At the Sign of Triumph (Safehold) by David Weber

Author:David Weber [Weber, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2016-11-08T03:30:00+00:00

.IV.

Royal Palace,

City of Gorath,

Kingdom of Dohlar.

The three men seated at one end of the vast, richly polished table looked up as someone knocked sharply on the chamber door. The door opened and a tallish, brown-haired man in his early fifties stepped through it.

“Bishop Executor Wylsynn and Father Ahbsahlahn are here, Your Grace,” he said quietly.

“I see.” Samyl Cahkrayn, the Duke of Fern, glanced across the table at his companions, then back at the man in the doorway. “Thank you, Lawrync,” he said. “Please, escort them in.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Lawrync Servahntyz had been Fern’s personal secretary for almost eighteen years. During those years, he’d seen a great deal, and very few things could disturb his monumental aplomb. Yet there was an unusual edge of something very like anxiety in his brown eyes as he bowed to his patron. Whatever it was, it seemed to have vanished by the time he straightened, stepped back a pace, and closed the door once more.

It opened again, twenty seconds later, and all three of the men at the table rose as he reappeared, followed by Bishop Executor Wylsynn Lainyr and Father Ahbsahlahn Kharmych.

“Your Grace, Bishop Executor Wylsynn and Father Ahbsahlahn.”

Few introductions had ever been more superfluous, and Fern stepped forward to kiss Lainyr’s extended ring.

“Your Eminence,” the Dohlaran first councilor murmured as he straightened. “You honor us with your presence.”

“It’s my honor to be so courteously received by such loyal defenders of Mother Church,” Lainyr replied.

The dukes of Thorast and Salthar came forward to kiss Lainyr’s ring in turn, and Fern waved the bishop executor to the seat of honor at the far end of the gleaming table. The tallish Kharmych—Lainyr was above average in height, but the intendant was both seven years younger and a head and a half taller—took the chair at his superior’s right elbow. Servahntyz opened the rollup top of the desk in one corner and started to seat himself, prepared to take notes, but Lainyr’s raised hand stopped him. Duke Fern raised one eyebrow in polite interrogation, and the bishop executor shook his head ever so slightly.

“Thank you, Lawrync,” Fern said after only the briefest of pauses. “I don’t believe we’ll need notes for today’s meeting.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Servahntyz replied. He closed the desk once more, then bowed to Lainyr and Kharmych. “Your Eminence, Father,” he murmured, and withdrew, closing the ornately carved council room door silently behind him.

Silence hovered for a second or two, then Lainyr cleared his throat.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Your Grace,” he said to Fern.

“Your Eminence, you’re Bishop Executor of Dohlar,” Fern observed a bit dryly. “We can usually make a little time in our busy schedules when you think you need a word with us.”

“I know.” Lainyr smiled briefly. “I also know that isn’t always easy, though, because you truly do have very busy schedules, all of you. That’s true at any time, but I’m painfully well aware that it’s even truer at this moment. Indeed, I wouldn’t intrude on you if a matter of some considerable importance hadn’t been brought to my attention.

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