throngs that were streaming in one direction: towards the temple of Ils.
From his open shutter Stulwig could see the temple with its gilded dome. All the
portions that he could see were lit up, and the light was visible through
numerous glass reflectors. A thousand candles must be burning inside for there
to be so many shining surfaces.
And inside the temple the priests were in a state of excitement. For the message
that Jubal’s informants carried to all Sanctuary was that Ils had engaged in
battle with the lightning god of the Rankans, and had won.
There would be exultant worshipping until the hour of dawn: that was the meaning
that Stulwig had had shouted up to him.
As the meaning finally came to him, Stulwig hastily closed the shutter. And
stood there, shivering. It was an inner cold, not an outer one. Was this wise?
he wondered. Suppose the people in the palace came out to learn what all the
uproar was? Suppose Vashanka, in his rage at being made to appear a loser, sent
his lightning bolts down upon the city. Come to think of it, the sky above had
already started to look very cloudy and threatening.
His entire body throbbing with anxiety, Stulwig nonetheless found himself
accepting the celebration as justified. It was true. Ils was the victor. And he
had deliberately sought the opportunity. So it could be that the ancient god of
Ilsig was at long last ready for – what?
What could happen? How could the forces of the Rankan empire be persuaded to
depart from Sanctuary?
Stulwig was back in bed, the wonder and the mystery of it still seething inside