Behrenese city of Dharyan. Grysh, a bald, heavyset man with sleepy eyes who noticeably lacked any chin, was, in effect, Yakim Douan's principal sheriff over the conquered To-gai-ru. The Yatol who had done the conquering, Tohen Bar-doh, had been so brutal in his tactics that Douan had been forced to pull him back from the steppes. There were other Yatol priests in To-gai, of course, but they were either quick-promoted and expendable, eager young men, lifted from the ranks of the Shepherds and sent to the wilderness of the steppes, or they were of To-gai-ru descent, traitors to their own people, who obviously, therefore, could not be trusted by the Chezru Chieftain. That left Grysh, a cunning and often callous man, the perfect liaison to han-dle the savages of To-gai.
"There are many, many bandits running just west of your domain, are there not? ? Yakim Douan asked the large man.
Yatol Grysh blinked sleepily, smiled, and nodded.
"Do you not find a way to tap into their growing resources?" Yakim Douan asked slyly.
Yatol Grysh, who was easily the most confident and self-assured of all those gathered, excepting of course Yakim Douan himself, merely smiled and nodded again, his demeanor drawing a chuckle or two from the others seated about the table.
"Inevitabilities," Yakim Douan said to them all. ?We cannot achieve per-fection of our world. This is the teaching of Yatol. Perfection is to be found in an existence beyond this mortal realm. We know of this, and so, while we cannot be publicly tolerant of such behaviors or risk losing our hold, I ap-plaud a Yatol wise enough to turn unpleasantness into gain."
He finished with a pleading look toward Yatol De Hamman.
"Yes, God-Voice," the humbled priest said, and though he offered one disapproving, even angry, look toward Yatol Peridan, he lowered his eyes obediently, giving Yakim Douan at least the hope that this troublesome business had been settled.
And how Douan needed it settled! If the rivalry between De Hamman and Peridan continued to escalate, it would likely come to a head during the time when the Yatol Council, and not Yakim Douan - for he would be in a woman's womb, or in the body of small child - would be holding power in all the church. De Hamman and Peridan would no doubt be strong voices in that council, as strong as any, and if they went to war with the church Yakim Douan inherited at the age of ten would be in he even was able to inherit the church, for such infighting could de-7 the customs that now allowed for such a transition.
Aweary Yakim Douan walked away from the contentious meeting some-later^ fee] ing satisfied that he had put the beast back into its cage, at for the time being. He would have to reinforce the lessons he had ? n to the two troublesome Yatols many times over, he knew. And if he uld not find a compromise that seemed binding, he would have to hold i to his earthly coil - would have to suffer the aches in the morning, would have to suffer the uninterested looks the harem girls gave to him when they didn't think he was looking - for a long time to come.
The tired Chezru Chieftain knew that his day was only going to get busier when he saw Merwan Ma rushing down the long hall toward him, the young man's face bright with excitement.
"God-Voice," Merwan Ma breathed, sliding to a stop before Yakim.
The Chezru managed to straighten his shoulders and eye the young man squarely.
"Master Mackaront of Entel has come to speak with you."
Mackaront, the personal assistant of Abbot Olin of St. Bondabruce, was an Abellican monk of great power and Yakim Douan's principal liaison to the northern kingdom. The Chezru Chieftain did well to offer a slight smile and nod in response, did well to hide his trepidation upon hearing the name of the unexpected visitor. If Mackaront had come south with more bad news - that Abbot Olin had died, perhaps - it could put yet another tear in the carefully drawn plans for Transcendence.
"I will meet with him in the Study of Sunset," Yakim explained to his as-sistant, and he walked past, turning down the next corridor.
He heard Merwan Ma's eager footfalls, sandals clapping on mosaic floors, and hoped again that the news from the north would not bode ill.
Master Filladoro Mackaront was surely one of the ugliest men Yakim Douan had ever met. His face was cratered and