Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]
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master explained. “We’re preparing his mounts.”
“To meet his father?” Merin asked. “But Lord Dalenar is expected back in
just a couple of days. Aredor will have to turn around and come back almost as soon as he arrives!”
“I don’t question the command of my betters, my lord,” the stablemaster
huffed. And neither should you, his tone implied.
Merin sighed. The stablehands were preparing at least two tensets of
horses—Aredor obviously intended to travel well-attended. What was he
thinking, and why hadn’t he mentioned the decision to Merin?
Merin glanced at Renarin, who was studying the horses intently. Even-
tually, Renarin just shrugged. “I guess we can just ask him.”
Merin followed Renarin’s nod, toward where a group of figures was
crossing the palace courtyard. Aredor, dressed for riding, strode at their head, his deep blue Kholin cloak billowing behind him. Fifteen men
accompanied him. Merin did a quick face count, and came up with a
surprising list.
“Five Shardbearers, including Aredor,” he mumbled to Renarin. “And
the rest are fairly high-ranking as well. What is his purpose?”
Renarin didn’t reply. Aredor noticed the two of them and paused, then
walked forward to meet them. He adopted a friendly smile, reminiscent
of the old Aredor, but it seemed a bit forced. Still, it was good to see him walking so firmly, his head held high, the brooding gone from his eyes.
“Ah, Merin,” Aredor said. “I’ve been looking for you. I didn’t want to
leave without letting you know where I’d gone.”
Merin frowned, glancing toward the horses. The other men were packing
the last of their gear and mounting up. “What is the meaning of this,
Aredor?” Merin asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. Lord Dalenar will be
back within a couple of days anyway.”
“I’ve had a change of heart,” Aredor explained. “I can’t sit around
anymore—I have to go to him. Father needs me right now; he said so
himself.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to go pack,” Merin said slowly. “Or did you
already take care of that?”
“You aren’t coming,” Aredor said.
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The words were like a slap across the face. Aredor had always included
him. “But . . .”
“I’m sorry, Merin,” Aredor said with a shake of his head. “I can’t take
you this time. Don’t worry, it won’t be for long. You wouldn’t want to come anyway—it will be a boring trip.”
“I don’t understand,” Merin complained. “If it’s such a minor trip, then
why does it matter if I come? Why—”
“He’s not going to meet Father,” Renarin interrupted in a quiet, yet
piercing, voice.
Merin paused, noting the flash of shame in Aredor’s eyes. The pack horses, Merin realized. There are too many of them. They wouldn’t need so many supplies for a two-day trip.
“The war,” Merin said. “You’re going to fight!”
Aredor shot a furtive glance at the working stablehands, then turned
back to Merin and Renarin, speaking in a low voice. “You can’t tell anyone,”
he said. “Father will try to find a way to stop us.”
Merin paled. “You’re disobeying Lord Dalenar’s direct command!”
Aredor paused, then nodded once. “I can’t remain here in Kholinar,
Merin. I need to find out for myself if my cousin is a traitor, and I don’t trust the king. I received a letter from Lady Jasnah the night of the dueling competition. She seemed to think that her life was in danger, that the queen herself was involved in the assassination attempt on the king. There’s more to this entire mess than people are telling us.”
“If Lord Dalenar knew something, he’d tell us,” Merin asserted.
“Probably,” Aredor agreed. “But Jasnah sent the letter to me, not Father.
She knows what I know—that Father is too conservative. He’s too worried
about propriety sometimes, and this waiting proves it. He doesn’t know
which side is right, so he won’t help either one, lest he choose incorrectly and find himself in the wrong. Well, I’m more of a gambler—and so are
those who’ve decided to join me.
“There are things on the winds that just don’t smell right, Merin.
Everyone knows the king has been dissatisfied with Jezenrosh for some
time—and he’s been suspiciously slow in disbanding his armies. There’s
something very convenient about the way those assassins struck, giving
the king a perfect opportunity to move against Crossguard. Well, my
companions and I don’t intend to let Elhokar raise his hand against one of our own until we’re certain the move is just.”
Merin opened his mouth, then closed it. How do I make a decision like
this? Choose between Lord Dalenar and Aredor?
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“This could cost you your title, Aredor,” Renarin whispered.
Aredor smiled wryly. “Father taught me too well. He always told me it
was best to do what I knew was right in my heart. Well, this is right, and I’m going. We can work out the consequences later. Besides, what is the
worth of a title when you don’t use it to seek what is just? He taught me
that too.”
“Father will chase you down,” Renarin warned. “He’ll have to send men
after you to protect the integrity of his command.”
Aredor nodded. “Oh, he’ll send men. But he won’t catch us—no matter
how fast his horses ride.”
Merin stood, trapped by his own indecisiveness. How could he let
Aredor ride without him? The man who had befriended him, and who had
taught him what it was like to live as a nobleman?
Merin’s cloak blew in the wind. Lord Dalenar’s cloak, given to him as
a symbol of Merin’s oath of service. Aredor regarded Merin for a long,
uncomfortable moment.
“I won’t take you even if you offer, Merin,” Aredor finally said. “I can see the indecision in your eyes, and this isn’t a task for the uncommitted. Take care of Renarin until I return.”
With that, Aredor turned and climbed into his saddle. Within a few
moments, all fifteen men were gone, riding from the city and trailing the
dust of their broken oaths behind them.
chapter 37
SHINRI 7
Shinri was soon to discover what her father had meant by King
Ahven’s ‘transformation.’ While the security at her room was not
relaxed, she was given a couple of ladies-in-waiting to provide service and companionship. Their greatest contribution by far, however, was in the area of information.
Shinri learned about the king’s sudden and miraculous Remaking from
idiot to leader. Both of her ladies—young and low-born—found the king
a dramatic figure. They spoke of his speeches before the citizens and lords, telling Shinri of his powerful voice and his commanding sense of honor.
In just a few short days, King Ahven had managed to unite two opposing
armies, making friends of all three Houses.
Of course, her father had something to do with that. His sudden rise to
First Prince was absolutely remarkable. That was the word one of the girls used—‘remarkable.’ She had to think for a moment before saying it, however, and Shinri could see the hushed rumors in her eyes. The girl wouldn’t, of course, speak the rumors to Ilhadal’s own daughter. Shinri could guess
what was being said, however. People assumed that her father had subtly
killed his way to the top, a fact that would greatly weaken his reputation.
The men of Jah Keved believed strongly in the duel as an ultimate decider
of disputes, and they found assassination a cowardly substitute.
Still, Ilhadal was House Leader. He was reportedly not accepting any
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 333
personal duels, but instead sending challengers to his champions. He could survive, for a time, in such a manner. He would need to do something
eventually to prove his legitimacy, but for the moment his loyalty to King Ahven lent a stabilizing factor to the Three Houses. Rienar had pledged
itself in alliance to Davar, and Davar had pledged itself to Vedenel. It
appeared that the squabbles amongst the Three Houses would instead
become unification—a transformation no less amazing than the king’s
supposed Remaking.
This new image of King Ahven was somehow more discomforting than
the old one. The idiot Ahven, at least, had been a stable component. Despite her unfamiliarity with him personally, Shinri had been certain she knew
what she could expect. While the prospect of marrying a man with the
mind of a child was unsettling, at least it was something she could make
plans around and understand.
The new Ahven, the reborn and Remade Ahven, was unassessable. What
did one make of a man who was a mental invalid one day, then became a
powerful leader and accomplished duelist the next? He provided just the
kind of unpredictable element that Shinri had been carefully taught to
avoid in her machinations. Unpredictability, by its very nature, cannot be trusted—or so Jasnah had always said. Far better to choose the stable yet
less-efficient than to gamble on the excellent yet random.
And yet, dared she hope? The ladies spoke of this man in such awed
voices that it was impossible for Shinri not to share in at least a bit of their adulation. True, they were young, and true, Vedens were a superstitious lot.
But perhaps this man would live up to his budding reputation. Perhaps he
would be a man like Lord Dalenar. Strong, true . . . even loving?
Shinri didn’t meet the man she was to marry until the day of the
wedding itself. After being stuck in her rooms for several weeks waiting,
the joy of being released was almost enough to wash away her nervousness.
Her father had purchased for her an extravagant gown—apparently, his
new position was providing him with the wealth he had coveted when she
was a child. The garment was mostly white, embroidered with gold—Lord
Ahven’s colors. She stood quietly, waiting as her ladies dressed her—a
strange experience, since she was accustomed to being in their place.
In a short while I will be Queen of the Three Houses. The thought was almost as dumbfounding as the concept of getting married.
Her father soon arrived to inspect her. He looked out of place in his
lavish costume, complete with a masterful cloak pinned back slightly at the
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side to reveal the lack of a sword at his waist—an ostentatious reference to his being a Shardbearer.
Ilhadal regarded his daughter with a characteristically mercantile air.
“You’ll do,” he finally decided.
You’d hate to think you spawned an inferior product, right, Father? Shinri thought angrily as the women finished her braids. That’s what it always was.
You hated me because I came from you, because my imperfection was your own.
Well, I’m glad you finally found your place. You’re at the top now. I hope you go mad from the frustration of not having anyone left to pander to.
“It’s a good thing this is a political union,” Ilhadal noted. “Because I
doubt anyone would choose you otherwise. At least the dress is beautiful.”
Shinri was already working at the threads on the inside of her oversized
left sleeve, and she yanked one free just for him. She probably shouldn’t
have snapped back at him—Jasnah would have waited—but her frustration
needed an outlet, and she spoke. “How long do you think he’ll let you live once we’re married?” she asked.
The ladies paused, and Shinri could feel their embarrassed exchange of
glances. Let them speak—anything that undercut her father’s authority
served Shinri’s purposes.
Ilhadal glared at her. “Leave us,” he commanded the ladies. They did,
leaving her alone in the cell of a room with her father.
“You will not speak of such things again,” he commanded.
“Oh?” Shinri asked. “Should I not seek to warn my own father? Really,
do you think that King Ahven can afford to let you survive the wedding?
The chance that you’ll kill him quietly, like you did the others, is far too dangerous.”
“Do not speak so to your father!” he said, stepping forward as if to hit her.
Shinri remained firm. “You would strike your queen on the day of
her wedding?”
Ilhadal froze.
“That’s right, Father,” she said. “Queen. This is the place you’ve given
me—and it is one over and above you. Of course, soon there will be few
whose place isn’t greater than your own.”
“I was wrong again,” he said with a snort. “That Kholin woman fooled me.
You haven’t lost any of your impudence—you just put a fair cover over it.”
“Tell me, Father,” Shinri said. “Have your noblemen been giving you
gifts? Large sums, presented in quiet, as pledges of loyalty? Do they give you promises to follow and accept your leadership? Do they seem a little . . .
too eager to please?”
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He paused. Shinri studied him carefully. You only have this one chip to play, she told herself. Get as much from it as you can.
“King Ahven gives speeches often now,” she guessed. “And, oddly, he
makes most of them before the troops. Your troops. Their loyalty was
never really yours—it belonged to Talshekh. You are a poor substitute, a
last-moment replacement for the man they admired. Your faction may have
gained dominance, but only because of the Veden sense of martial decorum.
You were next in line, and that is the only reason they let you become First Prince. Of course, there’s one easy way to remove that problem—take you
out of the line, and someone else can step up.”
Ilhadal looked . . . dumbfounded. “How do you know these things?” he
demanded. “Your maids have been speaking! I told them to remain quiet
about outside events.”
“Ahven and your own noblemen are already plotting your death, Father,”
Shinri said, ignoring his comment. “They’re waiting for the formality of a marriage, for they see the advantage of uniting two of the great houses. You had better tell your assassins to be quick. Once this marriage happens,
you’ll need to kill the king immediately.”
“I would never!” Ilhadal snapped. “I’d take up my own sword and strike
him down first!”
Ah, Shinri thought, reading his face. There was honesty in his anger. So you didn’t do it, then. Ilhadal Davar had not killed his kinsmen. It was an oddly relieving revelation—there had been children among the thirteen
men ahead of him for the House throne. It was a comforting thought to
know that one’s father did not murder children.
But, who then? Could it really be a coi
ncidence? Fourteen men, dead in a few months? All of the precise lines required to put my father on the throne?
“Then you’re doomed,” she said out loud. “Even if the king doesn’t kill
you, you won’t keep your place long. Your so-called supporters are only
placating you while they gather strength. Everyone assumes you took the
throne through deception. They’ll give you money and private promises,
true. But, think about this, Father—when you were a sycophant in the very
court you now rule, did you give the largest gifts to the men you trusted
and respected, or did you give them to the men you wanted to lull? They’ll begin presenting real challengers as soon as the wedding is finished, and
eventually you won’t be able to hide behind champions. No man can fight
off an entire House. They’ll bring you down eventually, one way or another.”
He was very nervous now. Her words had obviously shaken his confi-
dence, and he tugged at his lavish clothing, as if seeing it anew. “How . . . ?”
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Shinri raised an eyebrow. “Really, Father,” she noted dryly. “You shouldn’t have sent me to tutor under the greatest political mind of our time if you didn’t want me to learn a few things. I can try and help you, once I am
queen, but so far you have given me little encouragement to do so.”
Ilhadal snorted, eyeing her with a look that, she was satisfied to note,
now contained a great deal more respect than it had before. Of course, he probably gives crom more respect than he usually gives me.
“We’ll see,” he finally said with a wave of his hand. “The thing is, child, you don’t know half of what you think you do. There’s something greater
than this all, something that will hold the noblemen together, and some-
thing that will make certain people respect me rather than whisper snidely behind me. Yes, if only you understood . . .”
He smiled then, not realizing that in nibbling at her bait, he had given
away far more than he expected. Shinri was missing a piece of it all. A bit more prodding, and she would know what it was.
That prodding, however, would have to come after the wedding. The
doors opened at her father’s command, and her ladies rushed back in to
put the final touches on her hair, then pick up her train. Soldiers waited at attention on either side of the hallway. They held their swords out, point down, tips touching the stone and making a column of steel that led her