this city of late. My augurists report that on no less than three separate
occasions since your arrival in this accursed place His power has been
successfully invoked by one not of the temple hierarchy.’
The Prince set down his goblet. ‘You know of these things?’ he asked with open
-faced incredulity. ‘You can tell when the god’s used His power?’
‘Yes, my Prince,’ Molin answered calmly. ‘That is the general purpose of our
hierarchy. Working through the mandated rituals and in partnership with our God
we incline Vashanka’s blessings towards the loyal, righteous upholders of
tradition, and direct His wrath towards those who would deny or harm the
Empire.’
‘I know of no traitors …’
‘… And neither do I, my Prince,’ Molin said, though he had his suspicions,
‘but I do know that our God, Vashanka – may-Hisnamebepraised – is showing His
face with increasing fre-• quency and devastating effect in this town.’
‘Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?’
It was difficult to believe that the vigorous Imperial household had produced so
dense an heir; at such times as this Molin almost believed the rumours that
circulated around the Prince. Some said that he was at least as clever and
ambitious as his brother’s advisers feared; Kadakithis was deliberately botching
this gubernatorial appointment so he would have to be returned to the capital
before the Empire faced rebellion. Unfortunately, Sanctuary was more than equal
to the most artfully contrived incompetence.
‘My Prince,’ Molin began again, snapping his fingers to the mute who immediately