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Archimandrite of Darsas is nominally the head of the Astellian Church. It’s an obscure rank approximately the equivalent of our “patriarch”. The Church of Astel’s organised along monastic lines. They don’t have a secular clergy there.’

      ‘Are there any other significant differences I should know about?’

      ‘Some of the customs are different – liturgical variations primarily. I doubt that you’ll be asked to conduct any services, so that shouldn’t cause any problems. It’s probably just as well. I heard you deliver a sermon once.’

      Sparhawk smiled. ‘We serve in different ways, Sarathi. Our Holy Mother didn’t hire me to preach to people. How do I address the Archimandrite of Darsas – in case I meet him?’

      ‘Call him “your Grace”, the same as you would a patriarch. He’s an imposing man with a huge beard, and there’s nothing in Astel that he doesn’t know about. His priests are everywhere. The people trust them implicitly, and they all submit weekly reports to the Archimandrite. The Church has enormous power there.’

      ‘What a novel idea.’

      ‘Don’t mistreat me, Sparhawk. Things haven’t been going very well for me lately.’

      ‘Would you be willing to listen to an assessment, Dolmant?’

      ‘Of me personally? Probably not.’

      ‘I wasn’t talking about that. You’re too old to change, I expect. I’m talking about your policies in Rendor. Your basic idea was good enough, but you went at it the wrong way.’

      ‘Be careful, Sparhawk. I’ve sent men to monasteries permanently for less than that.’

      ‘Your policy of reconciliation with the Rendors was very sound. I spent ten years down there, and I know how they think. The ordinary people in Rendor would really like to be reconciled with the Church – if for no other reason than to get rid of all the howling fanatics out in the desert. Your policy is good, but you sent the wrong people there to carry it out.’

      ‘The priests I sent are all experts in doctrine, Sparhawk.’

      ‘That’s the problem. You sent doctrinaire fanatics down there. All they want to do is punish the Rendors for their heresy.’

      ‘Heresy is a sort of problem, Sparhawk.’

      ‘The heresy of the Rendors isn’t theological, Dolmant. They worship the same God we do, and their body of religious belief is identical to ours. The disagreements between us are entirely in the field of Church government. The Church was corrupt when the Rendors broke away from us. The members of the Hierocracy were sending relatives to fill Church positions in Rendor, and those relatives were parasitic opportunists who were far more interested in lining their own purses than caring for the souls of the people. When you get right down to it, that’s why the Rendors started murdering primates and priests – and they’re doing it for exactly the same reason now. You’ll never reconcile the Rendors to the Church if you try to punish them. They don’t care who’s governing our Holy Mother. They’ll never see you personally, my friend, but they will see their local priest – probably every day. If he spends all his time calling them heretics and tearing the veils off their women, they’ll kill him. It’s as simple as that.’

      Dolmant’s face was troubled. ‘Perhaps I have blundered,’ he admitted. ‘Of course if you tell anybody I said that, I’ll deny it.’

      ‘Naturally.’

      ‘All right, what should I do about it?’

      Sparhawk remembered something then. ‘There’s a Vicar in a poor church in Borrata,’ he said. ‘He’s probably the closest thing to a saint I’ve ever seen, and I didn’t even get his name. Berit knows what it is though. Disguise some investigators as beggars and send them down to Cammoria to observe him. He’s exactly the kind of man you need.’

      ‘Why not just send for him?’

      ‘He’d be too tongue-tied to speak to you, Sarathi. He’s what they had in mind when they coined the word “humble”. Besides, he’d never leave his flock. If you order him to Chyrellos and then send him to Rendor, he’ll probably die within six months. He’s that kind of man.’

      Dolmant’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘You trouble me, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘You trouble me. That’s the ideal we all had when we took holy orders.’ He sighed. ‘How did we all get so far away from it?’

      ‘You got too much involved in the world, Dolmant,’ Sparhawk told him gently. ‘The Church has to live in the world, but the world corrupts her much faster than she can redeem it.’

      ‘What’s the answer to that problem, Sparhawk?’

      ‘I honestly don’t know, Sarathi. Maybe there isn’t any.’

      ‘Sparhawk.’ It was his daughter’s voice, and it was somehow inside his head. He was passing through the nave of the Basilica, and he quickly knelt as if in prayer to cover what he was really doing.

      ‘What is it, Aphrael?’ he asked silently.

      ‘You don’t have to genuflect to me, Sparhawk.’ Her voice was amused.

      ‘I’m not. If they catch me walking through the corridors holding long conversations with somebody who isn’t there, they’ll lock me up in an asylum.’

      ‘You look very reverential in that position, though. I’m touched.’

      ‘Was there something significant, or are you just amusing yourself?’

      ‘Sephrenia wants to talk with you again.’

      ‘All right. I’m in the nave right now. Come down and meet me here. We’ll go up to the cupola again.’

      ‘I’ll meet you up there.’

      ‘There’s only one stairway leading up there, Aphrael. We have to climb it.’

      ‘You might have to, but I don’t. I don’t like going into the nave, Sparhawk. I always have to stop and talk with your God, and He’s so tedious most of the time.’

      Sparhawk’s mind shuddered back from the implications of that.

      The dried-out wooden stairs circling up to the top of the dome still shrieked their protest as Sparhawk mounted. It was a long climb, and he was winded when he reached the top.

      ‘What took you so long?’ Danae asked him. She wore a simple white smock. It was a little-girl sort of dress, so no one seemed to even notice that its cut was definitely Styric.

      ‘You enjoy saying things like that to me, don’t you?’ Sparhawk accused.

      ‘I’m only teasing, father,’ she laughed.

      ‘I hope no one saw you coming up here. I don’t think the world’s ready for a flying princess just yet.’

      ‘No one saw me, Sparhawk. I’ve done this before, you know. Trust me.’

      ‘Do I have any choice? Let’s get to work. I’ve still got a lot left to do today if we’re going to leave tomorrow morning.’

      She nodded and sat cross-legged near one of the huge bells. She lifted her face again and raised that flute-like trill. Then her voice drifted off, and her face went blank.

      ‘Where have you been?’ Sephrenia asked, opening Danae’s eyes to stare at her pupil.

      He sighed. ‘If you two don’t stop that, I’m going to go into another line of work.’

      ‘Has Aphrael been teasing you again?’ she asked.

      ‘Of course she has. Did you know that she can fly?’

      ‘I’ve never seen her do it, but I’d assumed she could.’

      ‘What did you want to see me about?’

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