The Plains of Atmanta Kavie and Pesna are in a foul mood as they leave Teucer's bedside and board their waiting chariot. Larth notices their sullen demeanour as he climbs up front with the driver and whips four of Etruria's finest stallions across the hardened turf.
The chariot is new but the magistrate hasn't even passed comment on it. Larth personally designed and supervised its construction. Twin axles, four nine-spoke reinforced wheels and bronzed shielding to all sides. It is the finest in Etruria. Better than anything his father ever made. Better than anything his father's father even dreamed of making.
He glances over his shoulder and sees them deep in one of their many confidential conversations. The kind that excludes him. Belittles him.
They take him for granted. Treat him merely as a purveyor of pain. Well, he's worth more than that. More than they credit him for. More than either of them will ever be.
Fields of barley and wheat fly by on either side of the chariot as Larth languishes in his loathing and resentment.
Everything the naked eye can see now belongs to Pesna.
Beneath the soil lie the rich reserves of silver that Pesna is mining and turning into precious jewellery.
The chariot halts and the driver, grumbling, dismounts and walks ahead to unbuckle a field gate.
Larth strains to listen to the conversation of the men behind him.
Kavie sounds upbeat: 'It is a blessing in disguise.'
Pesna is sceptical: 'How so?'
'Our invitation to the noblemen, magistrates and elders can now include an invitation to the blessing of our new temple. How could they refuse to come and be part of something sacred?'
Pesna doesn't sound convinced. 'A blessing by a blinded netsvis? How will that look?'
'He may not be blind.'
'But what if he is?'
There is a pause. Larth can almost hear the wheels of Kavie's devious mind turning before finally – as always – he finds the right reply: 'Then he is a novelty. We invent a legend that Teucer selflessly sacrificed his sight so he would not be distracted by earthly things and could better listen to the words of the gods. Having such a devoted netsvis will make you the envy of all Etruria.'
Pesna laughs. 'Sometimes, my friend, I doubt whether even the gods themselves are as blessed with words as you are.'
Kavie the sycophant laughs as well. 'You are too gracious.'
'Have you not already sent the invitations?'
'Drafted, yes. Sent, no. I can make amendments later this evening and despatch them by messengers on the morrow.'
'Good. So when? When do we invite these powerful and influential men to our modest meeting and divine temple blessing?'
Kavie holds up both hands and stretches out his fingers. 'Six days' time.'
The conversation falls off as the chariot driver returns. He mumbles something, climbs back on his seat and shakes the stallions' reins. Larth ignores him and sits up straight.
Six days. Excellent. Six is his favourite number.