‘No. Not by far. This grimy little war is meaningless against the vast scope of human endeavour. Don’t you think these mountains have seen it all before? Does it matter that we may all die tomorrow? Will the world spin any less fast? Will the stars shine any more brightly? In a hundred years, not a man here today will still be alive. Will that matter? Many years ago, Druss the Legend stood and died on the walls of Dros Delnoch to stop a Nadir invasion. Does that matter now?’
‘It mattered to Druss. It matters to me.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I am a man, priest. Simply that. I don’t know if the Source exists and I don’t really care. All I have is myself, and my own self-respect.’
‘There must be more. There must be the triumph of Light. Man is so beset by greed, lust and the pursuit of the ephemeral. But kindness, understanding and love are equally parts of humanity.’
‘Are you now saying we should love the Legion?’
‘Yes. And we must fight them.’
‘That is too deep for me,’ said Decado.
‘I know. But I hope one day you will understand. I shall not be there to see it. Yet I pray for it.’
‘Now you are getting morbid. That happens on the eve of a battle.’
‘I am not morbid, Decado. Tomorrow is my last day on this earth. I know it. I have seen it. It doesn’t matter … I just hoped that tonight you could convince me that I was right – at least with you.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘There is nothing you can say.’
‘Then I cannot help you. You know what my life was before I met you. I was a killer and I revelled in death. I do not wish to sound weak, but I never asked to be that way – it was just me. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to change. You understand? But then I almost killed a man I loved. And I came to you. You gave me a place to hide and I was grateful. Now I am back where I belong, with a sword near to hand and an enemy close by.
‘I don’t deny the Source. I just don’t know what game He is playing – why he allows the Ceskas of this world to survive. I don’t want to know. While my arm is strong I shall oppose Ceska’s evil, and at the end of all things if the Source says to me, “Decado, you do not deserve immortality,” then I shall reply, “So be it.” There will be no regrets.
‘You could be right. You might die tomorrow. If the rest of us survive, I shall look after your young warriors. I shall try to keep them to your path. I think they will not let you down. But then you will be with your Source, and you must ask Him to lend a hand.’
‘And what if I was wrong?’ asked the Abbot, leaning forward and gripping Decado’s arm. ‘What if I resurrected The Thirty because of my own arrogance?’
‘I don’t know, Abaddon. But you acted in faith with no thought of gain. Even if you are wrong, your God should forgive you. If he does not, then he is not worth following. If one of your priests commits an indiscretion, do you not forgive him? Are you then more forgiving than your God?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not certain of anything any more.’
‘You once told me that certainty and faith do not belong together. Have faith, Abaddon.’
‘It is not easy, Decado, to be confident on the day of your death.’
‘Why did you seek me out with this? I cannot help you to find faith. Why did you not speak to Katan, or Acuas?’
‘I felt you would understand.’
‘Well, I do not. You were always so sure – you radiated harmony, tranquility. You had stars in your hair and your words were wisdom. Was it all a fagade? Are these doubts so sudden?’
‘I once accused you of hiding in your garden. Well, I also hid. It was easy to suppress doubts when the monastery walls were firm around us. I had my books and I had my pupils; it seemed then a grand project of the Light. But now men are dead and the reality is different. Those fifty men who sought to capture Rayvan: they were frightened and they wanted to live, but we marched them from the city and out on to the plain to be slaughtered. We did not let them say farewell to their wives and children. We just led them like cattle to the slaughterhouse.’