Sovereign

'Then you're suggesting someone else sacrifice themselves?' She regarded him with new respect. 'You're suggesting yourself? You love my brother that much?'

'If it would make him better, then yes, I would,' he said without thinking, then paused, surprised by the admission. 'But I do not think the Key would let me.'

'Then what exactly do you have in mind?' she asked impatiently.

'We let Olio use it,' he said.

Areava stood back from Edaytor and looked at him as she might an idiot. 'It was the Key that caused this blight afflicting him!'

'There are moments when we are talking—your brother and I—when I see flashes of the old prince. It's as if he is a prisoner in his own mind, but no matter how hard he tries he has not the strength to break free. The Key has the strength he needs.'

'But you don't know that, Prelate Fanhow. It might just as easily make him worse, or even kill him.'

'It may, your Majesty,' he admitted. 'But I think not. I believe because he is so attuned to the Key he will be able to use it to heal himself.'

'Then why did he not do so when he first became ill?'

'Because he overused the Key. He became subservient to it. Now that he has been without it for a long while, he may be able to reassert his mastery over it.'

Areava took Edaytor's arm again and drew him close. 'But you are not sure, are you?'

'I said there was a risk.'

For a long while Areava said nothing, and Edaytor held his breath.

'If I agree, when do we do this?' she asked eventually.

'We give him the Key at those moments when he is most like his old self. Hopefully there will be enough of him there to use it.'

Areava nodded. 'I will think on it and let you know my decision. I wish fervently you had come up with some other solution.'

'As do I, your Majesty,' Edaytor conceded.

Father Rown followed Powl to the library after the meeting with the parish priests. Powl stopped in front of the Book of Days.

'You know what this is?' Powl asked.

'Of course, your Grace,' Rown replied.

Powl rested his hand on the book and drummed with his fingers. Rown waited patiently. Eventually the primate said: 'It is one of my duties to write in this book.'

'Yes, your Grace.'

'Daily.'

Rown nodded.

'I have had a lot on my mind since my predecessor's death.'

'A great many tragic things have occurred,' Rown elaborated, starting to wonder what the point of this discussion was.

'It wasn't possible for me to keep up with all the responsibilities of primate. After all, the succession was unexpected.'

Rown lifted an eyebrow. 'Unexpected? But Primate Northam gave you the name of God—'

'Yes, yes,' Powl said irritably. 'I didn't mean my succession was unexpected. I meant…' He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. '… God… I meant that Northam's death was unexpected.'

'Ah, yes, of course.'

'The point is, you see, that as secretary I think you should have reminded me of my duties where I neglected… no… unintentionally avoided… them.'

'I see,' Rown said, his voice falling.

'This is not a reprimand, you understand.'

'Of course not,' Rown said, but Powl could see the priest did not believe it.

'It's just that I know you are devoted to your service and would desire to be shown where certain deficiencies…' Instead of finishing the sentence, Powl waved a hand vaguely in the air.

'I understand, and thank your Grace for showing me the error of my ways.'

'I accept that I am a frail man prone to make mistakes as easily as the next man—indeed we both are—and may find it necessary from time to time to be reminded when I fall short of my expectations. Such as filling in the Book of Days.'

'I understand, your Grace. I will try harder in future.'

Powl tried to smile convivially, but it just made his face look grumpier. 'Good. Excellent. Can I ask why you did not remind me about the Book of Days?'

'Forgive me, but I thought you had so much to do already in the hard times following Primate Northam's death I was afraid of labouring you with unnecessary details. And I was not sure you had forgotten. There may have been some other reason for your not continuing the tradition.'

'I see. Well, now we both know better where we stand.'

'Yes, your Grace.'

'Right. Thank you.'

Rown bowed and left. Powl watched him go, silently cursing himself for facing Rown down like that; the priest had done nothing to deserve his ill favour—it had not been Rown's fault that he had unknowingly replaced Powl as his predecessor's favourite to become primate of the Church, the knowledge of which had driven Powl to murder Northam. Powl turned to the book and from a pocket in his frock retrieved a pen and small bottle of ink. He carefully unscrewed the bottle's lid, dipped the pen then lifted it to write.

But he had no words. His mind was empty of any pious thought, any revelation. Powl, Primate of the Church of the Righteous God, had nothing righteous to add to the Book of Days.

CHAPTER 10

Serefa enjoyed the first hour of filling water casks and roping them to the back of the outpost's donkey. It had been a warm morning with a gentle mist lifting off the ground and birds singing in the gallery along the stream. He had taken off his clothes and bathed before starting his chores and felt refreshed and at peace with the world. However, by the time he had hoisted the sixth cask he was feeling less sanguine about life in general, and outpost work in particular. His imagination started painting pictures for him of the other knights in Daavis, enjoying good company, good wine and a comfortable bed at night. All he had was three other knights who stank worse than he did, fresh water and a horse blanket. And the constant birdsong was starting to irritate him.

With the sixth cask in place he dressed quickly in his stained leather breeches and jerkin. He started strapping on his greaves and breastplate, but the day was getting hot and he decided to leave them off. He tucked them between the casks and began the walk back to the outpost, only a league away but at the top of a steep hill. His stomach rumbled and he hoped one of the others had started the breakfast fire. He cursed himself then, for he had forgotten that one of his tasks that morning had been to gather more wood. He was about to turn back when he noticed smoke coming from the top of the hill.

Worat on the dawn guard must have been able to scrape together enough chips and twigs to start cooking. He decided he could get the firewood later and resumed the climb up the hill, but stopped again when he saw just how big a fire Worat had started.

He's burning the corned beef again, Serefa told himself, and cursed loudly. Thick white smoke puffed above the hill. The idiot's using the green wood meant for the signal fire…

'Oh, shit!' he cursed. He let go of the donkey's lead and ran up the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. When he got there he found the other three knights already dressed and holding the leads of their mounts. His horse had been saddled for him.

'Where?' he asked.

Worat pointed northeast, and Serefa saw a long streaming line of enemy soldiers. Judging by the speed the line was moving they must be cavalry, for all that they looked like ants from this high up.

'About a hundred riders?'

'About,' agreed one of the others. 'Scouting party.'

'And coming this way,' he said absently and to no one in particular. His stomach rumbled again. 'They're at least an hour away.'

Worat snorted. 'You and your gut can wait until we get to Daavis,' he said.

They started down the hill, meeting the donkey halfway. They filled their water bottles from one of the casks, and Serefa retrieved his armour, before continuing.

'Do you think they were Chetts?' Serefa asked.

'We can wait and ask them if you like,' Worat said.

'Kind of you to offer, but I'd rather not—'