‘Nothing out of the ordinary, Makova,’ Emban replied. ‘Dolmant and I are merely escorting some of our brother Patriarchs in to join in our deliberations.’

‘I see no Patriarchs,’ Makova snapped.

‘Don’t be tiresome, Makova. All the world knows that the Preceptors of the militant orders hold rank equal to ours and are, therefore, members of the Hierocracy.’

Makova glanced quickly at a weedy-looking monk sitting off to one side at a table piled high with massive books and ancient scrolls. ‘Will the assemblage hear the words of the law clerk on this matter?’ he asked.

There was a rumble of assent, though the looks of consternation on the faces of at least some of the Patriarchs clearly showed that they already knew the answer. The weedy monk consulted several large tomes, then rose, cleared his throat and spoke in a rusty-sounding voice. ‘His Grace, the Patriarch of Ucera, has correctly cited the law,’ he said. ‘The Preceptors of the militant orders are indeed members of the Hierocracy, and the names of the current holders of those offices have been duly entered in the rolls of this body. The Preceptors have not chosen to participate in deliberations for some two centuries past, but they have the rank nonetheless.’

‘Authority not exercised no longer exists,’ Makova snapped.

‘I’m afraid that’s not entirely true, Your Grace,’ the monk apologized. ‘There are many historical precedents for resuming participation. At one time, the Patriarchs of the kingdom of Arcium refused to participate in the deliberations of the Hierocracy for eight hundred years as a result of a dispute over proper vestments, and –’

‘All right. All right,’ Makova said angrily, ‘but these armoured assassins have no right to be here.’ He glared at the knights.

‘Wrong again, Makova,’ Emban said smugly. ‘By definition, the Church Knights are members of religious orders. Their vows are no less binding and legitimate than ours. They are thus Churchmen and may act as observers – provided that they are invited by a sitting Patriarch.’ He turned. ‘Sir Knights,’ he said, ‘would you be so good as to accept my personal invitation to witness our proceedings?’

Makova looked quickly at the scholarly monk, and the weedy fellow nodded.

‘What it boils down to, Makova,’ Emban said in an unctuous tone tinged with malice, ‘is that the Knights of the Church have as much right to be present as the serpent Annias, who sits in unearned splendour in the north gallery – chewing his lower lip in dismay, I note.’

‘You go too far, Emban!’

‘I don’t really think so, old boy. Shall we take a vote on something, Makova, and find out how much your support has been eroded?’ Emban looked around. ‘But we’re interrupting the proceedings. I pray you, my brother Patriarchs and dear guests, let us take our seats so that the Hierocracy may continue its empty deliberations.’

‘Empty?’ Makova gasped.

‘Totally empty, old boy. Until Cluvonus dies, nothing we decide here has any meaning whatsoever. We’re simply amusing ourselves – and earning our pay, of course.’

‘That’s a very offensive little man,’ Tynian murmured to Ulath.

‘Good though,’ the huge Genidian Knight grinned.

Sparhawk knew exactly where he was going. ‘You,’ he muttered to Talen, who had probably been admitted by mistake, ‘come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To irritate an old friend,’ Sparhawk grinned mirthlessly. He led the boy up the stairs to an upper gallery where the emaciated Primate of Cimmura sat with a writing desk in front of him and a fair number of black-robed sycophants on either side. Sparhawk and Talen went to places on the bench directly behind Annias. Sparhawk saw that Ulath, Berit and Tynian were following, and he waved them off warningly even as Dolmant and Emban escorted the armoured Preceptors to places on the lower, cushioned tiers.

Sparhawk knew that Annias sometimes blurted things out when he was surprised, and he wanted to find out if his enemy had in any way been involved in the attempted mass poisoning at Dolmant’s house that morning. ‘Why, can that possibly be the Primate of Cimmura?’ he said in feigned surprise. ‘What on earth are you doing so far away from home, Annias?’

Annias turned to glare at him. ‘What are you up to, Sparhawk?’ he hissed.

‘Observing, that’s all,’ Sparhawk replied, removing his helmet and depositing his gauntlets in it. He unbuckled his shield and removed his sword-belt. He leaned them against the back of Annias’s seat. ‘Will those be in your way, neighbour?’ he asked mildly. ‘It’s a bit hard to sit down comfortably when you’re so encumbered with the tools of your trade, you know.’ He sat. ‘How have you been, Annias? I haven’t seen you for months now.’ He paused. ‘You’re looking a bit gaunt and pasty-faced, old boy. You really ought to get more fresh air and exercise.’

‘Be still, Sparhawk,’ Annias snapped. ‘I’m trying to listen.’

‘Oh, of course. We can have a nice long talk later – catch up on each other’s accomplishments and the like.’ There was nothing out of the ordinary in Annias’s reaction, and Sparhawk became a little less certain of the man’s guilt.

‘If it pleases you, my brothers,’ Dolmant was saying, ‘a number of events have recently occurred, and I feel obligated to report them to the Hierocracy. Though our primary tasks are ageless, we nonetheless function in the world and must keep abreast of current events.’

Makova looked questioningly up towards Annias. The Primate took up a quill and a scrap of paper. Sparhawk rested his arms on the back of his enemy’s seat and looked over the man’s shoulder as he scribbled the terse instruction, ‘Let him talk.’

‘Tiresome, isn’t it, Annias,’ Sparhawk said in a pleasant tone. ‘It would be so much more convenient if you could do your own talking, wouldn’t it?’

‘I told you to shut up, Sparhawk,’ Annias grated, handing his note to a young monk to carry to Makova.

‘My, aren’t we testy this morning,’ Sparhawk observed. ‘Didn’t you sleep well last night, Annias?’

Annias turned to glare at his tormentor. ‘Who’s that?’ he demanded, pointing at Talen.

‘My page,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It’s one of the encumbrances of knightly rank. He sort of fills in while my squire is otherwise occupied.’