Shards of a Broken Crown. Raymond E. Feist

straw in the corner, obviously his bed for the night. A long moment of silence passed as Trina sat on the chair by the table watching him. Looking at his guard, he said, “Well, then. Do we tell one another our life stories?”

      Taking out her dagger, the woman began to clean her fingernails with the point. She put her feet up on the table and said, “No, Puppy. We do not.”

      Sighing, Dash lay down and closed his eyes.

       • Chapter Six • Choices

      NAKOR FROWNED.

      He scanned the room of the warehouse in Darkmoor he was currently using as a base of operations, and said, “This will not do.”

      Sho Pi, his first disciple, said, “What, master?”

      Since becoming self-appointed head of the Church of Arch-Indar, Nakor had ceased objecting to being referred to as “master” by the young former monk of Dala. Nakor pointed to the wagon that was being unloaded outside his new “church,” and said, “We ordered twice that.”

      “I know,” shouted the driver of the second wagon as it pulled up. “Hello, Nakor.”

      “Hello, Roo!” shouted the former gambler turned high priest. “Where is the rest of our grain?”

      “This is all there is, my friend,” said Rupert Avery, once the richest man in the history of the Western Realm, now the proud owner of three wagons, three teams of horses, and an amazing debt owed him by a near-bankrupt Kingdom. “Most of what I can buy goes to the Prince, to feed the soldiers.”

      “But I have gold,” said Nakor.

      “For which I am eternally grateful, for without your patronage, I would be unable to buy even the meanest grain out there. My credit is overextended in the East, I am forced to sell my holdings there to pay off my debts, and the money that’s owed me is coming from a presently nonexistent Western Realm.”

      “You seem unusually happy for a man in such dire straits,” observed Nakor.

      “Karli is going to have another baby.”

      Nakor laughed. “I thought you were put off by children.”

      Roo smiled, his narrow face showing an almost boyish aspect as he nodded. “Once I was, but when we fled Krondor and reached Darkmoor, well, that time cooped up with them almost every day, I came to learn a great deal about my children.” His smile faded and he said, “About myself, as well.”

      “Learning about one’s self is always a good thing,” observed Nakor. “After you unload, come inside and I’ll make us some tea.”

      “You have tea?” asked Roo. “Where did you get it?”

      “A gift from a woman who had hidden it from before the war. It is not very fresh, I’m afraid, but it is tea.”

      “Good, I’ll join you when I’m done here.”

      Nakor went inside the building, where another disciple was overseeing a class of students, five this time, listening to the introductory lesson on the role of good in the universe. Nakor realized that most, if not all, were there for the meager food his church provided after the lecture, but he was always hopeful someone would answer the call. So far he had recruited five new students, for a total of six counting Sho Pi. Given he had unilaterally decided to create a church for one of the four greatest Gods in the Midkemian universe, it was a very modest beginning.

      “Any questions?” asked the disciple, who had himself heard the lecture for the first time only a few weeks before.

      Four of the students looked back with expressions showing limited comprehension, but one tentatively raised her hand.

      “Yes?” asked the disciple.

      “Why are you doing this?”

      “Why am I doing what?” said the disciple.

      Nakor stopped and listened.

      “Not you, all of you. Why are you preaching this message of good?”

      The disciple looked at Nakor with near panic on his face. He had never been asked anything so basic, and the simplicity of the question was confounding him.

      Nakor grinned. “I’ll answer, but first I must know, why do you ask?”

      The girl shrugged. “Most who preach are servants of one of the common gods, looking for something. You seem to be asking for nothing, and I wish to know what is the catch?”

      Nakor grinned. “Ah, a cynic! How wonderful. You, come with me. The rest of you, wait here and you’ll eat.”

      The girl rose and followed.

      Nakor turned as he led her into what had once been a shipping office and now served as his personal quarters. A half-dozen sleeping mats were strewn across the floor, and a small brazier heated a pot of water. “What is your name, girl?”

      “Aleta,” answered the young woman. “Why?”

      “Because you interest me.”

      The girl looked Nakor up and down frankly, and said, “Well, priest, you don’t interest me if you’re looking for a companion.”

      Nakor laughed. “That’s funny. No, you interest me because you’re curious.” He poured tea and handed her a small cup. “It’s not very good, but it’s hot.”

      She sipped at it and said, “I agree. It is not very good.”

      “Now, about your question. I will answer you if you tell me what brought you here.”

      “I worked at an inn to the west of here before the war. It is now ashes. I almost starved during the winter. I have managed to stay alive without having to spread my legs or kill anyone, but I’m hungry, and your monk said there’s to be food.”

      “A frank answer. Good. There will be food,” said Nakor. “As to why we do this, let me ask you a question. What is the nature of good and evil?”

      The girl blinked, and Nakor studied her as she framed her reply. She appeared to be in her middle twenties. She had a plain face, with wide-set eyes that made her appear to be as curious as her questions showed her to be, and her nose was straight. Her mouth was full, and her chin was strong, and the entire effect was more attractive than not, Nakor decided. She wore a heavy cloak over her dress, but Nakor had glimpsed enough of her as she had crossed the former warehouse to judge her slender, perhaps even wiry.

      At last she said, “Good and evil are natures. They have no nature. They are what they are.”

      “Absolute?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I mean do good and evil exist in some absolute sense?”

      “I suppose so,” said the girl. “I mean, I think men do what they do and sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s evil, and sometimes I’m not sure, but out there, somewhere, good and evil exist, I guess.”

      “Good guess,” said Nakor, smiling. “How would you like to stay with us?”

      “That depends,” she said, skepticism clearly evident. “For what purpose?”

      “I need smart men and women. I need people who realize that what we’re doing is important, without taking themselves too importantly.”

      Suddenly the girl laughed. “I’ve never taken myself very seriously.”

      “Good, neither have I.”

      “What is it you’re doing?”

      Nakor’s manner and voice turned serious. “Out there are forces beyond your understanding. Beyond mine, too.” He grinned, then returned to a serious demeanor. “Many