“We live in the real world, Your Grace,’ Abriel replied.
Anias was the one who chose the rules of this game, so I think we’re sort of obliged to play his way – unless you happen to have another set of dice.’
‘Besides,’ Talen added, “it would give us at least one mOre vote.’
‘Oh?’ Dolmant said.
“Patriarch Bergsten’s with Wargun’s army. We could probably persuade him to vote right, couldn’t we?’
“Why don’t we put our heads together and compose a letter to the King of Thalesia, Dolmant?’ Emban grinned.
‘I was just about to suggest the same thing myself, Emban. And perhaps we should forget to tell anyone else about it. Conflicting orders from some other Patriarch would just confuse Wargun, and he’s confused enough as it is.
.
*Chapter 8
Sparhawk was tired, but he slept poorly. His mind seemed filled with numbers. Sixty-nine changed into seventy-one, then eighty, then back, and the nine and seventeen – no fifteen – hovered ominously in the background. He started to lose track of what the numbers meant, and they became just numbers that arrayed themselves threateningly before him, armoured and with weapons in their hands, and, as it almost always did when he slept now, the shadowy thing haunted his dreams. It did not do anything, but merely watched – and waited.
Sparhawk did not really have the temperament for politics. Too many things reduced themselves in his mind to battlefield imagery, and superior strength and training and individual bravery counted for much on a battlefield. In politics, however, the feeblest were equal to the strongest. A palsied hand shakingly raised to vote had a power equal to that of a mailed fist.
His instincts told him that the solution to the problem rested in his scabbard, but the killing of the Primate of Cimmura would tear the west apart at a time when Otha stood armed and poised on the eastern marches. He finally gave up and slipped quietly from his bed to avoid waking the sleeping Kalten. He put on his soft monk’s robe and padded through the night-dark halls of the house to Dolmant’s study. Sephrenia was there, as he had about half-expected her to be. She sat before a small fire that crackled on the hearth, her teacup in her hands and her eyes a mystery.
‘You’re troubled, aren’t you, dear one?’ she said to him quietly.
‘Aren’t you?’ He sighed and sank into a chair, extending his long legs out in front of him. ‘We’re not suited for this, little mother,’ he said moodily, “neither one of us. I’m not arranged in such a way that I can palpitate with delight over the change of a number, and I’m not positive that you even understand what numbers mean. Since Styrics don’t read, can any of you actually understand any number larger than the sum of your fingers and toes?’
‘Are you trying to be insulting, Sparhawk?’
“No, little mother, I could never do that – not to you.
I’m sorry. I’m a bit sour this morning. I’m fighting the kind of war I don’t understand. Why don’t we frame some sort of prayer and ask Aphrael to change the minds of certain members of the Hierocracy? That would be nice and simple and probably head off a great deal of bloodshed. ‘
‘Aphrael wouldn’t do that, Sparhawk.’
“I was afraid you might say that. That leaves us the unpleasant alternative of playing in somebody else’s game then, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t mind that so much – if I understood the rules a little better. Frankly, I’d much prefer swords and oceans of blood.’ He paused. ‘Go ahead aNd say it, Sephrenia.’
‘Say what?’
“sigh and roll your eyes heavenward and say, ‘“Elenes”
In your most despairing tone.’
her eyes went hard. ‘That was uncalled for, Sparhawk.’
“I was only teasing you,’ he smiled. ‘We can do that with those we love without giving offence, can’t we?’
Patriarch Dolmant entered quietly, his face troubled. ‘is no-one sleeping tonight?’ he asked.
“We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, Your Grace, Sparhawk replied. ‘is that why you’re up as well?’
Dolmant shook his head. “One of my servants fell ill,’ he explained, “a cook. I don’t know why the other servants sent for me. I’m no physician.
“I think it’s called trust, Your Grace,’ Sephrenia smiled.
“You’re supposed to have certain special contacts with the Elene God. How is the poor fellow?’
‘It appears to be quite serious. I sent for a physician.
The fellow isn’t much of a cook, but I’d rather he didn’t die under my roof. What really happened in Cimmura, Sparhawk?’
Sparhawk quickly sketched in the events which had occurred in the throneroom and the substance of the confession of Lycheas.
“Otha?’ Dolmant exclaimed. “Annias actually went that far?’
“We can’t really prove it, Your Grace,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘It might be useful at some point to let the Information drop in Annias’s presence, however. It might throw him off balance a bit. Anyway, at Ehlana’s command, we’ve confined Lycheas and Arissa in that cloister near Demos, and I’m carrying a sizeable number of warrants for the arrest of assorted ~people on charges of high treason.
Annias’s name figures quite prominently in one of those warrants.’ He paused. ‘There’s a thought,’ he said. “We could march the knights to the Basilica, arrest Annias and take him back to Cimmura in chains. Ehlana was talking very seriously of hangings and beheadings when we left.’
‘You can’t take Annias out of the Basilica, Sparhawk,’
Dolmant said. ‘It’s a church, and a church is sanctuary for all civil crimes.
‘Pity,’ Sparhawk murmured. “Who’s in charge of Annias’s toadies in the Basilica?’
‘Makova, Patriarch of Coombs. He’s been more or less running things for the past year. Makova’s an ass, and he’s totally venal, but he’s an expert on Church Law, and he knows a hundred technicalities and loopholes.’
‘is Annias attending the meetings?’
“Most of the time, yes. He likes to keep a running count of the votes. He’s spending his spare time making offers to the neutral Patriarchs. Those nine men are very shrewd.
They never come right out and openly accept his offers.
They answer with their votes. Would you like to watch us play, little mother?’ Dolmant said it with a faint irony.
‘Thank you all the same, Dolmant,’ she declined, ‘but there are a goodly number of Elenes who are firmly convinced that if a Styric ever enters the Basilica, the dome will fall in on itself. I don’t enjoy being spat on all that much, so I think I’ll stay here, if I may.’
‘When have the meetings usually been commencing?’
Sparhawk asked the Patriarch.
‘It varies,’ Dolmant replied. ‘Makova holds the chair that was a simple majority vote. He’s been playing with his authority. He calls the meetings on a whim, and the messengers delivering those calls somehow always seem to lose their way when they come looking for those of us who are opposed to Annias. I think Makova started out by trying to slip through a substantive vote while the rest of us were still in bed.’
‘What if he calls a vote in the middle of the night, Dolmant?’ Sephrenia asked.
‘He can’t,’ Dolmant explained. ‘Sometime in antiquity, some Patriarch with nothing better to do codified the rules dealing with meetings of the Hierocracy. History tells us that he was a tiresome old windbag with an obsession about meaningless detail. He was the one responsible for the absurd rule about the one hundred votes – or 60 percent on substantive matters. He also – probably out of pure whim – set down the rule that the Hierocracy could ‘only deliberate during the hours of daylight. Many of his rules are stupid frivolities, but he talked for six straight weeks, and finally his brothers voted to accept his rules just to shut him up.’ Dolmant touched his cheek reflectively.
“When this is all over, I may just nominate the silly ass for sainthood. Those petty, ridiculous rules of his may be all that’s keeping Annias oft the throne now. At any rate, we’ve made a practice of all being in place at dawn, just to be safe. It’s a rather petty form of retaliation, actually.
Makova’s not customarily an early riser, but he’s been greeting the sun with the rest of us for the past several weeks. If he’s not there, we can vote in a new chairman and proceed without him. All sorts of inconvenient votes could take place.’
“Couldn’t he just have those votes repealed?’ she asked.
Dolmant actually smirked. ‘A vote to repeal is a matter of substance, Sephrenia, and he doesn’t have the votes.’
There was a respectful knock on the door, and Dolmant answered it. A servant spoke with him for a moment.
‘That cook just died,’ Dolmant said to Sparhawk and Sephrenia, sounding a bit shocked. ‘Wait here a moment.
The physician wants to talk with me.’