blotchy, his nose bulbous and seeming almost to glow with painful rawness. His brown eyes drooped and his teeth were all broken and twisted. As if all that wasn't enough, sev-eral huge warts adorned Mackaront's head and neck, including one cracked black and brown blemish in the center of his high forehead.
It is good to see you again, God-Voice of the Yatols," Mackaront said with a bow. The man spoke perfect Mohdan, the predominant language of eastern Behren.
Yakim Douan motioned for him to sit in a chair to his left, with both seats facing the window, which afforded a wonderful view of sunset over the western-stretching Belt-and-Buckle. Yakim Douan had placed them this Way purposely before Merwan Ma and Mackaront had caught up to him, partly because he enjoyed watching the glorious sunsets, but mostly so that he would not have to sit facing his ugly guest. He liked Mackaront quite a bit, actually, but he didn't want to look at the man!
"Pray tell me that my friend Abbot Olin fares well."
"Indeed, God-Voice," Mackaront happily replied. ?Abbot Olin remains strong and well, his eyes clear."
"And his mind sharp."
"Yes, God-Voice!"
Yakim Douan did turn then to regard the ugly master from St. Bonda-bruce, noting how the man's lips could not sit straight on his face because of the jagged teeth beneath. He wondered, and not for the first time, if that physical ugliness had been the catalyst for Filladoro Mackaront to join the Abellican Church. The Abellicans, after all, frowned upon any relationships between brothers and women - mostly because the powers of the Abellican Church wanted to make certain that no widows or children were left behind to claim any inheritance over Abellican property or wealth! - so it seemed plausible that entering the Church offered Mackaront the excuse for the obvious truth that no woman would ever want to share his bed.
"Why do you call me that?" Yakim Douan asked the Abellican, quite off the cuff. Behind him, he heard the sharp intake of Merwan Ma's breath.
Mackaront looked at him curiously.
"In your religion, I am not such a God-Voice, am I?" the Chezru Chief-tain asked. ?We worship different gods, do we not? We assign different meanings to greatness, and yet you address me by the title normally re-served for my personal attendants and visiting Yatol priests. Are you pre-pared to convert to the true religion of Yatol, Abellican Master Mackaront?"
Mackaront's droopy eyes widened considerably at that remark, and he started shaking his head, his crooked lips moving as if he were trying to find appropriate words with which to respond.
"Or are you merely being polite?" the Chezru Chieftain asked with a grin that allowed both poor Mackaront and Merwan Ma to sigh with relief.
"God-Voice," Mackaront began tentatively, and he quickly corrected it to, ?Chezru Douan, I am sent with all humility from my master, Abbot Olin of St. Bondabruce."
Yakim Douan didn't even hide his smile. He liked the way lackeys like Mackaront always reverted to the formalities of station when they were backed into a corner.
"I intend no offense to you," Mackaront went on. ?Never that. I offer you the respect afforded your position, using titles you have earned among your people."
"Earned?" Yakim Douan said with a chuckle. ?I was born to this posi-tion. There was nothing to 'earn,' because this was all decreed by Yatol, by God himself. Do you not understand? ?
M ter Mackaront's expression could not have been more stupefied. He rood the reasoning, of course, for he was well versed in the customs of Y- tols What had him stunned beyond words here, Yakim Douan knew, the Chezru's tone and insistence, this whole line of questioning - a conation that Yakim Douan knew to be out of bounds.' ?I am not qualified to debate the relative beliefs and strengths of our reli-Chezru Douan," Master Mackaront said after a few uncomfortable akim Douan 's laughter had the man leaning back defensively in his seat.
"Nor should you wish to enter such a debate," he said lightheartedly. ?Nor do I ever desire such a course. Our worlds are very different, Master Mackaront. Abbot Olin and I have understood that for years, and that un-derstanding has been the cornerstone of my friendship with your abbot for decades. We accept each other's beliefs, with humility and respect, though I know that he, and you, are wrong."
Mackaront frowned; Yakim Douan watched his every flinch and move-ment, taking a measure for every step along this tricky road. He wasn't sure why he had