Abelar readied his blade, and gasped when he saw the faint illumination that tinged its edges. Fallen from service, he should not have been able to light his blade. And yet he had. And he knew why. He knew, too, what he would do, what he must do, for Elden, for Jiiris, for Endren, for all those he loved.
"Ignore them, Furlinastis!" he shouted to the dragon. "Take me over the nightwalker."
The dragon looked back, eyed him sidelong, but obeyed. With each beat of Furlinastis's wings, the light in Abelar's blade grew, the light in Abelar shone brighter. Abelar's soul burned, fueled by epiphany.
He was the light. They all were the light.
Below, he saw more of his company fall, saw the nightwalker's darkness growing, devouring Lathander's light. The cloud of shadows, red eyes blazing, flew toward him.
Abelar watched the light in his blade spread to his hands, his forearms, his torso. It grew ever brighter in intensity. His light penetrated the shroud of shadows that wrapped the dragon.
The dragon turned to regard him, winced in the light, hissed with pain. "What are you doing, human?"
"Endure it for a time. We are soon to part ways."
The dragon roared as Abelar's luminescence flared and haloed them both in blazing, pure white light.
The shadows, heedless, swooped toward them, drawn to Abelar's radiance. Darkness and light sped toward each other, collided, and the darkness of the shadows' fallen souls was no match for the light of Abelar's reborn spirit. In the fullness of his light he saw the fallen souls for the pathetic creatures they were, saw on some the wheel of Ordulin, and smiled that he had avenged Saerb.
His light consumed the shadows utterly, dissolved them, shrieking, into a formless cloud or vile smoke through which Furlinastis streaked, roaring.
Abelar looked down, saw the upturned faces and raised blades of his comrades, saw hundreds more shadows take wing from their foul mass and fly toward him, and saw the nightstalker's featureless face turn its regard to the light in the sky.
The radiance bursting from his body shot beams of light in all direction, speared and destroyed dozens of onrushing shadows.
"The nightwalker," he said.
He slipped out of his harness, sat unrestrained on the dragon's neck, one hand griping the rope, as Furlinastis swooped toward the nightwalker. Abelar's body, armor, blade, and soul blazed.
"My gratitude for your service," he shouted to the dragon. "Please forgive me my threats. For a time I lost my way. Now I am found."
He held his blade in both hands and leaped off the dragon's back.
White light veiled the world. He did not see things, he saw into them, through them, saw the nightwalker and shadows for the insubstantial entities they were. The souls of his comrades glowed, their light dimmed only by self-imposed restraints, restraints Abelar had shed.
As he fell, his body ignited with radiance, an apotheosis of light. For a moment, he felt himself motionless, suspended in space, as if he had become the light. He savored the time, thought of Elden, his innocent eyes, his trusting soul. He loved his son-forever.
The moment ended. He plummeted earthward toward the nightwalker.
The creature shielded its face with a forearm, cowered before Abelar.
Abelar's soul swelled. No regrets plagued him or tortured his final thoughts. His mind turned to those he loved, his wife, his father, his son. He laughed, shouted Elden's name as he descended, and his voice boomed over the rain, over the thunder, over the darkness.
The nightwalker melted in the heat of his radiance, disintegrated in the light, and Abelar, blazing, fell through the creature's dissipating form toward the hard earth below.
The sun sets and rises, he thought, and knew he would feel no pain.
Abelar's voice boomed out of the heavens and shook the battlefield with its force.
"Lathander! "
Regg lowered his blade as the battle stalled. He shielded his eyes and watched, awestruck, as his friend's body transformed as it fell from glowing, to luminescent, to blazing, to a radiant dawn sun in miniature that chased away the darkness in the storm and in their souls. For a moment, the bleak, unending night of the Shadowstorm yielded fully to light. Beams of radiance shot in all directions from Abelar's form and annihilated the living shadows.
"Gods," Trewe breathed beside him.
The supernatural terror planted by the nightwalker in Regg's spirit, in all of their spirits, vanished, replaced by a surge of hope. And before that hope, before that light, the nightwalker, immense and dark, cowered.
"Abelar," Regg whispered.
The glowing form of his friend fell in and through the nightwalker like the sword of the Morninglord himself. The towering creature of darkness disintegrated in the luminescence, boiled away into harmless streamers of black mist, the groans of its dying a distant ache in Regg's mind.
Abelar slammed into the earth and lay still. His radiance diminished, ended.
For a long moment, the field was quiet, almost worshipful. Only the patter of the rain could be heard, the sky crying on Abelar's motionless form.
Jiiris's voice rang out, thick and broken with tears. "Abelar!"
Above, a small window opened in the churning black clouds of the Shadowstorm, revealing a flash of sky beyond, painted in the reds, pinks, and oranges of sunrise. Through the window a single beam of rose-colored light shone, cut through the darkness, and fell on Abelar's form. Bathed in the glow, Abelar's body looked whole, his expression peaceful.
The keening of the shadows turned to a groan that Regg felt more than heard. The multitude that remained flitted about in agitation, as if pained.
Regg's eyes welled and he fell to his knees, as did most of the men and women around him. The calm afforded by the light, the sense of hope, of awe, told him that the light was no mere light. It was a path to Lathander's realm, or the hand of the Morninglord himself. His friend had returned to his faith, and had brought faith back to all of them.
Abelar was sanctified. Regg smiled, cried for his friend.
The rose-hued light spread from Abelar to the company and its touched chased off fatigue and fear, closed wounds, reknit bones, returned strength, and planted a seed of hope in all their breasts.
The men and women of the company laughed, cried, and praised their god. The sky closed, the beam of light vanished, and Regg came back to himself, once more noticing the rain and the thunder.
As one the company rushed forward around Abelar, led by Regg and Jiiris.
Abelar's body looked unharmed, as if sleeping, despite the fall, but no breath stirred his breast. Jiiris stepped forward, crouched, stroked Abelar's hair, his cheek. Soft sobs shook hear. Tears smeared the grime of battle on her face. She sank to the ground, took Abelar's head in her lap.
"He smells of roses," she said, and wept.
"He is sanctified," Roen said. "His spirit will not rise in darkness."
Regg found his own eyes welling but he would have to postpone his grief. Many enemies remained. He still had a battle to fight. Lathander, through Abelar, had given them hope. Now they must use it.
"See her from the field," he said to Brend, indicating Jiiris. "Abelar as well. Roen, one of your priests lights their way."
With the help of two others, Brend and Jiiris carried Abelar through the company and away from the battle.
Regg, as well as every other man and women in the company, touched him as they passed. Regg felt a surge upon contact, and the hope planted in his breast blossomed. The light in him, the light he felt usually as a distant, comforting warmth, flared.
It was a sign.
"You are my friend," Regg said to Abelar, as Brend and Jiiris carried him away. A junior priest fell in with them, lighting his wand.