The audience chamber was still filled with excited conversation, some of it in shouts. Patriarchs with looks of exaltation on their faces milled about on the marble floor, and Sparhawk heard the phrase ‘inspired by God’, repeated over and over in awed tones as he pushed his way through the crowd. Churchmen are traditionally very conservative, and they found that any hint that a mere woman might have actually guided the Hierocracy in its decision was unthinkable. The notion of Divine inspiration was a convenient way out. Obviously, it had not been Ehlana who had spoken, but God Himself. At the moment, Sparhawk was not concerned about theology. What he was concerned about was the condition of his queen. Stragen’s explanation was plausible, of course, but Stragen had been talking about Sparhawk’s queen – and his betrothed. Sparhawk wanted to see for himself that she was well.

She appeared to be not only well but in glowing health as he opened the door through which King Wargun had carried her. She even looked a little ridiculous as she stood half bent over with her ear pressed to the spot where the closed door had only recently been.

‘You could hear much better from your seat out there in the chamber, My Queen,’ Sparhawk said with some asperity.

‘Oh, be still, Sparhawk,’ she said tartly, ‘and come in and shut the door.’

Sparhawk stepped through the doorway.

King Wargun stood with his back against the wall and his eyes a little wild. Mirtai stood in front of him, poised. ‘Get this she-dragon away from me, Sparhawk,’ Wargun begged.

‘Have you decided not to make an issue of my queen’s theatrics, Your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked him politely.

‘Admit that she made a fool of me? Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk. I wasn’t going to run out there and declare that I’d been a jackass in public. All I wanted to do was to tell everyone that your queen was all right, but I didn’t even make it as far as the door when this huge woman came in here. She threatened me, Sparhawk! Me, of all people. Do you see that chair there?’

Sparhawk looked. The chair was upholstered, and large wads of horsehair were protruding out of a long gash in its back.

‘It was merely a suggestion, Sparhawk,’ Mirtai said mildly. ‘I wanted Wargun to understand what might happen if he made any wrong decisions. It’s all right now. Wargun and I are almost friends.’ Mirtai, Sparhawk had noticed, never used titles.

‘It’s very improper to draw a knife on a king, Mirtai,’ Sparhawk told her reprovingly.

‘She didn’t,’ Wargun said. ‘She did that with her knee.’ He shuddered.

Sparhawk looked at the Tamul woman, puzzled.