‘And then,’ Ehlana continued in that ringing voice, ‘not content with breaking my heart, this ravening savage sought my life as well! Our Church is tainted now, gentlemen, besmirched because this villain ever professed holy orders. I would come here as a suppliant, a petitioner, to demand justice, but I will wring my own justice from the body of the man who murdered my father. I am but a weak woman, but I have a champion, gentlemen, a man who at my command will seek out and find this monstrous Annias even though the beast seeks to hide himself in the very bowels of Hell itself. Annias will face me. I swear this to you all, and generations yet unborn shall tremble at the memory of his fate. Our holy mother Church need not concern herself with dispensing justice to this wretch. The Church is gentle, compassionate, but I, gentlemen, am not.’ So much for his queen’s apparent submission to the dictates of the Church, Sparhawk thought.

Ehlana had paused again, her young face lifted in vengeful resolve. ‘But what of this prize?’ she asked, turning to look pointedly at the shrouded throne. ‘Upon whom will you bestow this chair for which Annias was willing to drown the world in blood? To whom shall this piece of ornate furniture descend? For mistake me not, friends, that’s all it is, a piece of furniture, heavy, ungainly and, I’m sure, not very comfortable. Whom will you sentence to bear the awful burdens of care and responsibility which go with this chair and which he will be forced to carry in this darkest hour of our holy mother’s life? He must be wise, of course, that goes without saying, but all of the Patriarchs of the Church are wise. He must also be courageous, but are you not all as brave as lions? He must be shrewd, and make no mistake, there is a vast difference between wisdom and shrewdness. He must be clever, for he faces the master of deceit – not Annias, though Annias is deceitful enough; not Otha, sunk in his own foul debauchery; but Azash himself. Which of you will match strength and cunning and will with that spawn of Hell?’

‘What is she doing?’ Bevier whispered in a stunned voice.

‘Isn’t it obvious, Sir Knight?’ Stragen murmured urbanely. ‘She’s selecting a new Archprelate.’

‘That’s absurd!’ Bevier gasped. ‘The Hierocracy chooses the Archprelate!’

‘Right now, Sir Bevier, they’d elect you if she pointed that small pink finger at you. Look at them. She has the entire Hierocracy in the palm of her hand.’