His people had not fled. They had fought. And fallen.
He rounded the manse to see a pile of corpses heaped behind it. Dozens of them. Arms and legs jutted from the pile. Empty eyes stared out at Abelar. They had been cast into a pile like so much offal. Perhaps the raiders had thought to burn them but changed their minds.
Abelar felt lightheaded. He clutched at Swiftdawn's mane to keep from falling.
A few stubborn crows still worried at the corpses, poking at eyes, pulling at scraps of flesh.
Taken with a sudden rage, Abelar leaped off Swiftdawn, drew his sword, and ran at the birds. They cawed and took wing before he reached them, one of them with a grisly strip of flesh hanging from its beak.
Abelar stuck his blade in the earth and sank to his knees beside the bodies. He saw familiar faces among the dead-Erkin, Silla, Wrelldon, Mern, many others. He wanted to look away, fearing he would see Elden's face staring back at him, but the pile drew his gaze like a lodestone.
"How could you allow this?" he said, and meant both himself and Lathander. "How?"
Endren, Regg, Roen, and the rest of the men rode up.
"Name of the gods," Regg oathed.
Endren said nothing, merely stared, stricken.
Both dismounted and walked to Abelar's side. Regg put a hand on his shoulder, Endren a hand on the other.
"Forrin dies for this," Endren said softly. "By all the gods, he dies."
Abelar nodded. His grief left no room for anger, but Forrin would die for it. He leaned on his sword and rose to his feet.
"We separate them," he said to the men. "I want to see my son."
None of his men made eye contact. All nodded. Endren looked away.
As one, the men set about the grisly work of pulling apart the death-stiffened bodies. They grouped them into men, women, and children.
"Bastards," Endren said throughout. "Bastards."
The men took care to place the bodies in the sunlight and most murmured prayers to the Morninglord as they worked. Abelar did his share but he felt dead himself. His mind turned to everything he had not done with his son, everything he had never said.
"They are only hours dead," Roen said.
Abelar had arrived hours too late. Hours. He nodded.
Regg said, "Brend, examine the tracks at the gates. Learn what you can."
Brend, dark-haired and only a head taller than a dwarf, was the most proficient tracker in the company. He hurried off to the gates.
The men continued to disentangle the bodies. They called out the names of those they recognized. Abelar looked up sharply when Regg spoke Mriistin's name. The old priest had served the Corrinthals and Lathander for over two decades. Abelar had first learned of Lathander from Mriistin.
Shaking his head to clear it of memories, Abelar turned over a woman's body-Kaesa, Elden's nurse. Her brown eyes stared up at the sky. Blood stained her cloak and nightdress. He called out her name, his voice as dull and gray as the sky.
Endren looked up, eyes troubled, no doubt fearing Elden's name would soon follow. He and Regg moved to Abelar's side.
"Poor girl," Endren said.
"Aye," Regg said.
Despair sat heavy on Abelar's shoulders. Kaesa had been like an older sister to Elden. She had been like a daughter to Abelar. He lifted her from the earth, carried her over to the rest of the dead, and laid her gently on the earth. He returned to the place where he had found her.
"Help me," he said to Regg and Endren, and the three men searched the bodies for Elden. Abelar's heart pounded with trepidation. Soon they had identified all of the dead.
"He is not here," Endren said.
"Could he have escaped?" asked Regg, a touch of hope in his tone.
Abelar shook his head. Elden went nowhere without Kaesa. He looked at the burned manse, imagined his son dying in the flames. He could not bear it. Tears flowed anew.
Regg took him by the shoulder and held him up. "Abelar, he could have run away in fear. He is small. He could be hiding somewhere."
Endren seized on the possibility. "Yes. Search the grounds. The stag woods are his favorite."
Abelar said, "Call for him, Father. He will answer you if he is there."
Endren looked at him curiously. "He will answer you, too. Come."
Abelar shook his head. "I must do something else first. I will join you apace."
Regg tapped Endren on the shoulder. "Come. We ride."
Regg, Endren, and the men mounted up and Regg issued orders about where to search.
"Roen," Abelar called.
"Commander?"
"Hold a moment. I need something from you."
Roen looked a question at him but slid off his horse. Meanwhile, Regg, Endren, and the rest of the company galloped off.
"Elden is not in the stag woods, Roen," Abelar said.
The tall priest kept his face expressionless. "Nothing is impossible, Abelar."
"No, it's not," Abelar said. "Pray with me, Roen."
"Commander?"
Abelar's eyes welled but he did not care. "Pray with me. We are going to ask Lathander whether Elden lives. I will have the word from him. Now."
Roen's expression softened. He put a hand on Abelar's shoulder.
"I will pray with you, Abelar. But I am unable to cast so powerful a spell as will allow me to commune with Lathander. I-"
Abelar knocked his arm down and gripped him by the shoulders, more harshly than he intended. "I am not asking you to cast a spell, priest! I am asking you to pray with me to our god for my son."
Roen looked at him wide-eyed, nodded. "Of course. I am sorry. Of course."
Abelar removed his hands. Softly he said, "I'm sorry."
"It is nothing," Roen said. "Come. Let us pray."
Together, the two servants of Lathander kneeled in the grass, under a gray sky, in the shadow of ruins and death. While the men of Abelar's company scoured the grounds calling for Elden, Roen and Abelar clasped hands and prayed to their god. Abelar laid his shield in the grass beside him, the rose facing the sky. They recited the traditional prayer together. "Dawn dispels the night and births the world anew. Morninglord, light our way, show us wisdom, and in so doing allow us to be light to others."
Roen continued. "Let your light shine through the darkness of the deeds done here and illuminate the hearts of your servants. Your faithful follower Abelar Corrinthal would ask you about the fate of his son."
Abelar squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked between the lids and flowed down his cheeks, into his beard.
"Please give us a sign, Morninglord," Roen said. "Show us whether Elden Corrinthal is alive or… not."
Abelar, head bowed, felt as if he were awaiting an executioner's axe. He dreaded a sign, but he had to have one. If Lathander could send a miracle to a village to heal a plague, surely he could spare a sign for one of his faithful.
Nothing.
"Morninglord," Roen said. "Your faithful servant humbly requests some small token-"
"A sign," Abelar said, his voice too loud, his tone too demanding. He opened his eyes. "Give me a damned sign. I have dedicated my life to you and asked for nothing."
"Abelar…" Roen said.
"Is he alive?" Abelar slammed his fist on the face of his shield. "Is my son alive? Tell me!"
"Abelar Corrinthal," Roen said, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Times of crisis are a test of our faith."
"My son is not a plaything for tests!" Abelar shouted.
Roen merely looked at him, held him by the shoulder.
The priest's unwavering touch and steady voice calmed him. Abelar remembered his words to Denril at the Abbey of Dawn. He had condemned the Risen Sun heretics for wanting Lathander to change the world for them instead of changing it for themselves. His voice broke as he said to his god, "I am not asking you to do my work. Please, Morninglord. I am asking you to show me the way. Please, show me the way!"