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on the throne, one who has scant respect for the Church, I am told, and who regularly consorts with
wizards. Abrusio has become a haven for all sorts of heretics, foreigners and sorcerers. Himerius has
instigated a purge of the city and is coming here to try to persuade the other Prelates to do likewise.
Albrec screwed up his pointed nose. I don t like it. Everyone is panicked after Aekir. It smells like
politics to me.
Of course it does! My dear fellow, the Church is leaderless. Macrobius is dead and we no longer
have a High Pontiff. This Himerius is establishing his credentials as soon as he can, putting himself
forward as the sort of strong leader that the Church needs at a time like this one not afraid to cross
swords with kings. Everyone is already talking of him as Macrobius successor.
Everyone except his fellow Prelates, I take it.
Oh, naturally! There will be deals done, though, with the Vicar-General brokering the whole thing. He is
barred of course from the Pontiffship by virtue of his present office, but I do not doubt that he will have
another Inceptine at the Church s head in a short while.
Over a century, it has been, since we have had a non-Inceptine High Pontiff, Albrec said, stroking his
brown Antillian habit reflectively. And of all the Prelates, only Merion of Astarac is not an Inceptine, but
an Antillian like myself.
The Ravens have always run things their way, Avila said cheerfully. It ll never be any different.
They walked out of the cloisters and began toiling up the cobbled streets of the town that formed the
fringes of the monastery. The buildings here were tall, leaning over the road, and the streets were clean.
The entire place had been tidied up for the Synod on the orders of the Vicar-General.
Clerics clogged the streets, climbing higher so as to be the first to catch sight of the man who was
favourite for the Pontiffship. Avila helped Albrec along as the little monk puffed and sweated up the hill.
Their breath clouded around them in the cold air, and they could see the snow on the higher slopes above
them.
There, Avila said, satisfied.
They stood on the ridge that curled protectively about the south-west of Charibon. The slope around
them was black with people, religious and lay alike. They could stare down and see the entire, beautiful
profile of Charibon with its towers and spires kindled by the autumn sunlight, and the inland sea of Tor
glittering off to their right.
I see him, Avila said.
Albrec squinted. Where?
Not there, you ninny, along the northern road. He s coming by way of Almark, remember. See the
escort of Knights? There must be close on two hundred of them. Himerius will be in the second coach,
the one flying the scarlet Hebrian flag. They re certainly putting on a show for him. I d say he had the
Pontiffship in the palm of his hand already.
One of their neighbors, a hard-faced priest in the plain robe of a Friar Mendicant, turned at Avila s
words.
What s that you say? Himerius as Pontiff?
Why yes, Brother. That seems to me to be the way of it.
And you have looked deeply into these matters, have you?
Avila s face seemed to stiffen. It was with his full aristocratic hauteur that he replied, I have a mind. I can
examine the evidence and form an opinion as well as the next man.
The Friar Mendicant smiled, then nodded to the approaching cavalcade. If yon Prelate assumes the
High Pontiffship you may no longer be permitted the luxury of an opinion, lad. And many innocent folk
will no longer possess the luxury of life. I doubt if that was the way of the Blessed Ramusio when he was
on this earth, but it is the way of your brother Inceptines these days, with their Knights Militant, their
purges and their pyres. Where in the Book of Deeds does it say you must murder your fellow man if he
differs from you? Inceptines! You are God s gorecrows, flapping round the pyres you have created.
The grey-clad Friar turned at that and stumped off, elbowing his way roughly through the gathering
throng. Avila and Albrec stared after him, speechless.
He s mad, Albrec said at last. The Friars are always an eccentric lot, but he s lost his mind entirely.
Avila stared down the hillside to where the Prelate of Hebrion s retinue was thundering along the muddy
northern road, raising a spray of water as it came.
Is he? I cannot ever remember a tale of Ramusio destroying someone who did not believe in him.
Maybe he is right.
He struck down the demon-possessed women of Gebrar, Albrec pointed out.
Yes, Avila said absently, there is that. Then he grinned suddenly with his accustomed good humour.
Which is another reason why clerics do not marry. Women have too many demons in them! I believe all
clerics have mothers, though.
Hush, Avila. Someone will hear.
Someone will hear, yes. And what if they do, Albrec? What would happen? What if they chanced upon
that cache of books you have saved? Do you ever wonder what would happen if they did? We had a
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