Читать книгу Shards of a Broken Crown - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 14

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 of those qualities many people think of as being ‘abstractions’ are truly objective entities. Do you understand me?”

The girl shook her head. “I have no idea what you just said.”

Nakor laughed. “Very good. You are honest. Let me put it another way. The Good Goddess is sleeping. She is in a trance caused by evil forces. To awaken her we must do good in her name. If enough of us work on her behalf, she will return to us and evil will be driven back into the shadows where it belongs.”

“I understand that,” said Aleta.

“You don’t believe it.”

The former barmaid said, “I don’t know. I’ve never been much of one for gods and goddesses. But if it will fill my stomach, I’m willing to believe for a while.”

“Fair enough.” Nakor rose as Roo came into the office. “We’ll feed you for as long as you wish to stay here, and you’ll learn to do good in the Lady’s name.”

The girl departed and Roo said, “Another convert?”

“Perhaps,” said Nakor. “Potentially. She’s brighter than most.”

Roo said, “Attractive, too, in a funny way. Not pretty, but attractive.”

Nakor grinned. “I know.”

Roo sat and Nakor offered him a cup of tea. “Sorry the order is short, but everyone is being shorted right now. I just finished a shouting match with Prince Patrick’s quartermaster. The army is ready to march, but they lack stores and I can’t promise as much as I’ve already brought from the East, let alone what they want.” He sipped at the hot liquid and said, “Not good, but it’ll do.” Putting the cup down, he continued, “I can’t even find wagons. I could bring more if I could get wagons, but most of the cartwrights in Salador are building for the army. If Patrick would convince the King to let me have his wagons, I could deliver them stocked with goods, but they’re bringing more equipment – arms, saddles, blankets, and the like.”

Nakor nodded. “You need to get your businesses here back up and running.”

Roo laughed. “If only I could.”

“What about building wagons here?”

“No cartwrights. I know a little about keeping them – I was raised a teamster, after all – but not about building one. I know a little carpentry, but I don’t know the metal work, and turning a wheel is a special skill.”

Nakor said, “If I can find you some cartwrights, would you do something for me?”

“What?”

“A favor.”

Roo smiled. His narrow face showed his own wry sense of humor coming to the surface. “You’re setting me up, aren’t you?”

Nakor laughed. “Never trick a trickster.”

“What is it?”

“If I can get you six cartwrights, I want you to commission a statue to be made for me.”

“A statue? What for?”

“I’ll tell you after I get the men. Will you do it?”

A calculating look crossed Roo’s face, and he said, “Make it six cartwrights, a master smith, and three lumbermen, and I’ll commission two statues.”

“Done,” said Nakor, slapping the table with his hand. “I’ll have them for you tomorrow. Where should I send them?”

“I converted a warehouse outside the city to an office here in Darkmoor. I’ll use it as a base until I can return to Krondor. Go out the eastern gate, and at the first road, turn left. It’s the large green warehouse on the right. You can’t miss it.”

Nakor said, “I’ll find it.”

“There’s something about that girl,” said Roo, indicating where Aleta had gone. “I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.”

“She’s someone important I think.”

Roo laughed. “As long as I’ve known you I’ve never pretended to understand you.”

“That’s as it should be,” replied Nakor. “For I have never understood myself.”

“Can I ask you something, as a friend?”

“Of course.”

“Over the years you’ve claimed you only know tricks, yet you manage the damnedest things that I can only call magic. Now you’re starting a religion. Now, my question is, what are you really up to?”

Nakor grinned. “I’m starting something important. I’m not sure how it will turn out, and I doubt if I’ll be around to see it at the end, but I’m doing something that may be the most important thing I’ve done in my life.”

“And may I ask what that is?”

Nakor used his hand to indicate the poor building in which they sat. “I’m building a church.”

Roo shook his head. “If you say so. Tell me, Nakor, has anyone ever called you mad?”

Nakor laughed. “Often, and most of the time they’re serious.”

Roo rose. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll see what I can do about the grain, and if you get me those workers, I’ll have those statues commissioned for you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sho Pi entered and said, “Master, those who came to hear the lesson are ready for food.”

“Then let us feed them,” said Nakor.

The odd gambler turned religious leader halted at the office door and watched the five who were there a moment. Four of them would be gone after their bellies were full, but the girl, Aleta, would remain. And without knowing why, Nakor knew that a major part of his future path had turned a particular way because she was now here. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain that from this time forward, she was the most important person in his newly founded church, and her life must be protected above everyone else, including himself. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he entered the warehouse and helped his disciples feed the hungry.

Erik pointed and said, “What do you see there?”

“Something’s coming along the road,” said Akee, the Hatadi hillman. “A single man, on horseback.”

Erik squinted against the setting sun. Sure enough, what had been a faint movement, a speck of darkness against the bright sky, resolved itself into the figure of a man on horseback, trotting along the King’s Highway.

Erik von Darkmoor, Captain of the Crimson Eagles, and a mixed detachment consisting of members of his own company, Hadati hillmen, and members of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders were spread out on either side of the highway. “One of ours?” asked Erik.

Akee said, “I think so. I think it’s Jimmy Jamison.”

“How can you tell?”

The Hadati smiled. “You learn to recognize a friend by the way he sits his mount.”

Erik turned to see if the man was joking and saw that he wasn’t. During the winter Erik had spent enough time with the Hadati hillman and his company to come to respect him and even like him as much as one could the somewhat standoffish hill fighters. Akee was a leader in his village and considered an important voice in the council of the Hadati people up in Yabon, that much Erik had come to understand.

He had also discovered the man was the grandson of a companion of the former Prince of Krondor’s, one Baru, called the Serpentslayer, and as a result, Akee was considered very sympathetic to the Kingdom, a quality not universal among the independent and tough-minded hill people of Yabon. Of all the people living within the boundaries of the Kingdom, the Hadati were among those most aloof. The fact that any had answered the Duke of Yabon’s call for scouts was directly related to Akee’s having been among them.

Jimmy rode closer and Erik and Akee left the shelter of the woods and rode toward him. Jimmy reined in until he recognized the two familiar figures, then he raised his hand in greeting.

As they stopped before him, Erik nodded, and Akee said, “You look as if you’ve been through something unpleasant.”

“It could have been worse,” said Jimmy.

Erik asked, “Dash?”

Jimmy shook his head. “He was captured for a while, but he got away. I don’t know if he’s somewhere in the city, or if he got loose. If he’s loose, he’s on his way back here. If he’s in the city and is caught, I’ve got assurances he won’t be harmed.”

“Assurances?” said Erik.

“It’s a long story. One I need to tell Prince Patrick, or at the least Owen Greylock.”

“You’re in luck,” said Erik. “I’m heading back toward Ravensburg, where Owen has his forward command. The Prince is still in Darkmoor, but the roads are ours between here and there, almost as peaceful as before the war. You can reach the Prince in less than a week.”

Jimmy said, “Good. I have grown very tired of the road and would love nothing more than a hot meal, a bath, and a soft bed.”

Erik nodded and said to Akee, “Have your scouts move west for another day and report back.”

Jimmy said, “There’s no need. General Duko is recalling all his patrols. The only thing you need fear are bandits and some bored mercenaries camped under the walls. You can move your entire command to the outlying estates and build your camps there, less than a day’s ride from the city.”

Erik looked curious, but he only said, “I think I had better ride back with you, Jimmy.”

“Where’s your camp?”

“A few miles ahead.” Erik waved good-bye to Akee, and turned his horse around as Jimmy urged his back to a walk. Erik moved his hand in a half-circle and said, “We have control of all the woods for miles on each side of the highway.”

“You haven’t had a lot of problems in the last few weeks, have you?”

“No, actually. A few bandits, some deserters, and a couple of run-ins with some mercenaries from our neighbors to the south, but we’ve seen little of Fadawah’s forces for a while.”

“Duko’s looking to cut a deal with Patrick.”

“He’s willing to turn coat?” asked Erik. Erik had served two tours across the sea and was familiar with the Novindus mercenaries’ tradition of serving the highest bidder. The dependence on such forces was one of the reasons, Erik was convinced, that no one had successfully built an empire down there, until the Emerald Queen had started her conquests.

“Not exactly,” said Jimmy, filling in Erik on Duko’s proposal.

Erik whistled. “I don’t think Patrick is going to be pleased with this one. From what Greylock’s told me and what I saw before I left Darkmoor, the Prince is spoiling for a fight, Kesh, invaders, he doesn’t care who.”

Jimmy said, “I’ll leave it to my father and Owen to convince him. It’s too good a turn of the cards for him to not agree. He saves thousands of lives and accelerates the retaking of the Western Realm by a year if he agrees.”

Erik said nothing, but considering what he had seen of the hot-tempered young Prince, he was not convinced Patrick would see it that way.

Dash regarded the boots, trousers, and jacket that had been secured for him by the Mockers. They were serviceable, but nothing remotely as good as the ones taken from him by his captors.

Lysle Riggers, the Upright Man, looked at him as he rose to leave. “Not yet, boy.” The old man waved away Trina and the others of his company in the room, leaving Dash alone with his great-uncle. When the door was shut behind Trina, the old man said, “You must understand something. I don’t think you’re going to get your amnesty for us, so this conversation may have no meaning. If you do not, shortly I will die. Healing priests can only do so much, and I am an old man, anyway. Another will come forward to take the office I hold. Who he will be I cannot know, though I have a couple of guesses. John Tuppin might take the office – he’s strong and shrewd and many are afraid of him. Trina might, if she’s smart and silent, which she is, and can keep behind the scenes. But whoever it is, the agreements you and I reach will not be binding upon him. As I said, if you can’t get the Prince to agree to giving us pardon for past crimes, it doesn’t matter.

“But if you return with promises, they had best be kept, for if you are forsworn to the Mockers, no matter how high you rise, where you live, or what great office comes to you, eventually one of our brotherhood will find you in the night and your life will end. Do you understand?”

Dash said, “I understand.”

“Know this as well, Dashel Jamison: once you step through that door you have taken blood oath not, by word or deed, to betray what you have seen here, nor may you bear witness against any who you’ve met. It is an oath made by silence, for you may not live to leave Mother’s without such oath.”

Dash didn’t like being threatened, but he had heard enough stories about the Mockers from his grandfather to have no doubt that what Lysle was saying was not an idle threat. Dash said, “I know the rules as well as anyone born here.”

“No doubt you do. My younger brother struck me as being a man with little modesty. I suspect you know as much about the workings of the Mockers as my own men.” The Upright Man waved a bony scarred hand at Dash. “Before he came to my little shop, years ago, to tell me how the land lay and how I would be required to conduct the business of the Mockers, I would have wagered our ways and secrets were inviolate. In moments I learned that Jimmy the Hand had been watching us as we had been watching him, more, he had others watch us while he was not about. In the end, he was a far better Duke than I was leader of the Mockers.”

Dash shrugged. “If Patrick does as I request, it all ends, anyway.”

The old man laughed. “Think you that a pardon will take this ragged brotherhood of ours and set our feet upon the straight and narrow path? Within minutes of such pardon some of our more reckless youth will be cutting purses in the market square or breaking into warehouse cellars, young Dash. The dodgy path is as much a part of who we are as it is a choice in life.