“I’ve given it some thought,” he explained, and it was true, although that thought had very much been concentrated in the last few minutes. “We are to travel to a very terrible place, where the slightest hint of division between we fellow warriors of the Light will surely spell our doom.” It all sounded properly portentous, which was what he had been aiming for. “It is the bonds of comradeship that must be strengthened between us, so that the weaker of us do not stray.”

“You want me to fetch Lief and Penthos, then, or what?” Cyrene broke in, regarding him doubtfully.

“No, no,” Harathes replied hurriedly. “Seriously, can you imagine any of them being fit for the blessing of Armes?”

“Any may be touched by the Light if they are willing—” the secretary started mildly.

“Yes. They’re not,” Harathes told her. “Just the two of us, and we will have to set a good example for our less morally upright fellows, right? A good example. No straying from righteousness, no wandering off.”

“Now hold on,” Cyrene started, but her voice came out too loud, echoing in the bare chamber, and Harathes saw the attention of all those junior priests focus on her, clamping down on her words.

“We need a blessing that can bind us together,” he explained hurriedly to the secretary. “We need the hand of Armes on both of our shoulders, holding us close.”

“Harathes—!” Cyrene spat, but he held an admonitory finger up to her.

“Remember where we are,” he instructed, relying on the awe of the High Temple to deal with any objections. Indeed, she seemed hardly able to speak, so he returned his attention to the secretary. “We need to be as one, in our divine mission. And where the one of us is the stronger vessel, the more perfect in his service to the Light, then the weaker must take strength and guidance. That’s the sort of blessing we need, exactly. You can do that, right?”