"What prayer can do, prayer shall do," Rhavas said. "I, and this whole city, will pray as we have never prayed before."
Rhavas had many reasons to complain about Skopentzana. Winter there was a horror the likes of which he had never known before coming to the far north. The town was years behind the times. Even the local accent was old-fashioned. What most of the complaints boiled down to was that Skopentzana wasn't Videssos the city. The prelate had never complained of the Skopentzanans' impiety.
Nor could he complain of it now. Though days had begun to grow longer after the solstice, they still remained short and cold, so cold. Nevertheless, people began coming to the chief temple (and to the other temples in the city) well before the sun rose. Rhavas could complain about the architecture of the main temple—compared to what they were doing in the imperial capital, it was both provincial and archaic—but not about his congregation's size or enthusiasm.
People bowed to him and made Phos' sun-sign as he strode up the center aisle toward the altar. His robes were the most splendid he owned, almost wholly of cloth of gold and richly encrusted with rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and pearls. They were robes probably finer than any provincial prelate deserved to wear; they were robes fit for an ecumenical patriarch.
(He would not think of Eladas. He would not . . . except when, willy-nilly, he did.)
When he took his place at the center of things—as he had been at the center of things in Skopentzana for so many years—he raised his hands and his eyes to the heavens. The whole congregation imitated his gesture. Along with everyone else in the temple, he recited the creed: "We bless thee, Phos, lord with the great and good mind, by thy grace our protector, watchful beforehand that the great test of life may be decided in our favor."
Because Videssians spoke the creed so often, they sometimes spoke it in a perfunctory way, saying the words but not really feeling or caring what they meant. Not here. Not now. Every syllable burst from every throat achingly informed with meaning. Everyone in the city knew what had happened to the wizards who went out against the Khamorth. A few more came back to Skopentzana after Rhavas and Koubatzes. The rest did not come back at all. That carried its own message.
Rhavas lowered his hands, and the congregants sank back into their seats. He said, "Lord with the great and good mind, we know we are not a perfect people. We are men and women, and so Skotos afflicts us and makes us less than we ought to be." He turned his head and spat. His hearers carefully spat between their feet, so as not to foul their fellows.
"But we also know, O Phos, that we are ever mindful of thee, and that thy goodness is written on the doorposts of our hearts," Rhavas continued. "And we know that the savage barbarians who now afflict our lands acknowledge neither thy name nor the goodness that flows so bountifully from thy heart. They work evil for the sake of working evil, and they torment us both for sport and for the sake of evil. Therefore, if it please thee, keep them far from us. Turn them back toward the borders of our land, back toward the trackless steppe that is their natural home. So may it be, O lord with the great and good mind, if thou shouldst hear our prayer."
"So may it be," the congregation echoed.
Rhavas prayed on, with a sincerity and a passionate intensity he had never reached before. He knew what fueled that intensity: fear. Part of the fear looked ahead to what might happen if the Khamorth broke into Skopentzana, the rest looked back to the memory of what the plainsmen's shamans had inflicted on him and the other Videssians who'd ridden out to meet them.
Except for Koubatzes, Methodios, Ingeros, and a tiny handful of others, the Skopentzanans did not—could not—share the latter fear. They are the lucky ones, the prelate thought. But everyone in the temple could and did share the fear of a sack. Skopentzana had had no share in destruction for many years. The fear of enemies swarming over the walls and through the gates, though, was deeply ingrained in every city-dwelling Videssian.
That being so, Rhavas continued, "And we beseech thee, O lord with the great and good mind, to strengthen our right arms, that we may defend ourselves against the Khamorth and drive them back howling in defeat should they have the temerity to assail us. So may it be, O Phos."
"So may it be," his audience echoed once more, and signed themselves with the good god's sun-circle.
"In thy kindness and mercy, send us aid in our affliction," Rhavas said. "Let there be a swift end to strife internecine within the boundaries of the Empire of Videssos. Let the Avtokrator of the Videssians, thy vicegerent on earth, speedily send soldiers to deliver us from the barbarians and to protect us against all evil. O good god, O light of the universe, so may it be!"
"So may it be!" the congregation cried. Along with him, they raised their eyes and hands to the heavens in the hope that Phos would heed them.
When the service was over, Rhavas stood in the narthex to talk with the congregants who wanted to speak to him. Koubatzes gave him a grave bow. "What prayer may do, very holy sir, prayer has assuredly done," the mage said.
"I thank you," Rhavas replied.
"Whether you should is perhaps another question, for who knows what prayer may do?" With that cryptic utterance, Koubatzes bowed again and went out into the cold.
Zautzes waddled up to the prelate. Amusement—perhaps even admiration—sparked in the eparch's eyes. "You are a clever fellow, very holy sir, a most clever fellow," he said.
"I thank you for your kindness, most honorable sir," Rhavas said.
Zautzes chuckled as if he'd just caught a fat fly wafted along on a merry little breeze. "'Let the Avtokrator of the Videssians speedily send soldiers,'" he quoted. "Aye, let him indeed! And you managed to pray that he would without ever naming him. Well done! Very well done indeed!"
"As a cousin to Maleinos, I care a great deal about who rules the Empire," Rhavas said. "As prelate of threatened Skopentzana, I care not a fig. Whoever rules, let him send soldiers soon."
"That is well said." Zautzes bowed. As with most plump men, he needed some effort to do it.
Straightening, he added, "You are an example to us all."
"I wish I were an example for the Avtokrator and the rebel," Rhavas said sadly. "They fight for the throne and forget the Empire they rule."
The eparch bowed again. "That is also well said." He paused for a moment, considering. "You being who you are, very holy sir, have you thought to write to his Majesty explaining your views?"
"Have I thought of it, being who I am? I have certainly thought of it, yes," Rhavas replied. "And I have decided not to do it. This has nothing to do with the difficulties of posting a letter in such unsettled times, either. It has to do with the difficulty of being who I am. One of the things a man in my position learns is that my cousin who is Avtokrator will brook more interference from a near-stranger than from me. He will presume the near-stranger knows no better, where he will presume I do know better and am seeking advantage in spite of what I know."
"I . . . see." Zautzes plucked at his beard. He let out a long sigh. "I must tell you, that makes more sense than I wish it did. You show yourself to be not unacquainted with the way the mind of a powerful man is likely to work." He turned as if to go, then paused and looked back at the prelate. "But it is a great pity all the same, is it not?" He didn't wait for an answer, but sorrowfully waddled away.
Balked of the chance to say anything, Rhavas found himself nodding. Zautzes told nothing but the truth there. Had Rhavas thought the Avtokrator would pay any attention to his pleas, he would not have hesitated an instant in making them. Only being sure they were pointless held him back.