LITMIR.BIZ

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asked them.

      ‘We found him,’ Stragen replied, handing his cloak to Alean. ‘He’s not really my sort. He’s a pickpocket by profession, and pickpockets don’t really make good leaders. There’s something fundamentally lacking in their character.’

      ‘Stragen!’ Talen protested.

      ‘You’re not really a pickpocket, my young friend,’ Stragen told him. ‘That’s only an interim occupation while you’re waiting to grow up. Anyway, the local chief’s named Kondrak. He could see that we all have a mutual interest in stable governments, I’ll give him that. Looting houses when there’s turmoil in the streets is a fast way to make a lot of money, but over the long run, a good thief can accumulate more in times of domestic tranquillity. Of course Kondrak can’t make any kind of overall decision on his own. He’ll have to consult with his counterparts in other cities in the empire.’

      ‘That shouldn’t take more than a year or so,’ Sparhawk noted drily.

      ‘Hardly,’ Stragen disagreed. ‘Thieves move much more rapidly than honest men. Kondrak’s going to send out word of what we’re trying to accomplish. He’ll put it in the best possible light, so there’s a very good chance that the thieves of all the kingdoms in the empire will co-operate.’

      ‘How will we know their decision?’ Tynian asked him.

      ‘I’ll make courtesy calls each time we come to a fairsized city,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘Sooner or later I’ll get an official reply. It shouldn’t take all that long. We’ll certainly have a final decision by the time we reach Matherion.’ He looked speculatively at Ehlana. ‘Your Majesty’s learned a great deal about the subterranean government in the past few years,’ he noted. ‘Do you suppose we could put that information on the level of a state secret? We’re perfectly willing to co-operate and even assist on occasion, but we’d be much happier if the other monarchs of the world didn’t know too much about the way we operate. Some crusader might decide to smash the secret government, and that would inconvenience us a bit.’

      ‘What’s it worth to you, Milord Stragen?’ she teased him.

      His eyes grew very serious. ‘It’s a decision you’ll have to make for yourself, Ehlana,’ he told her, cutting across rank and customary courtesies. ‘I’ve tried to assist you whenever I could because I’m genuinely fond of you. If you make a little conversational slip, though, and other monarchs find out things they shouldn’t know, I won’t be able to do that any more.’

      ‘You’d abandon me, Milord Stragen?’

      ‘Never, my Queen, but my colleagues would have me killed, and I wouldn’t really be of much use to you in that condition, now would I?’

      Archimandrite Monsel was a large, impressive man with piercing black eyes and an imposing black beard. It was a forceful beard, an assertive beard, a beard impossible to overlook, and the Archimandrite used it like a battering ram. It preceded him by a yard wherever he went. It bristled when he was irritated – which was often – and in damp weather it knotted up into snarls like half a mile of cheap fishing line. The beard waggled when Monsel talked, emphasising points all on its own. Patriarch Emban was absolutely fascinated by the Archimandrite’s beard. ‘It’s like talking to an animated hedge,’ he observed to Sparhawk as the two of them walked through the corridors of the palace toward a private audience with the Astellian ecclesiaste.

      ‘Are there any topics I should avoid, your Grace?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘I’m not familiar with the Church of Astel, and I don’t want to start any theological debates.’

      ‘Our disagreements with the Astels are in the field of Church government, Sparhawk. Our purely theological differences are very minor. We have a secular clergy, but their Church is monastically organised. Our priests are just priests; theirs are also monks. I’ll grant you that it’s a fine distinction, but it’s a distinction nonetheless. They also have many, many more priests and monks than we do – probably about a tenth of the population.’

      ‘That many?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Every noble mansion in Astel has its own private chapel and its own priest, and the priest “assists” in making decisions.’

      ‘Where do they find so many men willing to enter the priesthood?’

      ‘From the ranks of the serfs. Being a clergyman has its drawbacks, but it’s better than being a serf.’

      ‘I suppose the Church would be preferable.’

      ‘Much. Monsel will respect you, because you’re a member of a religious order. Oh, incidentally, since you’re the interim preceptor of the Pandion Knights, you’re technically a patriarch. Don’t be surprised if he addresses you as “your Grace”.’

      They were admitted into Monsel’s chambers by a long-bearded monk. Sparhawk had noticed that all Astellian clergymen wore beards. The room was small and panelled in dark wood. The carpet was a deep maroon, and the heavy drapes at the windows were black. There were books and scrolls and dog-eared sheets of parchment everywhere.

      ‘Ah, Emban,’ Monsel said. ‘What have you been up to?’

      ‘Mischief, Monsel. I’ve been out proselytising among the heathens.’

      ‘Really? Where did you find any here? I thought most heathens lived in the Basilica in Chyrellos. Sit down, gentlemen. I’ll send for some wine and we can debate theology.’

      ‘You’ve met Sparhawk?’ Emban asked as they all took chairs before an open window where the breeze billowed the black drapes.

      ‘Briefly,’ Monsel replied. ‘How are you today, your Highness?’

      ‘Well. And you, your Grace?’

      ‘Curious, more than anything. Why are we engaging in private consultations?’

      ‘We’re all clergymen, your Grace,’ Emban pointed out. ‘Sparhawk wears a cassock made of steel most of the time, but he is of the clergy. We’ve come to discuss something that probably concerns you as much as it does us. I think I know you well enough to know that you’ve got a practical side that’s not going to get sidetracked by the fact that you think we genuflect wrong.’

      ‘What’s this?’ Sparhawk asked.

      ‘We kneel on our right knee,’ Emban shrugged. ‘These poor, benighted heathens kneel on the left.’

      ‘Shocking,’ Sparhawk murmured. ‘Do you think we should come here in force and compel them to do it right?’

      ‘You see?’ Emban said to the Archimandrite. ‘That’s exactly what I was talking about. You should fall to your knees and thank God that you’re not saddled with Church Knights, Monsel. I think most of them secretly worship Styric Gods.’

      ‘Only the Younger Gods, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said mildly. ‘We’ve had our differences with the Elder Gods.’

      ‘He says it so casually,’ Monsel shuddered. ‘If you think we’ve exhausted the conversational potential of genuflectory variation, Emban, why don’t you get to the point?’

      ‘This is in strictest confidence, your Grace, but our mission here to Tamuli’s not entirely what it seems. It was Queen Ehlana’s idea, of course. She’s not the sort to go anywhere just because somebody tells her to – but all of this elaborate fol-de-rol was just a subterfuge to hide our real purpose, which was to put Sparhawk on the Daresian Continent. The world’s coming apart at the seams, so we’ve decided to let him fix it.’

      ‘I thought that was God’s job.’

      ‘God’s busy just now, and He’s got complete confidence in Sparhawk. All sorts of Gods feel that way about him, I understand.’

      Monsel’s eyes widened, and his beard bristled.

      ‘Relax, Monsel,’ Emban told him. ‘We of the Church are not required to believe in other Gods. All we have

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