Sozomenos descended from the pulpit. He seemed to abandon some of his patriarchal dignity as he did so. Approaching Rhavas, he seemed only a sad old man. "You did not have to kill Arkadios," he said in a deeply mournful voice.
"I am sorry it upset you, most holy sir," Rhavas said—he would not say he was sorry for what he had done. "The man insulted me and called me a liar. How else was I to show him to be mistaken?"
"Killing is easy." Sozomenos sighed. "If we have learned anything lately, we have learned that. When you can give back life as readily as you take it, taking it may perhaps be justified. Until then?" He shook his head. "Until then, no."
"We see things differently," Rhavas said.
"In many ways," the ecumenical patriarch agreed. "If you think you can frighten people into reverencing the dark god, I must tell you that I believe you are wrong."
"That is not why I did it," Rhavas answered. Not all of why I did it, anyhow. "He said I did not have the power. He said the dark god did not have the power. He cursed me. I cursed him. You see which of our curses was the more decisive."
"No, not yet," Sozomenos said. "Sometimes these things play out more slowly than it seems at first."
"Have it your way, then, most holy sir," Rhavas said dismissively. "I am alive. He is dead. I draw my own conclusions from that."
"I suppose you would." Sozomenos eyed him. "I suppose you are also the priest who has left a trail of blood in his wake from the northeast down to Videssos the city. I prayed it was not so, but I fear there is no longer much room for doubt, is there?"
"I admit nothing," Rhavas said. "Nor do I think your assertion is susceptible of proof."
The ecumenical patriarch let out another sad sigh. "I wish you had simply said, 'No, I am not the man.'"
Rhavas wished he had said that, too. He could say it now, but Sozomenos would not believe it. Sozomenos probably would not have believed it had he said it before. What he did say was, "I wish life were as we wished it. I wish I had not been forced to the conclusions I have reached. But life is as it is, and I believe what I believe—and I believe I have the evidence for that belief."
"There we differ," Sozomenos said. "The dark god may speak through you." He spat in rejection of Skotos—but he did it almost apologetically, as if to remind Rhavas it was his duty. "He may speak through you, yes, but you must always remember that he lies."
"I have other evidence of his strength than what he does through me," Rhavas said, "and those who oppose him would naturally say he lies."
"Perhaps you will persuade the assembled clerics," Sozomenos said. "Perhaps—but I would not care to bet on it."
"We shall continue, as you commanded, in three days' time." Rhavas bowed to the ecumenical patriarch. "Until then."
"Yes," Sozomenos said, sadly still. "Until then."
When Rhavas came to the High Temple for the next session of the synod, the two wizards who'd been there before waited in the narthex. He bowed to them as he'd bowed to the patriarch. "Do you want something of me, sorcerous sirs?"
One of them flinched. The other one asked, "How did you do what you did to that other prelate? It was no ordinary spell." He looked daggers at his colleague, as if defying the other mage to tell him he was wrong.
"The god spoke through me," Rhavas said. Let them make of that what they would. He bowed again and went on into the High Temple.
A few priests came up to him and even fawned on him. That he had some supporters warmed him. But they were not the men he wished they would have been. He knew only a couple of them. One was a drunk, the other notorious for taking his vows lightly. The rest struck him as being of similar stripe. The sober, sensible prelates he would have wanted at his side did not care to join him. He shrugged. As he'd told Sozomenos, life was the way it was. Expecting it to be otherwise was asking for disappointment.
Sozomenos called the session to order with the usual prayers. Most of the ecclesiastics seemed more eager to offer them up than they had when the synod opened. Rhavas found that funny. He'd frightened them into piety.
Debate resumed. No one insulted him to his face, as Arkadios had done at the first session. No one insulted him, no, but next to no one spoke in agreement with him, not even the men who'd fawned on him.
He argued on. If he was to be alone against the world, then he was, that was all. It made the challenge larger. The ecclesiastics who argued against him kept on being much more polite than the late Arkadios had been. They would not agree, but they would not revile him for his opinions. He almost wished they would have. Killing a couple of them might have taken the edge off his own rising temper.
Those two mages kept watching him and muttering back and forth. He wondered what they were saying. He didn't worry overmuch—he'd told them the unvarnished truth—but he did wonder.
Some sort of commotion started outside the High Temple late in the afternoon. Occasional shouts and outcries made their way into the immense building, though Rhavas could not make out words in them and didn't think anyone else could, either.
Then a man burst into the temple, crying, "Holy sirs! Holy sirs! I have news, holy sirs, important news!"
"Say on," Sozomenos told him from the pulpit, as if warning it had better be important.
And it was. "There's been a battle north of here," the man shouted, his voice filling the High Temple. "There's been a battle, and Stylianos has beaten and slain Maleinos! The new Avtokrator is marching on the city!"
XII
Stylianos—now the unchallenged Avtokrator Stylianos—came into the capital six days later. A few officers had thought about resisting him. They couldn't do it in Maleinos' name anymore; one of them would have had to declare himself Avtokrator in turn, and start a new round of civil strife. That proved the sticking point. None of the ambitious men seemed willing to let one of his fellows get ahead of him. They all preferred to accept Stylianos rather than one of their friends and rivals.
So rumor said, at any rate. None of the officers summoned Rhavas, either to curse a rival or to curse Stylianos himself. Maybe they didn't believe what had happened to Arkadios. Or maybe they feared losing with or without Rhavas, and didn't want associating with him to count against them.
Sozomenos suspended the synod again till things grew more stable. None of the assembled ecclesiastics complained. Facing the ideas Rhavas presented—and facing Rhavas himself—was more daunting than the usual sort of theological disputation. Facing Rhavas and his ideas meant facing issues of life and death.
Lardys stayed cheerfully cynical. "None of it really matters, holy sir," he said. "None of it matters for beans. To the likes of me, what difference does it make who wears a crown?"
"It makes a difference to me," Rhavas said.
"Well, yes, I suppose it would," the innkeeper allowed. "You going to light out for the tall timber? Figure Stylianos'll do the same for you as he did for your cousin?" Lardys remained cheerful as he drew a finger across his throat. Why not? His wasn't the throat that would really be slit.
Rhavas only shrugged. "No way to know ahead of time."
"I guess you're right," Lardys said. "Well, you'll find out pretty soon, won't you?"
Like any new Avtokrator, Stylianos staged a triumphal entry into Videssos the city. His soldiers came in the day before he did, and secured Middle Street from the Silver Gate all the way to the palace quarter. The capital's garrison did not presume to quarrel with the newcomers. They knew which end of the loaf they would dip into oil.
Heralds announced Stylianos' arrival, just in case anyone in the capital had somehow missed the news. Rhavas had watched Maleinos ride out to battle. Now he saw Stylianos come in after winning that battle.