Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [43]
“You think he would help us?” He tried to keep the doubt out of his voice, but it was hard. “Is that what you saw?”
“What I saw,” he said slowly, “was Calesta subverting a powerful man. I saw great vision and great stubbornness, that might be harnessed for a thousand different purposes. I saw a man destroying himself, unable to face his own potential ... and that would make sense, if it is who you suggest. But I also saw this: in any future where the Church stood the least chance of survival, this man’s actions were pivotal.” He looked up sharply at Damien. “Pivotal, Vryce. In its literal sense. The man I saw could save the Church, but he could also destroy it.”
“Can you tell where those paths diverge?” he demanded. “What’s the catalyst? We can go after that.”
Tarrant’s eyes were unfocused as he tried to remember what he’d Seen. At last he shook his head, clearly frustrated. “It was all too tangled to make out clearly. He’s not even aware of his own power yet; how can I read a future that depends upon such awareness?”
“What if he were?” he pressed. “What if he accepted it?”
The Hunter’s gaze fixed on him: diamondine, piercing. “You mean, what if he became a sorcerer in truth? Then he must face the condemnation of the Church as few men have known it ... perhaps even the condemnation of his own soul. Would you wish that kind of torment on any man?”
Knowing the question for what it was, he met the Hunter’s gaze head-on. “No,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t wish that on any man.”
The Hunter turned away from him. Sensing that he needed the moment of privacy, Damien upended his bottle of ale once more. There was still nothing in it.
“He must know the truth, then,” Tarrant said at last. “Or all our efforts are doomed to failure.”
“Yeah. Only who the hell is going to tell him?”
“Perhaps 1--2’
“No,” he said sharply. “You’re right up there with the Unnamed as far as he’s concerned. If not worse. What good can you possibly do? Stay out of this one. I’ll think of ... something.”
Only, dear God ... what?
“Very well, then,” Tarrant muttered. It was clear he had misgivings about Damien’s judgment, but for now he was acquiescing. Thank God. “See what you can come up with. If not ... it need not be direct contact, you understand. Or anything he would connect with me.”
Realizing what he meant, Damien rose up from his seat as he warned, “Don’t you Work him! You understand me? We’re talking about something that could cost this man his soul; leave him his free will to face it with!” When Tarrant didn’t answer, he pressed, “You understand me, Gerald?”
The Hunter glared. “I understand.”
“Promise me.”
“Don’t be a fool! I said I understood. I respect your opinion, although I don’t agree with it. That’s more than most men have had of me. Leave it at that.”
“You’ll leave him alone?”
The Hunter’s tone was venemous. “I won’t compromise his free will, I’ll promise you that much. As for the rest ... find a safe way to enlighten him, or I’ll do what I must. The odds against us increase dramatically if he remains ignorant, and I won’t risk that just to coddle your overblown sense of morality.” Before Damien could protest again, he ordered, “You go see if the Church Archives have anything useful on the Iezu. I’ll Locate the local adepts, see if they have any notes of their own.” He shook his head angrily. “Damn Senzei Reese, for what he destroyed! If the man weren’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.”
For a moment there was silence between them, but it was a purely vocal phenomenon; the channel that linked them was alive with such hostile energy that Damien could hear the Hunter’s next words as clearly as if they had been spoken. Don’t press me for assurances I won’t give. All that you’ll accomplish by that is to strain the tenuous foundation of our alliance, and that would put us both at risk.
Tarrant started toward the door. Damien stepped forward quickly and put out a hand to stop him. With his other hand he reached