution. The chill bite of fall lay heavy on the city of Zion, despite the sunniness of the day, but his shiver had nothing to do with the temperature as he gazed up at the soaring colonnade of the Temple of God and the mirror-polished dome beyond it, with the heroic sculpture of the Archangel Langhorne raising the scepter of his holy authority high, and remembered that dreadful day. Then he paused in place, eyes closing in silent prayer, although he could not have said exactly what it was for which he prayed.

Troubling times, he thought to himself as he opened his eyes once more and continued across the plaza towards the Temple. Troubling times . . . and frightening ones.

The triteness of his own thoughts was irritating, yet that made them no less accurate. The strength of his newly refound faith helped, and he'd found many passages of the Writ of tremendous comfort, but not a single scriptural passage told him what he ought to be doing.

Well, Rhobair, that's not quite accurate, is it? he thought sardonically. You know exactly what you ought to be doing. The only question is how you go about doing it.

He paused again, the spray of the countless fountains chilly as the brisk breeze blew it across him, and gazed at the very spot where Dynnys had died. The fallen archbishop's execution had been the most horrible thing Duchairn had ever seen, ever imagined. He was no Schuelerite. He'd read the penalties the Archangel Schueler had ruled must be meted out to the apostate and the heretic, yet he'd never allowed his mind to dwell upon them. They'd been one of those unpleasant aspects of life, something the Writ called for, but which Rhobair Duchairn had never expected to actually see, far less help to inflict. And he had helped. There were times, especially when the dreams came in the middle of the night, when he longed to pretend he hadn't. But the decision to execute Dynnys had been made by the Group of Four, and so Rhobair Duchairn bore his share of the blood guilt. Worse, he was fully aware that the initial decision to execute the former Archbishop of Charis had been made as a matter of pragmatism, an act of expediency. And Dynnys' final words, his defiance of the Grand Inquisitor from the very lip of the grave, those worried Duchairn.

The man had been promised an easy death-or, at least, an easier one-if only he'd played his part. Duchairn hadn't been supposed to know about that arrangement, but he had, and that made Dynnys' defiance even more perplexing. Unless, of course, the most obvious explanation was also the correct one and the man had actually believed what he'd said.

Which he undoubtedly did, Duchairn told himself, gazing at the spot where the tortured wreck of a human being had finally been permitted to die. That's what truly torments you about it, isn't it, Rhobair? Whatever's happening now, you- you and the other three-set it into motion. Whatever Charis has done since you and your friends orchestrated the attack upon it, you were the ones who began it. You pushed Charis into its damnable actions. Any animal will fight for its life, for the lives of its young, if you push it into a corner, and that's exactly what you did to Charis, and Dynnys knew it. Not only knew it, but had the courage to proclaim it even after the Inquisition had decreed his death.

It was a thought which had come to him frequently of late, and with the strength of his reborn faith, he made himself face it head-on once again. He'd prayed to God and to Langhorne, begging them to forgive him for the disastrous decisions which had provoked the unthinkable, but the fact that he deeply and sincerely repented his responsibility for them did nothing to relieve him of his responsibility to do something about them. It would have been his duty to confront the disaster and to somehow bring the Church of God Awaiting victoriously through the ordeal which faced her no matter how it had come about; the part he'd played in provoking that ordeal only made his responsibility deeper.

And however difficult the journey may be, he told himself once again, ultimately there can be only one destination. This is God's Church, instituted by the Archangels themselves for the salvation of all men's souls. Whatever those misguided souls in Charis may believe, Mother Church must be preserved intact. And because she must, she will. There can be no other outcome . . . as long as we who defend her remain true to her, to the Writ, to the Archangels, and to God.

He believed that. He knew that. What he didn't know was whether or not God would ever forgive him for the acts to which he had already set his hand.

He looked one more time at the spot where Erayk Dynnys had died his gruesome death, wondering how many others the Inquisition would send to the same dreadful fate before the challenge to Mother Church's rightful supremacy had been dealt with. Then he shook his head, tucked his hands into the warm comfort of his cassock's full sleeves, and continued on his way.

"Well, I see we're all here . . . at last," Zhaspahr Clyntahn said waspishly as Duchairn walked into the conference chamber.

Warm air flowed easily, effortlessly, throughout the chamber, maintaining the temperature at its customary level of perfect comfort. The imperishable conference table-the work, like the entire Temple, of the Archangels' own hands-was as perfect and unmarred by use as it had been on the very Day of Creation, and the illumination radiating from the ceiling itself flowed down with a shadowless brightness no candle or lamp flame could ever hope to challenge. As always, that irrefutable evidence that he was, indeed, in the presence of the Divine reassured Duchairn that whatever errors mere humans might make, God was capable of setting them all right in the end, as long as His servants were only true to their faith.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said now, crossing to his place at that mystic table. "I had several pastoral matters to deal with, and I'm afraid the time got away from me."

" 'Pastoral matters,' was it?" Clyntahn snorted. "I'd think preserving Mother Church would take precedence over almost any other 'pastoral matter' I could think of."

Zahmsyn Trynair stirred slightly in his chair at the head of the table. Clyntahn had become even more caustic and abrasive since Dynnys' execution. It was as if the ex-archbishop's final defiance had goaded the Grand Inquisitor into even greater belligerence and vengefulness. And in some peculiar fashion, Duchairn's obviously resurgent faith actually made Clyntahn even more impatient with the Treasurer General. It was almost as if he feared Duchairn's faith would further soften the resolution of the vicar he'd always regarded as the least resolute of the Group of Four to begin with.

Or perhaps it was simpler than that. Perhaps what had happened with Dynnys had made him wary of what Duchairn might yet do in the name of his refound faith.

"Whatever you need to talk about, Zhaspahr," Duchairn said serenely, "my arriving here five minutes early or five minutes late isn't going to have any world-shattering consequences. And since that's the case, I saw no need to cut short the counsel and advice one of my bishops required."

"And how do you-" Clyntahn began irately, but Trynair raised his hand. "He's right, Zhaspahr," the Chancellor said. The Grand Inquisitor turned his glare upon him in turn, but Trynair only looked back at him calmly. "I agree that a certain degree of urgency in responding to this sort of thing is undoubtedly in order, but we can't afford to simply drop everything and come running whenever some . . . unfortunate bit of news arrives. First, because even with the semaphore, whatever it is that brings us together must already have happened quite some time ago, and our response to it is going to take just as long to reach out from Zion. So frantic haste on our part isn't going to affect things very much, one way or the other. Second, however, is the fact that as vicars of Mother Church, we have many responsibilities, like the ones Rhobair was dealing with this afternoon. We can't allow the schism Charis has created to distract us from all of those other responsibilities. And, third, because it's essential we not allow anyone to believe we've been distracted from those responsibilities by it. Never forget that there are those who are merely waiting for the best opportunity to assail us. If we allow them to believe we've been so badly panicked that the schism crisis is the only thing we can think about, those weaker brethren among the vicarate may be tempted to openly defy our guidance."

Clyntahn's jowls had darkened, and he'd opened his mouth to retort angrily, but Trynair's slow, calm, reasonable tone had stopped him. Now he glowered at the Chancellor for another few heartbeats, then shrugged.

"Oh, very well," he growled.

Duchairn simply folded his hands in front of him on the table and waited patiently. He remained wary of the Grand Inquisitor's power and increasingly irascible temper, but he no longer feared Clyntahn. Which was probably at least a little unreasonable of him, given what Clyntahn had already done to Erayk Dynnys. And, he realized as he sat waiting, the fact that he was no longer afraid of the Grand Inquisitor quite probably explained Clyntahn's increasing impatience with him. Zhaspahr Clyntahn didn't like the thought of not being feared.

There's something I need to consider more deeply in that, the Church's Treasurer thought. It says something about him, but it says something about me, too.

"At any rate, we are all here now," Trynair continued. "And since you were the one who requested this meeting, Zhaspahr, why don't you go ahead and tell us why?"

"Two things, really," Clyntahn replied. The Grand Inquisitor's irritation remained evident, but he straightened in his chair and some of the petulance faded from his expression. "One is a message from Bishop Executor Wyllys, and the other is a message from Father Styvyn in Delferahk."

"Father Styvyn?" Allayn Maigwair repeated the name, then grimaced. "Which 'Father Styvyn,' Zhaspahr?"

"He's Bishop Ernyst's intendant in Ferayd," Clyntahn said, and Duchairn's weren't the only eyebrows which rose in surprise.

"And what exactly makes this message from . . . Father Styvyn, was it?" Trynair looked at Clyntahn, who bobbed his head in a curt nod. "Well, what makes this message from him so important?"

"I'll get to that in a moment." Clyntahn waved his right hand as if he were pushing something aside on the table in front of him. "It's important, but I think we need to look at the Bishop Executor's message first."

Trynair nodded, and Duchairn braced himself. He had no illusions about any message Wyllys Graisyn might have sent. Given the tenor of the Emeraldian bishop executor's recent correspondence, it was obvious Emerald's military position was about as close to hopeless as mere mortals could expect to come. And Graisyn's more recent analyses of Prince Nahrmahn's options- and inclinations-hadn't exactly provided cheerful bedtime reading.

"Well, it isn't official yet-or, at least, it wasn't when Graisyn composed his message-but there's not much question that Nahrmahn's turning his coat," Clyntahn growled. All of his listeners sat up in their chairs, eyes narrowing, and he shrugged heavy shoulders. "I know Graisyn's been telling us for months that Emerald wouldn't be able to hold out long once Cayleb put his troops ashore, but I don't think even he saw this coming."

"How good is his information?" Maigwair asked.

"That's always the question, isn't it?" Clyntahn showed his teeth in a tight grin. "Apparently, neither he nor his intendant could confirm or deny the rumors swirling around Eraystor, but they were able to confirm that Pine Hollow's been sent off somewhere. And most of the rumors agree that there's only one logical place for Nahrmahn to be sending him. And now, apparently, Nahrmahn himself has sailed off somewhere, as well. Would any of you care to place a small wager on what his destination might have been?"

Duchairn's face tightened in dismay. As Clyntahn said, there'd been little doubt the Charisians could conquer Emerald anytime they got around to it. But having Emerald conquered, bad as it might have been, was a very different prospect from having Emerald voluntarily align itself with the House of Ahrmahk's defiance of Mother Church's authority.

"I can't believe Nahrmahn would do such a thing," Maigwair said, but his tone was that of a man trying to convince himself, and Clyntahn snorted again.

"I can." The Grand Inquisitor's eyes glowed with anger. "Why shouldn't Nahrmahn follow Charis' example? They're right next to each other; they're both halfway around the world from Zion, which leaves them ripe for any heresy that comes along; and Nahrmahn's always had the moral character of a dockside whore."

It was typical of Clyntahn, Duchairn reflected sourly, that he could condemn someone else's moral character with absolutely no sense of hypocrisy. "I'm afraid Zhaspahr has a point," Trynair said. "And, in some ways, it's probably difficult to blame Nahrmahn if he has sought an accommodation with Cayleb."

"I can damned well blame him," Clyntahn retorted. "I didn't say he shouldn't be condemned for it, Zhaspahr," Trynair pointed out. "What I said was that it's difficult to blame him, and on a purely secular level, that's nothing but the simple truth. In fact, that's what's truly dangerous about this."

"The fact that it neatly removes one distraction we were counting on to keep Charis occupied is scarcely a minor consideration, I'd think," Maigwair put in.

"Actually, it is," Trynair disagreed coolly. Maigwair bristled, but the Chancellor shook his head. "Think it through, Allayn," he said. "Emerald was never going to be a serious 'distraction' for Charis without a navy to prevent its invasion. Not really, or not for very long, at least. But now Nahrmahn-assuming Graisyn's suspicions prove accurate-has made a political accommodation with Cayleb. I'm not sure how well it's going to work out for him, but I'm assuming that since he sent Pine Hollow ahead, and then followed himself the terms have to be at least livable. As a matter of fact, if Cayleb is as clever as his father was, he'll probably have offered Nahrmahn remarkably generous terms. He's got a big enough stick in this new navy of his that he can afford to offer some very juicy carrots with his other hand. And if he does, then he's going to make it increasingly tempting for other potential Nahrmahns to reach understandings with him instead of trying to fight him."

"Zahmsyn has a point," Duchairn said unhappily. The other three turned to look at him, and he shrugged. "If Nahrmahn's really done this, then it strikes directly at the reliability of all of the secular lords. He's made a political calculation and acted upon it in what can only be construed as deliberate, open defiance of Mother Church. He's put politics and his own personal survival in front of his overriding duty to protect Mother Church's sanctity and authority. Don't think for a moment that there aren't other secular rulers who'd feel exactly the same way in his place. And now they're going to have an example of someone who actually did jettison his loyalty and responsibilities to the Church out of pure political expediency. Do you truly think, assuming he gets away with it, that his example's going to be lost on the next 'Nahrmahn' on Charis' list?"

"Exactly." Trynair nodded vigorously. "This is something which was probably going to rear its head inevitably, whatever happened. Given all the reasons for bad blood between Charis and Emerald, I didn't expect to see it quite this soon, but that only makes the example even worse. If Nahrmahn does this successfully, especially when all the world knows Haarahld and Cayleb both held him responsible for attempting Cayleb's assassination, it's going to tell everyone that Cayleb is willing to be 'reasonable.' And if we can't punish Nahrmahn effectively for it, that example is going to generate a lot of temptation to do exactly the same thing when the Royal Charisian Navy comes calling on other princes and kings."

"Then stop it in its tracks," Clyntahn growled.