Shadowstorm by Kemp Paul S Read Free Book Online

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 know—”p>
    “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