Paul Kemp: Shadowstorm

After Turest left, Elyril said, "Malkur Forrin?"

"If Saerb is to be an example to Selgaunt and the rest of Sembia, Forrin is exactly the type of man we want heading the attack. I will have words with him over allowing the Hulorn to escape. But war, like politics, is uncertain. Occasional setbacks are inevitable and sometimes owed to circumstance." She looked meaningfully at Elyril. "Repeated setbacks, however, are more often owed to incompetence. Keep that in mind, niece, on your travels to Yhaunn."

Elyril took her meaning but said nothing. She imagined how her aunt would scream when the Shadowstorm came and she died in darkness.

"Something amuses you?" Mirabeta asked.

Elyril shook her head. "No, aunt. I am merely enjoying the sunshine."

Abelar and Regg reached the abbey as the Dawnmeet finished. One solemn ring of the chapel's ceremonial gong carried over the walls and denoted the end of the service. The faithful would be dispersing to their duties even as the guards alerted the Abbot to the presence of visitors.

The gatehouse guards, armed with broadswords, wore yellow tabards over their breastplates and mail. They exited the gatehouse to stand before the immense double doors set into the abbey's walls. They eyed Abelar and Regg coolly. Four crossbowmen atop the wall leveled their weapons at Abelar and Regg.

"What is this?" Regg asked, eyeing a crossbowman. "Do we look as if we intend to storm the walls? You see the rose on our shields."

"We see it," one of the crossbowmen said darkly.

Abelar recognized the two guards standing before the doors. "Beld, Dak, come now. None of this is necessary. I return as your brother in faith."

Beld's young face reddened behind his thin beard. "You were not to return at all, Abelar."

Abelar swung down from Swiftdawn and stepped before Beld. He stood half a head taller than the young warrior. "True, Beld. But unexpected events have transpired. I must have word with the Abbot."

"He is at service-"

"Dawnmeet is finished," Abelar said softly. "The Abbot will retire to the chapel for private contemplation. I have not been away so long as to have forgotten that. He will see me, Beld. Tell him that I am here."

Beld looked at Dak, at Abelar. He sighed, nodded, and said to Dak, "Inform the Abbot that Abelar Corrinthal has returned and wishes an audience."

Dak eyed Abelar, Regg, and Beld, and hurried off.

"That is more like it," Regg said, and swung off his horse. He called up to the crossbowmen on the walls. "And take care to point those tips at the stone, you bastards."

The crossbowmen grumbled but lowered their weapons.

"It is good to see you again," Beld said to Abelar. "The light is still in you."

Abelar smiled. "It is."

Beld said, "I wish you would simply agree with the Abbot."

Abelar put a hand on Beld's shoulder. "Faith does not work so, Beld. You know that. We each must follow our own conscience. I must do what I must do. So must the Abbott. So must you. Remember that. And remember, too, that we are not so far apart, the Abbot and I. We both worship the Morninglord."

Beld looked doubtful but nodded.

Presently the crank in the gatehouse started to clink and the double doors in the abbey's wall creaked open. A balding, overweight priest in red and yellow robes awaited them within.

"Dawnbringer Asran," Abelar said, and inclined his head. "Light shine on you."

"And on you, Abelar Corrinthal." Asran nodded past Abelar at the dawn. "The risen sun is beautiful, is it not?"

Abelar caught the double meaning. "Its light feeds the rose," he answered, and turned to Beld. "You will see to our horses?"

"Aye," said the young man. "That, I will."

"I suspect we will not be long," Regg said under his breath.

Abelar and Regg turned over their reins to Beld. Abelar took the opportunity to put his back to Asran and speak softly to Regg. Beld did them the courtesy of pretending not to hear the exchange.

"Keep your peace with Asran, and with the Abbot when we see him. No hot words."

Regg looked both aggrieved and amused. "Perhaps you would prefer that I await you in the courtyard?"

Abelar shook his head. "No. I fear my memory of him will distort how I perceive his words. I will want your opinion of his demeanor afterward."

"Well enough."

With that, they turned and walked into the abbey. Asran smiled insincerely and said, "Welcome back, Abelar. The timing of your return is auspicious. The Abbot teaches that the Deliverance is near. I am pleased that you learned wisdom in time."

Abelar kept his tone even. "Nothing has changed, Asran. I am not come to embrace the Risen Sun."

The heavyset priest faltered in his steps. He looked shocked. "Why have you returned, then?"

"That is a matter for me and the Abbot."

Asran's cheeks flushed but he nodded and led them toward the chapel.

The sounds and smells of the smithy, the weaving looms, the swine pens, the stables, all recalled to Abelar his youth. Chickens scratched in the dirt, fluttered out of their path.

Work stopped as they passed. Abelar felt eyes on them throughout, some hostile, some sympathetic. The short walk across the grounds to the temple seemed to take all morning. The finely hewn doors to the chapel stood open. Stained glass panels flanked the doors, depicting a youthful Lathander holding aloft a newborn babe.

As it always had, the image reminded Abelar of the Nameday of his son. Eltha had died while giving birth but Elden had been born alive. Grief-stricken for his wife, Abelar nevertheless had swaddled the boy and taken him outside to see the world into which his mother had brought him. The overcast sky had been as gray as iron. Abelar had cradled his son close, thought of Eltha, and prayed to Lathander to bless them both and light the paths of their lives. Father and son had both cried when the clouds parted and the sun shone through.

As Elden had grown, all who knew him could see that he had been born simple. Abelar loved him all the more for it. Elden laughed and cried with uncensored abandon.

"Abelar?" Asran called, his tone irritated. The priest was five steps ahead of Abelar, standing on the chapel's portico.

"Are you all right?" Regg asked.

Abelar nodded. "I was thinking of my son. I'm well. Come."

The Abbot gave them an audience in the circular private chapel off the main worship hall. Asran opened the wooden door, nodded for them to enter, and closed it behind them.

Two circular rows of birch pews surrounded a veined marble statue of Lathander in his guise as a hale young man, smiling, with both arms reaching upward in welcome. Above the sculpture, morning light poured in through the round stained glass window of a golden sunrise set into the arched ceiling. The light drenched the room in reds, yellows, and oranges.

Abelar frowned. The window had been changed since he had last been to the temple. Previously, the glass had shown a red rose radiating beams of yellow light. The new sunrise motif was an acknowledgment of the Risen Sun heresy.

The Abbot stood near the statue, bathed in the light of his new window, and watched them enter. He did not smile. He wore robes of yellow and red embroidered with a rising sun motif at the breast. Long gray hair hung loose against his careworn face. His voice was a commanding baritone, seemingly too large to be contained by his thin body. Abelar had heard the Abbot utter hundreds of heart-soaring sunrise sermons. He had also heard him utter heresies.

"You have returned though you were exiled from these walls."

Abelar bowed. "You know I would not have violated your edict if the matter were not urgent. It is gracious of you to see us. My thanks."

"And mine," Regg said, though his voice was tight.

The Abbot did not acknowledge Regg. His intelligent brown eyes searched Abelar's face as he asked, "Have you finally seen the light, Abelar?"