The Hidden City

incapacitated, and if Komier gets into a fight, the weight of his axe will cripple him.’
    ‘You’re still here, Heldin. You can take charge.’
    Heldin shook his head. ‘I’m not a Preceptor, your Grace, and everybody in the army knows it. I’m also a Pandion, and the other orders have strong feelings about us. We haven’t made very many friends in the past couple of centuries. The other orders won’t accept me as commander. You’re a Patriarch, and you speak for Sarathi—and the Church. They’ll accept you with no argument.’
    ‘It’s out of the question.”
    ‘Then we’ll have to sit here until Dolmant sends us a new commander.’
    ‘We can’t wait!’
    ‘My point exactly. Do I have your permission to tell the knights that you’re taking command?’
    ‘I can’t, Heldin. You know that I’m forbidden to use magic.’
    ‘We can work our way around that, your Grace. There are plenty of accomplished magicians in the ranks. Just tell us what you want done, and we’ll see to it.’
    ‘I’ve taken an oath.’
    ‘You took another one earlier, Lord Bergsten. You promised to defend the Church. That oath takes precedence in this situation.’
    The hugely bearded and black-robed Archimandrite Morsel looked speculatively at the reluctant Thalesian. Then he spoke in a neutral sort of way. ‘Would you like an independent opinion, Bergsten?’
    Bergsten scowled at him.
    ‘You’re going to get it anyway,’ the Astellian churchman said with unruffled calm. ‘Given the nature of our opponent, we’re face to face with a “Crisis of the Faith”, and that suspends all the other rules. God needs your axe, Bergsten, not your theology.’ He squinted at the Thalesian Patriarch. ‘You don’t seem convinced,’ he said.
    ‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Morsel, but “Crisis of the Faith” can’t just be pulled out and dusted off whenever we want to bend some rules.’
    ‘All right, let’s try this one then. This is Astel, and your Church at Chyrellos recognizes my authority here. As long as we’re in Astel, I speak for God.’
    Bergsten pulled off his helmet and absently polished the glossy black Ogre-horns on his sleeve. ‘Technically, I suppose,’ he conceded.
    ‘Technicalities are the very soul of doctrine, your Grace.’ Morsel’s huge beard bristled with disputational fervor. ‘Do you agree that I speak for God here in Astel?’
    ‘All right, for the sake of argument, yes.’
    ‘I’m glad you agree, I’d hate to have to excommunicate you. Now then, I speak for God here, and God wants you to take command of the Church Knights. Go forth and smite God’s enemies, my son, and may heaven strengthen your arm.’
    Bergsten squinted out the window at the dirty-looking sky for a long moment, mulling the clearly specious argument over in his mind. ‘You take full responsibility, Morsel?’ he asked.
    ‘I do.’
    ‘That’s good enough for me, then.’ Bergsten crammed his helmet back on his head. ‘Sir Heldin, go tell the knights that I’m assuming command of the four orders. Instruct them to make all the necessary preparations. We march first thing in the morning.’
    ‘At once, General Bergsten,’ Heldin replied, coming to attention.
    ‘Anakha,’ Bhelliom’s voice echoed in the vaults of Sparhawk’s mind, ‘thou must awaken.’
    Even before he opened his eyes, Sparhawk could feel a light touch on the thong about his neck. He caught the little hand and opened his eyes. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded of the Child Goddess.
    ‘I have to have the Bhelliom, Sparhawk!’ her voice was desperate, and her eyes were streaming tears.
    ‘What’s going on, Aphrael? Calm down and tell me what’s happened.’
    ‘Sephrenia’s been stabbed! She’s dying! Please, Sparhawk! Give me the Bhelliom!’
    He came to his feet all in one motion. ‘Where did this happen?’
    ‘In Dirgis. She was getting ready for bed, and Zalasta came into her room. He stabbed her in the heart, Sparhawk! Please, Father, give me the Bhelliom! I’ve got to have it to save her!’
    ‘She’s still alive?’
    ‘Yes, but I don’t know for how long! Xanetia’s with her. She’s using a Delphaeic spell to keep her breathing, but she’s dying, my sister’s dying!’ She wailed and hurled herself into his arms, weeping uncontrollably.
    ‘Stop that, Aphrael. This isn’t helping. When did this happen?’
    ‘A couple of hours ago. Please, Sparhawk! Only Bhelliom can save her!’
    ‘We