The nobleman gave a twitch, as though startled from reverie, and stared blankly at Citizen before replying, 'True enough. Those that are listening to him are careful not to agree too loudly.'
Dancer's voice was rich and mellifluous, lacking Count Vesna's deep tones but with the same rounded, measured pronunciation. Unlike Isak, Dancer had removed his cloak to reveal his formal wear underneath — much drier than Isak's own clothes as Dancer hadn't been caught in the rain.
The man ran his long, greying moustache through his fingers, a practised mannerism to develop his fussy persona that was now habit, and nodded to himself. T can think of only one or two who'll take it seriously. The restriction on the nobility taking religious orders has thus far precluded that problem. Those who call themselves pious will follow Suzerain Torl's lead.'
'Suzerain Torl is a ranking member of the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings,' Isak snapped, 'and since Veck's demanding to be allowed to form a religious militia to enforce whatever laws he feels like, I'm not encouraged.'
'Lesarl says you've spoken to Torl about the Brethren,' Dancer replied patiently. 'The order's centuries old and they've never shown a desire to enforce religious law. Suzerain Torl is one of your most loyal citizens. First and foremost, he is a Farlan soldier, and that comes before everything else — his title, his dynasty, even the Dark Monks. My Lord, to treat him any other way would wound him more deeply than Eolis could — as well as digging the ground out from underneath your feet.'
'And it makes him a key element in your argument over Duke Certinse's trial,' Lesarl joined in suddenly from Isak's left. Pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against, the Chief Steward walked behind the seated figures. 'The Synod have strength of their own, and they know it, but they're also fully aware that ultimately no group within the Farlan can oppose the nobility. Though they are demanding to conduct Certinse's trial, for a variety of reasons, Cardinal Veck doesn't think he's ever going to succeed. All he's doing is gauging his support among the nobility. That the faultlessly devout Suzerain Torl has not voiced support for him has been noted by all interested parties.'
'Prayer,' Isak said, causing the man's head to snap around from Lesarl to Isak, 'can you tell us any more of the current mood among the clerics? I can't help thinking that the longer Veck's demands go on, the more people are likely to be swayed by his argument.'
Isak could see the priest take a breath before replying. Lesarl had described Prayer as a ruthlessly clinical thinker, so the man must be hating having his thoughts clouded by his God's rage.
'What we feel now is a residual effect of Gods becoming enraged, an echo of their emotions, if you will. It began with a murderous irrationality for the few nights following the fall of Scree, and whilst that lasted only a short time, the effects will continue.' He stopped and looked around, then continued earnestly, 'What you must understand is that Gods are immortal — they feel emotions, but not in the same manner as mortals; when they do, the power is remarkable — such strong feelings emanating from their God may permanently alter the minds of some of their clerics, even if the God has subsequently calmed down. I recommend you assume that the extremists will hold sway for the immediate future.'
'So you and all your kind are my enemies this year?'
Isak spoke without thinking, but Prayer looked ashamed as he replied, 'I fear so, my Lord, but I will not be alone in working to change that. I hope we shall prove only a minor hindrance.'
An uncomfortable moment of silence stretched out into a minute, then two. Even Citizen appeared lost in her thoughts, unmindful of the muffled clatter of chairs from somewhere below them.
Isak went to the window and stared through the half-open shutter that looked out onto the street below. The early winter snows had been replaced by wet trails of rain that glistened darkly on the rooftops. There was no trace of the light white blanket that had covered the city a few days before, but Isak could feel its touch on the air, the bite of ice on his cheek. It made him think the winter would be a cruel one.
There'll be no marching to Lomin this year, he thought distantly, the events of the previous year now ancient history, almost unreal, in his mind. Let us hope the Elves think the same. Vesna says we hurt them badly enough last year to buy us time, but how long can that protect us?
He looked down at the empty street below, the cobbles washed clear of the day's debris. The rain and cold hadn't stopped trade on the docks; Tirah's merchants were intent on getting as much into the city's underground cold stores before winter laid siege. For a moment he thought he caught a shape in the shadows, nothing as definite as an outline, yet enough to make Isak catch his breath.
Gods, is this still my imagination? I've seen nothing, I can sense nothing, and yet… and yet I have that taste in my mouth again, the one that reminds me of the Temple Plaza in Scree when I found the Reapers. He found himself nervously biting down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Qods, what did I do when I summoned them?
He shook the mood from him; it wasn't something he could afford to think about right now. His dreams had been dark enough of late, even those where Xeliath had touched his mind, for the sky had appeared darker, the blurred horizon more menacing. When she was not there he'd started to find himself on a desolate plain scoured of life. The ground was scorched and smoking, but cold to the touch. He knew there were others around, though he could see no one. The wind whipped up from the ground, trying to lift him like a kite, but he felt himself drawn downwards all the same, down to the earth which was furrowed like a fresh barrow. Every time he'd awakened from that place it had been all he could do not to curl into a ball and wrap his blankets around his body to keep the emptiness away. Strange dreams had followed him his entire life, some not even dreams, and these were as powerful as his visions of Lord Bahl's death.
Isak forced himself to turn back to the room. 'So what you're saying is I should override the petitions and debates? I should make an executive ruling?' He tried to school his face so they wouldn't see his pained expression. 'Lesarl said the opposite; he thinks that'll bring even greater opposition.'
'And he's wrong,' Citizen replied bluntly.
Isak turned to the shadowed figure of his Chief Steward, looming behind the backs of his coterie. He gave Lesarl a weak smile. 'One of the annoying things about my Chief Steward is that he's acknowledged by finer minds than mine as a genius.'
'I don't doubt he's right in what he said, just that he's wrong in what should be done,' Citizen said firmly.
'I suppose that'll reassure both his supporters and critics. In the last two weeks it's been suggested both that I make him the next Duke of Lomin, and that I throw him in gaol for corruption. I don't know about the title, though. I'm not convinced he's got the breeding I'd want in my dukes.'
'Yes, milord,' Citizen said in a less than deferential tone, making it plain she had no intention of being affected by Isak's unnatural charisma. Some folk found themselves laughing along with Isak in the strangest of situations, but she was prepared for him. 'Lesarl's right that it'd make you appear dictatorial, and that's a bad way to start your reign; they would've accepted it under Lord Bahl but you're still unknown to them.'
'So?'
'Fuck 'em.'
Isak gave a snort and turned to the rest of the coterie. Citizen's expression was blank; she wasn't joking. Only Prayer showed any reaction as he narrowed his lips further.
'Citizen's correct,' Dancer joined, 'in her own delightful way. The priests aren't winning themselves any friends; attendance at High Reverence is up, but only out of shame, I suspect, and that'll change as soon as folk grow tired of being reminded of their sins. I know the College of Magic has just about had enough.'