There were speeches when the still crimson-robed Hierocracy resumed its deliberations. The speeches were for the most part eulogies delivered by Patriarchs too unimportant to have participated in the formal services in the nave. The Patriarch Ortzel of Kadach, brother of the Baron Alstrom in Lamorkand, was particularly tedious. The session broke up early and resumed again the following morning. The Patriarchs who were opposed to Annias had gathered the previous evening and had selected Ortzel to be their standard-bearer. Sparhawk still had grave reservations about Ortzel, but he kept them to himself.

Dolmant held the five Patriarchs who had so recently returned to his ranks in reserve. Disguised in mismatched armour, they sat with a platoon of Church Knights in a squadroom not far from the audience chamber.

After the Hierocracy had come to order, Patriarch Makova rose to his feet and placed the name of Primate Annias in nomination for the Archprelacy. His nominating speech went on for almost an hour, but the applause greeting it was not particularly fulsome. Then Dolmant rose and nominated Ortzel. Dolmant’s speech was more to the point, but it was followed by more enthusiastic applause.

‘Do they vote now?’ Talen whispered to Sparhawk.

‘I don’t know,’ Sparhawk admitted. ‘That’s up to Makova. He’s holding the chair at the moment.’

‘I’d really like to see a vote, Sparhawk,’ Talen said urgently.

‘Aren’t you sure of your numbers?’ Sparhawk said it with a certain apprehension.

‘Of course I am, but numbers are only numbers. A lot of things can happen when you get people involved in something. Take that, for example.’ Talen pointed at a page hurriedly carrying a note from the nine uncommitted Patriarchs to Dolmant. ‘What are they up to now?’

‘They probably want to know why Dolmant suddenly stopped offering them money,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Their votes are worthless at this point, although they probably don’t fully understand that as yet.’

‘What do you think they’ll do now?’

‘Who knows?’ Sparhawk shrugged, ‘and who cares?’

Makova, standing at the lectern, glanced over a sheaf of notes. Then he looked up and cleared his throat. ‘Before we move on to our initial vote, my brothers,’ he began, ‘a matter of great urgency has just come to my attention. As some of you may be aware, the Zemochs are massing on the eastern border of Lamorkand with obviously warlike intent. I believe that we may expect with some certainty that Otha will invade the west – possibly within the next few days. It is, therefore, vital that the deliberations of this body be concluded with all possible haste. Our new Archprelate will be faced almost immediately upon his elevation with the direst crisis to face our Church and her faithful sons in the past five centuries.’

‘What’s he doing?’ Sir Bevier whispered to Sparhawk. ‘Everybody in Chyrellos knows that Otha’s already in eastern Lamorkand.’