“You have to know, I suppose. The Synod convened eight days ago. Our good Himerius has been elected High Pontiff of the Five Kingdoms.”
Abeleyn’s hand went very still on the water-beaded plumage of the savage bird. “So they did it. They actually elected that slaughter-mongering wolf-livered bastard.”
“Guard your words, sire. You speak of the spiritual head of the Ramusian world.”
“By the blood of the Saints! Did no one object, Golophin?”
“Merion did, but he’s an Antillian of low birth, and thus an outsider. I had thought Heyn of Torunna would also, but he must have been bought off somehow. No doubt Himerius is even now doling out rewards to the faithful who voted him into office.”
“And the purges. I take it they will be extended continent-wide.”
“Yes, lad. A Pontifical bull is expected within a few weeks. It is a black day for the Dweomer-folk, and for the west.”
Abeleyn’s face was as white as bone in the scarlet shadow of the tent.
“I will not allow it. The kings will not allow it. I will put it to the conclave that we cannot tolerate this interference in the day-to-day running of the state. These people are our subjects; whether the Church considers them heretics or no.”
“Careful, lad. There is talk of excommunication in the air at Charibon, and Himerius has the power to issue a bull against you. A heretic king has no right to rule in the eyes of the world.”
“Damn them,” Abeleyn said through clenched teeth. “Is there nothing an anointed king can do in his kingdom without these God-cursed Ravens meddling in it?”
“It is the Inceptine game, sire. They have been playing it for centuries.”
“I will speak to Mark of it. He is a moderate like me. We may not sway Lofantyr of Torunna, for he needs the Knights Militant too badly at the moment, or Haukir of Almark—he is too old, too set in his ways. Cadamost of Perigraine, though. He may be open to reason; he has always struck me as an amenable sort of fellow. What news from the dyke, Golophin? Does it hold?”
“Shahr Baraz’s army is finding the passage of the Western Road difficult. The main body has begun to move at last and there is skirmishing at the dyke itself, but so far there has been no major assault. This is old news, sire, gleaned from a colleague of mine. The bird has been too busy in Charibon to have a closer look at the east.”
“Of course.”
“There is a rumour, though, from Ormann Dyke.”
“What? What of it?”
“It is rumoured that Macrobius was not slain in Aekir’s fall, that he is alive. As I say, it is a rumour, no more.”
“Macrobius alive? No, it’s impossible, Golophin! Torunnan wishful thinking.”
“Do you want me to look into it, sire?”
Abeleyn paused. “No. I need your feathered alter ego back at Charibon. I must be up to date with developments there when the conclave is assembled. There is no time to chase will-o’-the-wisps in the east.”
“Very well, sire.”
There was a silence. The gyrfalcon struggled to its taloned feet and shook its wings, spraying water over Abeleyn.
“Will the bird stay here tonight, Golophin?”
“If you please, sire. He needs a rest, and King Mark is on the right route to find you in the morning. I congratulate you on your navigating.”
“I spend my life navigating, Golophin, trying to keep the ship of state from foundering.”
“Then beware of shoals, my King. They are approaching by the score. Have you heard anything from Fimbria?”
Abeleyn rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary. “Yes. Narbukir is sending an envoy to the conclave. He travels with us, though he wants to remain as low-key as possible. From Fimbria proper there has been no reply to my emissary as yet. I do not honestly expect one, Golophin.”
“Do not give up hope, sire. The Fimbrians may yet be the answer to some of our problems. They have never loved the Church; they blame it for their downfall. They would be a powerful ally if the worst happened and Hebrion went its own way.”
“You mean if its king were excommunicated and it became an outlawed kingdom, beyond the pale of the Ramusian monarchies?”
“That is a picture I would not care to regard too closely, sire.”
“Nor I. I am tired, Golophin, and your magnificent bird seems a little the worse for wear. Maybe we’ll both sleep now. I have a perch ready, if it does not object to roosting on the end of a king’s bed.”
“He—and I—would be honoured, sire.”
“My lord King.” It was the steward’s voice, coming from the other side of the hide partition.
“Yes, Cabran, what is it?”
“The lady Jemilla wonders if you would receive her, sire.”
Abeleyn frowned. “No, Cabran. Tell her I am not to be disturbed until morning.”
“Yes, sire.”
“And Cabran—I am to be wakened the moment King Mark’s party is sighted.”
“As you wish, sire. Good night.”
Some kings and princes had body servants to undress them and prepare them for bed, but Abeleyn preferred to perform those functions himself. He reached under the low cot for the chamber-pot and pissed into it gratefully.
“You brought Jemilla, then,” the gyrfalcon said. Odd to hear Golophin’s deep tones issue out of the harsh beak, as though the bird had the lips and lungs of a man.
Abeleyn shoved the steaming pot back under the cot. “Yes. What of it?”
“She has ambitions, that one.”
“She will never be my queen, if that’s what you’re afraid of. She’s much too old, and she was married before.”
“I think she hopes, sire, in the way women do. Be careful of her. I do not think she is the kind of lady to be discarded lightly.”
“
“And it is high time you were married yourself. You must be the most eligible bachelor in the Five Kingdoms.”
“You sound like a mother goose fussing over her brood, Golophin. You know why I have not married. If I ally myself with one of the other monarchies through a state marriage then I alienate the others—”
“And Hebrion depends on the goodwill of all the kings for the trade that sustains her. I know the arguments, sire, but there is a new one now. You must bind Hebrion to another state if you intend to flout the holy writ of our new Pontiff; you cannot afford to let yourself be isolated. It is something you might bring up with King Mark when you meet.”
“What schemes are you hatching now, Golophin?”
“Think of it, sire. An alliance between Astarac and Hebrion, and in between them the neutral state of Fimbria. That would be a bloc that even the Church would think twice before provoking. If you wish to shake free of the Church’s authority then you should be thinking of the part of the continent that lies west of the Malvennor Mountains. The western states have always had a reputation for going their own way.”
“If certain clerics heard your words, Golophin, you would be a heap of ashes at the foot of a blackened stake.”
“If certain clerics saw this talking bird my end would be the same. I no longer have anything to lose and nor have you, sire. Think about what I have said, and if you have to bend a little to avoid becoming a heretic king, then so be it—but make sure that if you cannot bend far enough Hebrion is not left to stand alone.”
Abeleyn yawned. “All right, I am convinced. Ah, this mountain air! It makes a man sleepy. Your bird looks shattered, Golophin.”
“We both are. The powers of mages are not all they are rumoured to be. This night I feel as old and brittle
