“Patachi Maerler,” said Alexanda with heavy sarcasm, “commands ten thousand plus, and most of southern Petrodor. Any assault into his territory would be a military nightmare. He has Saalshen on his side. His holy brother has just deprived the archbishop, and thus Patachi Steiner, of their greatest rallying cry-the Shereldin Star-and placed it most cleverly into the dragon's mouth. Patachi Maerler is cunning, Captain-he gives the star to the dragon, and now Patachi Steiner must go and fight the dragon if he wants it back. Patachi Maerler will sit back and watch them maul each other, and smile. Had he kept the star himself, Patachi Steiner may have fought him. This way, he loses nothing and his enemies decline.
“Furthermore, I will not leap on board this crazy ship of war unless I am convinced Pazira has absolutely no other choice. You are young, and you have seen battles, but you have not seen war. I have. This war that looms shall be slaughter on a scale that would make even the highlanders cringe.”
Alexanda walked to the head of the column moving up the stone steps to receive a blessing from the priest before the doors.
It was a nice little temple, Alexanda reflected. His builder's eye studied the stonework and appreciated the symmetry, the precision of supports and strongpoints that might be hidden to others. Footsteps echoed in a gathering volume as the temple slowly filled. Alexanda and Varona reached the end of the aisle, and sat together on the left, Bryanne joining her mother, further from Alexanda. Alexanda removed his hat, and continued his examination of the ceiling. The wood support beams looked interesting-rel wood, perhaps. Rel was usually too heavy for such beams. He wondered how the craftsmen had done it, craning his neck…
“Dear, sit still,” his wife scolded in a low voice, as the benches beside and behind them were gradually filled. “It's not dignified.”
“I promise you, dear lady, this ceiling is vastly more interesting than anything some priest might say this morning.”
“We have this conversation every second Varansday,” replied Varona, on the edge of temper. “You are the duke and it is your obligation to sit here and suffer with the rest of us.”
“Oh tosh, what are you talking about? You enjoy it.”
Infinitely more refined, Varona raised her eyebrows. “I happen to be a good Verenthane.”
“And I'm not?”
Varona smiled, and patted his arm. “Don't worry, dearest. I pray for you.”
“Why is it an interesting ceiling, Papa?” asked Bryanne.
“Oh, Bryanne,” said her exasperated mother, “don't encourage him.”
Alexanda smiled broadly at his daughter. Bryanne grinned. “I'm so glad you asked, petal. Now look up at this beam here, this one right at the end above the wall. That's called a brace.”
He was still explaining the intracies of construction and weight-bearing loads, when the priest ascended to his altar. Varona slapped her husband and daughter on the leg to make them shut up. Alexanda did so, grumpily, and as the priest began to drone, he busied himself with thoughts of Petrodor and its circumstances.
If there was one good thing to arise from the current mess, he thought, it was that the power of the provinces and their dukes had been reinforced. Now the squabbling patachis realised they needed them after all, and for more than just decent wine and a good cheese. Most of the men who would march to war would be drawn from the provinces. But they would only obey the instruction of the archbishop, not any fat, greedy patachi. Fathers and mothers would only part with their sons if the gods decreed it. Priests and patachis, so mutually necessary, and such an equal curse upon the land.
Danor was with Patachi Steiner and had participated in the recent attacks against Family Halmady and their allies. So had Vedichi…but that was no surprise; Duke Belary was a leech, sucking the blood from all within his borders until Pazira towns were bursting with poor peasants escaping from Vedichi's harsh masters and harsher taxes. Coroman's support was a given-Petrodor was within Coroman's historical borders and, while Duke Tosci was no fool, Steiner's allied families owned many of Coroman's best lands, and the loyalty of his wealthiest earls. No, Patachi Steiner had Tosci by the balls, and Alexanda could hardly blame the man for his capitulations. Pazira, thank the gods, had distance between itself and Petrodor. That and a healthy, regional contempt that went back many centuries.
Songel was a prospect. Alexanda had met with Duke Abad just the other night. He was clearly unhappy with the Steiners and was leaning Maerler's way. Maerler, it seemed, had offered him terms of trade more favourable than had Steiner…
In addition to Songel, the province of Flewderin was only interested in being left alone, and Cisseren were…well…ambivalent. Add it all together and Patachi Steiner only had three provinces firmly behind him. Four remained, as the serrin Rhillian never failed to point out whenever they met. Four weaker provinces, it was true, but add Saalshen and the balance was just about even. Maerler were not out of this race yet, not by a long way. Now Alexanda just had to think of some way to help extend the deadlock indefinitely. In that sense, his sympathies lay clearly with the green-eyed, white-haired beauty and her strange flock. If only he could find a way, before it drove him mad.
And what of this strange business with Halmady? Who knew that Halmady were plotting against their allies? Patachi Halmady had been known as a most unambitious man-a praiseworthy quality, if one were Patachi Steiner and looking for a safe right hand. Alexanda did not know what to make of it all. Could it have been true? Or were Halmady inconvenient for some other reason? Adding to the strangeness, he now heard that Princess Alythia of Lenayin had survived, and was with her sister in Dockside. Steiner had ordered the others killed, it seemed, but not the princess. Well, hardly surprising, if one were to reckon with the temper of her father, the King of Lenayin. But the king's temper would be sorely tested anyhow in this slaughter of his daughter's betrothed family. Something had arisen within the halls of Steiner Mansion to make such a drastic action seem well worth the risk. As to what that could be, Alexanda could only wrestle with the uncomfortable feeling that he was missing something. Something very big, and very obvious to everyone who knew the secret, and completely puzzling to everyone else…
The temple was very quiet, he realised. The priest was still talking, and usually there were rustles of fabric from the ladies’ dresses, or creaks from the benches as people shifted their weight. Now, nothing. Alexanda looked at the priest. He seemed very…well, tense. A bald man in a black robe, his face an even paler shade of white than usual, reading from a scroll upon the lectern.
“…and have the blasphemous gall to call this slander ‘philosophy.’ They creep through our city in the dead of night, promising murder and mayhem to all who oppose their malicious intent. They spread their misgotten wealth, corrupting those whose souls can be easily bought-the traitors, the blasphemous, the bastards and the fornicators. These evil collaborators have sold their souls for a few golden coins, and now, they are servants of the demons of Loth.
“Trust none who would serve these demons with the glowing eyes. Like demons, they have no morals. They fornicate with whomever they choose, their women have no concept of feminine virtue, and they have even been known to fornicate with their own brothers and sisters-even with their children. Through their human servants, they seek to spread their vile ways into our midst, to excuse them before our revulsion as ‘philosophy,’ and other such evil words that pretend know no good nor evil. They seek to devour human souls, as they have no souls of their own. It is the moral, godly duty of each and every true Verenthane in Petrodor-nay, in all Torovan-to resist these evil, twisted creatures with every fibre of our being. So have the gods decreed, and so does our blessed archbishop declare to we, his humble supplicants.”