Their eyes locked, and Sparhawk groaned inwardly.

Then Ehlana laughed, a bit shamefaced. ‘Forgive me, Your Grace,’ she apologized to Dolmant. ‘I spoke in haste. Burning, did you say?’

‘At the very least, Ehlana,’ he replied.

‘I will, of course, defer to our holy mother. I would sooner die than appear undutiful.’

“The Church appreciates your obedience, my daughter,’ Dolmant said blandly.

Ehlana clasped her hands piously and gave him a wholly spurious little smile of contrition.

Dolmant laughed in spite of himself. ‘You’re a naughty girl, Ehlana,’ he chided.

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ she admitted. ‘I suppose I am at that.’

‘This is a very dangerous woman, my friends,’ Wargun told his fellow monarchs. ‘I think we should all make a special point of not getting in her way. All right, what’s next?’

Emban slid lower in his chair and sat tapping his fat fingertips together. ‘We’d more or less decided that we should settle the question of the Archprelacy once and for all, Your Majesty. That was before you even entered the city. It’s going to take some time for you to prepare your forces to march towards central Lamorkand, isn’t it?’ he asked.

‘At least a week,’ Wargun replied glumly, ‘possibly two. I’ve got units strung out half-way back to Arcium – mostly stragglers and supply wagons. It’s going to take a while to get them organized, and troops really get jammed up when they have to cross bridges.’

‘We can give you ten days at most,’ Dolmant told him. ‘Do your staging and organizing as you march.’

‘It’s not done that way, Your Grace,’ Wargun objected.

‘It will be this time, Your Majesty. Soldiers on a march spend more time sitting around waiting than they do walking. Let’s put that time to good use.’

‘You’ll also want to keep your soldiers out of Chyrellos,’ Patriarch Ortzel added. ‘Most of the citizens have fled, so the city’s deserted. If your men become distracted with looking through unoccupied houses, they’ll be a little difficult to round up when the time comes to march.’

‘Dolmant,’ Emban said, ‘you’re holding the chair in the Hierocracy. I think we should go into session first thing tomorrow morning. Let’s keep our brothers away from the outer city today – for their own safety, of course, since there still might be a few of Martel’s mercenaries hiding in the ruins. Primarily, though, we don’t want them to get a chance to examine the damage to their houses too closely before we go into formal session. We’ve seriously alienated a fair number of Patriarchs, and even with Annias discredited, we don’t want some spur-of-the-moment coalition confusing the issues here. I think we should hold some sort of service in the nave before we go into session. Probably something solemn and having to do with thanksgiving. Ortzel, would you officiate? You’re going to be our candidate, so let’s give everybody the chance to get used to looking at you. And, Ortzel, try to smile now and then. Honestly, your face won’t break.’

‘Am I so very, very stern, Emban?’ Ortzel replied with a faint half-smile.

‘Perfect,’ Emban said. ‘Practise that exact smile in a mirror. Remember that you’re going to be a kindly, loving father – at least that’s what we want them to think. What you do after you get to the throne is between you and God. All right then. The services will remind our brothers that they’re Churchmen first and property-owners second. We’ll march directly to the audience chamber from the nave. I’ll talk to the choirmaster and have a lot of singing echoing through the Basilica – something exalted to put our brothers in the proper mood. Dolmant will call us to order, and we’ll begin with an update – let everybody know the details of what’s been happening. That’s for the benefit of the Patriarchs who’ve been hiding in cellars since the siege began. It’s perfectly proper to call in witnesses under those circumstances. I’ll select them to make sure they’re eloquent. We want a lot of lurid descriptions of rape, arson and pillage to stir up a certain disapproval of the behaviour of the recent visitors to our city. Our parade of witnesses will culminate with Colonel Delada, and he’ll report the conversation between Annias and Martel. Let them mull that over for a little bit. I’ll talk to some of our brothers and have them prepare speeches full of outraged indignation and denunciations of the Primate of Cimmura. Then Dolmant will appoint a committee to investigate the matter. We don’t want the Hierocracy to get sidetracked.’ The fat little Patriarch thought it over. ‘Let’s adjourn for a noon meal at that point. Give them a couple of hours to work themselves up about the perfidy of Annias. Then, when we go back into session, Bergsten will make a speech about the need for all considered speed. Don’t give the appearance of rushing things, Bergsten, but remind them that we’re in a Crisis of the Faith. Then urge that we proceed directly with the voting. Wear your armour and carry that axe. Let’s set the tone of being on a wartime footing. Then we’ll have the traditional speeches by the kings of Eosia. Make them stirring, Your Majesties. Lots of references to cruel war and Otha and the foul designs of Azash. We want to frighten our brothers enough so that they’ll vote their consciences instead of politicking in back hallways and trying to make deals with each other. Keep your eyes on me, Dolmant. I’ll nose out any Patriarchs with the uncontrollable urge towards political chicanery and identify them to you. As chairman, you can recognize whomever you choose. And under no circumstances whatsoever accept a move to adjourn. Don’t let anybody break the momentum. Go immediately into the nominations at that point. Let’s get into the voting before our brothers have time to start thinking up mischief. Speed the vote right along. We want Ortzel on that throne before the sun goes down. And Ortzel, you keep your mouth shut during the deliberations. Some of your opinions are controversial. Don’t air them in public – at least not tomorrow.’

‘I feel like an infant,’ King Dregos said wryly to King Obler. ‘I thought I knew a little bit about politics, but I’ve never seen the art practised so ruthlessly before.’

‘You’re in the big city now, Your Majesty,’ Emban grinned at him, ‘and this is the way we play here.’

King Soros of Pelosia, a man of extreme piety and an almost child-like reverence had nearly fainted a number of times during Patriarch Emban’s cold-blooded scheme to manipulate the Hierocracy. He finally bolted, muttering something about wanting to pray for guidance.