‘I just hope I don’t start a riot in there,’ Delada said wryly.
‘Don’t worry about that. The riot’s going to start when they hear the witness who’s going to come after you.’
‘What’s he going to say, Sparhawk?’
‘I’m not at liberty to tell you – at least not until after you’ve delivered your report. I’m not permitted to do anything at all to tamper with your neutrality at this point. Good luck in there.’
The Patriarchs of the Church were gathered in little clusters in the chamber talking in subdued tones. Emban’s carefully staged thanksgiving service had lent a solemn tone to the morning, and no one really wanted to break it. Sparhawk and Talen mounted to the gallery where they customarily sat with their friends. Bevier was hovering protectively over Sephrenia, his face showing his concern. Sephrenia sat serenely in her gleaming white robe. ‘There’s no reasoning with her,’ Bevier said as Sparhawk joined them. ‘We managed to slip Platime, Stragen and the Tamul woman in here disguised as clergymen, but Sephrenia absolutely insisted upon wearing her Styric robe. I’ve tried time and again to explain to her that no one is permitted to witness the deliberations of the Hierocracy but the kings and members of the clergy, but she won’t listen to me.’
‘I am a member of the clergy, dear Bevier,’ she told him simply. ‘I’m a priestess of Aphrael – the high priestess, actually. Let’s just say that I’m here to observe as a sort of tentative gesture in the direction of ecumenicism.’
‘I wouldn’t mention that until after the election’s over, little mother,’ Stragen advised. ‘You’ll start a theological debate that might just go on for several centuries, and we’re a little pressed for time just now.’
‘I sort of miss our friend from across the way,’ Kalten said, pointing at the place in the gallery where Annias had customarily sat. ‘I’d give a great deal to watch his face crumble as this morning’s proceedings unfold.’
Dolmant had entered, and after a brief conference with Emban, Ortzel and Bergsten, he took his place at the lectern. His presence there brought order to the room. ‘My brothers and my dear friends,’ he began, ‘we have seen momentous events since last we gathered here. I’ve taken the liberty of asking a number of witnesses to testify so that we may all be fully familiar with the situation here before we begin our deliberations. First, however, I must speak of the present condition of the citizens of Chyrellos. The besieging army has stripped the city of food, and the people are in desperate need. I ask the permission of the Hierocracy to open the Church storehouses so that we may alleviate their suffering. As representatives of the Church, charity is one of our primary duties.’ He looked around. ‘Do I hear any objections?’ he asked.
There was total silence.
‘Then it is so ordered. Let us then without further delay, welcome the reigning monarchs of western Eosia as our most honoured observers.’
The people in the chamber rose to their feet respectfully.
There was a brazen trumpet fanfare from the front of the chamber, and a large bronze door swung ponderously open to admit the royalty of the continent. All were garbed in their state robes and wore their crowns. Sparhawk scarcely glanced at Wargun and the other kings, but fixed his eyes on the perfect face of his betrothed. Ehlana was radiant. Sparhawk sensed that during the ten years of his exile in Rendor, very few people had paid much attention to his queen and that it was only at court functions and ceremonies that she had been granted any significance whatsoever. Thus, she enjoyed ceremonial occasions more than is common among the various members of other royal families. She moved with the other monarchs at a stately pace, her hand resting lightly on the arm of her distant kinsman, the ancient King Obler of Deira, towards the thrones sitting in a semicircle extending from the sides of the dais and the golden throne of the Archprelate. As chance had it – or perhaps not entirely chance – the circle of prismed light from the large round window behind the thrones fell full upon the throne of Elenia, and Ehlana took her place surrounded by a blazing halo of golden sunshine. That seemed altogether appropriate to Sparhawk.
After the monarchs had seated themselves, the others in the chamber resumed their places. Dolmant greeted the monarchs each in turn and even made passing reference to the absent King of Lamorkand, who, with Otha camped just inside his border, had other things on his mind. Then the Patriarch of Demos moved smoothly into the business of providing a quick summary of recent events, a summary which seemed to many to be directed to people who had spent the past several weeks on the moon. Emban’s witnesses dwelt fulsomely upon the destruction of the outer city and the atrocities committed by Martel’s mercenaries. Everyone knew of these horrors, of course, but describing them in lurid detail aroused a certain mood of outrage and a thirst for revenge which Emban had felt might be helpful in moving the Hierocracy in the direction of militancy and impressing upon them the need for expeditious action. Probably the most important fact to be revealed by this half-dozen or so witnesses was the name of the man who had commanded the attacking army. Martel’s name figured prominently in the accounts of three of the witnesses, and, before he called Colonel Delada, Dolmant provided a brief history of the renegade Pandion, describing him as primarily a mercenary but omitting any reference to his connection to the Primate of Cimmura. He then called for the testimony of the commander of the Archprelate’s personal guard, noting in passing the legendary neutrality of these dedicated men.
Delada’s memory proved to be remarkable. He glossed over the source of his knowledge of the location of the meeting, ascribing it to the ‘excellent military intelligence activities of the Church Knights’. He described the cellar and the long-forgotten aqueduct which had provided such dangerous access to the Basilica itself. He then repeated the conversation between Martel and Annias almost verbatim. The fact that he delivered his account in a completely unemotional tone lent a great deal of weight to his report. Despite his personal feelings in the matter, Delada adhered strictly to his code of neutrality. His report was punctuated frequently by cries of shock and stunned amazement from the Hierocracy and the assembled spectators.
Patriarch Makova, his pockmarked face pale and his speech faltering, rose to question the colonel. ‘Is it at all possible that the voices you heard in that dark cellar were not, in fact, the voices of the two men who were supposedly speaking – that this was some elaborate subterfuge designed to discredit the Primate of Cimmura?’