The King's Justice by Stephen R. Donaldson Read Free Book Online

name.”
    It is Black’s immediate intention to sound ominous, to suggest threats. “My name is of no use to you.” He has brought the priests together because he hopes to provoke revelations. “It cannot command me.” As he speaks, however, he smells only cleanliness on the Dark priest. Like his friend, Father Tenderson has no malice in him. By that sign, Black knows that he must alter his approach. Resuming his silken tone, he adds, “But for convenience, I am known as Black.”
    â€œBlack you are,” observes the Dark priest with merriment in his eyes, “and are not. Yet you are welcome by any name. Please.” He gestures toward the hearth, where three well-cushioned armchairs and a settee are positioned to enjoy the fire. “Be seated. Will you accept wine?”
    Father Whorry nods vigorously. Black shakes his head. While Father Tenderson moves to a cabinet at the side of the room, selects a fired clay flask, and fills three goblets of the same material, the Bright priest scurries to the farthest armchair, hoping to put as much distance as he can between himself and Black.Ignoring both men, Black seats himself upon the settee. It is too close to the fire for comfort, but he does not regard the warmth.
    Carrying three goblets on a tray, the Dark priest offers one to Father Whorry. Black again declines in silence. “Should you change your mind,” Father Tenderson suggests as he places the tray on the rug near the settee. Taking a goblet for himself, he settles his long limbs into the nearest armchair.
    Black has much to consider. If he does not procure revelations by menace, he must use other means. And he suspects that the simple suasion he has used on Father Whorry will not prompt the honesty he requires. Also he believes that he will gain nothing by the form of coercion he imposed on Jon Marker. Answers he will get, but they will only be as useful as his questions, and he does not know enough to ask the right questions.
    He remains silent until Father Tenderson says, “Now, Black. Father. You are here together for some purpose. Let us speak of it before my housekeeper’s bustle interrupts us.”
    This opening surprises Father Whorry. He is easily flustered, but he is also familiar with the Dark priest’s usual manner. He expects his friend to commence with casual inquiries to set the stranger at ease. Where are you from? What brings you to Settle’s Crossways? And so forth. Father Tenderson’s forthrightness makes the Bright priest’s eyebrows dance surprise on his brow.
    â€œVery well,” begins Black. “You are aware, I hope, that you are both charlatans.”
    The priests stare, Father Whorry anxiously, Father Tenderson with wry sadness.
    Black does not speak as he does to insult his listeners. Rather he attempts to shift the ground under their feet. If he succeeds, he may elicit replies that would escape him otherwise.
    â€œYou worship gods,” he explains. “You encourage others in the same worship. Yet you are old enough to have some memory of a time when there were no temples. If you are not, your fathers were. In those days, no one imagined bright and dark as gods. They were known for what they are, elemental energies, nothing more. They exist, and they are mighty. But they are mindless. They do not think, or care, or answer. They are no more worthy of worship, and no less, than wind and sunlight.”
    Frowning now, Father Tenderson leans forward, his elbows on his knees, to give this visitor his full attention. Black’s gaze stops a protest in Father Whorry’s mouth. The Bright priest gulps wine to appease his indignation.
    â€œThere are four elemental energies,” Black continues, “all potent. Together they make life possible in the world. But of the four, only bright and dark are accessible to shapers.” When he sees that the word perplexes the priests, he says, “You may know such