There were those, Stohnar knew, who felt the Grand Vicar was casting too wide a net. Who pointed out—quietly—that some of the accused had acted not as Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s tools but from the genuine belief that God Himself had called them to extirpate heresy by any means necessary.
Maybe they truly thought they were serving God, the lord protector thought now. And maybe in some grand scheme of things that makes a difference. But it doesn’t make one to me, by God.
Twenty-six million people had lived in the third of the Republic which had been occupied by the Army of God. Seven million of them had been murdered in Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s concentration camps. Another four and a half million had died during the Sword of Schueler’s violence or perished more slowly from starvation or exposure trying to escape it. And another four and a half million had fled from the Republic, or been forcibly resettled to the Temple Lands by the Church’s military. Eleven and a half million dead and four and a half million refugees represented twelve percent of the Republic’s pre-Jihad population, and that didn’t count the military casualties suffered by the Siddarmarkian Army, both during the Sword of Schueler and after it.
The refugees, especially, were going to be a thorny issue. The hatred between the Temple Loyalists who’d supported the Sword of Schueler and the Church’s invasion and those who’d remained loyal to the Republic was arsenic-bitter and as deep as the Western Ocean. Stohnar didn’t know if it could ever be healed … and even if it could, it would be the work of generations.
Ultimately, we’ll have to find some way to address the refugees’ status. Figure out if they can ever come home—or, for that matter, what happens to property they abandoned when they refugeed out. But I’ll be damned if I see any answers. Hell, at least a quarter of them are probably guilty of murder! So do we insist on trying to investigate them all somehow? Figure out who’s guilty and hang the bastards? Or do we admit we can’t do that at this point? Just let them all come home with some sort of blanket amnesty, if that’s what they want? And how the hell do I keep the Sword’s survivors from massacring them all if they do?
A solution—or, at least, a resolution—would have to be found … eventually. That was why he and the Grand Vicar had appointed Arthyn Zagyrsk, the Archbishop of Tarikah, Zhasyn Cahnyr, and Dahnyld Fardhym to a commission which was very quietly attempting to address the issue. Stohnar didn’t expect them to succeed, but if anyone could find an answer, it would probably be those three.
And the truth is that dealing with that one is probably the easy part!
Despite all Grand Vicar Rhobair’s efforts, a chasm yawned between the Temple and Siddarmark, one Stohnar doubted could ever be fully bridged. Too many in Siddarmark had lost too much—and too many—to the atrocities the Temple had permitted to happen. Perhaps a quarter of Siddarmark’s remaining population self-identified as Temple Loyalists. Another twenty percent had formally embraced the Church of Charis. But that left over half who weren’t prepared to become members of the Church of Charis but were equally determined never to submit to the doctrinal authority of the Temple again.
I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing how all that settles out. At least Duchairn’s been smart enough to officially proclaim that neither the Church of Charis nor the “Church of Siddarmark” is—or ever was—heretical.
The Church of Charis continued to deny the authority of the Grand Vicar, whoever that Grand Vicar might be, which constituted a significant violation of church law. But Grand Vicar Rhobair had declared that there was a difference between church law and church doctrine, and that so long as any church adhered to the teachings and requirements of the Holy Writ, it could never be heretical. He held out hopes—officially, at least—that reconciliation and reunification might someday be possible.
Might get the first of those, Stohnar thought. No way in hell is he going to get reunification—not with Charis. But maybe reconciliation and peaceful coexistence will be good enough. Surely to God we’ve all learned that oceans of blood aren’t the way to resolve doctrinal dis—
“Excuse me, Your Majesties.”
A deep voice pulled Stohnar up out of his thoughts.
“Yes, Merlin?” Emperor Cayleb said, turning to face the seijin who’d just entered the sitting room.
“Merlin!” the crown princess squealed, holding out her arms to her godfather, and the tall, armored seijin laughed.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he told her, touching the tip of her nose with an index finger. “I’ve got the duty tonight.”
“Oh.” Alahnah frowned, but she was the daughter of monarchs. She’d already started learning about duty. “Breakfast?”
“Probably not.” Merlin’s sapphire eyes met Cayleb’s. “There’s something the grown-ups have to do tomorrow morning. I think it’ll probably keep us busy at least until lunchtime, but I’ll see you then.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, promise. Satisfied, Your Imperial Highness?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her nose in a credible imitation of one of her father’s sniffs. Merlin chuckled, but then he looked back at Cayleb and Sharleyan.
“Earl Thirsk and his daughters have arrived,” he told them. “I showed them to the dining room. Irys and Hektor are keeping them company, and I told them you’d be joining them shortly.”
“Was Archbishop Staiphan able to come?” Sharleyan asked, reaching up to lift Alahnah down from her perch.
“Not yet, Your Majesty. Earl Thirsk tells me the Archbishop’s been delayed but still hopes to be able to join you this evening. The Earl’s best estimate is that he’ll be another hour or so. And he says the Archbishop specifically ordered him to tell you not to wait supper. Something about warming pans, chafing dishes, and desecrating the second-best kitchen in Siddar City.”
“That sounds like him.” Cayleb chuckled, then looked at his daughter. “Now, let me see. Would you rather eat the supper with a bunch of boring grown-ups or eat upstairs in the nursery with Zhosifyn and Zhudyth?”
“Upstairs!” Alahnah said promptly, and Cayleb shook his head mournfully.
“Abandoned again,” he sighed.
“I’ll take her, Your Majesty,” Glahdys Parkyr said, and Sharleyan kissed the top of her head before she passed her across to the nanny.
“I wonder how many dynastic alliances come out of suppers in nurseries?” Stohnar mused as Alahnah was carried away, waving a grand farewell to the adults, and it was Sharleyan’s turn to chuckle.
“I don’t know if it’s going to turn into a ‘dynastic alliance,’ My Lord, but I can’t see how well she and Earl Thirsk’s granddaughters get along hurting anyway!”
That was one way to put it, Stohnar reflected. Lywys Gardynyr had been confirmed not simply as First Councilor of Dohlar but as regent to King Rahnyld V, following Rahnyld IV’s abdication. It would be a four-year regency, and given Thirsk’s age, he’d probably retire as soon as he’d seen his new king take up his crown in his own right. It looked as if the youngster would be a marked improvement on his father, who—to be fair—had never wanted to be king, and if Thirsk planned on retiring, Sir Rainos Ahlverez, the newly created Earl of Dragon Island and the Duke of Salthar’s successor on the Royal Council, would maintain a certain continuity. For that matter, Staiphan Maik, the new Archbishop of Dohlar, was also a member of the Regency Council, and unless he wound up elevated to the vicarate—a distinct possibility, at least in a few years—he’d be yet another steadying influence on the youngster.