Chapter 2 - Father Rolin

"Yes, come in," he said, and sighed. He set his quill down and moved the papers aside. Tormas came in leading a stranger. The stranger was well dressed. He had black trousers tucked into tall boots, a loose white shirt under a snug black vest, and wore a grey shoulder cape. His black hair was combed straight back from his face.

"This man has come to speak with the Bishop," Tormas explained, "but the Bishop is busy, and said that you would hear this man." Tormas clutched the hems of his robe sleeves the way he did when he was particularly nervous. Bishop Doran must have been stern with the boy again.

"Certainly," he said, rising. He straightened out his cassock before extending a hand to the stranger. "I am Father Marus Rolin, and you are?"

"My name is Anton LeWinde, I am here on business of Duke Coulforth of Westshire, and would speak to you in private."

"Certainly," Marus said once more. "Tormas, I have duties I must attend to before long, I doubt you are without chores of your own to keep you occupied for some time..."

"Of course, Father," Tormas said almost eagerly before ducking out, closing the door behind him.

"Shall we sit?" Marus said, gesturing to a chair and taking his own. LeWinde followed the example.

"Not all of what I have to say needs to be said in private, specifically," LeWinde said, "but some of it is not for younger ears."

"I understand," Marus said. "The boy does in truth have much that needs be done, as do we all."

"I'll try not to take more of your time than necessary. My instructions were to speak with Bishop Doran, but it seems that will not happen. War appears to be coming to our lands. Word is that the Elar have launched invasions on three of the continents. We have just gotten word that they have started invading tribal lands. These are not raids, Father, but military incursions."

"So there is still several hundred miles of grasslands held by warrior tribes before these Elar become a problem then, no? So why does the Duke wish this to be a Church matter, may I ask?"

"The savages? They might be able to intimidate borderland villagers, but they will do little to slow the Elar. The Duke's seer has warned us of a few things. For one, they are making rapid progress everywhere they go. For another, their conjurers are summoning elementals and demons greater than can be dismissed by common wizards. For that we will need priests."

"I might remind you that most elementals can be dismissed without even a wizards intervention if one has the right tools. Kill the conjurer, contain the beast, and eventually it will get bored and go home. You don't need priests for that sir, just soldiers with a little backbone. And research has always shown that pulling demons into this plane is difficult and dangerous. I find it unlikely that the Elar - "

"The last messenger reported that a demon sits at the center of the main marketplace at Riverport," LeWinde interrupted him. "I doubt I need remind you of the importance of that city for both trade and travel. The Elar seem very calculated in where they choose to advance. Those of the city who defy the Elar are fed to the thing in front of the rest of the population! This has left many of the troops themselves free to advance beyond the city, even before the Elar had brought in more reenforcements. There have been more reports of demons sighted than anyone cares to realize. The Duke is concerned. They may not be on our doorstep yet, Father, but they are coming. There is little chance the savages will manage more than to slow them a short while. In the meantime, the Duke feels we should prepare a proper defense."

"While I will take this news to the Bishop, I assure you," Marus told him, slightly irritated at having been interrupted, "I must remind you that the Duke himself has no authority over the church. We have many other duties to attend to right now that we cannot just drop everything to begin mounting a defense for something that is likely still months away." He indicated the papers on his desk. "Right now, we have crops failing on the western slope, and some sort of plague afflicting the villagers of Nerrickstone. Not to mention all the other, smaller requests made of us by our congregation, the caring of our own farm and fields, the education of our young students, and the care of those who live here with us, in need of our assistance. The Duke's lands have increased over the last five years and we are the only church servicing their faith in his holdings."

"Frankly, LeWinde, we are overworked as it is and getting less and less students interested in carrying our burden each year. It seems that the allure of wizardry or knighthood is far more enticing to young boys and girls than the humble life of a priest. I am sure the Bishop will spare the Duke the resources when it becomes necessary, but it seems a bit early to be neglecting our other duties." Marus sat back in his chair and sighed.

It bothered him that so much of his own duties seemed to be dealing with the political end of the church as of late. It added a bitter twist to his calling that he found himself resenting, despite his best efforts. While the younger priests spent their time healing the sick and tending the fields - activities he always found fullfilling and rewarding - he spent more and more time speaking with disgruntled farmers who's crops weren't yeilding what they'd hoped for, or self-important land-owners who felt that their monetary contributions to the church each year should allow them some sort of status to be healed if they caught even a simple cold, when a village away an epidemic was killing people. It was becoming more and more often that his head would be throbbing by the time he went to sleep each night.

"I think, perhaps, you don't understand the scope of the war that is coming, Father," LeWinde spat out angrily. "The seer has told us of the devastation that comes - "

"Then perhaps you should have sent her to speak with us instead," Marcus said, cutting him off. "I have said I will relay your news to the Bishop. Now, if you don't mind, I do have other duties to attend to." He stood up and moved to the door, where he opened it and waited.

"The Duke will hear of this," LeWinde said, standing up. He moved to stride out the door and then stopped in front of Marus, looking him intently in the eyes. "The seer saw this as well. But then, she also said you will not be at this church for much longer, priest. Perhaps your successor will be more reasonable."

Marus raised an eyebrow in surprise as LeWinde strode out the door. He stood there for a moment, mulling over that little tidbit of news.

Eventually his eyes fell on the papers he had been preparing. No, he told himself, he was no longer in the right frame of mind to write them. They would wait. He had plenty of other matters to attend to.

He went over to the window. He always shut it when leaving the room. It was his habit, and he was a man of comfortable habit. There were few clouds in the sky, but the one time he had not closed it there had been a rainstorm that had damaged some very old books.

He looked down at the grounds outside first. Some local farmers had come to help in the fields, working alongside the monks and nuns and lay clergy. Some of the farmers would simply be loyal worshippers, some would have been healed or cured of something and showing their gratitude. He swung the glass pane shut and hooked the latch to hold it.

He walked across his little office and shut the door behind him. Tormas was in the hallway.

"I know it is not charitable to say, but I do not like that man," Tormas said.

"He is his Duke's man," Father Marus said by way of explanation. "Come, we can speak of it while I attend to some things."

"What news did he bring?" Tormas asked as Father Marus started down the hallway towards the narrow spiral stairs.

"News of war," Marus told him bluntly. "The Elar have brought the conquest they made on the sea to the mainland now. It seems it was not something the Morgule did to offend them after all."

Tormas paled slightly.

"They took the sea in a matter of months, Father," Tormas pointed out. "How long will it take for them to move across land?"

"It will take them some time, Tormas," he assured the young man. "Do not worry yourself just yet. The Duke's main concerns have always been for his own interests. He just wants to ensure that we'll be there to keep him safe from harm when they finally do get here. The Bishop will put plans in order for what to do when the time comes, I am sure, but we have more pressing matters right now that need our attention. We will not play bedmaids to our cowardly Duke just because his seer is already having visions of their arrival here." He spoke the word 'seer' with some distaste. The methods of seers were little more than old women peering into tea leaves, while he himself had received divine images from the Gods on more than one occasion. While he'd met the woman and confirmed her faith in the Gods and the church, she still chose to play with her odd methods. She had been lucky in her readings on more than one occasion, and the Duke paid her well to keep her at his side.

"She was right about the storm last year," Tormas pointed out. "Perhaps she is lucky again this time?"

"While it would be foolish to ignore the news completely, Tormas, we have received no such warnings from the Gods, despite our daily prayers for guidance. I am sure the war is coming, but it is still many months away. I will bring LeWinde's news to the Bishop's attention, but it is not time yet to strike the match of fear in our congregation."

"I understand, Father, of course," Tormas bobbed his head.

"Now I must speak with the Bishop while this is still fresh in my mind," Marus told him. "I'm quite sure you have more chores yet unattended. We can speak again later if you wish."

"Yes, Father. Thank you Father." Tormas bobbed his head again, reminding Marus of one of the hens, before he went running off down the hall.

"Tormas!" Marus called after him, lending a disciplinary tone to his voice.

"Sorry Father!" Tormas called, slowing suddenly to a walking pace. Marus rolled his eyes and sighed as he turned and knocked on the door to the Bishop's office.

"Come in," Bishop Doran called out. Marus turned the latch and pushed the door. It opened with a groaning creak, and he winced at the noise. It seemed that no matter how often the door was oiled the creak refused to leave. He had joked yesterday about holding an exorcism.

"I had that door oiled just this morning," he explained, "did it not help at all?"

"The wood is old and warped. Would that a creaking door were our only problem, no?"

"Point taken."

"So, what message does the Duke send this time, Marus?"

"The Elar are expanding their conquests, now moving into the plains. He's worried that they're headed to us. His seer has apparently made some dire prophesies. He wants us to provide priests to banish what the Elar conjure."

"And you told him...?" the Bishop said, trailing out the last word and lifting an open palm.

"I'm saving the We Aren't An Order of Warrior Priests speech for next time. I told him that there would still be time yet, and when the time came we would spare what resources we can afford."

"Yes, you are more diplomatic than I at times. I'm glad I had you deal with him. Thank you."

"Some of his news comes from messengers, not just the seer," Marus admitted. "He had news of a demon in Riverport. Aparently they are increasing the number of demons they are summoning."

"Yes, that agrees with what I have been told as well."

"The Gods have spoken with you on this?" Marus was surprised. The Bishop was not usually quiet on such matters.

"I have been kept informed on this war for some time. The Duke's seer is right. The war will come here and we will be needed when it does. But we must not neglect our congregation in the meantime. Some of them may prove very important to us when times get tough." The Bishop did not look at Marus directly as he spoke, and Marus wondered what all the man had been shown. It was not Marus's place to question the man further on what the Gods chose to share with him, when his own inquiries on the war had been left unanswered.

"Aparently the seer also has said that I will not be here much longer," Marus said instead. He still wasn't sure what to make of that information, and was hoping the Bishop could shed light on that as well. Instead, the Bishop looked up with some obvious surprise.

"Interesting," Bishop Doran said. "Is she threatening us now? If so, she's getting overly bold, no matter how close to the Duke she's become."

"I don't know," Marus admitted. "I'm not sure what to make of it myself."

"The Gods will reveal what we need when the time is right," the Bishop said, not for the first time.

"Yes sir," Marus nodded.

"Meanwhile, we seem to be getting to the end of this plague. Father Ryeth has sent a request for more herbs," the Bishop slid a piece of paper across his desk towards Marus. "He's had some luck easing the symptoms with some of them who are still waiting for healing. They've also finally managed to contain the situation and convince the villagers to stop leaving the village. The other two towns they infected seem to be complying with the request a lot better than the first and he doesn't think it will spread further than it has."

"This is good news indeed," Marus said, picking up the list and looking over it quickly. It was all herbs they grew here at the church in one of the large gardens next to the fields. "I'll put the students to collecting these right away. Hopefully we can send Father Ryeth what he needs before tomorrow's eve."

"Good," Bishop Doran nodded. "I shall keep you no further then. Theran guide you Father Marus."

"And you, Bishop. Thank you," Marus bowed his head respectfully before leaving the room, attempting to close the squeaky door quietly behind him. He then took the list and headed to the church classroom.

He folded the list and tucked it in a pocket as he walked. His soft shoes made quiet footfalls on the stone floors. He approached Brother Reffin sweeping in brown monk's robes, and he waited until the monk had swept a clear spot in the hallway. He nodded to Brother Reffin, who put his hands together and nodded back. Marus smiled and continued on his way, leaving the monk to sweep in thoughtful silence. The whish-whish of the broom faded behind him as he walked in his own thoughtful silence.

The south wing of the church was the school building. It was also the dormitories for both the nuns and monks, each with their own areas. Those aspiring to be priests spent their time living the life of the monastery while they learned.

The monastery wing was actually the oldest part of the church, built more than two centuries ago when more of this was frontier lands. War had claimed the larger part of the church, but this part had held an orphanage at the time. No catapult stone had ever fell on the orphans.

He pulled the rope hanging at the monastery entrance, ringing the old bronze bell. It made a deep but gentle note. There was no rule that said priests were required to ring the bell before entering, but every priest here had been a student inside first. Respectfulness was never forgotten.

A nun in white robes answered the door. Her head was shaved, which meant she was still new here. He didn't recognize her.

"Hello, Father," she said in the hushed tones that were the only ones allowed beyond the door she held open.

"Hello Sister," he replied in similarly hushed tones. "Where might I find Father Engler and his class?"

"They are in the music room, Father."

"Thank you," he gave her a nod and she put her hands together as Brother Reffin had, nodding back in response. He headed inside and heard her gently closing the door again behind him.

The music room was the only room in the Monastery where the hushed tones could be forgotten a while. As a result, many of the younger students developed a quick love of music during their studies. Other than music class, students were required to speak quietly even when outside the Monastery to work in the gardens and fields or for the occasional nature walks that Father Engler would take them on to increase their knowledge of the plants and wildlife in the areas surrounding the church.

Father Engler himself was the oldest priest at the church. While his bones were beginning to stiffen with age, he never seemed to lose his energetic manner, especially while teaching. Students who thought they could get something past the elderly priest were quickly put right in their assumptions. Father Marus had been a student under Father Engler himself long ago, although the priest had not looked quite as old back then. Over the years, Father Engler had delegated some of the more labor-intensive duties to his more advanced students, but had simply refused to step down from his role of teacher. It never ceased to amaze Marus how mobile this man remained when they had elderly in the church's care who weren't nearly as old and couldn't manage to even feed themselves anymore. Father Engler maintained that teaching the wisdom of the Gods kept him eternally young inside even though his body kept aging. Marus believed him. Every time he saw the priest there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes over whatever the latest student antic had been.

When he entered the music room, he stood quietly off to the side for a moment, listening as the students practiced one of the choral pieces. There were only seven students currently in Father Engler's class, but some of the youngest of the nuns and monks accompanied them, the voices combining and filling the room with the chorus to one of the classic songs of the Gods.

Ardana brings us in the world
with loving arms of grace
Kielle is who we thank for health
her healings we embrace
Theran shares with us his guidance
his words are ones we seek
Ogrun shares the strength we find
to turn the other cheek

The old priest turned. "Hello, Father Marus. One moment, please."

Father Engler turned back to the students. "That will be enough for now. It is close enough to lunch, perhaps some of you could lend a hand in the kitchen and help it along."

The students all nodded and filed out of the room. They walked slowly and deliberately, as at this point in their teachings every action they performed was supposed to be purposeful and deliberate. It was a teaching that many of them would find very helpful later in life. That had at least been the case for Marus.

"Ah, the one class they are never in a hurry to end sooner," Engler commented softly and a little sadly after the last had left.

"They are young," Marus reminded, "as were we once, despite what some joke about you."

"True, true. You were no better yourself then. And yet you turned out, so perhaps there is hope for them yet." Engler ran his hand over his scalp as if pushing hair back out of his eyes. It was a gesture of habit that was becoming unnecessary a little more than two decades ago when Marus was a student.

Marus pulled the list from his pocket and unfolded it. "Father Ryeth has nearly finished containing the plague outbreak. There are some herbs that he needs to complete his treatments. I have a list, if you could have the students gather them?"

"Oh, certainly," Father Engler replied, peering at the list. "They will appreciate the time outdoors, I am sure."

"Thank you, Father," Marus clasped his own hands together and nodded his head at the man.

"One of these days, Marus, you will learn you no longer need to do that now that you have reached the rank of priest. You are my peer now, not my student, and have been for some time." Engler's eyes showed his amusement.

"I am well aware of that fact, Father Engler, but you still hold the position of teacher as well. Some habits are difficult to break with someone who has helped me so much with my calling."

"Nonetheless, you should not show me such preference," Engler waggled his finger.

"Yes, Father," Marus replied with a smile. "I shall try to remember."

"See that you do. It is better that you do not show undue reverence for those who stand in equal footing to you."

"As always, you leave me with some words of wisdom. I thank you, Father Engler."

"You're welcome, Father Marus. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd better make sure the students are actually helping the kitchen staff instead of hindering their progress. I'm rather hungry myself." Father Engler gave Marus a nod before turning and heading out of the room, leaving Marus standing there alone for a moment. He sighed and headed out of the music room and back out of the monastery. He was hungry himself, but the reminder of lunch made him remember that his charge would be getting hungry as well.

Alldeh wasn't officially his charge, but he'd taken pity on the man and tended to most of his needs himself. Most of the others in the church tended to avoid him and only do what they needed to in caring for him. Marus headed to the infirmary and walked past the whitewashed walls and clean white linen curtains that hung between the beds. He nodded at the nuns and monks in attendance there and moved past them to the hallway beyond. Alldeh had a private room. He'd been far too disturbing to the other patients in the infirmary to keep him there.

There was already food in the infirmary, so he stopped. Lunch today was soup, which Alldeh would have trouble eating. There was also fresh bread, and he soaked some of it before draining most of the remaining broth from the bowl.

Even the room next to Alldeh's was empty. The monks and nuns of the infirmary peered in through the little window in his door throughout the day, mostly to make sure he was safe. There had been one time he had clawed at the wall until he tore a nail off and they found him smeared in blood. Another time he had scratched at his face until it bled. They all avoided him as much as they could, however.

Marus stopped at the door and peeked in through the tiny window. The door had been built for a jail, but they had needed a door with a window. The broken man stood at a wall, scribbling something on it with chalk.

Alldeh was a short man. They were all pretty sure he was about the same age as Marus, but he looked closer to sixty than forty. His dirty gray hair was coming out, but more on the left than on the right.

Marus knocked softly before unlocking and opening the door. He went in and closed the door behind him. The room had a simple cot, a small table, and a short, three-legged stool. He set the bowl on the table and walked over to Alldeh.

The drawing took up much of one wall. There were lines and shaded areas, but he couldn't make out what it was.

"What are you drawing today, Alldeh?"

"Drawing."

"Yes, I see that. Are you drawing something specific? Is it something you've seen before?"

"Drawing."

Alldeh stopped his drawing, tapping the chalk over and over at the same spot on the wall. There were no straight lines, and he didn't see any noticeable patterns. Sometimes Alldeh drew spirals; sometimes he drew symbols; sometimes it was nothing intelligible. Some of the symbols he had called magic. He had shown some of the symbols to wizards who had assured him they weren't actually magical wards or anything powerful.

"I brought you food, Alldeh, are you hungry?"

"Hungry. Always hungry. Always hungry," the old man croaked, but he didn't so much as look away from the wall. He fell silent and started rocking back and forth.

"Good, Alldeh," Marus told him. "I've brought you some bread. It's soft with soup." He took the bowl over to Alldeh and brought it in front of him, hoping the smell would catch his attention. After a moment, Alldeh looked down at the bowl and then droppped his chalk to take it in his hands. Marus stepped back a moment to let him investigate the food. Alldeh always seemed to check it thoroughly before eating, as if inspecting for mold or bugs hidden within. Today seemed no different as the man sniffed and poked his chalky finger into the lump of sodden bread over and over again.

"Not right. Wrong component." Alldeh stood up and suddenly flung the bowl across the room, where it clattered against the wall next to the door before bouncing across the floor. It left a wet smear on the wall where the bread had hit before that too had fallen to a soggy heap in front of the door.

"WRONG COMPONENT!" Alldeh screamed. "WON'T WORK! NO TIME!" Then he turned back and snatched up the chalk again. He crouched down to another spot where he erased chalk from the wall with the arm of his shirt before beginning to draw again. "No time," he continued muttering over and over again.

"Alright Alldeh," Marus told him, trying a soothing tone with his voice. "We don't have to eat right now. I thought you might be hungry is all." Marus turned and gathered up the bread back into the bowl, wiping the floor and wall with a cloth from his pocket and setting them aside. He had hoped that today would be one of the better days, where Alldeh showed more clarity of mind, but feared it was more the opposite.

He was especially surprised when he checked the chamber pot, however, to find that it had been used. Frequently when Alldeh was in such a state he would forget entirely and there would be a mess to attend to. Just to be sure, Marus gently checked the man, but found that Alldeh had managed to keep himself both dry and unsoiled. Alldeh seemed only mildly distracted by Marus, focused instead on the drawing he was working on. Nonetheless, Marus kept up a soft monologue so the man knew what he was doing and wouldn't be alarmed by anything Marus did while moving about the room. He left the room for a few moments to empty the chamber pot, but when he returned Alldeh was still in exactly the same spot, drawing and occasionally muttering under his breath and poking at the drawing disapprovingly.

He crouched down next to the man, attempting to see the drawings from the same height, in case it might make a difference.

"What's wrong with it?" he tried asking.

"Color wrong. No. All wrong. Too much red."

Marus squinted at the white chalk lines on the wall, failing to see any "red" in the picture. It looked as if some areas had been purposefully smudged with dirt to make them grey, but he couldn't be sure if that was part of the drawing or just another area Alldeh had erased with his arm.

Suddenly Alldeh screamed out an anguished cry. He threw the chalk and looked up at the ceiling.

"Can't remember!" he shouted. He moved to a corner of the room and curled up, weeping. A dark stain spread on the man's pants.

Marus sighed, wondering how close me might have been to actually communicating with whatever part of the man's mind was still whole. He still held strong to the belief that there was such a part. Few others still harbored any hope of it, but Marus believed in hope.

He had preyed to Kielle for the power to heal the man, but She had told him that what needed to be healed was not the man's body, but his soul. She had explained that the man needed time and a safe place and to be cared for. Marus had never given up before, he was not going to stop now.

He took up the bowl and left to get fresh pants, a bowl of water, and a washcloth. When he got back, Alldeh was still in the corner crying. Marus washed the man's face some before cleaning up the rest of him. Alldeh never shifted his gaze from the nowhere he was staring off into.

By the time he had gotten Alldeh cleaned up again the man had calmed down some and Marus was finally able to get him to eat a little. Marus had gone back for more bread with soup and this time brought a spoon with and fed the man himself. He got about half the bread into him before Alldeh suddenly just fell asleep. With a sigh, Marus draped the blanket over him before gathering up any loose items that he'd brought into the room and leaving. He dropped off the remaining laundry and dishes before he finally grabbed some lunch for himself.

He took his lunch to one of the flat rooftops on the dormitories where the priests had their quarters and offices. It was lovely weather this time of year and he liked to sit up there. He could see for miles all around the church and he felt it helped him keep perspective over all the paperwork that ended up on his desk. While other priests had more specific duties, the Bishop had made him one of his assistants, which meant his job encompassed a great deal of things, frequently involving the congregation on a broader scope.

He sipped at the soup, which was heavy with vegetables and somewhat salty. It was to be expected, however, at the end of the month as it was. The stores of fresh meat were growing smaller. At the beginning of each month, many local farmers would send wagons by with a donations of meat or poultry. From the east side, by the river, there would be a wagon of fish to be salted as well. The arrangement had been a long-standing one between the church and it's congregation, and had begun long before the duke had arrived. It became more difficult each year, however, as the Duke demanded more and more out of the people on his land, padding his own coffers and ignoring their needs. Still, each month they came. Even the farmers, ranchers, and fishemen knew who would help them if times grew tough. Marus found himself worrying more about how they would fare in the coming war than the duke in his small stone-walled castle. He knew that soon they would hear that the war was coming this way, and people would make the trip out to the church, not the Duke, to ask for assurance that they would be protected.

He thought again about LeWinde's cryptic message that he would not be here long. Why would I leave when such difficut times are coming to this church? This is my home. Or will I be dead? Is that what he meant? There were too many possible ways to read what had been said, and in the end Marus set the thoughts aside, knowing he had more pressing matters that needed his attention.

With a sigh, he realized his lunch was gone already, and he left the rooftop to return his bowl and spoon to the kitchens. He then made his way back to his office, and the stack of papers that awaited him. It was also nearing on the afternoon hour when the priests saw members of the local congregation and heard any greivances they had or concerns they wished to voice. Some just came to ask for guidance of advice. He always needed to be in attendance if possible, as the Bishop had him see those of higher ranks - town mayors, richer landowners, and the like. These were the same people who's papers littered his desk usually.

He ended up disappointed in how little paperwork he got done before it was time for meetings. He sighed and set things neatly into stacks. He straightened his cassock before heading down into the nave.

The meeting times were important, and most of the priests enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it more when he had been a more junior priest. When he got down there he could already see several of the priests standing spread throughout the open central space, each talking individually to local parishioners. He saw individuals, couples, families, and the occasional small group.

There were some that he could identify as local business and landowners, and he focused his time on them. It seemed that the Duke's messenger had spread some rumors before leaving, and several had questions about it.

He remained as noncommittal as possible, confirming only that he had been notified of those same rumors, and that for the moment they were largely just that. The Gods would let them know before danger drew close, but preparations would be made regardless.

He reassured people that Ogrun would keep everyone strong and virtuous and that Theran would guide them from ill-fated plans. Kielle would care for them and Ardana would continue to provide for them. Finally he reassured that the church and its priests would help out in whatever ways they could.

They were not a people that prayed to a war god any more. He reminded the people that they had moved past that, to a more peaceful and prosperous time. The Gods rewarded those who held themselves to a higher standard than their attackers did, and that the Elar would not change that.

The ominous suggestion that he would not be there long nagged at him, and when the people had eventually left he went to the little sanctuary room to meditate for a while. It was one of his favorite spaces in the church, and he allowed himself to lose track of time there for a little while.