They exited the dungeon stairs and came into the Justiciary hall. Beneath the high, grand roof, Elissian soldiers stood guard, as Elissians of higher rank stood upon the pavings and marvelled at the architecture. This place, they had not burned down. There was discussion as to what it should be converted into, now that its original purpose had been abandoned. Zulmaher didn't know what business any Elissians had to debate that-Alfriedo was Lord of Rhodaan, and such decisions were his alone.
A troop of Black Order were striding across the floor, men in black robes and pointed hoods that covered their faces. A priest led them, a tall man with a tall staff, walking fast. Zulmaher placed Jeddie on the ground and supported her as she balanced on her one good foot.
“General,” said the priest, stopping before them. “Who gave you leave to release this prisoner?”
“The decision to detain or not to detain persons lies with my lord of Rhodaan, Alfriedo Renine, surely,” Zulmaher replied. “Do you say that it does not?”
“This person is in league with the serrin!” the priest spat. “She was a member of the Queen Sofy's court!”
“And have you arrested Queen Sofy also?” Zulmaher asked. “Has the Regent given his order that you should do such a thing?”
“We have reports that she is dead.”
“Best not by your hand, sir. To murder the Regent's wife would seem a somewhat significant thing.”
The priest glared. “She was a pagan and she cast her lot with pagans!”
“I have met with the young lady in question,” Alfriedo interjected, “and I am most assured that she is a Verenthane. Indeed, her knowledge of scripture was rather better than mine, and my education has been extensive. If you have killed her, Father, then I shall see that she receives a proper Verenthane burial. And as Lord of Rhodaan, I shall see that those responsible give a full explanation to her bereaved husband, the Regent of the United Bacosh.”
The priest paled and seethed. “I also have reports that there are many wanted individuals now taking refuge within regions of Tracato under your control, Lord Alfriedo,” he said tightly. “I would ask, on the behalf of the Archbishop, that you hand over all such persons to us immediately.”
“As Lord of Rhodaan,” Alfriedo said mildly, “I was not aware that there were any regions of Tracato outside of my control.”
“The regions of Reninesenn and its surrounds,” said the priest, through gritted teeth. “Those regions most historically associated with your family's esteemed prescence in this city, my lord.”
“Father, I can assure you that there is no one within Reninesenn and its surrounds today who does not belong there.” He said it with such utter, wide-eyed innocence that Zulmaher nearly laughed.
“If my lord says it, then I'm sure that it must be so,” said the priest, with more than a hint of threat. “But my lord should bear in mind that there are no higher authorities in the new Bacosh than the ancient gods. My Archbishop represents those gods, and they have decreed that all things pagan must be cleansed from these lands, for the good of all souls. No lord can dispute the word of the gods. Not even a Regent.”
He turned and strode away, taking his pointy-headed army with him.
“Well said, my lord,” said Zulmaher, watching them go.
“I am getting tired of being told what to do in my own land,” Alfriedo said crossly. “But it is hard to argue with a priest about the word of the gods, to say nothing of an Archbishop.”
“Ordinary men cannot do so,” Zulmaher agreed. “But another priest?”
They took horses to arrive at Reninesenn in good time. There were a great number of armed men in the streets, many with armour and weapons that were centuries old, family heirlooms not needed for warfare since the creation of the Steel, kept in storage as reminders of old family honour. Men saluted Lord Alfriedo and General Zulmaher as they passed. Zulmaher wondered just how useful they would be in a fight. Some of them had experience in the Steel, but not many.
Jeddie departed with a guard to head for the Ushal Fortress, and noble quarters. The others dismounted before the temple. Already there was a small crowd atop the steps, some now taking a knee as Alfriedo climbed the stairs, a gesture that may have had them in trouble with the city's red-coats just weeks earlier. But no one had seen a red-coat in recent times.
A few people raised cheers for Alfriedo Renine, the new Lord of Rhodaan. Many in Rhodaan had been waiting two centuries for this, the restoration of rightful powers to the nobility, and Family Renine as the undisputed rightful heirs to that gods-given power. Yet Alfriedo only looked angry.
“Please,” he said loudly at the temple doors, “I will hear no cheering. We are Tracatans and our city is occupied, ravaged and humiliated. I see nothing to cheer about.”
The temple was only small, but quite lovely with its high arches and wall columns. Family Renine had long held all its important functions here, away from the Council-controlled establishments of the high city, and their lickspittle priests. Now, some of those lickspittle priests were assembled here before the altar: thirty-two in total, the heads of each major temple within Tracato. All looked anxious.
“Thank you for coming,” said Zulmaher. “Firstly, the Lord Alfriedo would hear of your concerns. The past days have been trying on us all. If he is to assume lordship of all Rhodaan, he shall start with Tracato, and if he assumes lordship of Tracato, he shall start with its temples.”
The priests talked, tentatively at first, then with increasing forthrightness. They were not happy. Their parishioners were sometimes scattered, and in a few cases slain. Many tried to organise assistance, and to provide shelter to those who required it. The Black Order did not treat the local priests with respect. High town temples, frequented by Council supporters and Nasi-Keth, were shunned entirely. The only priests invited to an audience with the Archbishop were the more traditional men from Reninesenn, and others favored by supporters of Alfriedo Renine. But those were also displeased.
“He does not listen,” said one old man. “He lectures. He told us that our sins are deep and that such sins can only be cleansed by blood. I presume he means ours.”
“My friends,” Zulmaher said, “we are all alike dismayed, I am sure. Our Lord Alfriedo may have won back his rightful seat in the command of Rhodaan, yet that shall count for nothing if we cannot win back authority over our own land, and our own city. I am but a man, as is my Lord Alfriedo, and we cannot challenge the Archbishop's authority. But you are priests. You carry the authority of the gods. The first step in reclaiming Rhodaan from these invaders shall therefore lie with you.”
Alfriedo was frowning up at him, wondering what he was thinking. The priests looked no different.
“We cannot stand up to the Archbishop,” one exclaimed. “He is an archbishop, we are just common priests!”
“It is the convention within the Bacosh, is it not, that each province shall have an archbishop of its own?” Zulmaher asked. “It was the serrin who ended the practice two hundred years ago. They thought to break the power of the Rhodaani priesthood by depriving them-all of you-of a leader.”
And to look upon you all today, he thought sourly, it worked.
“You will appoint an Archbishop of Rhodaan?” All the robed men stared at each other. Some fearful, some frowning, and others with dawning calculation.
“A lord cannot appoint an archbishop,” said another. “Not even the Lord of Rhodaan.”
“Then you shall choose,” Zulmaher told them. “Surely you have not forgotten the procedures?”
The robed men regarded each other in silence. An old man cleared his throat. “I have studied the process well,” he said. “In old books.” And added with irony, “In a library the serrin built.”
“Very well,” said Zulmaher. “We shall leave you to it. This temple is yours until you have selected your archbishop. Please begin.”