sacred objects and to be seen by as few persons as possible who are not in the
conspiracy -‘ Enas Yorl came out of his abstraction. ‘Beware! I deduce your
thought. Choke it before it kills you.’
Cappen ran sandy tongue over leathery lips. ‘What … should we … expect to
happen, sir?’
‘That is an interesting question,’ Enas Yorl said. ‘I can but conjecture. Yet I
am well acquainted with the temple hierarchy and – I don’t think the Archpriest
is privy to the matter. He’s too aged and weak. On the other hand, this is quite
in the style of Hazroah, the High Flamen. Moreover, of late he has in effect
taken over the governance of the temple from his nominal superior. He’s bold,
ruthless – should have been a soldier – Well, putting myself in his skin, I’ll
predict that he’ll let Molin stew a while, then cautiously open negotiations – a
hint at first, and always a claim that this is the will of Ils.
‘None but the Emperor can cancel an undertaking for the Imperial deities.
Persuading him will take much time and pressure. Molin is a Rankan aristocrat of
the old school; he will be torn between his duty to his gods, his state, and his
wife. But I suspect that eventually he can be worn down to the point where he
agrees that it is, in truth, bad policy to exalt Savankala and Sabellia in a
city whose tutelaries they have never been. He in his turn can influence the
Emperor as desired.’
‘How long would this take, do you think?’ Cappen whispered. ‘Till the women are
released?’
Enas Yorl shrugged. ‘Years, possibly. Hazroah may try to hasten the process by