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“Good men don’t become legends,” he said quietly. “Good men don’t need to become legends.” She opened her eyes, looking up at him. “They simply do what’s right anyway.”
“What do you think of the body, OreSeur?” Elend asked. “Honestly, Your Majesty?” “Of course.” “It is offensive and degrading,” OreSeur said.
None of Sazed’s knowledge gave him comfort. He accepted the religions he knew—believed in their value—but that didn’t give him what he needed. They didn’t assure him that Tindwyl’s spirit still lived. Instead, they made him question. If so many people believed so many different things, how could any one of them—or anything at all—really be true?
The trouble was, he didn’t really want to. He was feeling something very odd in himself, feelings he usually didn’t have. Indifference. Apathy. Why did anything that these men talked about matter? Why did anything matter, now that Tindwyl was dead?
