Atop its steep, oak-covered hill, Pagg's Temple flew the flags of the King, dark red with three triangles in gold; in the shade of the trees surrounding the sanctuary, the bearers who'd carried the nobility up the long climb rested beside silken and gilt litters. At the entrance to the Temple, hidden in shadow, Hildin, Gian and the Little Father watched the mass of people already climbing the long, sharp switchbacks. "Is it him?" said Gian.
"I'd wager it is," answered his master.
"Him who?" said the elderly Little Father, looking from one to the other.
"How many do you think will side with him?" said Gian.
"Not enough. I have purchased the Brothers over years with donations to Farr's Temple--the Guards, too, and the Fathers. He won't find much support after all this time."
"Who are we talking about!" said the old high priest, peevishness wrinkling his face further.