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.“Unbelievable,” Abbot Olin muttered.“That I am alive? Or that I dare to come out into the open once more?”De’Unnero asked.“Both,” said Olin.“The fallen bishop, the fallen leader of the BrothersRepentant, who revealed himself as the weretiger, and thus, likely, themurderer of Baron Bildeborough.And here you are, alive still, when somany others, whose roads seemed so much easier, have long ago fallen.”“Perhaps it is the will of God,” said De’Unnero, and though he was onlyhalf joking, Abbot Olin burst out into cackling laughter.“God abandoned the world long ago,” the old man said.And De’Unnerocouldn’t keep the surprise from his face—or his joy at hearing Olinspeaking such blasphemous words.“God tries us to the limits of our tolerance,” De’Unnero replied.“Beyond those limits,” muttered Olin.“To the weak,” De’Unnero was quick to counter.“Because those who breakand fail are not deserving of the ultimate triumph at the end.Have youbroken, Abbot Olin?”The old man stared at him skeptically.“Why are you here?” he asked.“Why is Marcalo De’Unnero even still alive?”Now it was De’Unnero’s turn to laugh, but when he finished, he cameforward suddenly, leaning his hands on Abbot Olin’s desk, putting hisvery serious face close to the old man’s equally intense one.“Because itis not over,” De’Unnero said ominously, “because we have gone astray, farastray, and I intend to fight to my last breath to bring the Church backto the proper path.”“That again?” Olin cried in response.“Are we back to rehashing thefollies of Markwart? He lost, the ambitious fool, and was discredited.There is no going back.Neither the Church nor the people would allowit.”“And so you believe that the Church’s present incarnation is correct?”De’Unnero asked skeptically.“The election of Fio Bou-raiy to fatherabbot was proper, a position the man deserved?” He noted Olin’s futileattempt to hide his scowl at that painful reminder.“It was the decision of the College of Abbots,” the old man replied, hislips very tight.“I have no choice but to accept it.”De’Unnero wore a perfectly awful smile then, and he leaned forward evenfurther and whispered.“Suppose that I could offer you a choice?”Olin pulled back and sat up as straight as his battered old body couldmanage.He crossed his hands before him and stared at De’Unnero for manyminutes without so much as blinking.“I’ve no time for this,” the old abbot said at length.“I am surprisedand amused, I must admit, to see you alive and to see you here.You mustunderstand that the Church would never deign to allow you any voice.TheChurch would not even allow you back in as a simple member, despite theirclaims of the hope of redemption.Do you know that Jilseponie is thequeen of Honce-the-Bear? Do you know that she is also a sovereign sisterof St.Honce—and some claim that since Abbot Ohwan’s unexplaineddeparture from the abbey she has assumed some degree of control there? Doyou know that Avelyn is now formally beatified? Well on his way to asainthood with at least two miracles sanctioned by the Church?”De’Unnero nodded through it all, and his smug agreement only seemed toinfuriate Olin—another sign that the old man’s bitterness was deeplyentrenched.“How much do you hate them?” De’Unnero asked quietly, andOlin bit back the rest of his speech and stared hard and incredulously.“How much?” De’Unnero pressed.“You despise Fio Bou-raiy—you alwayshave.And while you were no big supporter of Markwart, you knew that hewas essentially right, that the Church had grown soft before he tookaction, and is grown soft again.The gentle shepherds,” De’Unnero saidwith biting sarcasm.“It is a road of tolerance that will lead to loss offaith.It is a road along which we build shrines to murderers like Avelynand elevate simple whores like Jilseponie to greatness.Do not look sosurprised, Abbot Olin! I speak only that which you already know, thatwhich you would like to scream from the bell tower of St.Bondabruce.Howdifferent would the Abellican Church now be if Olin had been electedfather abbot, as he should have been? Would Jilseponie now be a sovereignsister?”“No!” the man replied sharply, slamming his hands on his desk, allpretense of composure flown.“Never that!”“Then let us change it,” De’Unnero remarked, his conniving smilereturning.“Let us take the whole of the Church, and of the kingdom, andsteer it back to the proper course.”“How?” the old man asked, his tone full of doubt, even ridicule.“Hasyour body survived while your mind has withered? Are you the opposite ofbroken Olin?”“I have not journeyed to Entel alone,” De’Unnero explained.“I rode inalongside one who carries the sword of Elbryan, the bow of Elbryan, and adirect bloodline to the throne, though his mother does not even know heexists.”“What nonsense—”“He is the son of Jilseponie and Elbryan, strong with sword andgemstones,” De’Unnero declared.“The Queen has no son,” Olin protested.“But she does,” De’Unnero replied.“The child thought lost when shebattled Father Abbot Markwart.He lives [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]