The Damned 01 - White Wolf Read Online Free PDF Page B

place for them. They are desperate for simple answers to life’s problems. They fear the war will come here and take away all that they have. Then the Arbiters tell them it is all our fault. If we were dead and gone everything would be fine again. The sun would shine on their crops, and all dangers cease.
    However, at this moment I am more interested in your dreams than theirs.’
    Lantern looked away. ‘You do not believe in this . . . this hidden temple of the Resurrectionists?’
    ‘I did not say that I disbelieved. There are many strange places in the world, and a host of talented wizards and magickers. Perhaps there is one who can help you. On the other hand perhaps you should let the dead rest.’
    ‘I cannot.’
    ‘It is said that all men need a quest, Lantern. Perhaps this was always meant to be yours.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘If I asked a favour of you would you do it?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Do not be so swift, young man. I might ask you to put aside your search.’
    ‘Anything but that. Tell me what you need.’
    ‘As of this moment I need nothing. Perhaps tomorrow. Have you visited Labberan?’
    ‘No. I am not much of a comforter, Elder Brother.’
    ‘Go anyway, Younger Brother.’ The abbot sighed and pushed himself to his feet. ‘And now I will leave you to your reading. Try to locate the Pelucidian Chronicles. I think you will find them interesting. As I recall there is a description of a mysterious temple, and an ageless goddess who is said to dwell there.’
*
    It was late when Skilgannon entered the small room where Brother Labberan was being tended. Another priest was already beside him. The man looked up and Skilgannon saw it was Brother Naslyn. The black-bearded monk had the look of a warrior. A laconic man, his conversation was mostly monosyllabic, which suited Skilgannon. Of all the priests he had to work alongside he found Naslyn the easiest to bear. The powerful brother rose, gently stroked Labberan’s brow, then moved past Skilgannon. ‘He’s tired,’ he said.
    ‘I will not stay long,’ Skilgannon told him.
    Moving to the bedside he gazed down at the broken man. ‘How much do you remember?’ he asked, seating himself on a stool at the bedside.
    ‘Only the hatred and the pain,’ muttered Labberan. ‘I do not wish to talk of it.’ He turned his face away and Skilgannon felt a touch of annoyance.
    What was he doing here? He had no friendship with Labberan - nor indeed with any of the priests. And, as he had told Cethelin, he had never developed any talent as a comforter. He took a deep breath and prepared to leave. As he rose Labberan looked at him, and Skilgannon saw tears in the old man’s eyes. ‘I loved those children,’ he said.
    Skilgannon sank back to the stool. ‘Betrayal is hard to take,’ he said. The silence grew.
    ‘I hear you fought one of the Arbiters.’
    ‘It was not a fight. The man was a clumsy fool.’
    ‘I wish I could have fought.’
    Skilgannon looked into the old man’s face and saw defeat and despair.
    He had seen that look before, back on the battlefields of Naashan four years ago. The closeness of defeat at Castran had seemed like the end of the world. Retreating soldiers had stumbled back into the forests, their faces grey, their hearts overburdened with fear and disillusionment.
    Skilgannon had been just twenty-one then, full of fire and belief.
    Against all the odds he had regrouped several hundred fighting men and led them in a counter charge against the advancing foe, hurling them back. He gazed now into the tortured features of the elderly priest and saw again the faces of the demoralized soldiers he had rebuilt and carried to glory. ‘You are a fighter, Labberan,’ he said softly. ‘You struggle against the evil of the world. You seek to make it a better and more loving place.’
    ‘And I failed. Even my children turned against me.’

    ‘Not all of them.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘When did you lose