If there is a growth on a healthy body, don't leave it there, maintained an old Temple saying, cut it out.
And so he would have to make sure that Duran was removed from Old Town.
He did not want to be responsible for such decisions. He never wanted to harm anyone.
Why then, had the gods saddled him with this problem? He attempted to talk to his Superior—his harried Superior curtly bade him solve his own difficulties with his own district—
I have no time, his Superior had said, awash in papers, awash in petitions from priests in every district—for charity, for dispensations—
One thought Duran might have been called to the priesthood himself: if not for Duran, and Duran's charity, countless people who lived in Old Town might have died. The man had always seemed unconcerned for his own aggrandizement in the world, choosing to help those who lived in poverty. Such a person should have been highly respected by everyone.
Should have been. Such was the Sabirn evil they could turn aside even such an exemplary life.
And make him blaspheme . . .
Memories swept over Vadami—his own schooling, the years of hard work and study spent in preparing him to become a priest.
And to have Duran stand up to him—someone who had not endured the study, the fasting, the grueling examinations—and for Duran to turn the words of the book of the Shining to his own advantage—
No! to Sabirn advantage—
That sophistry could not be tolerated. Priests were the only ones qualified to interpret those words. If everyone could choose a meaning for what had been written down in that Book, the cohesive structure of the Temple would be in danger.
For two reasons, therefore, Duran must be punished: his dealings with the Sabirn, and his most dangerous notion that he could interpret the Holy Words.
"Priest Vadami."
He looked up from his wineglass. The alchemist, Ladirno, stood before him, thoroughly soaked.
"May I join you, priest?"
"Aye. Please."
"Damned storm," Ladirno said, tossing his cloak back from his shoulders to let it rest on the chair. He turned to give his order to a waiter, then looked back. "What brings you here, Vadami?"
"The weather. And I needed somewhere to sit a while and think." The waiter brought Ladirno his glass of wine, took the money the alchemist handed over, and disappeared back toward the kitchen. Vadami watched Ladirno—remembering he was Duran's friend.
Was Hladyr leading him?
Was it—guided, this encounter?
"Sor Ladirno. Do you mind if a share a problem with you?"
Ladirno quirked an eyebrow.
"It's about Duran," Vadami said and, as the alchemist's face went dead sober: "He's—gone far past anything we believed. I fear—he is irretrievable."
"In what regard?"
Even now Duran had friends, people who thought him a good man. It worried Vadami, and at the same time made his heart ache to see such loyalty about to be hurt.
"It's true. I fear—he has contact with Sabirn wizards. I fear they've snared him—corrupted him beyond what any reason can deal with. He dares to argue with me. He mocks the Scriptures. He despises reason."
Ladirno shook his head sadly. "I feared so, Father. I did fear it."
"I'm sorry." There was so much respect in this man, so much learning, so much concern, so much . . . stature. "Add to that his consorting with the Sabirn. Something has to be done. I've very sorry. But—"
"Believe me, I do understand. But I fear—" Ladirno lowered his voice further, leaned across the table, whispered: "Father, the Duke himself met these charges. The Duke heard all the -evidence—gave him only the slightest of reprimands. Dare I say it to you, Father—dare I say a terrible thing?"
Vadami's heart beat faster and faster.
"I fear—" Ladirno whispered. "I fear the extent of this -influence. . . ."
Vadami caught his breath. Someone who understood! Truly understood.
"Dark dealings," Vadami said, "understates it. I'm very much afraid—and I don't want to say this to you who are his friend—Duran's gone, completely sucked into that darkness."
An odd look passed across Ladirno's face, quickly gone. "Hladyr bless, Father. I fear—I fear the same. If you're correct—if I am—then . . . anyone dealing with him could be led astray."
Vadami whispered, "The time has come, Ladirno, when we must move. We must keep Duran's heretical ideas from the rest of the people. We must remove his influence from Old Town."
"Remove . . ." Ladirno echoed, fearfully. "You don't mean . . ."
"Sor Ladirno." Vadami shook his head vehemently. "I don't want to hurt Duran. I truly don't. But he has to be stopped, removed from influence—before his corruption spreads. Before his blasphemous interpretations of the Shining One's words fall on fertile ground."
"What are you suggesting?"
Vadami took a sip of his wine, set the glass down, and consciously steadied both his mind and his voice. "If we were to run Duran out of Targheiden, we could solve this problem. As a weapon then, as a channel for darkness—he would be useless to them."
"Run him out of . . . ?" Ladirno rubbed his chin. "What about his friends? What about all those poor folk he's helped? Don't you think they'll prevent such a thing from happening?"
"I've taken that into consideration. Maybe if the weather was its usual fine self his friends would back him up. But no longer. More and more people are becoming convinced the Sabirn are behind the storms."
"Are you?"
"Is there another answer? They hate us. They deal in the darkest of dark arts. If they have wizards drawing directly from the demons of darkness, who's to say what they can do—with an Ancar to spread their poison?"
"I hear you. But, Duran . . . I can't believe he's wrapped up in such acts."
"He is. He's totally involved. How can he not be, seeing the Sabirn as he does? A rotten apple will spoil an entire basketful. Everyone knows that. What we have to do is remove that apple before it rots the others."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"For the same reason I spoke to you before about Duran. You're his friend. I need your help in getting him out of town without hurting him. I was hoping you'd have some idea on how that could be accomplished."
Ladirno sat for a long while in silence, studying his glass held in his hands. Vadami's heart went out to the alchemist, so obviously torn between friendship and a sense of what was right.
"The people are disturbed, you're correct about that," Ladirno said at last. "Did you hear the ducal heralds?"
"Aye. In Temple Square. The crowds—just stood in the rain. . . ."
"Father, the citizens of Targheiden are ready to take up stones. Running Duran out of town could get dangerous. If anything starts—one can't say how far it would go, with what bloodshed."
Vadami nodded. "If we think this through carefully, there's a chance the folk of Old Town will just want to persuade him away. To frighten him. He's done too much good there for them to want to do him bodily harm."
"I don't know. We'll have to be very careful. Have you ever seen a mob in action?"
"No . . ."
"Well, let me tell you . . . you want to pick your leaders. You want to pick them extremely carefully. They should be respected enough to maintain control. They should be respectable people—his neighbors, his friends—who, however they may be frightened right now—will not want to hurt a longtime neighbor. Or stir up wider disturbance."
Vadami rubbed his forehead. "Wise words. I think I have the very person in mind who could talk to Duran's neighbors. She's a seamstress and she runs her shop right next to Duran's. She's been trying to talk him out of this fascination with the Sabirn for years—a good woman, Sor Ladirno . . . she believes in the right things."