‘I thought you and he and Sephrenia grew up together in the same village.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘I just assumed that the villagers all worshipped you. Its sort of logical
that you’d choose to be born in a village of your own adherents.’
‘You don’t understand Styrics at all, do you? That’s
the most tedious idea I’ve ever heard of – a whole village of people who
all worship the same God? How boring.’
‘Elenes do it.’
‘Elenes eat pigs too.’
‘What have you got against pigs?’ She shuddered. who does Zalasta worship
if he’s not one of your adherents?’
‘He hasn’t chosen to tell us, and it’s terribly impolite to ask.’
‘How did he get to be a member of )the Thousand then? I thought you had to
be a high priest to qualify for membership.’
‘He isn’t a member. He doesn’t want to be. He advises them.’ She pursed
her lips. ‘I really shouldn’t say this, Sparhawk, but don’t expect exalted
wisdom from the council. High priests are devout, but that doesn’t require
Wisdom. Some of the Thousand are frighteningly stupid.’
‘Can you get any kind of clue about which God might be at the bottom of
all these disturbances?’
‘No. Whoever it is doesn’t want any of the rest of us to know his
identity, and there are ways we can conceal ourselves. About all I can say
is that he’s not Styric. Pay very close attention at the meeting this
afternoon, Sparhawk. My temperament’s Styric, and there may be things I’d
overlook just because I’m so used to them.’
‘What do you want me to look for?’
‘I don’t know. Use ‘your rudimentary intuition. Look for false notes,
lapses, any kind of clue hinting at the fact that someone’s not entirely
what he seems to be.’
‘Do you suspect that there might be some member of the Thousand working
for the other side?’
‘I didn’t say that. I just said that there’s something wrong. I’m getting
another of those premonitions like the one I had at Kotyk’s house.
Something’s not what it’s supposed to be here, and I can’t for the life of
me tell what it is. Try to find out what it is, Sparhawk. We really need
‘to know.’
The council of the Thousand met in a stately marble building at the very
centre of Sarsos. It was an imposing, even intimidating building that
shouldered its way upward arrogantly. Like all public buildings, it was
totally devoid of any warmth or humanity. It had wide, echoing marble
corridors and huge bronze doors designed to make people feel tiny and
insignificant. The actual meetings took place in a large, semicircular hall
with tier upon tier of marble benches stairstepping up the sides. There
were ten of those tiers naturally, and the seats on each tier were evenly
spaced. It was all very logical. Architects are usually logical, since
their buildings tend to collapse if they are not. At Sephrenia’s
suggestion, Sparhawk and the other Elenes wore simple white robes to avoid
those unpleasant associations in the minds of Styrics when they are
confronted by armoured Elenes. The knights, however, wore chain-mail and
swords under their robes. The chamber was about half-full, since at any
given time a part of the council was off doing other things. The members of
the Thousand sat or strolled about talking quietly with each other. Some
moved purposefully among their colleagues, talking earnestly. Others
laughed and joked. Not a few were sleeping. Zalasta led them to the front
of the chamber where chairs had been placed for them in a kind of
semicircle. ‘I have to take my seat,’ Sephrenia told them quietly. ‘Please
don’t take immediate action if someone insults you. There’s several
thousand years of resentment built up in this chamber, and some of it’s
bound to spill over.’ She crossed the chamber to sit on one of the marble
benches. Zalasta stepped to the centre of the room and stood silently,
making no attempt to call the assemblage to ord’er. The traditional
courtesies were obscure here. Gradually, the talking tapered off, and the
Council members took their seats. ‘if it please the Council,’ Zalasta said
in Styric, ‘we are honoured today by the presence of important guests.’
‘It certainly doesn’t please me,’ one member retorted. These ‘guests’
appear to be Elenes for the most part, and I’m not all that interested in
hob-nobbing with pig-eaters.’
This promises to be moderately unpleasant,’ Stragen murmured. ‘Our Styric
cousins seem to be as capable of boorishness as we are.’ Zalasta ignored
the ill-mannered speaker and continued. ‘Sarsos is subject to the Tamul
Empire,’ he reminded them, ‘and we benefit enormously from that
relationship.’
‘And the Tamuls make sure we pay for those benefits,’ another member
called. Zalasta ignored that as well. ‘i’m sure you’ll all join with me in
welcoming First Secretary Oscagne, the Chief of the Imperial Foreign
Service.’
‘I don’t know what makes you so sure about that, Zalasta,’ someone shouted
with a raucous laugh. Oscagne rose to his feet. ‘i’m overwhelmed by this
demonstration of affection,’ he said dryly in perfect Styric. There were
cat-calls from the tiers of seats. The catcalls died quite suddenly when
Engessa rose to his feet and stood with his arms folded across his chest.
He did not even bother to scowl at the unruly councillors. ‘That’s better,’
Oscagne said. ‘I’m glad that the legendary courtesy of the Styric people
has finally asserted itself. If I may, I’ll briefly introduce the members
of our party, and then we’ll place an urgent matter before you for your
consideration.’ He briefly introduced Patriarch Emban. An angry mutter
swept through the chamber. ‘That’s directed at the Church, your Grace,’
Stragen told him, ‘not at you personally.’ When Oscagne introduced Ehlana,
one council member on the top tier whispered a remark to those seated near
him which elicited a decidedly vulgar laugh. Mirtai came to her feet like
an uncoiling spring, her hands darting to her sheathed daggers. Engessa
said something sharply to her in the Tamul tongue. she shook her head. Her
eyes were blazing and her jaw was set. She drew a dagger. Mirtai may not
have understood Styric, but she did understand the implications of that
laugh. Sparhawk rose to his feet. ‘It’s my place to respond, Mirtai,’ he
reminded her. ‘You will not defer to me?’
‘Not this time, no. I’m sorry, but it’s a sort of formal occasion, so’we
should observe the niceties.’ He turned to look up at the insolent Styric
in the top row. ‘Would you care to repeat what you just said a little
louder, neighbour?’ he asked in Styric. ‘if it’s so funny, maybe you should
share it with us.’
‘Well, what do you know,’ the fellow sneered, ‘a talking dog.’ Sephrenia
rose to her feet. ‘I call upon the Thousand to observe the traditional
moment of silence,’ she declared in Styric. ‘Who died?’ the loud-mouth
demanded. ‘You did, Camriel,’ she told him sweetly, ‘so our grief will not
be excessive. This is Prince Sparhawk, the man who destroyed the Elder God
Azash, and you’ve just insulted his wife. Did you want the customary burial
assuming that we can find enough of you to commit to the earth when he’s
done with you?’ Camriel’s jaw had dropped, and his face had gone
dead white. The rest of the Council also visibly shrank back. ‘His name
still seems to carry some weight,’ Ulath noted to Tynian. ‘Evidently. Our
insolent friend up there seems to be having long, gloomy thoughts about
mortality.’
‘Councilor Camriel,’ Sparhawk said quite formally, let us not interrupt
the deliberations of the Thousand ‘with a purely personal matter. I’ll look
you up after the meeting, and we can make the necessary arrangements.’
‘What did he say?’ Ehlana whispered to Stragen. ‘The usual, your Majesty. I
expect that Councillor Camriel’s going to remember a pressing engagement on
the other side of the world at any moment now.’
‘Will the Council permit this barbarian to threaten me?’ Camriel quavered.
A silvery-haired Styric on the far side of the room laughed derisively.
‘You personally insulted a state visitor, Camriel,’ he declared. ‘The
Thousand has no obligation to defend you under those circumstances. Your
God has been very lax in your instruction. You’re a boorish, loud-mouthed
imbecile. We’ll be well rid of you.’
‘How dare you speak to me so, Michan?’
‘You seem dazzled by the fact that one of the Gods is slightly fond of
you, Camriel,’ Michan drawled, ‘and you overlook the fact that we all share
that peculiar eminence here. My God loves me at least as much as your God
loves you.’ Michan paused. ‘Probably more, actually. I’d guess that your
God’s having second thoughts about you at the moment. You must be a
terrible embarrassment to him. But you’re wasting valuable time. As soon as
this meeting adjourns, I expect that Prince Sparhawk will come looking for
you – with a knife. You do have a knife some place nearby, don’t you, your