The Prince turned the colour of the fruit tea, though his complexion quicklylevelled off at a unique shade of green. 'But Molin, that's general's workkilling surrendered officers of the enemy. Molin, you don't expect me to killten men, do you? Why, there aren't more than ten Vashankan priests in thiswhole city.' I'd have to kill you. I couldn't do it, Molin - you mean too muchto me.'

'My Dear Prince,' Molin poured another goblet of fruit tea and signalled themute 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 aboutto make the supreme sacrifice at this time. There is nothing in the mostsacred 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-toofamiliar sound of the gallow's rope snapping another neck.

'Very simply, my Prince, cancel these daily executions and by the Ten-SlayingI'm sure we'll have our quota.'

The Prince blanched at the thought of Sanctuary denizens whose activities soexceeded the norms of this none-too-civilized place that his judges wouldcondemn them to death.

'They would be bound and drugged, of course,' Molin consoled his Prince, 'as ispart of custom, if not tradition. Our hierarchy has suffered the discomfort ofhaving the wrong man survive,' Molin added quickly, without mentioning that theyhad also suffered the inconvenience of losing all eleven to their wounds beforethe ritual could be completed. The hierarchy had acquired an immensepracticality over the generations when its own interests were concerned.

Kadakithis stared blankly into the corners of the room; he had stared brieflyout 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 muteoffered 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 thewine should be far better than their cheese or bread. Molin himself offered thestrong drink to the Prince.

'Molin -I cannot. If it were just the Dance... well, no, not even then.' ThePrince squared his shoulders and simulated a stance of firm resolve. 'Molin, youare 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'dseen the temple slave in question. But he had been honest with the Prince; itwas of the utmost importance that the child be properly conceived.

'My Prince, I do not ask this lightly, any more lightly than I informed mybrethren in Ranke of my decision in this matter. The slave is of the bestNorthern stock; the rite is held in strictest mystery.

'The Hand of Vashanka rests heavily on your prefecture, my Prince. You cannothave failed to notice His presence. The daily auguries show it plainly. Your ownHell Hounds, the very guardians of Imperial Order, are not immune to the dangersof Vashanka's unbridled presence!'

The High Priest paused, staring hard into Kadakithis's eyes, forcing the younggovernor 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 whatabout Tempus? The Hell Hound bore Vashanka's mark, but had been whelped farbeyond the ken of the priesthood.

'Who are we to channel the powers of the gods?' the Prince responded, his gazeunfocused, his manner uncomfortably evasive.

Molin drew himself up to his full height, some finger-widths taller than thePrince. His back straightened as if the beaten gold headdress of his officebalanced on his brow. 'My Prince, we are the channels, the only true channels.Without the mediation of a duly consecrated hierarchy the bonds of traditionwhich make Vashanka - mayHisnamebepraised - our God and us His worshippers wouldbe irreparably sundered. The rituals of the temple, whose origins are one withthe God Himself, are the balance between mortal and immortal. Anyone whocircumvents the rituals, for any reason however well-intentioned ... anyone whodoes not hearken to the call of the hierarchy in its needs subverts the properrelationship of god and worshipper to the damning harm of both!'

Again the experienced Imperial Hierarch stared down on the young, awestruckPrince. Molin was only half-conscious of overstating the case for stringentobservation of the rituals. Vashanka's displeasure when He was not properlyappeased was extensively documented. The rituals were all intended to bind acapricious and hungry deity.

The crowd outside Molin's window raised its voice and shut down theirconversation; the day's verdicts were being proclaimed. There would be two morehangings on the morrow. Kadakithis started when his name was used to justify theawful punishments the Empire meted out to its criminals. He shrank back from thewindow as a huge black crow landed on the sill, swivelling its head in alopsided 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 theImperial Presence in Sanctuary, I am your only trusted adviser.'

Molin regretted his burst of temper at once; though the Prince gave him smoothverbal assurances, the Vashankan priest was now certain that the Hound Tempuswould know by sundown.

Tempus: a plague, a thorn, a malignancy to the proper order of things. A son ofVashanka, a true-son no doubt, and utterly unfettered by the constraints ofritual and hierarchy. If even a fraction of the rumours about him were to bebelieved; if he had survived dissection on Kurd's tables ... It could not bebelieved. Tempus could not be so far beyond the hierarchy's reach.

Well, Molin thought after a moment, I'm a true-son too. Let the Prince run tohim in sweating anxiety. Let him consult with Tempus; let them conspire againstme - I'll still succeed.

Generations of priests had bred generations of true-sons to Vashanka. The godwas not quite the blood-drinker he once was.

Vashanka could be constrained and, after all, Molin's side of the family was farbigger than Tempus's.

He watched the Prince leave without feeling panic. The crow returned to thewindow-ledge as was its daily custom. The bird cawed impatiently while Molin andthe mute prepared its feast: live mouse dipped in wine. The priest watched thebird disappear back to the Maze rooftops, staring after its flight long afterhis wife had begun to shout his name.

4

Seylalha stood perfectly still while the dourfaced women draped the sea-greenfroth around her. The women would not hesitate to prick her sharply with theirbodkins and needles, though they took the greatest of care with the silk. Theystepped back and signalled that she should spin on her toes for them.

Deep folds of material billowed out into delicate clouds at her slightestmovement. The texture of the cloth against her skin was so unlike the heavytatters of her usual attire that for once she forgot to watch the intricatedance-language other instructors a; they discussed their creation.

The time must be drawing near; they would not dress her like this unless it wasalmost time for her marriage to the god. The moon above her cell was a thincrescent fading to blackness.