"Of course, Sir."

Lieutenant Styvyn Erayksyn bowed very slightly before he withdrew, and Admiral Rock Point smiled. Young Erayksyn was connected to at least two-thirds of the aristocrats of the Kingdom of Charis. Indeed, he was far better born than his admiral, despite the recent creation of Rock Point's own title, although that sort of thing was less uncommon in Charis than in most other Safeholdian kingdoms. And, Rock Point supposed, the fact that he himself was the younger brother of the Archbishop of Charis would normally have been more than enough to offset Erayksyn's bluer blood. Of course, in this case, given the . . . irregularities of Maikel's elevation to his archbishopric, that was a bit more problematical than usual.

If Erayksyn was remotely aware of the superiority of his birth he gave absolutely no sign of it. It did, however, grant the efficient, intelligent lieutenant a certain undeniable comfort level when it came to dealing with superior officers in general.

The admiral set the pistol aside rather regretfully, settling it back into its fitted velvet nest beside its mate in the hand-rubbed wooden case on his desk as the door closed behind the flag lieutenant. That brace of pistols was one of the latest brainstorms from Baron Seamount's fertile imagination, and Rock Point had always appreciated the baron's ever-active approach to life and to his duties. It was an attitude which would have served him poorly in many navies, but not in the Royal Charisian Navy-or, at least, not in the current Royal Charisian Navy-and the new weapon was typical of Seamount's efforts.

Before the introduction of the flintlock, firearms like the pistol Rock Point had just been examining would have been impractical, at best. Now, they were completely practical . . . aside from the diversion of manufacturing capability they represented, at least. Rock Point suspected that it had been difficult for Seamount to sit on the artisan who'd built the matched set of pistols in their box on the desk. Traditionally, presentation weapons were seen as opportunities to show off the maker's artistic talents, as well as his practical ability. Under those rules, the pistols ought to have been finely engraved, and-undoubtedly-inlaid with gold and plaques of ivory. This time, the only decoration lay in the small golden medallions set into the pistols' butts, bearing the crossed cannons and kraken of the coat of arms his monarch had awarded to him with his title.

I guess Ahlfryd knows me better than most, Rock Point told himself with a fond smile. He knows how little use I have for wasted finery.

Even more than that, the admiral thought as he closed the box and latched it, Seamount knew how much he treasured functionality and practicality, and the sleek, beautifully blued pistols had both of those in abundance. They cocked with a glassy-smooth, satisfying "click," the triggers broke cleanly and crisply, and the rich scent of gun oil clung to the pistol case like subtle perfume. With rifled, side-by-side fifty-caliber barrels, an admiral who no longer possessed two working legs would still hold four men's lives in his hands, even if his footwork was no longer up to the highest standards of swordsmanship.

"Admiral Nylz and Captain Shain, Sir," Erayksyn murmured as the cabin door opened once more and he ushered the visitors into Rock Point's flag cabin.

"Thank you, Styvyn," Rock Point said, then smiled at his two subordinates as the flag lieutenant disappeared once more.

"Kohdy, Captain Shain," he said then. "Please, sit down." He waved one hand at the chairs waiting for them. "I'm sorry I wasn't on deck to greet you."

"No apologies are necessary, My Lord," Admiral Kohdy Nylz replied for both of them as they sat down, and Rock Point smiled again, this time a bit more crookedly, as he glanced down to where the calf of his right leg used to be.

"How is your leg, Sir?" Nylz asked, following the direction of his superior's eyes.

"Better." Rock Point looked back up with a small shrug. "They've fitted me with my peg, but they're still tinkering with it. Trying to get the angle right on the foot pad, more than anything else." He raised his truncated leg from the footstool on which it had rested and flexed the knee. "I'm lucky to still have the knee, of course, and the stump is healing well, but I'm getting a lot of irritation from the peg itself. I understand"-he shrugged again, this time ironically-"that Earl Mahndyr is having some of the same difficulties."

"So I've heard," Nylz acknowledged with a slight smile of his own. Rock Point's shattered lower leg had been amputated after the Battle of Darcos Sound, in which the fire of his flagship had already removed the left leg of Gharth Rahlstahn, the Earl of Mahndyr, who had commanded the Emeraldian Navy at the same battle. Rock Point's flagship in that battle, HMS Gale, had been damaged even more severely than her admiral, and would remain in dockyard hands undergoing repair for at least several more five-days yet.

"All things considered, I'm happier losing a leg than an arm," Rock Point said. "A sea officer doesn't spend a lot of time running foot races, anyway."

Nylz and Shain chuckled politely, and Rock Point snorted at their dutiful response to his minor jest. Then his expression sobered.

"So, what's this about young Hywyt?"

"I have his written report, Sir," Nylz said, opening the bulky dispatch case he'd brought with him and extracting a thin sheaf of paper. "It contains all the details, but the gist is simple enough. A Church dispatch boat tried to get past him to Eraystor. When it refused to halt, he fired a single shot across its bow, at which point its commander was wise enough to haul down his flag and surrender."

He makes it sound so simple, Rock Point thought. And, really, I suppose it is. Of course, the consequences aren't going to be.

"So there were no casualties?" he asked aloud.

"No, Sir," Nylz replied. "Not this time."

Rock Point grimaced at the qualifier, but he couldn't object to it. There was going to be a next time, after all, and eventually some stubborn, stiff-necked, intransigent Church courier was going to refuse to strike his flag and there were going to be quite a lot of casualties.

"Well," he observed, "it sounds like Hywyt did exactly what he was supposed to do. I'm assuming from what you've said, and the way you said it, that you agree with that conclusion?"

"Completely, Sir," Nylz said firmly.

"How did his people take it?"

"Well, overall, Sir." Nylz twitched his shoulders slightly. "Most of them appear to have taken it pretty much in stride. In fact, some of them seemed disappointed that they didn't get to fire into Father Rahss' ship after all. I got the impression when Hywyt delivered his personal report to me that at least one of his officers was . . . less excited, let's say, about the possibility, but if Hywyt had ordered them to fire, they would have."

"Good," Rock Point said, and wondered as he did whether or not he truly meant it.

He turned his chair slightly, listening to the creak of its swivel, so that he could gaze out the broad expanse of Destroyer's stern windows at the panoramic, sun-dancing blue mirror of Eraystor Bay. From where he sat, he could see the northern end of the tadpole shape of Long Island, and the sheltered water between Long Island, Callie's Island, and South Island had been turned into a Charisian anchorage once the fortifications on those islands had surrendered to the Marines.

In some ways, Rock Point was still a bit bemused by how readily those batteries and fortresses had surrendered when summoned. Colonel Hauwyrd Jynkyn, Rock Point's senior Marine officer, had never been able to assemble more than two or three battalions' worth of Marines from the fleet's shipboard detachments. Rock Point had been able to reinforce them with drafts of seamen, of course, especially from the surviving galleys, with their manpower-intensive crews. Still, it had been a distinctly motley landing force, even backed up by the heavy artillery ferried ashore from the fleet's galleons.

It was tempting to feel a degree of contempt for the Emeraldian commanders who'd hauled down their flags when faced by Jynkyn's summons to surrender. On the other hand, most of the fortifications had been badly undermanned themselves, with enough gunners to man the artillery against a naval attack, but insufficient infantry to hold out against a serious assault from the landward side. And with the destruction of the Emeraldian Navy, there'd been no way to prevent Rock Point from finding places he could put his troops and artillery ashore without interference from the defenders.

Besides which the totality of Emerald's naval defeat had devastated the defenders' morale before the first landing party ever set foot on any of those islands.

But all of that had been no more than the preliminaries. Most of the Charisian Navy and Marines were undoubtedly focused on finishing off their adversaries in Emerald and the League of Corisande, but that was going to take at least a little while, since there was the minor problem of exactly what the kingdom was going to use for an army. Seizing island bases, sealing off major ports with blockading squadrons, and annihilating the merchant fleets of their enemies was one thing, and Rock Point had no doubt the Navy and Marines had the resources to manage those tasks. Actually invading someplace like Emerald-or, even worse, Corisande-was something else entirely.

And even if--when-we manage to deal with Nahrmahn and Hektor, it's still only the beginning, he thought grimly. I wonder how many of our people really understand that? Right this minute, they're still so infuriated by what the Group of Four tried to do to us that I don't doubt Hywyt's men were ready to fire into that dispatch boat. But what happens later, when they realize-really realize, deep down inside--that our true enemy, our dangerous enemy, isn't Hektor or Nahrmahn. It's the Church herself.

No admiral, no general-no kingdom-had ever before faced that reality. Charis did, and a part of Sir Domynyk Staynair felt an icy shiver of dread whenever he thought about the dark, trackless future into which he and his kingdom were voyaging.

"Did Hywyt happen to capture whatever dispatches they were carrying?" he asked, and his eyebrows rose as Nylz gave a harsh crack of laughter.

"I asked something amusing?" he inquired, and the other admiral shook his head.

"Not really, My Lord," he said, although he was still smiling. "It's just that the Church is going to have to rethink some of its standard procedures, I suspect. It seems Father Rahss didn't have a dispatch bag at all, much less a weighted one. All the documents he was charged to deliver were locked in a strongbox in his cabin. A strongbox which was bolted to the deck, as a matter of fact."

"Bolted to the deck?" Rock Point blinked, and Nylz nodded.

"Obviously, the Church hasn't given any thought to the possibility that any of her couriers might be intercepted. Their procedures for handling their dispatches have been more concerned with the documents' internal security during transit than they have with keeping them out of anyone else's unauthorized hands. So, instead of carrying them in a weighted bag, they lock them up in the captain's quarters. And"-he shook his head-"it takes two keys to unlock the box. The captain has one; the purser has the other."

Rock Point looked at him for a moment, then shook his own head, wondering how long it would take the Church's thinking to adjust to the new reality and change the way her dispatch boats handled her correspondence.

"I assume Commander Hywyt managed to secure both keys?" he said mildly.

"Actually, I believe he said something about prybars, Sir," Captain Shain said, speaking up for the first time and smiling wickedly. "From what he had to say to me while he was waiting to see Admiral Nylz, this Father Rahss at least managed to get his key thrown over the side before Wave's people went aboard. I don't know if he actually thought that was going to stop Hywyt, but apparently he just about died of apoplexy when Hywyt broke the strongbox open. I think he more than half expected lightning to strike Hywyt dead on the spot."

"Which, obviously, it didn't," Rock Point said dryly. He supposed he was pleased to see Shain's amusement at the thought, yet he couldn't help wondering if the rest of his officers and men would share the flag captain's reaction.

"I've brought the captured documents with me, My Lord," Nylz said, reaching down and patting his dispatch case. "I've also had duplicate copies made, just in case. Unfortunately, they appear to be in some sort of cipher."

"I suppose that's not too surprising," Rock Point said. "Irritating, but not surprising." He shrugged. "We'll just have to send them back to Tellesberg. Perhaps Baron Wave Thunder and his people will be able to decipher them."

And if they can't, I'm sure Seijin Merlin can, he reflected.

"Yes, My Lord."

"Please pass my compliments to Commander Hywyt for a job well done. He and his people seem to have developed a knack for being in the right place at the right time when there's prize money to be won, don't they?"

"So far, at least," Nylz agreed. "I am getting a few requests to let someone else have a crack at Wave's station, though."

"It's not her station, Sir," Shain snorted. "It's her speed. Well, that and the fact that Hywyt really does have a knack for this sort of work."

"He'd better enjoy it while he can," Rock Point said. Nylz raised an eyebrow, and Rock Point smiled. "I just received dispatches of my own from Earl Lock Island. Among other things, he's asked me to nominate commanding officers for some of the new galleons, and it sounds to me as if young Hywyt might be the sort of captain we're looking for."

.VI.

Royal Palace,

City of Eraystor,

Princedom of Emerald

Prince Nahrmahn of Emerald was not a happy man.

There were many reasons for that, starting with what had happened to his navy, followed by the fact that he no longer had control even of Eraystor Bay, beyond the reach of the waterfront's defensive batteries. And by the fact that he could hardly expect King Cayleb to overlook his own attempted assassination or the part one Prince Nahrmahn had played in arranging it. Then there was the way in which he and his entire princedom had been forced to become the junior partners-almost the vassals-of Hektor of Corisande under the Group of Four's master plan for the destruction of Charis.

And, of course, there'd been this morning's delightful interview with Bishop Executor Wyllys.

He stood gazing out the palace window at the vast blue expanse of the bay. Emerald's merchant marine had never been very large, compared to that of Charis, or even Corisande, but these days the waterfront wharves were crowded with merchant ships which dared not put to sea, and more of them lay to anchors and buoys farther out. The naval yard's anchorages and slips, on the other hand, were virtually empty. Nine galleys-the total surviving strength of Nahrmahn's navy-huddled pathetically together, as if for some sort of mutual comfort.

There were two additional galleys anchored off to one side, and Nahrmahn glowered at the big, twin-masted ships. They were the only prizes the Duke of Black Water's fleet had managed to capture before Haarahld and Cayleb of Charis annihilated his own ships in return. They'd just happened to be here in Eraystor when the hammer came down on Black Water, although Nahrmahn didn't expect any of his erstwhile "allies" to believe in the coincidence which had "fortuitously" left him in possession.

Nahrmahn had gone down to examine the captured ships personally the day they'd arrived. He was no experienced naval officer himself, but even he'd been able to follow the explanations about the peculiar Charisian artillery mountings and the reasons for the new weapons' effectiveness. Not that understanding made him feel any better, especially when he reflected upon the fact that as the geographically closest member of the alliance against Charis, he was virtually certain to be the first recipient of King Cayleb's attention. As, indeed, the seizure of his capital city's outlying island defenses only emphasized.

He turned as the chamber door opened and Trahvys Ohlsyn, the Earl of Pine Hollow, and Commodore Hainz Zhaztro came through it.

Pine Hollow was Nahrmahn's cousin, as well as his first councilor, and one of the relatively few courtiers whose loyalty the prince truly trusted. Zhaztro, on the other hand, was the senior-in fact, the only-Emeraldian squadron commander to have returned from the Battle of Darcos Sound. There were those, Nahrmahn knew, who cherished suspicions about Zhaztro-about his courage, as well as his loyalty-simply because he was the most senior officer to come home again. Nahrmahn himself, somewhat to the surprise of many, did not. The fact that Zhaztro's flagship had suffered over thirty percent casualties and was so badly damaged that she'd gradually settled to the bottom after she'd managed to claw her way back to the naval yard Was all the recommendation the commodore had needed as far as Nahrmahn was concerned.

"You wanted to see both of us, My Prince?" Pine Hollow said with a bow, and Nahrmahn nodded.

"Yes," he said with uncharacteristic shortness, and waved for the two of them to join him by the window.

Pine Hollow and Zhaztro obeyed the beckoned command, and the first councilor wondered if the naval officer realized how atypical Nahrmahn's attitude had been for the past several five-days. Unless Pine Hollow was mistaken, his short, round prince was actually losing weight. Some people probably wouldn't have been particularly surprised to find a prince in Nahrmahn's position doing that, but Pine Hollow had known his cousin from childhood, and he couldn't remember anything that had ever managed to put Nahrmahn off his feed. Nor did the prince fit the image of a depressed man sinking listlessly into despair. As a matter of fact, Nahrmahn actually seemed more focused, more energetic, than Pine Hollow had ever before seen him.

"I've just finished entertaining Bishop Executor Wyllys," the prince told his two subordinates as he looked back out the window. "He was here to express his . . . unhappiness over what happened to his dispatch boat yesterday."

Pine Hollow glanced at Zhaztro, but the commodore only gazed calmly and attentively at Nahrmahn. The naval officer's phlegmatic personality was part of what had commended him so strongly to Nahrmahn, the first councilor suspected.

"I explained to His Eminence," Nahrmahn continued, "that this sort of thing happens when someone else's navy is in control of one's home waters. He responded to that by telling me that it had never before happened to one of Mother Church's vessels, a fact of which"-he turned to smile thinly at the others-"it may astound you to learn, I was already aware."

Despite himself, Pine Hollow felt his eyes widen at Nahrmahn's desert-dry tone.

"The question I have for you, Commodore," the prince said, "is whether or not there's any way you can think of that we could somehow guarantee the security of future Church dispatch vessels arriving here at Eraystor?"

"Honestly? No, Your Highness," Zhaztro said without hesitation. "Up until yesterday, I would have said there was at least an even chance the Charisians would allow Church-flagged couriers to pass through the blockade unhindered. In fact, I would have said the chances were considerably better than even, frankly." He shrugged very slightly. "Apparently, I would have been wrong. And given their presence here in the bay, and their obvious willingness to risk the Church's anger, I don't see any way we can prevent them from doing exactly the same thing over again anytime they want to."

"I see." Nahrmahn's tone was calm, Pine Hollow noted, without even a hint of displeasure at Zhaztro's devastating frankness.

"If I might make a suggestion, Your Highness?" the commodore said after a moment, and Nahrmahn nodded for him to continue.

"Eraystor isn't the only port in Emerald," Zhaztro pointed out. 'And Cayleb doesn't begin to have enough ships to shut down every fishing port along our coasts, as we're already demonstrating. There are several places where I feel confident couriers could make a safe landfall and send any dispatches overland to the capital."

"That's exactly what I was thinking myself," Nahrmahn agreed. "In fact, I've already made that suggestion to the Bishop Executor. He didn't seem overly pleased by the prospect." The prince's thin smile showed the tips of his teeth. "I think he feels it comports poorly with the Church's dignity to require her messengers to 'creep around in the shadows like poachers avoiding the bailiff,' as he put it."

Nahrmahn's voice was even drier than before, Pine Hollow noticed, and the first councilor felt a distinct flicker of uneasiness. Nahrmahn's position was grim enough without his openly antagonizing the Church's official representative in Emerald.

And, of course, the position of Emerald's first councilor depended almost entirely upon that of its prince.

"I'm sorry to hear His Eminence feels that way," Zhaztro said politely, and Nahrmahn actually chuckled.

"I'm sure you are, Commodore."

The prince shook his head, then shrugged.

"Well, Commodore, that was really the only question I had for you. I can't say your answer surprises me, but that's certainly not your fault. Would you be so good as to draw up a list of the best alternate landing sites for future Church messengers so that I could get it to the Bishop Executor by tomorrow morning?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

Zhaztro bowed, clearly recognizing his dismissal, and withdrew. Nahrmahn watched the door close behind him, then looked at his cousin.

"I can't say I'm delighted about the attached price tag, Trahvys," he observed almost whimsically, "but at least the reaming Haarahld and Cayleb gave us has brought one worthwhile officer to my attention."

Pine Hollow nodded. Zhaztro's apparent immunity to the gloom, doom, and despair which had sent most of the Emeraldian Navy's surviving senior officers' morale plunging was remarkable. The commodore had to be aware of the near hopelessness of Emerald's position, but instead of dwelling upon it, he was actively seeking ways to strike back at Charis. As he had just finished Pointing out, the Royal Charisian Navy lacked sufficient ships to blockade every Emeraldian port, and Zhaztro was busy fitting out light, jury-rigged cruisers as commerce raiders in every harbor with a boatyard. Most of them would be little more than lightly armed, outsized rowing skiffs or hastily converted-and even more lightly armed-merchantmen. Neither type could hope to stand up to any sort of regular man-of-war, even one without the devilish new Charisian artillery, but they could capture and destroy lumbering, lightly armed-or completely unarmed-merchantmen, and commerce raiding was probably the one way in which Emerald could hope to actually hurt-or inconvenience, at least-Charis.

Not that it was going to do any good in the end, of course.

Nahrmahn continued to gaze out the window for two or three more minutes without speaking. Pine Hollow knew the prince's eyes were following the grayish-tan pyramids of the Charisian galleons' weathered sails as they glided slowly, slowly across Eraystor Bay.

"You know," Nahrmahn said finally, "the more I think about how we got into this mess, the more pissed off I get."

He turned away from the Charisian warships and looked his cousin in the eye.