‘The debate is of worth only because it makes us consider the Source,’ said Dardalion at last. ‘The pantheistic view that God exists in everything, every stone and every tree, is an interesting one. We believe the Universe was created by the Source in a single moment of blinding energy. From Nothing came Something. What could that Something be, save the body of the Source? That is the argument of the pantheists. Your view, Magnic, that the Source is separate from the world, and that only the Chaos Spirit rules here, is also widely held. The Source, in a terrible War against His own rebellious angels, sent them hurtling to the earth, there to rule, as He rules in Heaven. This argument makes Hell of our world. And I would agree that there is strong evidence to suggest that sometimes it is.
‘But in all these debates we are trying to imagine the unimaginable, and therein lies a great danger. The Source of All Things is beyond us. His actions are timeless, and so far above our understanding as to make them meaningless to us. Yet still we try to force our minds to comprehend. We struggle to encompass His greatness, to draw Him in and place Him in acceptable compartments. This leads to dispute and disruption, discord and disharmony. And these are the weapons of the Chaos Spirit.’ Dardalion rose and walked around the oak desk to stand beside the two priests, laying a hand on each of them. ‘The important point is to know that He exists, and to trust His judgement. You see, you could both be right, and both be wrong. We are dealing here with the Cause of All Causes, the one great truth in a universe of lies. How can we judge? From what perspective? How does the ant perceive the elephant? All the ant sees is part of the foot. Is that the elephant? It is to the ant. Be patient. When the Day of Glory arrives all will be revealed. We will find the Source together – as we have planned.’
‘That day is not far off,’ said Vishna quietly.
‘Not far,’ agreed Dardalion. ‘How is the training progressing?’
‘We are strong,’ said Vishna, ‘but we have problems still with Ekodas.’
Dardalion nodded. ‘Send him to me this evening, after meditation.’
‘You will not talk him round, Father Abbot,’ ventured Magnic diffidently. ‘He will leave us rather than fight. He cannot overcome his cowardice.’
‘He is not a coward,’ said Dardalion, masking his annoyance. ‘I know this. I once walked the same road, believed the same dreams. Evil can sometimes be countered with love. Indeed, that is the best way. But sometimes evil must be faced with steel and a strong arm, yet do not call him a coward for holding to high ideals. It lessens you as much as it insults him.’
The blond priest blushed furiously. ‘I am sorry, Father Abbot.’
‘And now I am expecting a visitor,’ said Dardalion. ‘Vishna, wait for him at the front gate and bring him straight to my study. Magnic, go to the cellar and fetch a bottle of wine and some bread and cheese.’ Both priests stood. ‘One more thing,’ said Dardalion, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘Do not shake hands with the man, or touch him. And do not try to read his thoughts.’
‘Is he evil, then?’ asked Vishna.
‘No, but his memories would burn you. Now go and wait for him.’
Dardalion returned to the window. The sun was high, shining down on the distant Delnoch peaks, and from this high window the Abbot could just see the faint grey line of the first wall of the Delnoch fortress. His eyes tracked along the colossal peaks of the mountains, traversing west to east towards the distant sea. Low clouds blocked the view, but Dardalion pictured the fortress of Dros Purdol, saw again the dreadful siege, heard the screams of the dying. He sighed. The might of Vagria was humbled before the walls of Purdol, and the history of the world changed in those awful months of warfare. Good men had died, iron spears ripping into their bodies …
The first Thirty had been slaughtered there, battling against the demonic powers of the Brotherhood. Dardalion alone had survived. He shivered, as he relived the pain of the spear plunging into his back, and the loneliness as the souls of his friends flew from him, hurtling towards the eternal serenity of the Source. The Thirty had fought on the astral plane alone, refusing to bear weapons in the world of flesh. How wrong they had been!