The Complete Tamuli Trilogy: Domes of Fire, The Shining Ones, The Hidden City

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘I just assumed that the villagers all worshipped you. It’s sort of logical that you’d choose to be born in a village of your own adherents.’

‘You don’t understand Styrics at all, do you? That’s the most tedious idea I’ve ever heard of – a whole village of people who all worship the same God? How boring.’

‘Elenes do it.’

‘Elenes eat pigs too.’

‘What have you got against pigs?’

She shuddered.

‘Who does Zalasta worship if he’s not one of your adherents?’

‘He hasn’t chosen to tell us, and it’s terribly impolite to ask.’

‘How did he get to be a member of the Thousand then? I thought you had to be a high priest to qualify for membership.’

‘He isn’t a member. He doesn’t want to be. He advises them.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I really shouldn’t say this, Sparhawk, but don’t expect exalted wisdom from the council. High priests are devout, but that doesn’t require wisdom. Some of the Thousand are frighteningly stupid.’

‘Can you get any kind of clue about which God might be at the bottom of all these disturbances?’

‘No. Whoever it is doesn’t want any of the rest of us to know his identity, and there are ways we can conceal ourselves. About all I can say is that he’s not Styric. Pay very close attention at the meeting this afternoon, Sparhawk. My temperament’s Styric, and there may be things I’d overlook just because I’m so used to them.’

‘What do you want me to look for?’

‘I don’t know. Use your rudimentary intuition. Look for false notes, lapses, any kind of clue hinting at the fact that someone’s not entirely what he seems to be.’

‘Do you suspect that there might be some member of the Thousand working for the other side?’

‘I didn’t say that. I just said that there’s something wrong. I’m getting another of those premonitions like the one I had at Kotyk’s house. Something’s not what it’s supposed to be here, and I can’t for the life of me tell what it is. Try to find out what it is, Sparhawk. We really need to know.’

The council of the Thousand met in a stately marble building at the very centre of Sarsos. It was an imposing, even intimidating building that shouldered its way upward arrogantly. Like all public buildings, it was totally devoid of any warmth or humanity. It had wide, echoing marble corridors and huge bronze doors designed to make people feel tiny and insignificant.

The actual meetings took place in a large, semicircular hall with tier upon tier of marble benches stairstepping up the sides. There were ten of those tiers, naturally, and the seats on each tier were evenly spaced. It was all very logical. Architects are usually logical, since their buildings tend to collapse if they are not.

At Sephrenia’s suggestion, Sparhawk and the other Elenes wore simple white robes to avoid those unpleasant associations in the minds of Styrics when they are confronted by armoured Elenes. The knights, however, wore chain-mail and swords under their robes.

The chamber was about half-full, since at any given time a part of the council was off doing other things. The members of the Thousand sat or strolled about talking quietly with each other. Some moved purposefully among their colleagues, talking earnestly. Others laughed and joked. Not a few were sleeping.

Zalasta led them to the front of the chamber where chairs had been placed for them in a kind of semicircle.

‘I have to take my seat,’ Sephrenia told them quietly. ‘Please don’t take immediate action if someone insults you. There’s several thousand years of resentment built up in this chamber, and some of it’s bound to spill over.’ She crossed the chamber to sit on one of the marble benches.

Zalasta stepped to the centre of the room and stood silently, making no attempt to call the assemblage to order. The traditional courtesies were obscure here. Gradually, the talking tapered off, and the Council members took their seats. ‘If it please the Council,’ Zalasta said in Styric, ‘we are honoured today by the presence of important guests.’

‘It certainly doesn’t please me,’ one member retorted. ‘These “guests” appear to be Elenes for the most part, and I’m not all that interested in hob-nobbing with pig-eaters.’

‘This promises to be moderately unpleasant,’ Stragen murmured. ‘Our Styric cousins seem to be as capable of boorishness as we are.’

Zalasta ignored the ill-mannered speaker and continued. ‘Sarsos is subject to the Tamul Empire,’ he reminded them, ‘and we benefit enormously from that relationship.’

‘And the Tamuls make sure we pay for those benefits,’ another member called.

Zalasta ignored that as well. ‘I’m sure you’ll all join with me in welcoming First Secretary Oscagne, the Chief of the Imperial Foreign Service.’

‘I don’t know what makes you so sure about that, Zalasta,’ someone shouted with a raucous laugh.

Oscagne rose to his feet. ‘I’m overwhelmed by this demonstration of affection,’ he said dryly in perfect Styric.

There were cat-calls from the tiers of seats. The cat-calls died quite suddenly when Engessa rose to his feet and stood with his arms folded across his chest. He did not even bother to scowl at the unruly councillors.

‘That’s better,’ Oscagne said. ‘I’m glad that the legendary courtesy of the Styric people has finally asserted itself. If I may, I’ll briefly introduce the members of our party, and then we’ll place an urgent matter before you for your consideration.’ He briefly introduced Patriarch Emban. An angry mutter swept through the chamber.

‘That’s directed at the Church, your Grace,’ Stragen told him, ‘not at you personally.’

When Oscagne introduced Ehlana, one council member on the top tier whispered a remark to those seated near him which elicited a decidedly vulgar laugh. Mirtai came to her feet like an uncoiling spring, her hands darting to her sheathed daggers.

Engessa said something sharply to her in the Tamul tongue.

She shook her head. Her eyes were blazing and her jaw was set. She drew a dagger. Mirtai may not have understood Styric, but she did understand the implications of that laugh.

Sparhawk rose to his feet. ‘It’s my place to respond, Mirtai,’ he reminded her.

‘You will not defer to me?’

‘Not this time, no. I’m sorry, but it’s a sort of formal occasion, so we should observe the niceties.’ He turned to look up at the insolent Styric in the top row. ‘Would you care to repeat what you just said a little louder, neighbour?’ he asked in Styric. ‘If it’s so funny, maybe you should share it with us.’

‘Well, what do you know,’ the fellow sneered, ‘a talking dog.’

Sephrenia rose to her feet. ‘I call upon the Thousand to observe the traditional moment of silence,’ she declared in Styric.

‘Who died?’ the loud-mouth demanded.

‘You did, Camriel,’ she told him sweetly, ‘so our grief will not be excessive. This is Prince Sparhawk, the man who destroyed the Elder God Azash, and you’ve just insulted his wife. Did you want the customary burial – assuming that we can find enough of you to commit to the earth when he’s done with you?’

Camriel’s jaw had dropped, and his face had gone dead white. The rest of the Council also visibly shrank back.

‘His name still seems to carry some weight,’ Ulath noted to Tynian.

‘Evidently. Our insolent friend up there seems to be having long, gloomy thoughts about mortality.’

‘Councillor Camriel,’ Sparhawk said quite formally, ‘let us not interrupt the deliberations of the Thousand with a purely personal matter. I’ll look you up after the meeting, and we can make the necessary arrangements.’

‘What did he say?’ Ehlana whispered to Stragen.

‘The usual, your Majesty. I expect that Councillor Camriel’s going to remember a pressing engagement on the other side of the world at any moment now.’