pushed a great-chair forward for the Prince to sit in. This was going to take
longer than anticipated. ‘My Prince – a god, shall we say any god but most
especially our own god Vashanka – mayHisnamebepraised – is an awesomely powerful
being who, even though He may beget mortal children on willing or unwilling
women, is quite unlike a mortal man.
‘A mere man who runs rampant in the streets with his sword drawn and shouting
sedition would be an easy matter for the Hounds to control – assuming, of
course, they even noticed him in this town …’
‘Are you saying, my Lord Molin, that such a vagrant is ploughing through my
city? Is that why you’ve called me here, really? Does my suite harbour a
viperous traitor?’
It must be an act, Molin decided. No one could attain physical maturity with
only Kadakithis’s apparent intelligence to guide him. He had attained maturity,
hadn’t he? Molin’s plans demanded it. He was known to have concubines, but
perhaps he merely talked them to sleep? It was time for a change of tactics.
‘My Dear Prince, as hierarchical superior here in Sanctuary I can flatly state
that the repeated incidents of divine intervention, unguided as they are by the
rituals performed according to tradition by myself and my acolytes, constitute a
severe threat to the well-being of your people and your mission to Sanctuary.
They must be stopped by whatever means are necessary!’
‘Oh… oh!’ the Prince’s face brightened. ‘I believe I understand. I’m to do
something at next week’s festival that will help you get control again. Do I get