The legate did not visit the matter. "You explained to the Duke that by defying the Patriarch he risks his immortal soul?"

"Of course. And he told me he isn't defying the Patriarch, he's protecting the Connec from the predations of Firaldian thieves. He may be another who questions His Holiness's right to speak for God."

"I'm wondering if a strain of that hasn't insinuated itself here." Accusation edged the legate's voice. His disdainful expression made it clear that he did not approve of the way Serifs lived. Nor did he care about the obstacles life and a stubborn land placed in the Bishop's path.

Results. Sublime was interested only in results.

"I have an idea," Serifs said, congratulating himself on his own cunning. "Go into Antieux yourself and see how things really are. Disguise yourself as a merchant. Visit low places. Listen to what's being said when no one thinks Brothe is listening. Then we'll formulate a strategy based on your new appreciation of the Connecten reality."

The Bishop restrained a smile. The legate was exasperated. Again, Brothe cared only about results.

To his surprise, Doneto agreed. "You may have a point I'll come back tomorrow. After that there'll be no more excuses."

"Absolutely."

Serifs watched the legate go. The door was not yet fully closed when he snapped his fingers at the shadows to his left.

Armand, pretty Armand, came forth, licking his lips. No words had to be exchanged. Serifs slid down in his seat. Armand crawled up under his robe. In a moment the Bishop felt soft lips nursing and gentle fingers stroking. He closed his eyes and tried to fathom why Sublime was so determined to impose Brothe's control on the End of Connec.

It had to be the revenues. There could be no other answer. Sublime needed money to stave off the Grail Emperor while he sent crusaders to recapture the Wells of Ihrrian and to liberate Calzir. The revenues were the only possible answer.

The Connec was the richest land claimed by the Church. It had been two centuries since war had stained it, back when Duke Tormond's ancestor Volsard recaptured Terliaga from Meridian, a Praman kingdom of Direcia and former seat of the western Kaifate. After that triumph the Reconquest proceeded inexorably. A third of Direcia was back in the hands of Chaldareans of the Episcopal rite. Given the ambitions of kings like Peter of Navaya, the entire region would be reclaimed. Then the Reconquest would move on to reclaim the southern shore of the Mother Sea.

All that, Serifs thought dreamily, was Sublime's goal.

The Bishop slipped a hand under his robe to tease Armand's hair, to encourage him in his efforts.

From the north al-Qarn appeared to stand in the deep desert. Its strange, dirty bistre wall rose from the bitter earth left by Gordimer's paranoia. The barren, unoccupied ground was the same color as the wall. It was a breeding place of flies. Garbage and night soils ended up there every morning. No human habitation, not even a nomad's tent for a night, was allowed within a mile of the wall.

Years ago an astrologer told Gordimer he would be brought low by an enemy from the north. The Lion had taken that to mean an army.

The astrologer could not be faulted. There was no other direction whence such an army could come. For six hundred miles westward the coastal cities owed allegiance to the Kaif of al-Minphet and were content. The nomad tribes of the desert and mountains sometimes acted up, but they were a threat to one another, not to Gordimer or the Kaifate.

South of Dreanger the many petty kingdoms all acknowledged the Kaif – despite the fact that the majority were some variety of Chaldarean who refused to accept the Brothen Patriarch as the head of their Church. They considered him a pompous upstart. Luckily, he was comfortably far away.

Else strode toward the Northern Gate, as alone as a beggar seeking his fortune. He had sent the Andesqueluzan mummies ahead while he dealt with the barge master who had brought him south from the island of Raine. The Lion's own warships were not permitted to proceed upriver from Raine.

Two log booms spanned the Shirne, above and below al-Qarn. Cargos destined for the upper Shirne had to be transshipped several times.

Dust devils danced across the barren. Else worried. Some evil spirits could come out in the daytime. If the Lion feared him enough, he might have er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen set something diabolic on him.

Else knew that Gordimer feared him but did not know why. Unless another soothsayer had filled the Lion's head with absurd ravings.

Gordimer was addicted to his augurs.

Else knew his life and performance were beyond reproach, back to his earliest days in the Vibrant Sapling school. He did nothing less than what was expected.

He was not perfect. No one is. Perfection is reserved for the God Who Is the One True God.

Else entertained a suspicion that many of the gods of the infidels were real, too, they were just less than the God of gods.

Al-Qarn's North Wall spanned Gordimer's Waste in a line as straight as a razor's slash. Windmills surmounted it at intervals, which made it unique amongst all the city walls in the world.

The windmills were there to pump water.

The top of the wall was an aqueduct. It carried water from the Shirne to reservoirs in the highest part of the city. Which, at Gordimer's insistence, were kept filled and free of settled mud.

Gordimer's Waste left Else wondering if all Dreanger might not end up barren because of that man.

Right now, a hundred seventy miles south of al-Qarn, the last forest in Dreanger was being clear-cut to provide timber for construction of a vast new war fleet Gordimer had decreed the expansion because he feared the ambitions of the Patriarch of Brothe, the Emperor of Rh?n and the fleets of the mercantile republics of Dateon, Aparion, and Sonsa. An invading army would need ships to reach Dreanger.

Else entered the city. Behind the wall differed from Gordimer's Waste like day differed from night. Every inch of al-Qarn was vibrant and busy, humming with life. Some claimed a million souls dwelt in al-Qarn. That was an exaggeration, but it delighted Else.

Al-Qarn was home. To Else and all Sha-lug. Al-Qarn's great mission was to produce the Sha-lug who protected the Kaifate and who were – in their own eyes – the chief defenders of the Realm of Peace and al-Prama, the Faith.

ELSE CLIMBED THE LONG FLIGHTS OF BROAD STEPS THAT TOOK him up to the Palace of the Kings, no longer aptly named because there had been no kings in Dreanger for centuries. The name seemed the more unusual because God did not accept the competition for affection presented by kings. There were no kings anywhere inside the Realm of Peace. Only strongmen who arrogated the powers of kings.

Else's Vibrant Sapling school was one of seven that turned young slaves into polished Sha-lug. Before Gordimer there had been more. Gordimer compelled the surviving schools to watch one another, in a competition that perverted the original competition for excellence between schools.

The midday call to prayer came before Else entered. He abased himself, going through the motions. In al-Qarn everyone did. Even visiting infidels. There were spies everywhere. Transgressions were punished swiftly and brutally.

Gordimer the Lion had no respect for his Kaif, the captain of the religious ship, and held the man hostage, but he was a fanatic devotee of the Written. Despite the circumstances of his birth.

The record of his purchase survived. The slavers claimed Gordimer was a Cledian from the Promptean coast. But his name, his coloring, and his build suggested Arnhander ancestors. The Lion himself claimed descent from the Holy Family. Which Else thought must be a loyalty test. If you could swallow that obvious untruth, and never dispute it, you could survive in Gordimer's world.