oppressive. The smoke twisted and curled, and he could sense something
dark within those fires. Something moving closer. Coming . . . coming . . .
No! Taln told himself, forcing himself to his feet. No! I did not fail. I held Veletal long enough before they killed me. I must have. If I’d failed, mankind would be dead. There would be no Return. I would no longer exist. There are men on the top of that wall. You did not fail.
The fires withdrew, the wall was doused and returned to a dull grey, and
the screams withdrew, growing soft, then silent.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 71
He stumbled forward, toward the open gates. A couple of guards stood
just inside, watching with apprehensive eyes.
“S . . . state your name and rank for the city registers, my lord,” the lead guard sputtered. He wore a dark leather vest, and carried a spear.
Taln paused. A spear. What foolishness is this? That will be useless against Khothen limbs. Where is his hammer? He had much work to do—but this was a matter to discuss with kings, not guards.
“My . . . lord?” the man asked uncertainly, several other guards moving
to back him up. The guard’s accent was very difficult to understand—that
in itself was a clue as to how long Taln had been gone. Fortunately, despite the strange accent, there was something in Taln’s mind that immediately
began adjusting for the language difference, at it had done so often before.
“Kings,” Taln croaked, his voice sore. “Gather the Oathpact.”
The guards regarded each other uncertainly. Had they misunder-
stood him?
“The Oathpact Kings,” Taln repeated. “Leaders of the Epoch Kingdoms.
The Return has begun. I must speak with them.”
“The . . . Oathpact?” the lead guard asked. “My lord, you must be
mistaken. This city belongs to Alethkar.”
Alethkar. The name was familiar. Taln raised a hand to his head, rubbing
his temple. Alethkar . . . Bajerden’s kingdom. This city belongs to Alethkar.
That was not right. He had trouble remembering why, but he knew it was not right. There should have been ten kings, not one.
“Take me to the king,” Taln said, stepping forward.
The guard moved forward to block him, and Taln reacted instantly.
Glyphting flashed, shearing the tip from the man’s spear, then stopping
beside his neck.
Taln paused. This man only did his duty. Taln withdrew the sword,
stumbling slightly. “I . . . am sorry,” Taln said, lowering Glyphting.
The guard exhaled slowly, his eyes wide as he regarded the end of his
broken spear. The walls . . . the spears . . . something was very wrong.
The world had changed while Taln had been gone.
There was a way. He could almost picture it—a scene, with him and the
others, addressing the Oathpact Kings. It had been Jezrien’s idea.
“The Sign,” Taln whispered. “Please, tell me you remember the Ballad
of the Return.”
“The . . . Ballad of the Return?” the guard asked, reaching down to
finger a cloth-written glyph tied around his arm with two black strings.
“Which one?”
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“Any of them,” Taln said. “They mention a law. A duty all kings must
perform. They must allow me to give them the Sign. Your religion. Vorin-
ism . . . it teaches of this, yes? Vorinism still exists, I hope? It teaches of me as well.”
“My lord? I am a good Vorin, but . . .” the guard trailed off. “You can’t
mean to say that . . .”
“I am Talenel Elin,” Taln said. “Herald of the Almighty, one of ten who
saw the dawn of this world. The time of Return has come again.”
chapter 8
JEK 1
Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, stood at the edge of the
lush Veden chamber, watching the heathens enjoy their party. They paid
him little heed—while his people were uncommon in the desolate lands of
the east, there were often a few in most large cities. He held his cup, but did not drink from it. Even after nearly ten years exiled in the uncivilized lands of Jah Keved and Alethkar, he had not grown accustomed to the Kanaran
people’s overly-sweet wines.
The room, like most of its kind, was formed of stone blocks. The people
tried to hide their desecration of the rock—using rugs and woven mats for
the floor, and hangings for the walls. Jek was careful not to rest his back against the stones as he watched; he might have been Truthless, but he was not a blasphemer.
He still wasn’t certain at the reason for the festivities. However, he
had traveled to Veden City several times, and it seemed that the nobility
of the country needed little excuse to throw a celebration. Apparently, this time they regarded the Aleth victory in Prallah as one of their own, even
though they had sent very few men to the endeavor. That was another trait
of the easterner mentality—they often took credit for achievements that
were not their own.
Jek’s attention was focused on the far side of the room, where the
Veden king sat on his throne. Jek had been watching the man all evening,
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comparing rumors with facts. What he saw gave him little hope. King
Ahven Vedenel was a man with the mind of a child. He watched over the
feasting nobility with wide, innocent eyes, drinking wine from his goblet
and smiling foolishly. When he spoke, his words were slurred with the
dullness of one touched in the head.
The true king, then, was the man who stood beside Ahven. As self-
important as he was bald, Karathach was often dubbed ‘The Lord Puppeteer’
in whispered rumors. Jek’s observations, however, left him with little respect for the man’s manipulative abilities. It wasn’t difficult to play puppeteer over such a witless king.
Jek had seen enough. He nodded to his companions—a group of merchants
who had, for a price, allowed Jek to join their company—and slipped from
the room. He needed to retire early if he was going to be awake in time to assassinate King Ahven in the early morning.
chapter 9
JASNAH 3
The First Palace, designed to accommodate the entourages of each
Epoch Kingdom at the same time, had eleven different feast halls.
Only the one in which Jasnah now sat—the one that had originally been
dedicated to Alethkar—had seen any use during the last several decades.
The room was one of the largest in the palace, majestic and grand. The
acoustics were wonderful—a balladess stood in the corner of the room,
singing a slow, passionate song. “The Fourth Ballad of the Return,” Jasnah thought it was—though she could never keep them separate. A line of
women sat behind the current singer—lesser noblewomen, waiting their
turn to provide music for the feast.
The hall’s grey marble floor was inlaid with a massive silver palen-burst that depicted the glyph nolh, the symbol of air and of power. Air—the first of the Ten Essences, often used as a representation of the omnipotence of
the Almighty. It was no coincidence that Alethkar’s ancestors had chosen
nolh to represent their kingdom, a fact of which Elhokar seemed quite aware as he sat proudly at the king’s table.
Jasnah studied her brother from her place at the women’s tables. He
seemed to be growing into the kingship more and more every day—the in-
securit
y he’d displayed upon first assuming the throne was nearly gone now.
He seemed comfortable among his noble supporters, more in control. How
could it be that there were so many things he did not see?
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Dalenar sat to the king’s right, in his proper place as Parshen, yet her uncle’s mood was withdrawn, and he did not smile at the king’s comments.
To Elhokar’s left sat Meridas—a place that should have been reserved
for Jezenrosh Kholin, Elhokar’s cousin and second Parshen. Meridas was obviously not a man to be trusted. He had enormous power despite his
lowly title, and he had no dogma beyond his own thirsty ambition. Yet
Elhokar saw fit to give the man his ear.
Jasnah turned from Elhokar’s table to seek out another threat. The wom-
en’s tables were clustered together in a circular pattern, with the men’s tables forming a half-ring around their right side. The queen’s table was near that of her husband, a short distance from Jasnah’s own. Nanavah sat speaking
quietly with her ladies-in-waiting, her posture controlled. Powerful. Jasnah had spent the last few hours sending messages to her old contacts in the
city, and did not like the replies she had received.
It didn’t help her mood any that Shinri had disappeared. The girl had
yet to return from her trip to Vedenar, and while it had once been common
for Shinri to lose track of time, Jasnah had thought the girl beyond such
things. Shinri’s absence made Jasnah’s table look conspicuously empty.
Though Jasnah had sent out a tenset invitations, only two had replied
affirmative—Tama Jothken and her cousin, Remlah. As Sixteenth Ladies,
they were the two lowest-ranked women Jasnah had invited—she had
added them to her list almost as an afterthought because of their fathers’
honorable support of Elhokar in the war. The two sat somewhat sheepishly
at the end of Jasnah’s rectangular table, eyeing the other tables, which were mostly full of occupants.
Jasnah frowned in dissatisfaction as the cooks began to enter, bearing
steaming platters of food. There had been a time when her table would have been the most prestigious one at the feast. It appeared that her extended
absence had dulled both memories and allegiances.
“My Lady Jasnah?” a hesitant voice asked.
Jasnah turned with a frown, though her mood quickly lightened as she
saw who had spoken. A girl, barely fourteen years old, stood beside the
table. Despite her youthful features, she wore an intricate woman’s talla, with her hair in braids and her face painted. She held herself well, only
slightly uncomfortable despite how obviously out-of-place she was.
Kinae Khardinar. Dalenar’s betrothed.
“Kinae,” Jasnah said, smiling. “You’ve . . .” You’ve grown so much. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one told a second lady, betrothed of a Parshen. “You look lovely.”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 77
“Thank you, Lady Jasnah,” Kinae said. She had always been a somber
girl—perhaps it was the speed at which she had been forced to grow up.
“My lady,” Kinae said. “It looks like some of the people at your table decided not to come to the feast. Can my table come join you? If you have room,
I mean.”
Jasnah felt a sudden wash of gratitude. Oh, child. . . . It was an amazing compliment—despite Jasnah’s relationship to Elhokar, she was unmarried,
and therefore was of a lower rank than someone like Kinae, even if her
marriage wouldn’t take place for another four years. For Kinae to abandon
her own table and to sit beneath Jasnah’s . . .
Kinae probably didn’t understand what she was offering. Then again,
she just might. She was very clever—moreover, she was dedicated to un-
derstanding and fulfilling what was expected to her. Though duty loomed
far larger than her youthful experience could handle, she tried so hard to live up to her station.
Kinae waited expectantly.
“I would like it very much if you joined me, Kinae,” Jasnah said honestly.
Not only would it fill her conspicuously-empty table, it would cause a stir in the attending women. In Jasnah’s current state of power, anything that
shook up the status quo was likely to favor her position.
Kinae turned and walked back to her table, maintaining an attempted
regal bearing despite her diminutive size. There were subtle understandings that Kinae hadn’t figured out yet—an experienced lady would never have
come in person, but would instead have sent a lesser lady in her place—but she did a remarkable job, considering her age.
As Kinae reached her table, Jasnah caught sight of Dalenar at the king’s
table. The man was watching Kinae with a look of control ed dissatisfaction.
The rest of the court accepted the betrothal for what it was—a political
union, meant to seal Alethkar’s relationship with the state of Khardinar.
They were willing to overlook Kinae’s age; sometimes, conventions had to
be bent in the name of political expediency.
Dalenar, however, was not a man who approved of bent morality and
false motives. To him, it was wrong for a man to accept even a betrothal
to a girl Kinae’s age. However, at the same time, he was a firm believer in doing what was best for the kingdom—and a strong union with Khardinar
was vital to Alethkar’s health. When Elhokar had given him the order to
become betrothed, he had submitted to the good of Alethkar. However,
the conflict between duty and morality left him in a very strange position.
Jasnah smiled. If only all of their problems were as simple as Dalenar’s
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relationship with his betrothed. The pending union might make him un-
comfortable, but he would deal with it—besides, he already had two heirs.
When he and Kinae wed in four years, Dalenar could leave the marriage
unconsummated—as a union in name only—for the rest of his life, and it
wouldn’t really matter. In fact, Jasnah suspected that she wouldn’t be the only one who respected Dalenar even more for the decision.
She just wished he would show just a little more warmth to Kinae. She
tried so hard, and Jasnah suspected the young lady didn’t really understand why her betrothed always seemed displeased with her.
Kinae had a rather large entourage—mostly the wives of Shardbearers
in Dalenar’s court. The women masked their displeasure at being forced to
move tables. Technically, they were members of Dalenar’s court and not
Elhokar’s, but the Oathgate made Kholinar practically an extension of the
royal court. These women wouldn’t like the fact that Kinae had associated
them with Jasnah, who was obviously out of the queen’s favor.
The ladies, however, let none of this show. They seated themselves at
Jasnah’s table with pleasant smiles, as if overjoyed at the prospect of dining with the king’s sister. Soon the table was full, and Jasnah felt a lot less out of place.
As the meal began, a late arrival finally appeared at the doorway. Shinri
wore the same red talla as earlier, and her face was marked with confusion.
She sought out Jasnah’s table, then made her way through the feast hall as quickly as propriety would allow.
Shinri sat herself on the empty stool just beside Jasnah, and Jasnah gave
her a dissatisfied look.
Shinri flushed. “I apologize, my lady,” she said quickly. “I shoul
d not
have been late.”
Jasnah nodded. “Compose yourself.”
“Yes, my lady,” Shinri said, taking a few deep breaths and settling herself.
“I’m sorry.” She glanced across the table, identifying the ladies who were sitting with them. “Not many answered your invitations.”
Jasnah shook her head. “Fortunately, Kinae offered to bring her entourage
to my table.”
Shinri smiled. “She’s a good child.”
Jasnah nodded. Kinae was only three years younger than Shinri—but
what a difference those three years made. Shinri had the maturity and the
mind of a woman—and Jasnah fully intended to exploit both. She would
need to use every resource she had if she were going to recover her position at court.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 79
“What kept you?” Jasnah asked.
Shinri frowned. “Tethren refused to see me,” she said, absently picking
at threads on the cuff of her left sleeve.
“Stop that,” Jasnah said, frowning at the girl’s nervous habit. “What
do you mean he ‘refused to see you?’ What kind of man won’t meet with
the fiancée he hasn’t seen for six months?”
“The servants were very kind,” Shinri said, “but they stalled me in the
sitting room. Eventually, they returned and told me that I’d just missed
him—that he’d left just shortly before my arrival on a trading trip to
Thalenah.”
Shinri didn’t seem like she accepted the explanation—as well she
shouldn’t. Jasnah had instilled in the girl a healthy amount of skepticism regarding noble motivations. Everything the servants said could have been true—Tethren was a Prince of House Rienar in Jah Keved, but he was a
younger son, and such often oversaw their family’s business negotiations.
Perhaps Shinri had arrived just as he was leaving, and the servants had
stalled her while they tried to get word to him in time. But Tethren must
have received word that the Aleth nobility were returning from Prallah—
why would he have left without seeking out Shinri?
“If you wouldn’t mind, my lady, ” Shinri said. “Could you include some
questions about Veden politics in your evening’s communications? I would
like very much to discover what has been happening.” Specifically, she implied, whether or not my fiancé has been cheating on me.
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