‘Do they vote now?’ Talen whispered to Sparhawk.
‘I don’t know,’ Sparhawk admitted. ‘That’s up to Makova. He’s holding the chair at the moment.’
‘I’d really like to see a vote, Sparhawk,’ Talen said urgently.
‘Aren’t you sure of your numbers?’ Sparhawk said it with a certain apprehension.
‘Of course I am, but numbers are only numbers. A lot of things can happen when you get people involved in something. Take that, for example.’ Talen pointed at a page hurriedly carrying a note from the nine uncommitted Patriarchs to Dolmant. ‘What are they up to now?’
‘They probably want to know why Dolmant suddenly stopped offering them money,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Their votes are worthless at this point, although they probably don’t fully understand that as yet.’
‘What do you think they’ll do now?’
‘Who knows?’ Sparhawk shrugged, ‘and who cares?’
Makova, standing at the lectern, glanced over a sheaf of notes. Then he looked up and cleared his throat. ‘Before we move on to our initial vote, my brothers,’ he began, ‘a matter of great urgency has just come to my attention. As some of you may be aware, the Zemochs are massing on the eastern border of Lamorkand with obviously warlike intent. I believe that we may expect with some certainty that Otha will invade the west – possibly within the next few days. It is, therefore, vital that the deliberations of this body be concluded with all possible haste. Our new Archprelate will be faced almost immediately upon his elevation with the direst crisis to face our Church and her faithful sons in the past five centuries.’
‘What’s he doing?’ Sir Bevier whispered to Sparhawk. ‘Everybody in Chyrellos knows that Otha’s already in eastern Lamorkand.’
‘He’s stalling,’ Sparhawk said, frowning, ‘but he doesn’t have any reason to stall.’
‘What’s Annias up to?’ Tynian asked, glaring across the audience chamber at the Primate of Cimmura, who sat smiling smugly.
‘He’s waiting for something to happen,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘What?’
‘I don’t have any idea, but Makova’s going to keep talking until it does.’
Then Berit slipped into the audience chamber, his face pale and his eyes wild. He half-stumbled up the stairs and pushed his way along the bench to where Sparhawk sat. ‘Sir Sparhawk!’ he burst out.
‘Keep your voice down, Berit!’ Sparhawk hissed. ‘Sit down and pull yourself together!’
Berit sat and drew in a deep breath.
‘All right,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Speak quietly and tell us what’s happening.’
‘There are two armies approaching Chyrellos, My Lord,’ the novice said tersely.
‘Two?’ Ulath said in some surprise. Then he spread his hands. ‘Maybe Wargun split his forces for some reason.’
‘It’s not King Wargun’s army, Sir Ulath,’ Berit said. ‘As soon as we saw them coming, some Church Knights rode out to find out just who was approaching the city. The ones coming down from the north seem to be Lamorks.’
‘Lamorks?’ Tynian asked, puzzled. ‘What are they doing here? They should be on the border facing Otha.’
‘I don’t think these particular Lamorks are interested in Otha, My Lord,’ Berit told him. ‘Some of the knights who rode out were Pandions, and they identified the leaders of the Lamork army as Adus and Krager.’
‘What?’ Kalten exclaimed.
‘Keep it quiet, Kalten!’ Sparhawk grated. ‘And the other army, Berit?’ he asked, although he already knew the answer.
‘Mostly Rendors, My Lord, but there are a fair number of Cammorians as well.’
‘And their leader?’
‘Martel, My Lord.’
PART TWO
The Archprelate
Chapter 10
Patriarch Makova’s voice droned on and on as morning sunlight streamed into the audience chamber through the foot-thick, triangular panes of leaded crystal in a large round window high up in the wall behind the shrouded throne of the Archprelate. Dust motes hovered golden in those morning streams of light, tracing the elongated outline of each perfect triangle in the still, unmoving air. Makova spoke at great length about the horrors of the Zemoch war some five centuries ago and then went into a detailed analysis of the failures of Church policy during that period of turmoil.
Sparhawk scribbled a brief note to Dolmant, Emban and the Preceptors to advise them of the armies approaching the Holy City.
‘Will the church soldiers defend Chyrellos?’ Bevier whispered.
‘I think the best we can hope for is some token resistance,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘What’s keeping Wargun?’ Kalten demanded of Ulath.
‘I can’t even begin to guess.’
‘Might this not be a good time to make our apologies and leave quietly?’ Tynian suggested. ‘Makova’s not really telling us anything we don’t already know.’
‘Let’s see what Dolmant says first,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I don’t want to give Annias any clues about what we might do at this point. We know why he was stalling now, but let’s see what he does next. It’s going to take Martel a while to deploy his forces anyway, so we’ve got time yet.’
‘Not very much,’ Tynian muttered.
‘The usual course of action in such circumstances is to demolish the bridges,’ Bevier advised. ‘That would delay the approaching armies.’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘There are ten different bridges across those two rivers, Bevier, and we only have four hundred knights. I don’t think we dare risk those men just for the sake of a few hours’ delay.’
‘Not to mention the fact that the Lamorks coming from the north won’t have any bridges to cross at all,’ Tynian added.
The door to the ornate audience chamber opened, and an excited monk hurried to the lectern, his sandals slapping on the polished marble floor and the breath of his passing setting the illuminated dust-motes hanging in the sunny triangles to swirling and dancing. The monk bowed deeply and handed Makova a folded sheet of paper.
Makova quickly read the message, and a thin smile of triumph crossed his pock-marked face. ‘I have just received some important information, my brothers,’ he announced. ‘Two sizeable bodies of pilgrims are approaching Chyrellos. While I know that many of us are other-worldly and abstracted from current events, it’s no secret that certain tensions exist in Eosia at this time. Mightn’t it be wise of us to adjourn so that we may use such resources available to us to gather more information about these men so that we might better assess the situation?’ He looked around. ‘Without objection, it is so ordered. The Hierocracy stands in recess until tomorrow morning.’