'Are you saying, my Lord Molin, that such a vagrant is ploughing through my city? Is that why you've called me here, really? Does my suite harbour a viperous traitor?'
It must be an act, Molin decided. No one could attain physical maturity with only Kadakithis's apparent intelligence to guide him. He had attained maturity, hadn't he? Molin's plans demanded it. He was known to have concubines, but perhaps he merely talked them to sleep? It was time for a change of tactics.
'My Dear Prince, as hierarchical superior here in Sanctuary I can flatly state that the repeated incidents of divine intervention, unguided as they are by the rituals performed according to tradition by myself and my acolytes, constitute a severe threat to the well-being of your people and your mission to Sanctuary. They must be stopped by whatever means are necessary!'
'Oh... oh!' the Prince's face brightened. 'I believe I understand. I'm to do something at next week's festival that will help you get control again. Do I get to bed Azyuna?'
The light in the young man's eyes reassured Molin that the Prince did understand the purpose of a concubine. 'Indeed, my Prince! But that is only a small part of what we shall do next week. The Dance of Azyuna and the Divine Seduction are performed at the festival each year. Many children are born of such unions, many serve their ersatz-father with great dignity - I myself am a son of the Consort. But, under extreme circumstances the Dance of Azyuna will be preceded by the most sacred recreation of the Ten-Slaying itself. Vashanka - mayHisnamebepraised - rediscovers His traitorous brothers plotting to overthrow the divine authority of Savankala, their father. He slays them on the spot and takes Azyuna, at her insistence, to bed at once as his consort. The child of such a union - if there were any - would be well-omened indeed.
'My Prince, the auguries indicate that such a child will be born here in Sanctuary - of all places - and our God's activity here would lend belief to this. It is imperative that such a child be born within the strictures of the temple; it would be fitting if the child's natural father were you ...'
The Prince turned the colour of the fruit tea, though his complexion quickly levelled off at a unique shade of green. 'But Molin, that's general's work killing surrendered officers of the enemy. Molin, you don't expect me to kill ten men, do you? Why, there aren't more than ten Vashankan priests in this whole city.' I'd have to kill you. I couldn't do it, Molin - you mean too much to me.'
'My Dear Prince,' Molin poured another goblet of fruit tea and signalled the mute to bring a stronger libation for the next round. 'My Dear Prince, while I would never hesitate to lay down my life for you or the Empire should, gods forfend, the need ever arise -none the less, I assure you, I am not about to make the supreme sacrifice at this time. There is nothing in the most sacred tomes of ritual dictating the nature or rank of the ten who must be slain -save that they must be undeformed and alive at the start.'
At that moment there were shouts outside Molin's larger window and the all-too familiar sound of the gallow's rope snapping another neck.
'Very simply, my Prince, cancel these daily executions and by the Ten-Slaying I'm sure we'll have our quota.'
The Prince blanched at the thought of Sanctuary denizens whose activities so exceeded the norms of this none-too-civilized place that his judges would condemn them to death.
'They would be bound and drugged, of course,' Molin consoled his Prince, 'as is part of custom, if not tradition. Our hierarchy has suffered the discomfort of having the wrong man survive,' Molin added quickly, without mentioning that they had also suffered the inconvenience of losing all eleven to their wounds before the ritual could be completed. The hierarchy had acquired an immense practicality over the generations when its own interests were concerned.
Kadakithis stared blankly into the corners of the room; he had stared briefly out the window but the busy gallows had not brought the peace of mind he sought. Molin entertained hopes of getting new quarters in the near future. The mute offered them a fresh goblet of the local wine - a surprisingly potable beverage, given its origins. But then the priorities of the populace were such that the wine should be far better than their cheese or bread. Molin himself offered the strong drink to the Prince.
'Molin -I cannot. If it were just the Dance... well, no, not even then.' The Prince squared his shoulders and simulated a stance of firm resolve. 'Molin, you are wrong - it would not be fitting for a Prince of the blood. I mean no slurs, but I cannot be seen consorting with a temple slave at a public festival.'
Molin considered the refusal; considered taking Vashanka's role himself- he'd seen the temple slave in question. But he had been honest with the Prince; it was of the utmost importance that the child be properly conceived.
'My Prince, I do not ask this lightly, any more lightly than I informed my brethren in Ranke of my decision in this matter. The slave is of the best Northern stock; the rite is held in strictest mystery.
'The Hand of Vashanka rests heavily on your prefecture, my Prince. You cannot have failed to notice His presence. The daily auguries show it plainly. Your own Hell Hounds, the very guardians of Imperial Order, are not immune to the dangers of Vashanka's unbridled presence!'
The High Priest paused, staring hard into Kadakithis's eyes, forcing the young governor to acknowledge the rumours that flew freely and were never disputed. Molin could trace his ancestry to the god in the time-honoured way, but what about Tempus? The Hell Hound bore Vashanka's mark, but had been whelped far beyond the ken of the priesthood.
'Who are we to channel the powers of the gods?' the Prince responded, his gaze unfocused, his manner uncomfortably evasive.
Molin drew himself up to his full height, some finger-widths taller than the Prince. His back straightened as if the beaten gold headdress of his office balanced on his brow. 'My Prince, we are the channels, the only true channels. Without the mediation of a duly consecrated hierarchy the bonds of tradition which make Vashanka - mayHisnamebepraised - our God and us His worshippers would be irreparably sundered. The rituals of the temple, whose origins are one with the God Himself, are the balance between mortal and immortal. Anyone who circumvents the rituals, for any reason however well-intentioned ... anyone who does not hearken to the call of the hierarchy in its needs subverts the proper relationship of god and worshipper to the damning harm of both!'
Again the experienced Imperial Hierarch stared down on the young, awestruck Prince. Molin was only half-conscious of overstating the case for stringent observation of the rituals. Vashanka's displeasure when He was not properly appeased was extensively documented. The rituals were all intended to bind a capricious and hungry deity.
The crowd outside Molin's window raised its voice and shut down their conversation; the day's verdicts were being proclaimed. There would be two more hangings on the morrow. Kadakithis started when his name was used to justify the awful punishments the Empire meted out to its criminals. He shrank back from the window as a huge black crow landed on the sill, swivelling its head in a lopsided start of dark-curiosity. The Prince shooed it back to the gallows.
'I will do what I can, Molin. I will speak with my advisers.'
'My Dear Prince, in matters regarding the spiritual well-being of the Imperial Presence in Sanctuary, I am your only trusted adviser.'
Molin regretted his burst of temper at once; though the Prince gave him smooth verbal assurances, the Vashankan priest was now certain that the Hound Tempus would know by sundown.