Dolmant sat gravely on his gold throne. ‘I have not sought this eminence, my brothers,’ he told them, ‘and I would be far happier had you not seen fit to thrust it upon me. We can only hope – all of us – that this is truly God’s will.’ He raised his face slightly. ‘Now, we have much that needs to be done. I will call upon many of you to aid me, and, as is always the case, there will be changes here in the Basilica. I pray you, my brothers, do not be chagrined or downcast when Church offices are being reassigned, for it has ever been thus when a new Archprelate comes to this throne. Our holy mother faces her gravest challenge in half a millennium. My first act, therefore, must be to confirm the state of Crisis of the Faith, and I decree that this state shall continue until we have met the challenge and prevailed. And now, my brothers and dear friends, let us pray, and then shall we depart and go to our sundry duties.’

‘Nice and short,’ Ulath approved. ‘Sarathi’s getting off to a good start.’

‘Was the queen really in hysterics when she made that speech?’ Kalten curiously asked Sparhawk.

‘Of course she wasn’t,’ Sparhawk snorted. ‘She knew exactly what she was doing every second.’

‘I sort of thought she might have been. I think your marriage is going to be filled with surprises, Sparhawk, but that’s all right. The unexpected always keeps a man on his toes.’

As they were leaving the Basilica, Sparhawk fell back to have a word with Sephrenia. He found her a few feet back down a side passage deep in conversation with a man wearing a monk’s robe. When the man turned, however, Sparhawk saw that he was not an Elene, but rather was a silvery-bearded Styric. The man bowed to the approaching knight. ‘I will leave you now, dear sister,’ he said to Sephrenia in Styric. His voice, deep and rich, belied his evident age.

‘No, Zalasta, stay,’ she said, laying one hand on his arm.

‘I would not offend the Knights of the Church by my presence in their holy place, sister.’

‘Sparhawk takes a bit more offending than the usual Church Knight, my dear friend,’ she smiled.

‘This is the legendary Sir Sparhawk?’ the Styric said with some surprise. ‘I am honoured, Sir Knight.’ He spoke in heavily accented Elene.

‘Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said, ‘this is my oldest and dearest friend, Zalasta. We were children together in the same village.’

‘I am honoured, Sioanda,’ Sparhawk said in Styric, also bowing. Sioanda was a Styric word meaning ‘friend of my friend’.

‘Age has dimmed my eyes it seems,’ Zalasta noted. ‘Now that I look more closely at his face, I can indeed see that this is Sir Sparhawk. The light of his purpose shines all around him.’