‘I feel like an infant,’ King Dregos said wryly to King Obler. ‘I thought I knew a little bit about politics, but I’ve never seen the art practised so ruthlessly before.’

‘You’re in the big city now, Your Majesty,’ Emban grinned at him, ‘and this is the way we play here.’

King Soros of Pelosia, a man of extreme piety and an almost child-like reverence had nearly fainted a number of times during Patriarch Emban’s cold-blooded scheme to manipulate the Hierocracy. He finally bolted, muttering something about wanting to pray for guidance.

‘Keep an eye on Soros tomorrow, Your Grace,’ Wargun advised Emban. ‘He’s a religious hysteric. When he makes his speech, he might just decide to expose us. Soros spends all his time talking to God, and sometimes that unsettles a man’s wits. Is there any possible way we can skip over him during the speeches?’

‘Not legitimately,’ Emban said.

‘We’ll talk with him, Wargun,’ King Obler said. ‘Maybe we can persuade him to be too ill to attend tomorrow’s session.’

‘I’ll make him sick, all right,’ Wargun muttered.

Emban rose to his feet. ‘We all have things to attend to, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘so as they say, let’s get cracking.’

Sparhawk stood up. ‘The Elenian embassy was damaged during the siege, My Queen,’ he said to Ehlana in a neutral tone. ‘May I offer you the somewhat Spartan comfort of the Pandion chapterhouse instead?’

‘You’re cross with me, aren’t you, Sparhawk?’ she asked him.

‘It might be more appropriate if we discussed that in private, My Queen.’

‘Ah,’ she sighed. ‘Well, let’s go ahead and go to your chapterhouse so you can scold me for a while. Then we can move right on into the kissing and making up. That’s the part I’m really interested in. At least you won’t be able to spank me - not with Mirtai standing guard over me. Have you ever met Mirtai, by the way?’

‘No, My Queen.’ Sparhawk looked at the silent Tamul woman who stood behind Ehlana’s chair. Mirtai’s skin had a peculiarly exotic bronze tinge to it, and her braided hair was a glossy black. In a woman of normal size, her features would have been considered beautiful, and her dark eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, ravishing. Mirtai, however, was not of normal size. She towered a good hand’s-breadth above Sparhawk. She wore a white satin blouse with full sleeves and a garment that was more like a knee-length kilt than a skirt, belted at her waist. She wore black leather boots and had a sword at her side. Her shoulders were broad and her hips lithely slender. Despite her size, she seemed perfectly proportioned. There was, however, something ominous about her expressionless gaze. She did not look at Sparhawk the way a woman would normally look at a man. She was an unsettling sort of person.