The Iron Wars

Macrobius was impassive. “It is said—by St Bo

A stillness in the room as his words sank in. It was broken at last by Albrec—Albrec a bishop, clad in the rich robes of one of the Church’s hierarchy.

“This revelation is more important than the outcome of any war. The Merduks are our brothers-in-faith, and the hostility between them and the Ramusian race is founded on a lie.”

“What must we do, then? Go out proselytizing among the enemy?” Avila asked lightly.

“Yes. That is precisely what we must do.”

Shock was written over all their faces, save for that of the blind Pontiff. “Would you be a martyr, Albrec?” Avila asked.

The little monk retorted somewhat testily, “That is beside the point. This message is the nub of the matter. The Toru

“Sweet Saint’s blood!” Osmer of Rone exclaimed. “You are serious.”

“Of course I’m serious! Do you think it is mere chance that this revelation has come here, now, at this time? We may have an opportunity to halt the course of this awful war. It is the hand of God at work. There is no element of chance involved.”

“The Merduks fight for the joy of conquest, not religion only,” Osmer observed. “A common faith is not enough to settle all wars, as we Ramusians know only too well.”

“Nevertheless, the attempt must be made.”

“They’ll crucify you on a gibbet as they did the Inceptines of Aekir,” Alembord said. “Holy Father, if we assume that this is true, that our faith is founded on a lie, then at least let us keep it to ourselves for now. The Ramusian kingdoms are divided as it is. This message would cripple them utterly, and it will split down the middle the New Church itself. The only beneficiaries of such a course would be the Himerians.”

“The Himerian Church, as it has been called, has a right to know also,” Albrec told him. “An embassy must be sent to Charibon. This news will eventually be proclaimed from the rooftops, Brothers. The Blessed Saint himself would wish it so.”

“The Blessed Saint, who died a Merduk prophet in some barbaric yurt city of the east,” Osmer muttered. “Brothers, my very soul quakes, my faith flickers like a candle in the wind. What will the lowly and the uneducated of the Ramusian world make of such tidings? Maybe they will turn away from the Church altogether, seeing it as a hoarder and propagator of lies. And who could blame them?”

“This is the New Church,” Albrec said implacably. “We have turned our face from the scheming and politicking of the old. Our job now is to tell the truth, no matter what the consequences.”

“Noble words,” Alembord sneered. “But the world is a messy place, Bishop Albrec. Ideals must yield to reality.”

Albrec brought his fingerless fist thumping down on the table, startling them all. “Horseshit! It is attitudes such as that which have corrupted our faith and landed us in this quandary to begin with! It is no longer our purpose in this world to obfuscate and deal in semantics. We have had five centuries of it, and it has brought us to the brink of disaster.”

“So we’ll don the grey garb of the Friars Mendicant and preach the new message throughout the world, becoming an order of evangelists and missionaries, no less!” Alembord shouted back.

“Enough!” Macrobius broke in. “You forget yourselves. I will have decorum in my presence, is that clear?”

Hasty assent. They glimpsed for a moment the powerful authoritarian figure Macrobius had been before Aekir fell.

“I will talk to the king,” the Pontiff went on. “Eventually. I will impress upon him the pre-eminent importance of our findings. Do not forget that we are here at the sufferance of the Toru

They bowed where they sat, and several made the Sign of the Saint at their breasts. This Pontiff was not the humble, vague man they had known hitherto. He sat upright and commanding in his seat, his head moving left and right. Had he possessed eyes, they would have been glaring at his fellow clerics.

“A Papal bull is the proper way to a

The room went quiet as they joined hands in meditation. But there was no prayer in Albrec’s mind. The Pontiff was wrong. This was not something to be a

And at last he did pray, the tears ru

SEVENTEEN

T HE talking-shop is open for business, Corfe thought wearily.

The long table was almost obliterated by the scattered papers upon it, and spread out over them was a large-scale map of Northern Toru

Men were sitting down both sides of the table, the King at its head. To Lofantyr’s right was General Menin, commander of the Toru