residence. He was like the captain of a ship that ferried an admiral.
Bishop DeLunden had unusually dark skin even for a Calian, which made his wreath of short white hair stand out against his balding head, the top of which looked like a dark olive set in cream. The bishop had a habit of wandering the halls at night like a ghost. Exactly what he did on his walks about the cathedral Merton had no idea, but tonight he was more than thankful for his nocturnal habits. “And it wasn’t Novron who sent you out on such a night; it was Patriarch Nilnev.” He pulled the great door closed and slid the bolt. “Back from the palace again, are you?”
“These are troubled times and he needs to keep informed. Besides, if not for my wanderings, who would praise the beauty of our lord’s nights?”
“Those farther south, I imagine,” DeLunden retorted gruffly. “Put your hands on the lantern. Warm them lest they fall off.”
“Such compassion,” Merton said. “And for the likes of an Ervanonite like me.”
“Not all Ervanonites are bad.”
“There’s only four of us.”
“Yes, and of the four I can say that you are a good, devout, and gentle man.”
“And the others?”
“I don’t speak of them at all. I still find it altogether strange that only he and his guards managed to escape the desolation of Ervanon while all others perished.”
“I am here.”
“Novron loves you. Our lord pointed you out on the day of your birth and told his father to watch over you.”
“You are too kind, and surely Novron loves everyone, and the leader of his church most of all.”
“But the Patriarch is not-not anymore.” The bishop peered from the vestibule toward the interior. “I don’t like how he treats you.”
Since the Patriarch had arrived, Bishop DeLunden had been very vocal about how the Patriarch treated everyone and, more importantly, his cathedral. It was a matter of jealousy, but Merton would never say anything. If Novron wished the bishop to learn this lesson, he would find a worthier vessel than him to explain.
“I also don’t like how he holds court in the holy chancel, as if he were Novron himself. The altar deserves more respect. Only the empress should occupy that space, only the blood of Novron, but he sits there as if he is the emperor.”
“Is he there now?”
“Of course he is-him and his guards. Why does he need guards, anyway? I don’t have guards and I meet dozens of people every day. He meets no one but is never separated from them-and what strange men. They speak only to him, and always in whispers. Why is that? He unnerves me. I am glad I never met the man when I was a deacon, or I should never have devoted my life to Novron.”
“And that would have been a terrible loss to us all,” Merton assured him. “Now if you do not mind, I must speak with the Patriarch.”
“Patriarch! That’s another thing. The man has a name-he was born with a name, just like the rest of us-but no one ever uses it. We refer to our lords as Novron and Maribor, but Nilnev of Ervanon must be referred to as the Patriarch, out of respect for his office as head of the church, but as I said, he’s not the head anymore. Novron’s child has returned to us, but still he sits there. Still he rules. I don’t like it-I don’t like it one bit, and I don’t think the empress approves either. If she doesn’t, we can be assured our lord Novron isn’t too pleased.”
“Would you like me to speak to him about your concerns?”
DeLunden scowled. “Oh, he knows. Believe me, he knows.”
Merton left the bishop in the narthex and entered the nave. He stopped briefly, looking down the long cavernous room with its magnificent arched ceiling, shaped like a great ship’s keel-the word nave, Merton had learned, was derived from the ancient term navis, meaning ship. Towering rows of ribbed pillars, like bunches of reeds bound together, rose hundreds of feet, spilling out at the tops, which spread to form the vaulted ceiling. To either side, lower aisles flanked the nave, encased in the arcades-the series of repeating archways and columns. Above them, the clerestory, or second story, was pierced by tall quatrefoil windows, which normally flooded the floor with light. Tonight they remained black and oily as they reflected the fire of the candles. The same was true of the great rose window at the far end of the cathedral, which appeared as one giant eye. Merton often thought of it as the eye of god watching them, but just as the clerestory lights were dark, so too the great eye remained shut.
Reaching the altar, Merton found alabaster statues of Maribor and Novron. Novron, depicted as a strong handsome man in the prime of his youth, was kneeling, sword in hand. The god Maribor, sculpted as a powerful, larger-than-life figure with a long beard and flowing robes, loomed over Novron, placing a crown on the young man’s head. The statues were the same in every church and chapel; only the materials differed, depending on the means of the parishioners.
“Come forward, Monsignor,” he heard the Patriarch say. His voice carried in echoes from the altar. The cathedral was so large that from where he stood, those in the chancel appeared tiny, dwarfed by distance and made small by the height of the ceiling and the breadth of the walls.
Merton walked the long pathway, listening to the sounds of his shoes against the stone floor.
Just as DeLunden had described, the Patriarch sat at the altar on a chair, his gold and purple robes draped to the floor. Rumors circulated it was the same chair he had used in Ervanon, which he had ordered brought with him at great effort. Merton had never interviewed with His Holiness while in Ervanon, so he could not say if that rumor was true. Few could-His Holiness had rarely seen anyone in his days sequestered in the Crown Tower.
He might have been sleeping, the way the old did, regardless of where they happened to be. To either side of him stood the guards, matching their charge perfectly in color and fashion. DeLunden was right, at least about the guards: they were a peculiar pair. They stood like statues, without expressions, and for a moment he considered how their eyes reminded him of the windows.
Upon reaching the Patriarch, Merton knelt and kissed his ring, then stood once more. The Patriarch nodded. The guards did not move-not even to blink.
“You have news,” Nilnev prompted.
“I do, Your Holiness. I have just come from a meeting with Her Eminence and her staff.”
“So tell me, what is the empress doing to protect us?”
“She has done a great deal. Supplies have been stored to last the city an estimated two years with proper rationing, which she has already instituted. In addition, the grounds of Highcourt Fields will be opened to farmers come spring. This and other areas of the city will produce grain and vegetables from stored seed. Already manure is being delivered as fertilizer. Fish are being netted around the clock and salt houses are preserving the cod in bulk. A saltworks has been built near the docks to provide pans for raking. These measures could very well provide the city and its people with food for years-indefinitely, perhaps, should the fishing fleet be free to farm the sea.
“All stores are being kept underground in bunkers being dug by the populace in the event of attacks from the sky similar to what was seen at Dahlgren. In most instances, this is merely an expansion or adaptation of an existing dungeon. A series of tunnels have already been built that allow access to freshwater. The wastes from latrines are being channeled through newly built sewers. Given the frozen ground, progress is slow, but it is believed that adequate space is already available to save the population-although it will be most uncomfortable. Plans to continue the expansion underground could take two or three more months. The empress actually feels that having it uncompleted is beneficial, as it gives the people something to do.”
“So she plans to become a city of moles, hiding in the dirt?”
“Well, yes and no, Your Holiness. She has also strengthened the defenses of the city. A series of catapults are in various states of construction around the outer walls, and soldiers are being drilled by officers appointed by Marshal Breckton. He has devised a number of redundant procedures for every contingency, allowing a means of giving commands in the form of horns, drums, and flags to be flown from the high towers. Archers have stockpiled thousands of arrows and any able-bodied citizen not already employed is working to gather wood for more. Even children are scouring the forest floors. Oil and tar vats are prepared and in ample supply at all gates.
“Signal fires were placed to burn the moment the elves were spotted. One was lit and the empress has ordered all of the roads leading to the city to be destroyed, save the southern gate. All bridges and dams are to be broken in order to prevent-”
