Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [84]
ANDRYS TARRANT.
The Patriarch looked at the letters written before him as though they were foreign shapes, sounding them out one by one, tasting their meaning. So few symbols. So potent a message.
ANDRYS TARRANT.
A shiver ran up his spine as he considered the implications of that name. The Prophet had killed his children, or so the Church taught. Was it possible that one had survived? Was this Andrys Tarrant not only a man who looked like the Hunter, but who bore the Hunter’s blood within his veins as well? A man so like him in the substance of his being that the very patterns of his DNA were echoes of the Prophet’s own?
If so—Dear God!
Help me, Lord, he begged. Guide me, so that I may serve You more perfectly.
Tarrant. There was a wealth of power in that name, a power that might save or destroy. He remembered the man who had led his dream-army into the Forest—so bright a symbol, the focus of all their hopes—and for the first time since his war dreams began, he felt the stirring of hope. This was the key they needed, this stranger with history running in his veins. That he had suddenly appeared in Jaggonath’s cathedral now, when their need was greatest, only served to confirm his purpose in the Patriarch’s mind. With him, they could fight this war and win it. They could break the Forest’s hold upon this region and send its ruler up in smoke. The centuries would resound with their triumph.
But did they dare?
Help me, Lord. Give me the wisdom to deal with this.
By night, he dreamed of holy war.
By day, he dreamed of Gerald Tarrant’s offering.
MORDRETH:The murder of two brothers that took place in the city last night has all inhabitants of this northern city bolting their doors and cleaning their weapons. Benjin and Sorrie Heldt were found by their housekeeper at eight a.m. this morning, having been murdered in their beds less than three hours before. The bodies had been savaged by one or more large animals who apparently gained entrance through a window, but no flesh was eaten.
While police will not confirm a link between this incident and last week’s slaughter in Jahanna, many locals are convinced that the Forest’s inhabitants are moving to expand their territory. Sales of small arms are already up 400% in the region, and a continued increase is expected.
The blue stone lay within its box, deep cobalt light reflecting from the polished alteroak.
Help me, Lord. Guide me.
The Patriarch bowed his head before the altar, and his body trembled like a branch in a high wind. Was it sin to take up this gift, if all it offered him was knowledge ? Was it wrong to use the Hunter’s power, if in the end that power was to be turned against him?
For a long time he remained as he was, bowed before the hateful object. Since the moment when it had been placed here he had been continually aware of it, as if it had already established some kind of link to his mind. He felt its presence while eating, while reading, even while conducting services in the sanctified hall of the cathedral. But most acutely of all, he felt it when reports of escalating violence were brought to him. Violence within his church, that must be cleansed. Violence surrounding the Forest, that must be answered.
The dreams were so tempting, with their dramatic solution: a war against the Forest, in which the growing violence in his people could be channeled toward a positive end. A second Great War, in which the Church would at last be triumphant. The spirit of his people was ready for it. The means existed. The funds could be assigned.
The consequences were terrifying.
He had prayed for nights on end for some new insight, but none had come to him.