‘Perhaps you’re right, Vanion,’ Darellon conceded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, I guess.’

‘All right then,’ Vanion continued his analysis, ‘when Wargun reaches Chyrellos with his forces, the balance of power in the Holy City shifts. Annias’s grip on his adherents is fairly tenuous as it is, and I’d guess that in many cases it’s based rather strongly on the fact that his soldiers control the streets. As soon as that changes, I think a goodly part of his support will begin to dissolve. As I see it, gentlemen, our job is to reach Chyrellos before Cluvonus dies, get that message off to Wargun and then start rounding up the Patriarchs who are in hiding so that we can get them back into the Basilica to participate in the voting.’ He looked at Talen. ‘How many do we need – what’s the absolute minimum we have to have to keep Annias from winning?’

‘If he can somehow get those nine, he’ll have seventy-four votes, My Lord. If we can find six of the ones in hiding, the total number voting will be one hundred and twenty-five. Sixty per cent of that is seventy-five. He loses at that point.’

‘Very good, Talen,’ Vanion said. ‘That’s it then, gentlemen. All we have to do is go to Chyrellos, take the city apart and find six Patriarchs who are willing to vote against Annias. We nominate somebody – anybody – to stand for election and keep taking votes until Wargun arrives.’

‘It’s still not the same as winning, Vanion,’ Komier grumbled.

‘It’s the next best thing to it,’ Vanion replied.

Sparhawk’s sleep was restless that night. The darkness seemed filled with vague cries and moans and a sense of unnamed terror. Finally he rose from his bed, threw on a monk’s robe and went looking for Sephrenia.

As he had about half-expected, he found her sitting in the doorway of her tent with her teacup in her hands. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ he asked, half in irritation.

‘Your dreams are keeping me awake, dear one.’

‘You know what I’m dreaming?’ He was astounded.

‘Not the details, but I know that something’s upsetting you.’

‘I saw the shadow again when I showed Bhelliom to Vanion and the other Preceptors.’

‘Is that what’s disturbing you?’

‘In part. Someone took a shot at me with a crossbow when Ulath, Kalten and I were coming here from the cloister where Arissa’s confined.’

‘But that was before you took Bhelliom out of the pouch. Maybe the incidents aren’t linked after all.’

‘Maybe the shadow saves them up – or maybe it can see them coming in the future. It might be that the shadow doesn’t need to have me touch Bhelliom in order to send somebody to kill me.’

‘Does Elene logic usually involve so many maybe’s?’

‘No, it doesn’t, and that bothers me a little bit. It doesn’t bother me enough to make me discard the hypothesis, though. Azash has been sending things to kill me for quite some time now, little mother, and they’ve all had some sort of supernatural quality about them. This shadow that I keep catching a glimpse of obviously isn’t natural, or you’d have been able to see it too.’

‘That’s true, I suppose.’

‘Then I’d be sort of foolish to drop my guard just because I can’t prove that Azash sent the shadow, wouldn’t I?’

‘Probably, yes.’

‘Even though I can’t actually prove it, I know that there’s some kind of connection between Bhelliom and that flicker in the corner of my eye. I don’t know what the connection is just yet, and maybe that’s why some random incidents seem to be clouding the issue. To be on the safe side, though, I’m going to assume the worst – that the shadow belongs to Azash and it’s following Bhelliom itself and that it’s sending humans to try to kill me.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘I’m glad you approve.’

‘You’d already made up your mind about this, Sparhawk,’ she said to him, ‘so why did you come looking for me?’

‘I needed to have you listen while I talked my way through it.’

‘I see.’

‘Besides, I like your company.’

She smiled fondly at him. ‘You’re such a good boy, Sparhawk. Now, why don’t we talk about why you’re keeping this last attempt on your life from Vanion?’

He sighed. ‘You don’t approve of that, I see.’

‘No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.’

‘I don’t want him putting me in the middle of the column with armoured knights holding their shields over me. I have to be able to see what’s coming at me, Sephrenia. I’ll start trying to claw my way out of my skin if I can’t.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed.

Faran was in a foul humour. A day and a half of nearly continual hard riding had made his disposition definitely take a turn for the worse. Some fifteen leagues from Chyrellos, the Preceptors halted the column, ordered the knights to dismount and walk their horses for a time. Faran tried to bite Sparhawk three times as the big knight was climbing out of his saddle. The bites were intended more as an indication of disapproval than arising from any serious desire to injure or maim. Faran had discovered early in life that biting his master when he was wearing full armour only led to aching teeth. When the big roan half-whirled and kicked Sparhawk solidly on the hip, however, Sparhawk felt that it was time to take steps. With Kalten’s help, he rose to his feet, pushed back his visor and pulled himself hand over hand up the reins to glare directly into the ugly warhorse’s face. ‘Stop it!’ he snapped.

Faran glared back at him with hate-filled eyes.

Sparhawk moved his hand very quickly then and grasped the roan’s left ear in his gauntleted fist. Grimly he began to twist.

Faran ground his teeth together, and tears actually appeared in his eyes. ‘Do we understand each other?’ Sparhawk grated.

Faran kicked him in the knee with one fore-hoof.

‘It’s up to you, Faran,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You’re going to look ridiculous without that ear, though.’ He twisted harder until his horse grudgingly squealed in pain.

‘Always nice talking with you, Faran,’ Sparhawk said, releasing the ear. Then he stroked the sweat-soaked neck. ‘You big old fool,’ he said gently. ‘Are you all right?’

Faran flicked his ears – his right one, anyway – with an ostentatious display of indifference.