Paul Kemp: Shadowstorm

Abelar answered, "What wisdom I had then, I have now."

The Abbot frowned. "Quite so, then." He gestured at the ceiling. "Do you approve of the new window?"

Abelar heard the real question and answered accordingly. "It is well crafted but lacks substance. I prefer the rose to the Risen Sun."

The Abbot feigned a smile. "I see. Well, as you said, what wisdom you had is what wisdom you have."

Regg scoffed and started to speak but Abelar put up a hand to stop him. He asked, "May we approach and sit, Denril?"

The Abbot cocked his head. "No title, Lord Corrinthal? Have we fallen so far?"

Abelar let his words speak for themselves and the silence stretched. Finally Denril gestured at a pew and said, "Yes. Sit. Please. You must be road weary. Shall I have refreshment brought?"

He moved as if to summon Asran but Abelar stayed him with an upraised hand and a shake of his head. "Our thanks, but no. We cannot stay long. My men await our return."

Abelar and Regg walked down the aisle to the center of the circle. Both made obeisance before the statue of Lathander and sat. Denril remained standing and spoke. "You are a criminal, you know. As is your father. Or so says the overmistress."

"The overmistress is a liar. But you know that already," Abelar said evenly.

The Abbot made a dismissive gesture and circled the statue. "As are all politicians. What I know is that you remain outside the Light and spend your energies on political matters. You are stubborn, Abelar. Prideful. The Deliverance is at hand. I see the signs all around, as does anyone with clear eyes. Come back to us before it is too late."

Regg shifted uncomfortably in the pew. Abelar chose his words carefully.

"I see signs around us, Denril, but not signs of the Deliverance. I see signs of evil waxing. Meanwhile, good men sit idle. The church sits idle, content with its holdings. You sit idle."

The Abbot frowned and shook his head. "You are mistaken, but you have always seen things in such a way. This is no epic struggle, Abelar. It is base politics and it is beneath you. I blame your father for dragging you into this mud."

Abelar stiffened. "That is the second time you have mentioned my father with derision. Do not do so again."

"He is a murderer, not so?"

Abelar felt warm but controlled his building rage. Regg must have sensed it; he put a hand on Abelar.

"That is the last time I will tell you, Denril," Abelar said. "Do not mention my father so."

Regg stood. "Perhaps we should take our leave…"

The Abbot's gaze turned to a hard stare. "Why have you come, Abelar? Do you wish my aid and that of the Church? You will have neither. You see evil ascendant? You are a deluded heretic. This is a political dispute. Nothing more."

Abelar rose from his seat. He could hardly believe his ears. "Has your reason abandoned you? A political dispute, you say?"

The Abbot stepped forward to face him, anger in his eyes. Regg interposed himself between them.

"Yes. What care I for who rules Sembia? The faith will persevere whoever holds power. And the faith is more important than the realm or who rules it. Converts flock to the Morninglord's temple each day. That will increase as war brews."

"You are mad," Abelar said, before wisdom could stop the words.

"All right…" Regg said.

The Abbot shook his head. "You cannot see beyond your own worldly concerns. The Deliverance will soon be upon us. My duty to the Morninglord is to win converts to his cause, not to choose sides in a civil war."

The Abbot's words might as well have been coming from the mouth of a stranger. Abelar said, "You win converts because you offer them a faith of ease. They are taught to sit on their hands and wait for their god to deliver them. But he never will. That is not his way."

"I offer them a faith of hope. And what do you know of his way?"

"What do I know-"

"We are leaving," Regg said, and tried to push Abelar toward the door. Abelar would not have it.

"You offer a lie," Abelar spat, and found the volume of his voice increasing. "There will be no Deliverance. It is heresy."

Regg cursed softly.

The Abbot answered with a shout. "A heresy!? You dare say so in these halls?"

"Calmer words, men," Regg said, but the Abbot ignored him.

"You are blind, Abelar Corrinthal! And when the Deliverance comes, you will be left behind!"

Abelar scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at his former mentor. "Darkness is coming, not Deliverance, and when it does, you will realize your folly."

The doors to the chapel flew open and a half-dozen priests and men-at-arms burst inside, maces bare.

Regg moved Abelar away from the Abbot.

"All's well here," Regg said to the men.

The Abbot snarled at Abelar. "I should arrest you and take you to Ordulin for trial."

"Shall I, Abbot?" asked one of the men-at-arms, a young, overeager convert who could barely grow a beard.

Regg let Abelar go, put a hand to his hilt, and stared at the young man. "Try it, boy, and you'll not have to wait for your deliverance."

Abelar heard the hardness of Regg's words and they brought him back to himself. He would not have bloodshed within the faith, not within the walls of one of its temples. With effort, he regained his composure, chided himself for losing his temper, and looked to his onetime friend and teacher.

"You will not arrest me, Abbot," he said gently. "We have not fallen so far as that."

The Abbot stared at him, his face still flush, his heavy breathing audible. Finally, he said, "Go, Abelar. Never return here. I will have you arrested if I see you again."

The words stung Abelar but he nodded. He turned, gathered Regg to his side, and walked through the crowd of Lathanderians, once his brethren. They glared at him and he did not have the strength to offer his own in return. His legs felt weak under him.

As he walked through the door of the chapel, the Abbot called after him, "I receive the power to cast spells in the Morninglord's name every morning, Abelar. Think on that. If what I believed was a lie, why would I still receive such a boon?"

Abelar did not turn or slow. He had no answer. He, too, could channel divine power in the Morninglord's name. As could Regg. He did not understand why his god would allow both sides of the schism to claim his blessing. Abelar presumed that Lathander had a purpose in prolonging the dispute, but he could not see it.

They exited the chapel and entered the courtyard. Regg shouted for their horses. The crowd of priests and warriors followed them out of the chapel. The eyes of those in the courtyard regarded them with hostility. Some fell in with the priests and warriors.

"He is lost in the depths of his doctrine," Abelar said to Regg, shaking his head.

"Aye," Regg said, and nodded. He turned a circle and shouted to all of those looking on them, "And so are you all lost! To the man!"

Some among the onlookers murmured angrily.

"Away from here," shouted one.

"Begone," yelled another.

"Gladly," Regg answered.

Beld brought forth their horses and Abelar and Regg swung into their saddles.

"I did not have time to even remove their saddles," Beld said, indicating the horses. "And they are temperamental beasts."

"It is the company here," Regg said, and patted Firstlight.

Abelar looked to Beld and smiled. "Thank you, Beld. You are a good man."

Beld looked stricken. "I am sorry it has come to this, Abelar."

Abelar nodded. "As am I. Be well."

With that, they rode out. Abelar knew it would be the last time. A black mood descended on him. Lathander would not be pleased that he allowed a darkness to root in him but he could not stop it. He had lost the father of his blood to the Hole of Yhaunn and now had lost the father of his soul to a heresy.