Crown Of Shadows Part 19

"But this draft-"

"The Patriarch's a practical man. He knows there are things I can do as a free agent which he, because of his rank, can't even try. And he knows that if we don't stop Calesta now, the Church he loves may have no future. That's all." He laughed shortly, harshly. "Believe me, I wish there were more to it."

He said it quietly, with rare compa.s.sion: "They didn't turn you out?"

"Not yet," he muttered. Color rising in his cheeks. They're leaving that to me. They're leaving that to me.

Leaving the draft on the table beside him, the Hunter came to where he stood, and put a hand on his shoulder. Just for a moment, and then it was gone. A faint chill remained in Damien's flesh where he had touched him, and he nodded ever so slightly in appreciation of the supportive gesture. Then, without a word, Tarrant walked to the door and let himself out. The sky outside the window was a paler gray than before; he had little time to take shelter.

Cutting it close, Damien thought, but it didn't surprise him. With Tarrant's remaining lifespan measurable in hours, it was little wonder that he squeezed out every minute he could. Damien thought, but it didn't surprise him. With Tarrant's remaining lifespan measurable in hours, it was little wonder that he squeezed out every minute he could.

Alone in the rented room, his hand clenched tightly about the Patriarch's draft, Damien tried hard not to think about the future.

Twenty-six.

It was nearly dawn. The city's central square was all but deserted, its myriad muggers banished by the growing light, its hidden lovers long since gone to bed. At its far end the great cathedral glowed with soft brilliance, its smooth white surface as fluid and ethereal as a dream. nearly dawn. The city's central square was all but deserted, its myriad muggers banished by the growing light, its hidden lovers long since gone to bed. At its far end the great cathedral glowed with soft brilliance, its smooth white surface as fluid and ethereal as a dream.

Damien stood for some time, just staring at it, not thinking or planning or even fearing... just being. Drinking in the human hopes that had polished the ancient stone, the soft music of faith that answered every whisper of breeze. Then, as Erna's white sun rose from the horizon, he climbed up the stairs and rapped softly upon the door, alerting those within to his presence. After a moment he heard footsteps approach and a bolt was withdrawn along one of the smaller doors; he stood before it as it was opened, presenting himself for inspection.

"Reverend Vryce." It was one of the Church's acolytes, working off his required service hours as night guard. A thin and gangly teenager, he seemed strangely familiar to Damien. "Do you have business here?" Ah, yes. A face out of memory. One of the dozen lads whom the Patriarch had a.s.signed to him as a student, several eternities ago when he had first come to Jaggonath. His fledgling sorcerers.

He nodded in what he hoped was a rea.s.suring manner. "I came to pray." The boy looked considerably relieved, and stood aside to let him enter. What did you think, that I would ask you to rouse your Patriarch near dawn so I could discuss sorcery with him? What did you think, that I would ask you to rouse your Patriarch near dawn so I could discuss sorcery with him? Then he looked at the boy's young face and thought soberly, You did think exactly that, Then he looked at the boy's young face and thought soberly, You did think exactly that, didn't didn't you? you?

"I won't be long," he promised.

The sanctuary was empty, as he had hoped. The night crew had finished its cleaning and retired long ago. His footsteps echoed eerily in the empty s.p.a.ce as he approached the altar. A familiar path. A familiar focus.

The altar. There was nothing on it to worship, really, as there would be on a pagan altar. The Prophet had dreamed of a Church without such symbols, in which the center of worship would be something greater than a silk-clad table, something less solid and more inspiring than a block of earthly matter. But Gerald Tarrant had lost that battle, like so many others. The children of Earth expected an altar, and their descendants did likewise. The baggage of humanity's Terran inheritance was not to be discarded so lightly.

He knelt before the ancient symbol of faith, feeling the vast emptiness gathering around him as he shut his eyes, preparing his soul. He wished that any words could ease the tightness in his chest, or dull the sharp point of his despair. He wished mere prayer had that kind of power.

G.o.d, he prayed, he prayed, I have loved You and served You all my life. Your Law gave meaning to my existence. Your Dream gave me purpose. In Your service I grew to manhood, measuring myself against Your eternal ideals, striving to set standards for myself that would please You. I live and breathe and struggle and Work-and accept the inevitability of my own death-all in Your Name, Lord G.o.d of Earth and Erna. Only and always in Your Name. I have loved You and served You all my life. Your Law gave meaning to my existence. Your Dream gave me purpose. In Your service I grew to manhood, measuring myself against Your eternal ideals, striving to set standards for myself that would please You. I live and breathe and struggle and Work-and accept the inevitability of my own death-all in Your Name, Lord G.o.d of Earth and Erna. Only and always in Your Name.

He sighed deeply. The weight of centuries was on his shoulders, past and present combined into a numbing burden. If he died here and now, with this prayer upon his lips, there would be a kind of justice in that, he thought. And an eas.e.m.e.nt, that he had been spared one final test.

Unto my dying day I will serve Your Will, obey Your Law. No matter how much it hurts, my G.o.d. No matter how hard it is. That was the vow I made so many years ago, when I first came into the Church; that's the oath I serve today.

He knelt a moment longer, head bowed, soul aching. The pain of despair was sharp within him now, and when he rose up to leave, it stabbed into his flesh with brutal force as if trying to bring him to his knees again. Trying to put off that most terrible moment, which beckoned to him like a spectre. He bore the protest silently, without complaint, knowing that it was a kind of communion with his conscience, and therefore the most perfect prayer of all.

Slowly he walked back down the length of the aisle. At the end of the sanctuary he paused, and he fingered the opening to the offering receptacle, the protective flap which would allow departing worshipers to commit a coin or two to the Church's coffers, without giving them access to the offerings of others. Human nature being what it is, Human nature being what it is, he thought grimly. For a moment he fingered the flap without thought, moving it back and forth along its hinges. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. he thought grimly. For a moment he fingered the flap without thought, moving it back and forth along its hinges. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.

For His Holiness, it said. Only that. He held it in his hand for a minute, trembling slightly, and then slid it beneath the flap. He could hear it fall to the smooth metal bottom of the offering case, and then there was silence. It would wait until the next well-attended service, when an attendant would take it up and deliver it. By then, he hoped, he and Gerald Tarrant would be long gone. it said. Only that. He held it in his hand for a minute, trembling slightly, and then slid it beneath the flap. He could hear it fall to the smooth metal bottom of the offering case, and then there was silence. It would wait until the next well-attended service, when an attendant would take it up and deliver it. By then, he hoped, he and Gerald Tarrant would be long gone.

In Your Name, my G.o.d. Only and always in Your Name.

His formal resignation in its place, Damien Vryce began the long and lonely walk back to his apartment.

Twenty-seven.

Her children were coming. were coming.

She sensed their presence as she brooded within her sanctuary, and wondered at the sudden stirring of activity. Most of her children never bothered to look in upon her once they were set free in the world. They preferred to make their own fates, and she had no argument with that. It was what she had intended so very long ago, when she had brought the first of them into existence.

But now they were coming here. All of them. The ones who could speak to her, and the ones who could not. The few who could share her memories directly, and the hundreds who were all but unaware of her existence. They were coming because several of their number had defied her, coming to see if she would accept their transgressions, or punish them ... or what?

What indeed, she thought.

She had made rules for them so that they might live and learn and grow, and ultimately serve her purpose. For a thousand solar cycles those rules had gone unquestioned. That was as it should be: a mother giving life had every right to define what paths her children would take, and to eradicate those few who failed to accept her guidance. But what about a child who did understand, but who consciously chose to defy her? The concept was so alien to her that she could scarcely comprehend it. It would never have happened in her homeland, that was certain.

You don't know what's driving them. You cannot judge.

She had given them orders. They had disobeyed. She had set forth the laws of their existence, which was her right as their creator. They had chosen to ignore her.

They should die.

It was her right, without question. Some might have argued that it was even her duty. Certainly her first family, who had accompanied her to this place, would have been quick to condemn any of their own number who defied her will so openly. But these new children of hers ... these wild, defiant infants ... might they not have something to teach her, before they died? Had she not sent them out into the world for precisely that purpose?

They are only half mine, she reminded herself. Remembering that act which was neither pa.s.sion nor pain, but simple desperation. So many matings. So many failures. She had thought once that by choosing the right mate she could ensure a successful brood, but that plan had gone awry so often she despaired of ever making it succeed. In fact she had lost nearly all of her hope, nearly all of what little strength remained to her ... until now. she reminded herself. Remembering that act which was neither pa.s.sion nor pain, but simple desperation. So many matings. So many failures. She had thought once that by choosing the right mate she could ensure a successful brood, but that plan had gone awry so often she despaired of ever making it succeed. In fact she had lost nearly all of her hope, nearly all of what little strength remained to her ... until now.

Her children were coming! So many, all at once. They had never gathered together like this before, not for any one purpose. Would it make a difference? she wondered. Would there be a power in the sheer ma.s.s of their gathering, a force born of their limitless variety, that might shed a ray of hope into the void of her despair? If she killed the disobedient ones now, she would never know. They would disperse again, the strong ones and the weak ones and the ones so distant that it seemed none could speak to them at all. What would it take to bring them together again after that? What kind of tragedy would she have to invoke? It was far easier to withhold her punishment now, she thought. Far easier to let them all come here first, and then cleanse the family as tradition required.

Hope. It was almost an alien concept to her now. She savored it, reflecting.

And waited.

Where Power Abides

Twenty-eight.

They came by ones and twos, and then-as the day progressed and they gathered courage and friends-in small, fiercely bonded groups. The Patriarch met with them all. His advisers protested that by doing so he was only encouraging people who would feign great faith in order to stoke the fires of their own self-importance, and-to be fair-they were not entirely wrong. For every genuinely faithful man there were half a dozen whose only purpose in coming was to brag at a later time that they had been in the presence of the Holy Father. For every truly devout woman there were half a dozen whose friends fluttered around the doorway to his chamber like anxious birds, their only purpose being to serve as witnesses that this unique honor had really taken place. But though he heard the truth in his peoples' warnings, he chose to disregard them. There was no other servant of the Church who could see into these people's hearts as he did, and therefore no other one who could choose. It was that simple. by ones and twos, and then-as the day progressed and they gathered courage and friends-in small, fiercely bonded groups. The Patriarch met with them all. His advisers protested that by doing so he was only encouraging people who would feign great faith in order to stoke the fires of their own self-importance, and-to be fair-they were not entirely wrong. For every genuinely faithful man there were half a dozen whose only purpose in coming was to brag at a later time that they had been in the presence of the Holy Father. For every truly devout woman there were half a dozen whose friends fluttered around the doorway to his chamber like anxious birds, their only purpose being to serve as witnesses that this unique honor had really taken place. But though he heard the truth in his peoples' warnings, he chose to disregard them. There was no other servant of the Church who could see into these people's hearts as he did, and therefore no other one who could choose. It was that simple.

At times his visitors were exactly the type he would have predicted: coa.r.s.e and simple men, whose faith was as rough-hewn as their manner, whose innate preference for a world divided into clear domains of black and white was uniquely well suited to this enterprise. He didn't doubt that among those faces were many that had been seen in the pagan quarter at night, and indeed several of them seemed familiar to him from his brief appearance at Davarti's Temple. Those were the men he had expected his proclamations to draw, and he welcomed them in a manner that was sure to secure their loyalty. Others were more surprising. There were more women than he would have expected, for one thing; given that gender's lesser propensity for organized violence, he had expected that few would sign on for such a venture. But he had underestimated the symbolic power of the Forest in the minds of his female congregants, and the depths of their hatred for the Hunter. Some claimed that they would give their lives in order to bring that demon to his knees, and he did not doubt for a minute that it was true.

There is the kernel of a warrior in all of us, he thought grimly, as he watched the futures that swirled madly about each applicant. he thought grimly, as he watched the futures that swirled madly about each applicant. G.o.d give me the strength to control it, once I have encouraged it to dominance. G.o.d give me the strength to control it, once I have encouraged it to dominance.

He judged them each individually, one after another, with his eyes and his new Vision both. With some it was instantly clear what manner of support-or danger-they might provide. With others he was forced to unravel a tapestry of potential so tangled, so volatile, that it took all his self-control to maintain a human conversation while trying to make sense of it all. It wasn't under his control, this new power, but swept him along in a flood tide of prescience that threatened, at each moment, to drown him utterly. Did his advisers suspect the weakness in him? Did they sense how fragile his grip on sanity was now, how easily he could lose his purchase and be lost to them forever?

Calm. That was the answer. Perfect, unshakable calm. It was a front that he cultivated as he interviewed dozens-or was it hundreds?-of would-be warriors. Calm, that most precious illusion, that kept his inner torment from being expressed and so kept it from being reflected back at him one, ten, a thousand times, in the mirror of others' souls. A stillness so absolute that Nature had no equivalent... save at the heart of a storm.

The hurricane bore down on him. Housewives. Craftsmen. Stevedores. Journalists. They came from all walks of life, some for reasons of faith, some for reasons of pride, a few out of sheer boredom. He could See the strength of their courage, or their lack of it. He could See which of these fledgling crusaders would accept the yoke of his leadership and dedicate their energies to the common good, and which would threaten the ranks by continual disruption. And he a.s.signed them each a role in the coming war by virtue of that a.s.sessment. There were roles enough that all could serve the cause, and he was diplomat enough to make each offering sound like a unique honor. Fund-raisers would be needed, purchasing agents, advance men sent ahead to Kale and Mordreth to prepare for the army's pa.s.sage; there would be crew chiefs to organize labor at the fringe of the Forest, where a vast swath of landscape must be cleared in order to contain the cleansing fire which would be their final effort; there were med ics needed, and veterinarians, and seamsters, and messengers, and even envelope stuffers ... so many duties that there was always a niche to be offered, hopefully one suitable enough that it was received with a nod of grat.i.tude, not a glare of resentment.

What amazed him was how fast it was all coming together. How tempting it was to thank G.o.d for that, and ignore the role Vryce's demon had played in making it happen! But there's no shame in that, But there's no shame in that, he told himself, as he waited for yet another warrior-applicant to present himself before the throne of G.o.d. he told himself, as he waited for yet another warrior-applicant to present himself before the throne of G.o.d. Using evil to destroy evil is a blessed enterprise. Didn't the Prophet teach that? Using evil to destroy evil is a blessed enterprise. Didn't the Prophet teach that? Clearly the world was ready for such action. The Forest had been a threat for too long. And there was no other organization on the face of this planet, religious or otherwise, with the courage to attempt such an a.s.sault, and the skill to make it succeed. Clearly the world was ready for such action. The Forest had been a threat for too long. And there was no other organization on the face of this planet, religious or otherwise, with the courage to attempt such an a.s.sault, and the skill to make it succeed.

Only the Church.

His Church.

G.o.d save us, he prayed between interviews. And he bowed his head in guilt at the power he now wielded, the visions he could not turn away. They were there even when he shut his eyes, burning his eyes, a constant reminder of his d.a.m.nation. he prayed between interviews. And he bowed his head in guilt at the power he now wielded, the visions he could not turn away. They were there even when he shut his eyes, burning his eyes, a constant reminder of his d.a.m.nation. G.o.d save us all, G.o.d save us all, he prayed. Wondering if his G.o.d could ever forgive him for what he had done ... or if he could forgive himself. he prayed. Wondering if his G.o.d could ever forgive him for what he had done ... or if he could forgive himself.

Dusk, the day's interviews over, the clamor of angry souls giving way, at long last, to silence.

Time to decide.

Wordlessly, the Patriarch left his chamber and descended to the secret room that waited far below. By now his attendants were used to his strange silence, and in their eagerness to antic.i.p.ate his needs they ran down the corridor ahead of him, calling for a.s.sistance. By the time he reached the double-locked door there was a priest waiting for him, key in hand. Awe Awe flickered about his head in a wild halo, belying the cool texture of his greeting. Two keys turned in unison, unlocking the ancient door. The Patriarch descended the stairs alone, leaving the priest behind him. To his surprise the ceaseless clamor of the earth-fae grew m.u.f.fled as he descended, granting him an unexpected respite. He leaned against the wall and breathed the silence in deeply, desperately, as a drowning man might gasp for air. If he descended deep enough, would the earth-fae abandon him altogether? Was there a depth at which he might find peace-true peace-at which the tumult of futures would cease their racket and allow him a few seconds in which to think? To pray? To flickered about his head in a wild halo, belying the cool texture of his greeting. Two keys turned in unison, unlocking the ancient door. The Patriarch descended the stairs alone, leaving the priest behind him. To his surprise the ceaseless clamor of the earth-fae grew m.u.f.fled as he descended, granting him an unexpected respite. He leaned against the wall and breathed the silence in deeply, desperately, as a drowning man might gasp for air. If he descended deep enough, would the earth-fae abandon him altogether? Was there a depth at which he might find peace-true peace-at which the tumult of futures would cease their racket and allow him a few seconds in which to think? To pray? To be? be? What a rare and precious gift that would be! What a rare and precious gift that would be!

But it was not yet time to rest, not for a long while yet. The earth-fae still coursed about his feet as he continued down the long staircase, weaker than above-ground but undeniably potent No peace yet. At the base of the staircase was a heavy door, banded with iron, and he fitted his key into the ancient lock with a steady hand. It seemed to him there was another light besides that of the earth-fae, one that seeped out from under the door as he cracked it open. For a moment he hesitated, afraid of what his new vision would disclose in the room beyond. Then, with a prayer upon his lips, he quickly pulled the heavy door open.

Beyond it was a sea of light so blinding that he cried out involuntarily as it struck his eyes, burning them, and threw up a robed arm across his face to protect himself. Above him footsteps clattered on the stairs as his people responded to his cry, but he called out harshly for them to stay where they were. This was his trial, not theirs. By feel then, without sight, he worked his way slowly into the room. All he could see was a field of black spots against a blazing sun, undulating in time to his heartbeat. Was this what Vryce had seen when he had conjured his special vision? Or was it one more facet of his own special h.e.l.l, the price of accepting a demon's gift, that he could not look upon the Workings of his own Church?

But slowly, painfully, his vision adjusted. By that time his face was drenched in sweat, and much of his body also. His eyes felt raw and tender, so that the mere act of blinking was painful. But he could see now, and with wonder and not a little fear he gazed upon the relics of the Great War, which had been Worked by priests of his faith so long ago.

Shards of steel, long since gone to rust. Fragments of cloth. Sc.r.a.ps of gilded leather. They were all imbued with the solar fae, that nearly untamable power, so that even in their decay they made the very air resonate with sunfire. Blazing like a thousand captive suns, they bore witness to a power so far beyond anything the Patriarch might command that for a moment he reached out to the nearest case for support, overcome by the memories they conjured. It was lost now. All of it. Those warriors, their strength, their dreams ... all gone now. Only these few relics remained, that might with care be forged into a weapon again. To serve the Church anew, this time in triumph.

But as he gazed upon those few precious fragments, imagining what they might become, he realized suddenly that there was more than sunpower visible in their auras. There was a taint also, a kind of slithering darkness, that was visible just at the edge of his new vision. After a moment he realized what it represented, and the knowledge made him tremble inside, and brought tears of frustration to his eyes. To him these relics might be symbols of man's ultimate faith, but to his people they were reminders of the Church's greatest failure. To bear them into battle against the Forest again would be to shackle his army to that great defeat, to awaken echoes of a loss so devastating that the fae would be forced to respond, d.a.m.ning their efforts. They might as well just feed their blood to the enemy, he thought, as try to use this power. The end result would be much the same.

Oh, my G.o.d, he despaired. he despaired. Will You send us naked againstthe enemy? Will You make us batter at the walls of h.e.l.l with no more than cold steel in our hands? Will You send us naked againstthe enemy? Will You make us batter at the walls of h.e.l.l with no more than cold steel in our hands?

Let faith be your shield, a cold voice whispered, and its tone was such that his skin crawled to hear it. Was that some inner voice of his own speaking, or the whisper of his G.o.d? Or was it a suggestion from some more demonic source, Gerald Tarrant's ward, perhaps, or the demon Calesta, using the Patriarch's human weakness as a path of invasion into this holy place? a cold voice whispered, and its tone was such that his skin crawled to hear it. Was that some inner voice of his own speaking, or the whisper of his G.o.d? Or was it a suggestion from some more demonic source, Gerald Tarrant's ward, perhaps, or the demon Calesta, using the Patriarch's human weakness as a path of invasion into this holy place?

Take this trialfrom me, Lord. I'm not strong enough to handle it. Give it to someone who won't fail you.

But the visions refused to fade. The relics continued to burn. And about him, above him-within his very soul-an endless stream of futures clamored for fulfillment.

She was slender and delicate, and beautiful in the way that a porcelain doll might be beautiful, a priceless antique. For a moment he just stared at her, unable to grasp why such a woman would choose to be part of his mission ... and then the tumult of images that cascaded about her flesh came into focus, and with it an ident.i.ty.

"Narilka Lessing."

She seemed startled by the fact that he knew her name, but quickly regained her composure. He sensed a tension within her so great that it might have broken a lesser soul; the fact that she could contain such a thing and not even show it bore witness to a strength far beyond anything her physical self even hinted at. Was this the woman that Andrys Tarrant had fallen in love with? If so, it wasn't hard to see why.

"Your Excellency," she said. Hesitantly, not knowing if the honorific would please or offend. A curious pagan, this one, uncomfortable with his ident.i.ty as the voice of the One G.o.d, yet anxious to do him appropriate honor. He accepted the honorific with a gracious nod, his eyes fixed upon the storm of images that surrounded her. Bright, sharp, volatile images; in all his interviews he had rarely seen such a tumult of potential.

"I take it you told my people that you belong to the Church."

Her face flushed hotly, but her gaze didn't flinch. "There was no other way to get in to see you. I tried."

He nodded, and watched as an image of blood and flesh spattered into fragments by the side of her head. What was that white face beside hers, grinning? "I regret that we forced you to such subterfuge. It wasn't our intention." He struggled to focus on her face through the whirlwind of images. "Now that you're here, what is it I can do for you?"

She drew in a deep breath, and then said bluntly, "I want to go with you to the Forest."

So that was it. He should have guessed. "Mer Tarrant already asked me if that was possible. I told him no."

"I can't accept that."

In another time, another life, he might have gotten angry at her. Now, in this transformed self, he felt strangely distant, as though he were watching two strangers converse. "This campaign is a Church matter. All the people involved serve the One G.o.d. You, Mes Lessing, don't." He nodded slightly. "At least, that's my understanding of it. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"Are you afraid I'd try to convert your people?" She challenged him proudly. "Is that what you think? Is their faith in your G.o.d so weak? Do you really think I'd be a threat to them?"

"That isn't the point," he said quietly. He turned away from her slightly, as if to gaze out the window while he spoke; anything to look away from the faeborn chaos that surrounded her. "Faith has power, Mes Lessing, real power. Unified faith can reWork the very currents, changing reality so that it favors our cause. One discordant soul might not seem like much of a problem to you, but its effect upon our mission would be like that of a sour note in an otherwise perfect symphony." He paused, giving her a moment to muse upon that. "If you came with us, it would increase the risk to all of us-and to Andrys Tarrant-a thousandfold. Is that what you want? To place him in even greater danger?"

"You don't know what you're doing to him," she said fiercely. "It's eating him up inside, taking on this role. It's making him crazy. You want him to face that alone?"

"He has us," he said coolly. "And he has his G.o.d."

"That isn't enough!" she retorted. "Your G.o.d doesn't hold a man's hand when he's alone in the night. Your G.o.d won't show up to comfort him when he's scared. Your G.o.d doesn't care if he hurts, as long as-" The words caught in her throat then, and she coughed heavily. He glanced back at her, just in time to see a white mask with frightened eyes scream as its throat was slashed, then fade into a mist of blood about her hair.

"I won't get in your way," she promised. Pleading now, all anger leached from her tone in a desperate bid to placate, to persuade. "I won't say anything to offend anyone. I can even hold my own when we fight...." She drew in a deep breath, and dark images fluttered about her head like bats. "And the Forest can't hurt me. It's a ... a kind of gift. Nothing that belongs to the Hunter will hurt me. I'd be safe." She took a step closer to him; futures flickered in and out of existence with blinding speed as she moved. "Please," she begged. "Let me go with him. He needs somebody."

If you care so much, he wanted to say, he wanted to say, then embrace his G.o.d. Join him in faith, and you can truly share in his enterprise. then embrace his G.o.d. Join him in faith, and you can truly share in his enterprise. The words were forming, balanced on his lips-and then a new set of images took shape around her, a chaos of futures so vivid, so powerful, that the breath meant for words was expelled in a gasp, and it was all he could do to stand there and stare at them. The words were forming, balanced on his lips-and then a new set of images took shape around her, a chaos of futures so vivid, so powerful, that the breath meant for words was expelled in a gasp, and it was all he could do to stand there and stare at them.

He saw this woman accompanying Andrys Tarrant into battle, and he saw her left behind. Those two futures divided once, twice, a hundred times each, until the whole room seemed filled with images, blood-filled and fearsome. It was far more intense than the kind of Divinings he had experienced before-save perhaps with Andrys Tarrant himself-and he struggled in vain to absorb it all without losing himself. A storm of images, a riot of raw potential, bits and pieces that flickered in and out of existence so quickly he could barely focus on them. Was this one decision really so important? Could it be that whole futures depended on whether or not this woman joined their effort? A chaos of answers a.s.saulted his brain, and he struggled to sort them out. If she came with them, they might succeed, but the chances of that were slim. If, on the other hand, she stayed behind ... then there were a thousand new futures to choose from, and so many more of those led to success. He saw images of a white face grinning, of her slender throat being slashed, of ribbons of blood flowing down a wall of black gla.s.s ... he shivered to watch her die time and time again, to watch her not die, to watch the Forest triumph and wither and grow and burn.... Enough! Enough! He took a step back from her and shut his eyes, shielding them with a trembling hand. Enough. It was too much for him to interpret, he knew that; if he tried to understand it all, he might lay waste to that fragile sh.e.l.l which was all that remained of his sanity. The pattern was clear enough, though painful to acknowledge. All his planning, all his hopes, all his faith ... without this woman it might all come to naught. Without her in her proper place, his chosen futures might fall to pieces, like the fabrics of the Great War which rotted far below him. He took a step back from her and shut his eyes, shielding them with a trembling hand. Enough. It was too much for him to interpret, he knew that; if he tried to understand it all, he might lay waste to that fragile sh.e.l.l which was all that remained of his sanity. The pattern was clear enough, though painful to acknowledge. All his planning, all his hopes, all his faith ... without this woman it might all come to naught. Without her in her proper place, his chosen futures might fall to pieces, like the fabrics of the Great War which rotted far below him.

His head spinning, his mouth dry, he struggled to find his voice. Not to guide her now, or to comfort her, but to drive her away. Even as the words left his lips, he ached inside to be causing her pain, but he knew it was necessary. He had Seen.

"If that's G.o.d's will, so be it." He tried to put scorn into his voice-just a little bit-so that his words would seem doubly callous. He could see futures dissolving as he did so, and others taking their place. "We're all risking our lives here, and much more. Did you think it would be easy? Did you imagine that war could be waged without pain, without sacrifice?" Be Be careful, he warned himself, as some frightening new potentials began to take shape about her. In one of them he was callous enough that she devoted all her energy to convincing Andrys not to go to the Forest at all. "I'm sorry," he said, and he kept his voice carefully neutral. "Genuinely sorry. But the answer has to be no." careful, he warned himself, as some frightening new potentials began to take shape about her. In one of them he was callous enough that she devoted all her energy to convincing Andrys not to go to the Forest at all. "I'm sorry," he said, and he kept his voice carefully neutral. "Genuinely sorry. But the answer has to be no."

She seemed about to speak, but apparently words failed her. "You'll kill him," she whispered at last. Hoa.r.s.ely pushing the words out one by one, wincing as they left her. "Maybe not in body, but in spirit. Don't you care about that at all?"

He looked away, so that he need not see the thousand faeborn images that reflected her suffering. "I'm sorry," he said. Quietly but firmly, finality in his voice. "I can't allow it."

For a moment there was silence. He dared not look back at her, for fear of what the fae would reveal. Finally he heard motion: footsteps on the rug, the click of a latch opening, the hard, cold sound of a door slamming shut. Gone. She was gone.

"Dear G.o.d," he whispered. Feeling her pain as though it had somehow charged the air in the room, so that he drew it into his lungs with every breath. His legs felt weak beneath him and he permitted them to fold, his hand against the wall for support as he fell slowly to his knees.

Forgive me, Lord, for being the cause of pain in others. Forgive me for manipulating so many lives in ways that go against Your teachings. Forgive me....