Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]
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reverent bunch, the Kavel monks certainly are hard on floors.”
Taln snorted, shaking his head and watching jealously as the monks,
noblemen, and citizens resumed their training.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 179
“So are we finished here?” Lhan asked.
“Yes,” Taln said with a sigh.
“You seem uncharacteristically upset,” Lhan noted.
Taln leaned back against the wall, standing beside the reclining monk.
“This isn’t supposed to be me, Lhan,” he said quietly. “This isn’t what I do.
I’m a soldier, not a politician or a preacher. I have no idea how to make
people believe that the Return has come—that is something for Nale or
Ishar to do. My duty has always been to prepare the people for war.”
“I see,” Lhan said.
Taln sighed. “Something’s very wrong. It’s been over a month since I
arrived, and they haven’t come to the city. This is the meeting place—they should be here. Jezrien would have the Aleth king begging him to take
over command of the royal armies by now. I can’t even persuade a group
of monks to fight me.”
“Where do you think the others could be?”
Taln shook his head. “Perhaps they’ve given up on Kanar—perhaps
they realized the Epoch Kingdoms had fallen, and so they moved on to
more promising ground. They could be in Shinavar, rallying the clans, or
maybe one of the other kingdoms accepted them, like Marnah did during
the Second Return.”
Taln stared off across the sandy courtyard, watching the duelists. “I don’t know, Lhan. Nothing has worked. The citizenry thinks I’m insane; the
nobility fears to speak with me lest they incur royal disfavor. I get kicked out of both library and monastery . . . to be honest, I’m not even certain what to try next.”
Lhan smiled. “Oh, there are plenty of places we haven’t been kicked out
of yet.”
Taln chuckled. “Lady Jasnah wanted me to promise to stay out of trouble
for a couple of weeks.”
“Maybe she’s got a point,” Lhan said. “You yourself said that you’re not
sure what to do next. Maybe you just need to relax for a little while, and let it come to you.”
“What?” Taln asked, amused. “Relax by going and working in the mines
like the monks keep telling me?”
“Oh, I’m sure we could find something better for you than that. Maybe
work in the monastery, or even this one. If you spend enough time working
on their floor mats, maybe they’ll let you pick up a spear and spar every
now and then.”
Taln eyed the lackadaisical monk. Lhan continued to speak, talking in
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his lazy way about the virtues of floor mat repair—paying no mind to the
fact that he’d complained about that very thing shortly before.
He sent for Jasnah, Taln thought, finally understanding. “I’ve misjudged you,” he said out loud.
“Excuse me?” the monk said, pausing.
“I thought you were lazy,” Taln said.
“Oh, let me assure you, I’m quite apt at it.”
“This whole time,” Taln said, “you’ve just been waiting for me to get
frustrated. You’ve been following me around, letting me get myself thrown
out of nearly every place we visit, waiting for me to fail so many times that I got bored with it.”
Lhan sat quietly for a moment. Then he shrugged. “I always want to do
things the easiest way possible. I’ve found that men rarely like to be told what they can’t do. So, I just let they try it. You’d be surprised at how many
‘crazy’ men simply wanted to try things their own way for a little while
before settling into what the rest of the city had planned out for them.”
“And if they don’t settle down?” Taln asked.
“They do,” Lhan said. “Eventually.”
“That could take time,” Taln challenged.
Lhan shrugged. “Sometimes months, sometimes years. It doesn’t really
matter to me, as long as they don’t get themselves hurt and they keep me
from washing dishes.”
Taln cocked his head, regarding the brown-robed monk in a new light.
“How many crazy people has the monastery assigned you?”
“Oh, a couple,” Lhan said. “Sometimes, people just need a friend, Taln.
I’m not good at very many things—as my divinely annoying brethren can
attest to—but being a friend . . . that I can do. It doesn’t cure anyone; I don’t think most of them can be, or want to be, ‘cured.’ But I can often find a way to make life a little less difficult for them.”
“That’s very noble of you.”
Lhan snorted.
“Admit it,” Taln challenged. “You’re a good monk.”
“Say that again, and you’ll see how ‘good’ I am,” Lhan said, standing up
and brushing off his robe. “Come on—I’m hungry, not to mention tired of
lying around in the sand.”
Taln nodded, joining the monk as they walked out of the gates. One
thing still bothered him, however—Lady Jasnah’s insistence that he ‘stay
out of trouble.’ She had seemed so . . . anxious, despite her calm air. Almost like something was coming . . . an event she didn’t want him to disturb?
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 181
“Lhan,” he said idly as they strolled away from Spearhome, “is anything
special happening in the next two weeks?”
“What?” Lhan asked. “You mean besides the dueling competition?”
“Dueling competition?” Taln asked.
“You haven’t noticed that the city is abnormally packed with travelers?”
“Lhan,” Taln said with a raised eyebrow. “The last time I saw Ral Eram,
the Oathshard Wars hadn’t even started yet. I have no idea what a normal
population is.”
Lhan rolled his eyes. “Duelists from all over Kanar are coming to the
city,” he explained. “The king is holding a royal dueling competition, with Blades and titles as prizes—he has to do something with all those cities
he stole from Pralir.”
Royal dueling competition. Taln remembered something . . . something
vaguely from his first day in Ral Eram, when he had burst in upon the king’s feast. Take his Blade . . . Add it to the pile of those to be won at the competition . . .
His sword, Glyphting—it would be given away at the dueling compe-
tition. It would be there, unclaimed, waiting for a new master . . . or an old one.
Taln smiled broadly. “Lhan, I think you might be right,” he said. “I need
some time to think. Let’s spend a few weeks weaving mats and staying out
of trouble. I want the Lady Jasnah to forget I’m even here . . .”
chapter 19
SHINRI 3
Lady Shinri:
You ask nothing we ourselves haven’t wondered a tenset times over.
Why would the Almighty take my brother now, when times are so
difficult in the Three Houses? Why did he have to be lost in such
a way, without even the honor of a battlefield death or failed duel?
These are questions of theology—things for monks and stormkeepers
to ponder, not women such as ourselves. Our duty is that of conso-
lation and preparation. Now that Prince Tethren has been taken,
we must give strength to those who still live and protect them as
best we are able.
However, in answer to your specific inquiries, you will s
oon see
that there was little of mysterious note about my brother’s death. His convoy did not leave Lakhenran precipitously at all—rather, care
was taken to depart directly following the tenth Mar-Kav highstorm,
a well-acknowledged day of fortune for sea travels. The trip to Thalenah was planned so that each of the more violent highstorms could be spent within the shelter of cove or port.
The events, therefore, of my brother’s death are a matter of ill fortune, but not ill planning. During the third day of the open-sea voyage to
Thalenah, one of the ships was struck by a problem with its rudder. I
know little of such things, but have included a technical explanation
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 183
of the problem, as recorded by one of my scribes who questioned the
captain.
It was soon obvious that this ship could not reach Thalenah in a
timely manner. My brother, however, was a man of honor—as you
well know—and refused to leave the straggler behind. He determined
that the best course was for the entire convoy to wait out the storm,
and made orders to that effect. Unfortunately, seaborn highstorms are a fierce and unpredictable force. It turned out that my brother’s flagship, not the ship with the structural problems, was the one that succumbed
to the Almighty’s winds.
The other sailors in the convoy did not, as you implied, simply sail
away and leave Prince Tethren to his maritime grave. They spent days
scouring the waves for survivors, picking apart wreckage and praying
to find their prince yet alive. The Almighty, however, granted them no miracle. The sailors were forced to leave the area and sail for port, lest they be caught in yet another storm.
I have included copies of testimonies taken from various crew members, as well as copies of the dock registers and docking schedules both from the port of departure and that of expected arrival. I am confident that studying this evidence will set your heart at ease regarding the tragic events of my brother’s demise.
I understand your hesitance—you are Veden at heart, and it is the
nature of our people to hope and wish. In this matter, however, you
must learn as I have. Hopes for Tethren’s survival will only prolong the pain of mourning.
Lady Shendaran Rienar.
Shinri set the letter aside, looking over the accompanying documents.
They were, of course, in order. Though the captain’s explanation of the
ship’s difficulties made little sense to her, she had little doubt that it was unimpeachable. The other testimonies were both clear and consistent.
It was, of course, all fabricated.
Shinri sat for a quiet moment, ‘evidence’ spread before her on one of
Lady Jasnah’s sitting-room tables. The letter was exaggeratedly defensive.
The evidence was too abundant, and too freely offered. Shendaran was far
too quick to assure that the death lacked mysterious elements, especially
considering all the questions she chose not to answer. Why would Tethren
endanger an entire convoy for one ship? Why didn’t he move the crew from
the beleaguered vessel to another ship, then sail safely to port?
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Did Shendaran really have so low an opinion of Shinri’s political skills
that she would use such obvious tactics? Did she not realize that her quick assurances that nothing was wrong would only provoke Shinri toward
unwanted conclusions?
Shinri reread the letter. And, as she did so, an awareness grew within
her. Shendaran wasn’t trying to be obvious. To most women in Vedenar,
such a letter would be considered an adequate response. Shinri, however,
had been trained by a far better master.
Even as she read, Jasnah’s lessons poked at her mind. This word was
misplaced, that assurance offered too hastily. The text was like a puzzle
with irregular pieces—any one of the clues, by itself, was unremarkable.
However, the whole—when arranged correctly—displayed a picture.
Shendaran was hiding things. She herself didn’t know the details of her
brother’s death, and she was trying very hard to cover up that ignorance.
Jasnah really is good at this, Shinri realized. Her training has become so innate to me that I can easily deconstruct the intentions of one of Vedenar’s most prestigious politicians.
Shinri knew about Jasnah’s skill, of course. One did not live with the
Lady Jasnah Kholin for three years and not learn to admire her genius.
However, Shinri had always been involved in plots that did not directly
concern her—Lady Jasnah’s goals, Lady Jasnah’s will. It was a different
thing entirely for Shinri to see Jasnah’s hand manifest in Shinri’s own goals.
But, what does it mean? Shinri thought. You never did like me much, Shendaran—never did forgive the little girl who jealously ruined your sitting party by running through in a mud-drenched dress. Is that why you lie to me now, out of simple spite?
Shinri idly pulled at the edges of the fine, scented paper, ripping off circular pieces as she thought. Shendaran didn’t like her, true, but the elements contained in the letter were too extensive to have been fabricated for one woman. This was a response that had been given before—probably to both
political rivals and allies. House Rienar wanted it known that Tethren’s
death had been an unfortunate accident, and nothing more. That meant
they didn’t want people poking too closely at the events of the convoy’s loss.
But why? Ignorance was not so grievous a sin that it would inspire such a
cover-up. True, all houses had things they wished to hide from their rivals, but it would require something of direct relevance to force such extremes.
The convoy’s cargo? The transportation of delicate materials would
explain the quick cover-up. It would also explain why the cargo had been
transported by ship, rather than through the Oathgates—though the
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official explanation was the avoidance of Aleth tariffs. However, if the
cargo were the secret, what of Tethren? Was his death a simple accident,
as stated, unrelated to the cover up?
Perhaps there had been a mutiny. Rumors of a prince of the Three Houses
being killed by common citizens could be dangerous to morale. Jah Keved
was organized far more martially than Alethkar, and such a loss of command would be a grave embarrassment to House Rienar. What if one ship’s crew
had taken the prince captive, then been sunk by the rest of the convoy?
Shinri shook her head at the extravagant speculation. She didn’t have
enough information to begin imagining complex mutinies or deep cover-
ups. She had only a small set of lies, perhaps just cosmetic in nature. Though Lady Jasnah was capable of making wild logical connections with very little information, Shinri didn’t have her experience or intuition. Shinri would
have to dig further, as she had been taught. Write to Rienar’s political rivals, sniff for rumors regarding the convoy, see if Tethren had made any odd
alliances or enemies during the last six months.
It would take time, but it felt . . . strangely invigorating. Shinri rolled up her scraps of torn paper, idly flicking them across the room. She had worried about purpose. Well, she might not have the passion for intrigue that
Lady Jasnah boasted, but at least she was beginning to discover her own
political goals. She no longer felt the powerful loss of Tethren’s death—it had become more the latent ache of a promise unfulfilled, a pathway
unexplored—however, searching out the truth of his death felt right to her.
She would never serve as his scribe and wife, seeing to his political interests, but she could give him this one last offering.
I should have been more suspicious, Shinri realized with amusement. I would have thought that living this long with Jasnah would have made me paranoid too.
It had taken the questions of a madman to spur her curiosity. Yet, for that questioning, she found herself strangely indebted to the man who called
himself Talenel the Herald.
The door opened, and Jasnah swept into the room—perfect in bearing,
beauty, and poise. Shinri flicked a wad of paper, then hurriedly replaced her left sleeve and put her hands in her lap. If Jasnah noticed, she said nothing.
Kemnar and Nelshenden entered the room after their mistress; the two
guards were often with her now, kept close and involved in protecting the
crown.
“What is that?” Jasnah asked, waving toward Shinri’s stack of papers.
“Nothing, my lady,” Shinri said, folding the letters. “Simply another list of condolences sent regarding the prince’s death.”
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Jasnah nodded. “See that you answer them all respectfully, Shinri. Your
wardship will end soon, and you will need allies in order to make another
union for yourself.”
Shinri nodded. I’m sorry, Jasnah, she thought. But if you knew the truth, my investigation would become yours instead. You do not become involved unless you can control. Tethren was my fiancé. I will find out what happened to him.
Letters of condolence made a good excuse. They were something Jasnah
would understand and encourage, for they saw the prince’s death in the
same way that Jasnah did: as a political inconvenience to be smoothed like any other bump in one’s plans. Jasnah herself had offered little in the way of sympathy. In this, despite their years together, Shinri knew that she and Jasnah would never understand one another. Love—romantic love—was
something Shinri doubted that Jasnah would ever be able to comprehend.
Jasnah would encourage discovering House Rienar’s secrets for political
gain, or even to sate curiosity, but she wouldn’t understand doing so out of duty to a man one had loved. And, Shinri had loved Tethren, even if the emotion had been that of a foolish young girl.