Chapter 11: The Shorn One

Benja stared up at the Chancel. His mouth hung open. He'd never seen anything like it. He was used to the modest village temples of Pake, but the Chancel looked like several towering cathedrals had magically Voltroned into a single massive super-cathedral.

Clutching Pampaa's sandals to his chest, Benja breathed, "By all the gods..."

"Yes, it is," Xochitl agreed.

Pampaa shrugged. "I've always found this place a bit garish."

Benja's gaze fell from the looming facade to Pampaa: He was barefoot. His beard was wild, unkempt. His sloven appearance struck Benja as an affront to the Chancel's magnificence.

"The Prelate is waiting," Xochitl said.

Pampaa offered a patient smile. "You'll understand, of course, that I have no intention of helping anyone hunt down my daughter. That includes our esteemed Prelate."

"Be that as it may, you've been called to stand before the High Court," said Xochitl. "It's your duty to comply."