Dark Foundations (24 page)

“You okay, sir?” Lloyd asked as he drove Merral back from the lab. “You seem, well—preoccupied.”

“Sorry. I am. Meeting with Anya gave me a lot to think about.”

“I expect seeing those things cut up would do.”

“Yes,” Merral said slowly, catching a reflection of his wan face in the window. “Dead things upset me.”

10

O
n the following day, after Merral had spent the morning in meetings, Luke Tenerelt arrived in his office at lunchtime with some sandwiches. During the training at Tanaris, Merral had grown to both like and respect the chaplain even though most people found Luke a rather off-putting figure initially. His tall frame, bony face, and intense dark eyes made him look rather intimidating, an impression heightened by his booming voice and sharp intellect. Yet anyone who spent any time at all with Luke knew that he was a wise, gentle, and caring man.

They went up to the roof of the building. There was no one else around. They found some shade to sit under at the edge of the emergency landing pad and ate their lunch.

“Luke,” Merral asked after a while, “this whole thing—the return of evil, the intruders. Is this the end?”

“You mean are we on the edge of the Lord's return and the Great Remaking?”

“Yes.”

“I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I've heard arguments both ways. In one sense, it isn't an important question.”

“
Not
important? How can you say that?”

“Where we are in the great timetable has no real bearing on matters of right and wrong. Every day we're given choices and every day we have to make the right decisions. If I knew the King was returning tomorrow or in ten thousand years' time, it wouldn't alter my choice. And, Merral, that's what counts. We just battle evil until the whistle blows—whenever that is.” Luke looked sharply at Merral. “You agree?”

“Put like that, yes.”

Merral paused, then said, “Here's a tricky one, Luke: I was going to ask you to be chaplain-in-chief. But I have been asked to consider Prebendant Delastro instead.”

Luke slowly wiped a crumb from his mouth. “That rumor reached me. Look, not being chaplain-in-chief doesn't grieve me.”

“I thought you'd like it.”

Luke's thin face wrinkled into a smile. “No. When I was an engineer, I always preferred getting my hands dirty with machines to sitting at a desk.” He stared into the distance as if deep in thought. “I would prefer to be with the men and women in the ranks. That's where the needs will be.”

“Regimental chaplain then? We need three.”

“Thanks. It'd be an honor. But if I may, I'd like to stay close to you. Do you believe in accountability?”

Merral hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Yes, I do.”

“It's a wise idea, Merral.”

“Of course.”

“So, you agree that I can ask you any question, anytime?”

“Well . . .”

“So, you
don't
believe in accountability?”

Merral laughed. “Okay, Luke, you win. I am utterly outmaneuvered. I give you the right to ask me any question, anytime.”

“Thanks. It may not be necessary, but you
are
vulnerable.” Luke put his hand on Merral's shoulder. “A lot rides on you. And I'm sure the devil knows that.”

“Thanks for that encouragement. Look, this Delastro, what do you know about him?”

“Not much. I took a class he taught: Issues in Early Assembly Theology. He's different from the ordinary sort of teacher in the congregation colleges. I reckon I knew him much less than almost any other of my lecturers. He'd just walk in, teach, and leave. Very bright in a dry sort of way; has a fine way with words. But . . .” Luke seemed to slowly chew over something in his mind before nodding. “Distant. Dry. Academic in the worst sense of the word. Didn't seem to warm to students much. A tough grader too. But you must make your own assessment.”

“You seem cautious.”

Luke squinted into the distance before answering. “Merral, our world is changing. A few months ago I would have been happy to say this will work. Now . . .” He rubbed an ear. “Now? I'm not sure. My idea of a chaplain is someone you can sit down with over a coffee and open your heart to. Balthazar Delastro isn't that sort of man.” He shrugged. “But we're talking about military chaplains here. Maybe he's what we need. I'm afraid it has to be your decision.”

“Thanks,” Merral said, glancing at his watch. There was another meeting he had to chair. “I just wanted to ask your opinion. I have to meet him this afternoon.”

It was late in the afternoon before Merral got a chance to meet the prebendant. Delastro had an office at a congregation leaders' training campus—a cluster of red-roofed buildings set in woods on a low ridge, just north of Isterrane.

After seeking directions from several people, eventually Merral and Lloyd were shown into a large, high-walled garden where sharp-edged gravel paths marked a neat geometric array of plants, lawns, and pruned trees. Merral decided that he didn't like the garden; it was too artificial and regimented for his tastes.

There were just three people there: two young men in pale brown suits standing against the far wall and a tall, older black-suited man walking with rapid steps along the gravel. Merral knew he had to be the prebendant.

As the man in the black suit walked toward him, there was something about him—the rigid back, the thin, long-limbed frame, the stiff-legged gait perhaps—that reminded Merral of a bird. His face was triangular, narrowing from a broad, lined forehead to a sharp chin. He had a wild rim of almost colorless gray hair. Merral found his age hard to assess, concluding that he was over sixty but under eighty.

Even at a distance, the prebendant radiated authority and self-control. Merral felt strangely certain that he could be either a tremendous asset or a great hindrance.

Prebendant Delastro came to a stop just in front of Merral and appeared to observe him with a strange, inquiring tilt of the head. His eyes, hard and searching, were an odd shade of dark green. With his dusty, pale complexion and the almost colorless hair, they were the only point of color on him.

The prebendant smiled thinly. “Why, Commander
,
” he said, his voice light, confident, and somehow full of approval.

Merral made a slight bow of acknowledgment. “Prebendant Delastro?”

“In person.” The bow was returned.

“Is this is a convenient time to talk?” Merral asked, somewhat ill at ease.

The prebendant's expression turned to one of cool, knowing amusement and he threw thin, gnarled hands wide open in a gesture of self-deprecation. “The commander of the defense forces—the leader of the Lord's armies—asks me if it is ‘convenient'?”

Merral, made self-conscious by the address, noticed the way that the words rose and fell in a singsong cadence.

“I accept the first title; the second goes too far.”

“I have no such doubts. Please, would you be so good as to walk round with me?” Delastro looked at Lloyd. “And do leave your man at the gate.”

He gestured to the two men. “My assistants.”

Merral was struck by the style of the suits that all three wore, particularly the oddly stiff, high-shouldered jackets. Among the extraordinary diversity of clothes that people wore, these seemed to stand out.
It's as if they were a uniform
.

Delastro was already walking away, his sandaled feet crunching on the gravel, and Merral, after a quick word to Lloyd, had to stride to catch up with him.

“Commander,” he said, “I'm delighted to meet you. I have heard about your exploits at Fallambet Lake Five and I believe that the Most High has chosen you for this time. You have struck down his enemies and crushed them utterly.”

“I confess, Prebendant, that I find it hard to respond to such words. I consider myself to be, at best, an unfaithful servant.”

“As do we all, but I sense that you are the man we have been sent for this hour of trial.”

“I . . uh . . . I appreciate your perspective.” Merral felt troubled by the words.

Delastro threw him a sharp glance. “Do you want to know how I see the situation?”

“Well, yes. . . .”

“We face not just a crisis, Commander, but
the
great crisis of our age—perhaps of any age in the entire Assembly.” The harshly melodic way he made his announcement seemed to highlight the gravity of the situation. “The enemy seeks to stretch his hand over the worlds of the Most High. I have no doubt that the devil, our ancient adversary, the great serpent, wants to destroy us. We must resist, Commander. Resist! The Ancient of Days has chosen us from among our generation to defy him and turn him back at the very boundary of the Assembly.”

He gave Merral the sternest of looks. “This is an honor and yet a most terrifying responsibility. We must not fall short.”

Merral found himself agreeing with Luke that this was not a man you would want to sit down with about a personal problem.

“I understand your interpretation, Prebendant. So how would you advise me to proceed?”

“With rigor, Commander. With
utter
rigor and with holy rigor. You must be tough with the soldiers and tougher still with the enemy. Our soldiers must appreciate what they face. This is not some local sports tournament.” His tone was scathing and Merral, who rather enjoyed sports tournaments, felt uncomfortable. “Yes, we must prepare for the harder struggle: for losses, for great sacrifices. We must use whatever resources we have. We must be prepared to wage war with all that the Most High has given us.
Total
war.” His voice resounded across the garden.

“I am hardly going to disagree,” Merral said quietly, trusting that his lack of enthusiasm might go undetected.

To his surprise, Delastro clapped a skeletal hand tightly on his shoulder. “Commander, I saw you give your speech at Ynysmant. I knew you and I were kindred spirits. You demonstrated the very meaning of sacrifice.”

Merral squirmed inwardly.

“Your noble words of sacrifice showed me that you see the only road to victory is the hard one. We must make sacrifices.” Delastro stared into the distance. “We cannot be less than 100 percent committed. Does it not say in the Word ‘He that does not despise father, mother, children, family for my sake is not worthy of the Lord'?”

Despite being troubled, not just at a text that seemed to have come adrift from its moorings, but at the whole tone of the conversation, Merral simply nodded. This was not a man he wanted to argue with. He was wondering how he could walk away and tell Clemant and Corradon that there was no way he could work with this man when Delastro turned to him, tilted his head in his odd way, and gave him a sharp look. “I gather you want me to be chaplain-in-chief?”

Merral, suddenly wrong-footed, stuttered, “W-well . . . I certainly wanted to talk to you about the situation.”

Delastro looked away and Merral was reminded how much like a skull the fleshless face was. “It is the highest calling. The highest. I wouldn't dare to accept it unless I felt that it was the will of the Most High. But now, on the verge of the hour of destiny, is not the time to prevaricate.” Delastro turned back to Merral. “Commander, I accept.”

Merral suddenly realized that he had been outmaneuvered.
Just like with Isabella
. The thought was bitter. Another thought came to him: the post of chaplain-in-chief might not be that critical. Luke was probably right in thinking that it would be a desk job and Delastro might not have a great deal of influence. But some things had to be made plain.

“Prebendant, you realize that this post would be under my authority?”

“Commander, I respect authority.”

“Good. And you know that the regimental chaplains would have a large measure of autonomy?”

“I understand the constraints. But I want to be part of the great battle of our age. I believe that all my life has been in preparation for this.”