Nor had it been possible for Sahdlyr to rectify those shortcomings. Actually training any large body of men required space and time, and it wasn’t something which could be done in secret in the middle of a Shan-wei-damned city. He’d done his best, but the unfortunate truth was that he’d been largely restricted to lecturing Father Saimyn’s “officers” on theory, and that was no substitute for hands-on time working with their weapons and their troops. He’d deeply envied his fellows who’d been sent to less citified parts of the operation. Scattered around the estates of Temple Loyalists in the Republic’s central and western provinces, where farmers, foresters, miners, and rural craftsmen already resented the wealth of the eastern provinces’ urban populations, they’d been able to actually drill the men they were responsible for leading. They’d been able to put them together and train them as units, accustomed to taking orders and obeying them.
Sahdlyr had warned Father Saimyn-and even Father Zohannes-that without the same opportunity, he and his subordinate commanders were unlikely to retain control of their units here in the capital when the day finally came. It wasn’t the men’s motivation he mistrusted. It wasn’t even their willingness to take orders; it was their… reliability. They’d never been given the chance to acquire the habit of obeying their officers when the violence actually began.
But had Father Saimyn listened? Of course he hadn’t! And neither had Father Zohannes. Or Sahdlyr was confident neither of them had allowed it to color any of their reports to Archbishop Wyllym or the Grand Inquisitor, at any rate. And Father Saimyn was probablyprobably -right that it wasn’t going to matter in the end.
It had become apparent over the last few five-days that the government had started to realize, at least dimly, that trouble was brewing. They obviously hadn’t guessed how deep their danger truly was, however, or they’d have taken more precautions. True, Daryus Parkair’s decision to empty most of the Capital Militia’s arsenals and send the weapons to be held under guard at Fort Raimyr, the main Army base north of the city, had deprived the insurgents of arms Father Saimyn had assumed would be available. But Fort Raimyr was fifteen miles from the capital and the Army was understrength at the moment. Despite a few belated troop movements, there couldn’t be more than five thousand men stationed at Raimyr, and they were peacetime soldiers with a peacetime mentality. They’d need time to get themselves organized and move, and they’d be badly outnumbered if even two-thirds of the men Father Saimyn had promised would join the insurgency actually turned up.
There was time, Sahdlyr told himself, and so far the uprising’s sheer suddenness and ferocity were carrying everything before them, but it was messy. And it was throwing him behind schedule. He should already have reached Constitution Square and the Lord Protector’s Palace, and here he was instead, trying to drag his men away from the arson and looting-and, undoubtedly, rape, he thought bleakly, looking at a half-naked young woman lying sprawled in death almost at his feet-going on throughout the Charisian Quarter.
Damn it, Father Saimyn and Bahzkai had other groups poised and ready for that part of the operation, and they were doing it. The smoke and screams-and bodies-were proof enough of that! He was supposed to be making certain Stohnar and his accursed minions didn’t manage to escape. The last thing they needed was for those bastards to get away to someplace like Charis and try to foment trouble back here on the mainland from their safe, comfortable exile!
“They can have all the slack they want once we’ve got Stohnar and his Council in the bag!” he snapped now, glaring at Kaillyt. “Are they here to do God’s will, or simply to steal anything they can’t burn?!”
The question came out with deliberate, sneering contempt, and Kaillyt’s eyes flashed with anger. Which was exactly what Sahdlyr had wanted.
“We’re not just a bunch of thieves!” he shot back furiously.
“No?” Sahdlyr matched him glare for glare for a moment, then allowed his own expression to soften… slightly. “I don’t think you are,” he said, “but that’s what we’re acting like, and we’ve got more important things to do!” He held the other man’s eyes for another heartbeat, then hardened his voice again. “So let’s get them moving again, shall we?”
Kaillyt looked around, as if truly seeing the confusion and the chaos for the first time. Then he gave himself a visible shake and looked back at Sahdlyr.
“Yes, Sir!” His sword flipped up in salute. “I’ll do that little thing.”
He turned away and started bellowing orders at their smaller unit commanders, and Sahdlyr nodded in satisfaction.
“Langhorne!” Greyghor Stohnar muttered, standing on the balcony of one of the Lord Protector’s Palace’s ornate towers.
The official seat of the Republic’s government had never been designed as a serious fortification. Its defense was the Siddarmarkian Army and its pikemen, not stone and mortar. Now, as he watched smoke rising over the city-and not just over the Charisian Quarter, any longer-he found himself wishing its architects had given just a little more attention to stopping blood-maddened street mobs short of the Chamber of the Senate and the Hall of Records.
And don’t forget about short of your own hide, Greyghor, he reminded himself grimly.
“Where the hell are they all coming from?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Henrai Maidyn admitted. The Chancellor pointed out across the city at the scores of smoke columns rising from the Charisian Quarter. “I didn’t think they had enough manpower to do that and come after the Palace.” He shook his head, and his expression was grim.
Stohnar nodded. Part of him wanted to lash out at Maidyn and point out that it had been his job to determine what was actually coming, but it would have been pointless. It would have been unfair, too, for that matter. The Chancellor had brought Stohnar regular reports, and the Lord Protector had agreed with his conclusions. Only it appeared they’d both been wrong.
“We should have detailed more troops to protect the Palace,” Maidyn continued. “It’s my fault. I’m the one who-”
“It’s not ‘your fault,’ Henrai,” Stohnar interrupted. “I agreed with you and Samyl that we had to give priority to protecting the Quarter.” He laughed harshly. “Not that it appears we’re doing a lot of good over there, either!”
“Where the hell is Daryus?” Maidyn demanded, wheeling to glare towards the north. “What the hell is taking him so long?”
“Probably more of that, ” Stohnar replied, gesturing disgustedly at the burning tenements of the Charisian Quarter. “Or more crap like it.” He shrugged angrily. “I was wrong not to go ahead and muster the Regulars right here in the city and the hell with keeping them out at Raimyr.”
“Without a better indication the wyvern was about to take flight, you couldn’t risk warning-”
“Spare me the excuses,” Stohnar said wearily.
Unlike Maidyn, the Lord Protector had risen to regimental command before he left the Army, returned to his native Siddar City, and entered politics. He should have remembered, he told herself. Whatever the arguments in favor of making certain Clyntahn was clearly guilty of the first move, he should have paid more attention to Daryus Parkair’s argument that it was even more important they hang on to the capital in the first place. They could always argue over who’d started what later-assuming they survived to do the arguing-the Seneschal had observed acidly. And nobody who was inclined to believe Clyntahn in the first place would be impressed by any claims the Republic was an innocent victim of the Grand Inquisitor’s lust for vengeance, no matter how truthful they were.