‘Absolutely out of the question, Abriel,’ Komier said bluntly. ‘Those gates wouldn’t keep out a herd of sheep, and even counting the church soldiers, we don’t have enough men to hold off the kind of force gathering out there.’
‘You’re raising a very unpleasant notion, Komier,’ Darellon said.
‘I know, but I don’t see very many options, do you?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’m sorry, My Lords,’ Sir Nashan said deferentially, ‘but I don’t quite follow what you’ve got in mind.’
‘We’ll have to pull back to the walls of the inner city, Nashan,’ Vanion told him.
‘And abandon the rest?’ Nashan exclaimed. ‘My Lords, we’re talking about the largest – and richest city in the world!’
‘We have no choice, Sir Nashan,’ Abriel explained. ‘The walls of the inner city were built in antiquity. They’re much higher and stronger than the largely ornamental walls that encircle the rest of Chyrellos. We can defend the inner city – for a time, at least – but we have no chance of holding the whole city.’
‘We’re going to have to make some hard and unpleasant choices here,’ Preceptor Darellon said. ‘If we pull back to the inner walls, we’re going to have to close the gates to the general population. We won’t have sufficient supplies in the old city to sustain that many people.’
‘We won’t be able to do a thing until we can take command of the church soldiers, though,’ Vanion said. ‘Four hundred of us couldn’t possibly hold out against Martel’s army.’
‘I might be able to help you there,’ Patriarch Emban said. Emban was sprawled in a large chair, his fat hands on his paunch. ‘It’s going to depend on just how arrogant Makova’s feeling in the morning, however.’ Emban had been evasive when Sparhawk had demanded some sort of explanation about what he had sent Kurik and Berit to do.
‘We’re going to have a certain tactical advantage,’ Komier said thoughtfully. ‘Martel’s troops are mercenaries. As soon as they get inside the outer city, they’re going to stop for some constructive looting. That’s going to give us more time.’
Emban chuckled. ‘It’s also going to distract a sizeable portion of the Hierocracy,’ he grinned. ‘Many of my fellow Patriarchs have lavish houses out beyond the inner walls. They’ll view the sacking of the outer city with a certain anguish, I’d imagine. That might just reduce their enthusiasm for the candidacy of the Primate of Cimmura. My house, however, is here inside the old walls. I’ll be able to think quite clearly – and so will you, won’t you, Dolmant?’
‘You’re a bad man, Emban,’ Dolmant told him.
‘But God appreciates my efforts, Dolmant, no matter how sneaky or underhanded. All of us live but to serve – each in his own special way.’ He paused, frowning slightly. ‘Ortzel’s our candidate. I’d have probably chosen someone else, but there’s a tide of conservatism in the Church just now, and Ortzel’s so conservative that he doesn’t even believe in fire. We may have to work on him just a bit, Dolmant. He’s not exactly what you’d call lovable.’
‘That’s our problem, Emban – yours and mine,’ Dolmant pointed out. ‘I think we should concern ourselves with military matters at the moment.’
‘I suspect that our next step will have to be charting out routes for withdrawal,’ Abriel said. ‘If the Patriarch of Ucera here is successful in transferring command of the church soldiers over to us, we’ll have to move them back inside the inner walls rapidly before the general population realizes what we’re doing. Otherwise, we’ll have mobs of refugees in here with us.’
‘This is brutal, My Lords,’ Sephrenia chided them. ‘You’re abandoning innocent people to the mercy of a horde of savages. Martel’s men won’t be satisfied with just looting. There are certain to be atrocities out there.’
Dolmant sighed. ‘War is never civilized, little mother,’ he told her. ‘One other thing. From now on, you will accompany us to the Basilica every day. I want you where we can protect you.’
‘As you wish, dear one,’ she replied.
Talen’s face was mournful. ‘I don’t suppose you could see your way clear to sort of let me slip outside the inner walls before you close the gates, could you?’ he asked Sparhawk.
‘No,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but why would you want to be out there?’
‘To look after my share of the loot, naturally. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.’
‘You would surely not join in the looting of houses, would you, Talen?’ Bevier asked in a shocked tone.
‘Of course not, Sir Bevier. I’d let Martel’s soldiers do that. It’s when they’re back out in the street with their arms full of the things that they’ve stolen that the thieves of Chyrellos will move in and pick them over. Martel’s going to lose a lot of men in the next few days, I’d imagine. I can almost guarantee that an epidemic of stab-wounds is going to break out in his ranks before this is all over. There are beggars out there who’ll never have to beg again.’ The boy sighed again. ‘You’re robbing my childhood of all its fun, Sparhawk,’ he accused.
‘There is absolutely no danger whatsoever, my brothers,’ Makova scoffed the following morning when the Hierocracy reconvened. ‘The commander of my own personal guard, Captain Gorta –’ He paused a moment to give the Preceptors of the militant orders a hard stare. The sudden demise of the previous captain of his troops obviously still rankled. ‘Captain Erden, that is – went out at great personal risk to question these approaching pilgrims most closely, and he assures me that they are no more than that – pilgrims, faithful sons of the Church – and that they are making this pilgrimage to the Holy City in order to join their voices with others in thanksgiving when the new Archprelate is elevated to the holy throne.’
‘Now, that’s really amazing, Makova,’ Patriarch Emban drawled. ‘As it so happens, I sent observers of my own out of the city, and they had an entirely different kind of report. How do you imagine we can reconcile these differences?’
Makova’s smile was brief, even frosty. ‘The Patriarch of Ucera is well known for his jocularity,’ he said. ‘He is indeed a droll and jolly fellow, and his merry japes frequently relax our tensions at stressful moments, but is this really the time for hilarity, my dear Emban?’