to the dungeons. I will make sure of that."
Vassili shook his head. "I'm not willing to gamble with happenstance. I want them both eliminated immediately. My forces are in place. Before the next new moon, Benevolence will suffer an untimely mishap. The Council will convene to elect a new prelate, and I will offer myself as a candidate for the high office, a motion which will meet with quick approval."
"And as your faithful servant, I expect my promised reward. Our agreement called for a lordship, lands, and title."
The archpriest picked up another scroll. "You will receive your due compensation when this matter is completed. Mind the task I have laid before you. I want the girl and this man dead. You may go now."
Ral grabbed his cloak and left. The manservant preceded him through the doorway. Just as Ral crossed the threshold, Vassili called out, "Don't fail me again. My patience is almost at its end."
Ral turned and made a bow. "As you command, Radiance."
The soles of Ral's leather boots slapped on the tiles as he stalked through the atrium, past the bodyguards who didn't look as if they had so much as blinked since he entered. Ignoring the manservant who held open the door, he strode out into the brisk night air. This business was getting out of hand. Once he had thought Vassili would be the herald to all his dreams, but more and more of late he was beginning to doubt the archpriest's true intentions. If Vassili managed to gain the prelacy, he might decide that his old allies were too dangerous to keep alive. Ral had no intention of being discarded after his work was done. Perhaps it was time to form a contingency plan. One couldn't be too cautious in matters such as these. A man had to look out for his own interests.
Another thought nagged at Ral as he vanished into the shadowed streets of the city. If it wasn't Caim, who killed the old man?
Vassili frowned at the water-stained parchment in his hand.
Your Radiant Grace,
Conditions in the state of Eregoth continue to deteriorate. An influx of Utheno- rian mercenaries-brigands in all but name-into the usurper's armies has foiled our latest efforts to undermine the local viceroy. Rumors of strange happenings in the highlands continue to persist. Most of the peasants have fled or been taken to parts unknown.
We beg Your Radiance to send additional men and monies, as both are in perilously short supply.
Your Servant, with all humility,
Jacob Mourning, Aspirant
With a curse, Vassili tossed the letter on the desk amid a pile of papers, all bearing similar reports from his agents in the north. Some had not bothered to report at all. He was tired of their complaints, the endless wheedling for additional funds and soldiers. He was more concerned with events here at home. Banditry and lawlessness plagued the countryside. Arnos encroached from the east, and the prelate's "holy war" against the god-kings of Akeshia in the distant east had left Nimea with inadequate forces to guard her own borders.
Vassili broke the elaborate seal on the next missive and unfolded its stiff parchment. This one he found more to his liking.
Brother in Faith,
We most happily accept your gracious gift to the impoverished unfortunates of Parvia. As the Holy Texts profess, surely your heartfelt generosity shall be remembered forever.
Furthermore, we hereby agree to an alliance of purpose on all matters that come before the Council.
Archpriest Gaspar, Viscount of Parvia
After reading the message, Vassili folded it with care and placed it in the hidden compartment under the bottom drawer of his desk. A dozen archpriests presided over the twelve holy districts of Nimea. Together, they formed the Elector Council, a body ordained to advise the prelate and, when necessary, elect his successor. With Donovus gone and Gaspar's support, he held half of the Council securely in his pocket. Now, if only Ral could be counted upon to perform his task with alacrity, all would be set.
A shiver went through Vassili as the temperature dropped and shadows stirred in the corners of the room. A figure emerged from the darkness. Tall and lean, almost to the point of gauntness, he wore a simple monk's robe, black as the night, cinched at the waist by a plain length of cord. His pale face hovered in the candlelight. Its stern lines came together to form a powerful jaw, a twisted nose. White scars creased hollow cheeks, old wounds poorly healed. Shadows smudged the sockets of his deep-set