Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

by The Way of Kings Prime (ALTERNATIVE VERSION) (pdf)

  “Kemnar, go with the people and protect them,” she ordered. “I’m going

  to bring the idiot back.”

  “I’ll send my men,” Kemnar replied, “but I’m not leaving you.”

  “Fine,” Jasnah said, rising and moving down the hallway with as much

  stealth as she could in the frilled blue dress. She could see Taln up ahead, standing in a pil ar alcove just before the hallway widened. She needn’t have worried about sneaking—the soldiers ahead weren’t watching their backs,

  instead focused on something Jasnah couldn’t see. She joined Taln in his

  alcove, receiving another suffering glare.

  “What is it?” she hissed, ignoring him.

  Taln nodded past the pillar, as something walked into view ahead of

  them—a man. Meridas.

  “My Blade,” Taln whispered.

  The nobleman stood indifferently before a group of nervous invaders,

  their spears held at the ready. The remains of those foolish enough to

  attack lay on the ground already, dismembered in various ways. Meridas

  held Taln’s Shardblade casually by his side, point down, in his odd relaxed dueling stance.

  Meridas dashed forward without warning. The seven spearmen didn’t

  stand a chance—not against a Shardblade. Meridas took them down in

  three swings.

  “He’s good,” Taln noted with a frown. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Meridas!” Jasnah called, showing herself as the nobleman wiped his

  sword.

  Meridas raised an eyebrow as he saw her, then frowned as he saw Taln.

  “You should escape the palace, woman,” he said, turning away from her

  and stepping over a body. He walked away impassively.

  “Where are you going?”

  “The Oathgates,” he said. “I’ll cut my way through and escape to warn

  your foolish brother. I told him not to leave the city so undermanned.”

  “The Oathgates are sealed,” Taln said. “King Elhokar ordered them

  closed. How will you escape through them without an Awakener?”

  Meridas paused.

  Just then, a door at the side of the hallway flew open, revealing two men

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  in Shardplate—probably summoned to deal with Meridas. They assessed

  the situation and the dead soldiers, then one stepped forward and held out his Blade in a dueling posture.

  Meridas smiled, as if their arrival were a pleasant gift, and nodded his

  head to the first man.

  Beside Jasnah, Taln tensed.

  “No!” she hissed. “Theses are Shardbearers! They’ll cut you down

  without—”

  Taln reached up, ignoring her as he grabbed the hilt of the sword she

  still carried. In front of them, Meridas and the first man began their duel.

  “Shardbearers are like other men,” Taln whispered, hand on hilt. “Swing

  something at them, and they can’t help reacting. Watch.”

  With that, Taln whipped the sword out—leaving the sheath in Jasnah’s

  hand—and jumped toward the second Shardbearer. The man turned in

  surprise, raising his weapon. Taln swung his sword, and the Shardbearer

  parried reflexively, slicing Taln’s weapon in half.

  The Shardbearer didn’t notice the dagger in Taln’s other hand until it was too late. The Veden cried out, dying with a length of steel in his eye, and Taln grabbed his Shardblade as it fell—then jumped directly at the back of the man dueling Meridas. Taln cut down the second Shardbearer before the

  man even knew he was there, dropping him with a thrust directly between

  two sections of Shardplate.

  Meridas scowled as his opponent died. “You . . . peasant! ” he hissed angrily. “That was against Protocol! You attacked a man already engaged

  in a duel!”

  Taln snorted, picking up the second Shardblade. He gestured toward the

  open door from whence the Shardbearers had come. Beyond, Jasnah could

  make out a small pile of corpses, all of them in servants’ clothing. “Men who would condone that receive no quarter from me,” Taln said, stepping toward Jasnah. He held out the second Shardblade to Kemnar. “I watched you fight

  to protect the lady. You are a man of skill and honor. Consider yourself

  promoted.”

  Kemnar’s eyes widened slightly. Even he, with his sarcasm and seeming

  indifference to noble politicings, would have dreamed of someday owning

  a Shardblade. It was an honor a nobleman as lowborn as he would probably

  never receive.

  He glanced at Jasnah, and she nodded slightly. Kemnar took the blade

  with reverent hands. Behind, Meridas’s expression darkened even further.

  THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 381

  Taln turned and held out the second Shardblade. “Now,” he said, “you

  will give me that Blade you hold in exchange for this one.”

  Meridas frowned in confusion, then glanced down and smiled, hefting

  his Blade. “I think not. This one suits me just fine.”

  “It was not a request,” Taln said. “That Blade was taken from me by force.

  I will have it back.”

  Meridas smiled, lowering the Blade to his side in his dueling stance. “You and I, then?” he said. “Shall we see how you do when you aren’t stabbing

  your opponent from behind?”

  “Very well,” Taln said, putting one foot back, raising his Blade.

  “Enough!” Jasnah snapped. “You would squabble with one another

  while the palace is being overrun around us, our people being slaughtered?

  Save your bickering for another time.”

  Meridas didn’t break form. Taln, however, had the decency to glance

  back with a small measure of guilt. He lowered his weapon.

  “Meridas,” Jasnah continued. “This man claims to know a secret way out

  of the palace. I suggest you come with us, unless you plan to fight Vedenar’s army on your own. Kemnar, gather the Shardplate.”

  Shocked from his stupor, Kemnar nodded and moved forward. Shooting

  a wary glance at Meridas, Taln joined Kemnar, quickly unfastening the

  magical straps and gathering the pieces of metal in the dead men’s cloaks.

  “You believe the madman’s claim?” Meridas said with a snort, strolling

  over to her.

  “Do we have any other options?” Jasnah asked pointedly.

  Meridas frowned, his—Taln’s—Shardblade disappearing from his hand

  in a curling breath of white smoke. Taln and Kemnar rose a moment later,

  dual cloaks full of Shardplate thrown over their shoulders, Blades in hand.

  “Let’s go,” Jasnah said, stalking back down the way they had come. Taln

  and Kemnar followed quickly; Meridas trailed with less enthusiasm. A few

  moments later, they reached the stairwell, and Jasnah pulled a lantern off the wall and led the way down a twisting, cramped stairwell. The truth

  was, she had never actually gone down them before. There was little reason for a high-ranking noblewoman to visit the cellars. As they reached the

  bottom, her lantern revealed a group of nervous, spear-wielding servants.

  Their faces flashed with relief as they recognized her.

  Jasnah scanned the group, and was surprised to realize that the numbers

  had swelled—other servants must have sought refuge in the cellars as well.

  There had to be close to a hundred people crowded between the wine-racks

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  and bags of grain. Entire families huddled uncertainly, watching her with

  hopeful eyes.

 
“All right,” Jasnah said, turning back to the stairwell as Taln and Kemnar reached the bottom. “Let’s see this passage, madman.”

  Taln pushed past her, dropping his pack of Shardplate. “Lhan, please

  find someone to carry that,” he requested. The monk’s eyes widened as he

  saw the gold-gilded metal beneath, and he glanced at Taln’s Blade with

  wonder. The crowd huddled away, whispering to one another as Taln

  walked toward the back of the room.

  Jasnah followed, surprised at the size of the cellars. They extended into

  the distance, a connection of catacomb-like stone rooms with great, un-

  adorned pillars to hold them up. Taln wove his way certainly, moving past

  barrels of water, sacks piled to the ceiling, and boxes of spices. The crowd trailed behind, a ghostlike group of men and women, their eyes haunted.

  Many were probably familiar with the cellars—they knew, as Jasnah did,

  that there was no exit through them. What had Jasnah led them to, trusting the whims of a madman?

  Most of them would be dead without that madman, Jasnah reminded herself.

  As would you. He deserves to be heard, if only for that reason.

  Eventually, Taln paused inside a small, unused room. He waved Jasnah

  forward with the light. The rest of the group paused uncertainly behind,

  standing just outside the room.

  Jasnah stepped inside, the tattered remnants of her dress train leaving a

  trail in the dust. The room was perhaps ten feet by ten feet, too small to be of much use. Dark mold covered one wall, and a couple of broken crates

  rested in the corner.

  Taln pushed aside a couple of crate pieces, then wiped the dust from the

  back wall. It was crafted of worked stone bricks, like the rest of the cellar, their color a dull grey. He pressed against one of the stones.

  And, of course, nothing happened.

  Taln frowned. He pressed again, harder. “Something’s wrong,” he

  mumbled.

  Jasnah closed her eyes, exhaling softly.

  “This should open,” Taln complained quietly. “Chanaral himself designed

  the mechanism. It was crafted by the finest of Epoch Shapers—time should

  not have weakened it. The Blades still work, why wouldn’t this?”

  They were trapped. Dead. Perhaps . . . perhaps they could hide long

  enough, until night, and then sneak away into the city. It was a slim hope—

  the invaders had to know that people would be in the cellars.

  THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 383

  Footsteps approached, and a figure pushed its way through the crowd to

  Jasnah’s side. “Someone’s coming down the stairs,” Kemnar said urgently.

  “We barred the door at the bottom, but . . .” He said the words quietly, but the crowd was too close not to hear. Some of the people cried out, women

  clutching their husbands. Others looked down with despair.

  Jasnah glanced back at the madman. He stood on the left side of the

  small room, wiping at the mold covering the far wall. Beside her, Kemnar

  rushed over and grabbed the cloaks full of Shardplate, then disappeared

  back in the direction of the stairwell.

  “Taln,” she said. “We have to fight. Leave it—there is no passage.”

  The madman ignored her. “There!” he said, almost to himself, breaking

  away what appeared to be a piece of aged mortar. “But, what is the purpose of this?”

  “Taln!” Jasnah snapped. Then she paused. Something glittered beside

  Taln’s hand. She frowned, stepping closer, holding up the light.

  A shining black gemstone was set into the stones. Even as Jasnah

  approached, she could hear its Tone begin to hum in her mind. Obsidian.

  Her Polestone.

  “What . . . ?” she asked. “Why is that there?”

  “It’s a lock,” Taln said with a frown. “Like the ones on the Oathgates.

  I don’t know where it could have come from—it wasn’t here last Return.”

  From behind, a series of rhythmic thumps echoed through the cellars—

  the sound of axes striking the stairwell door. “Time is short, my lady!”

  Kemnar’s voice called in the distance.

  “We’ll have to cut through the wall,” Taln said, turning from the obsidian and raising his Shardblade. “Without an Awakener to Stroke the gemstone,

  we can’t open the door. This will leave an opening for our enemies to follow, but perhaps the other Shardbearers and I can hold the gap long enough

  to . . .”

  He trailed off as Jasnah closed her eyes, listening to the call of the obsidian. It was a cool, clear Tone in her mind. So familiar . . . enticing. She took the Tone of her own soul, rubbing it against that of the gemstone, calling forth its music. Even without opening her eyes, she knew the obsidian had

  begun to glow.

  A rumbling shook the room. Jasnah opened her eyes, then stepped back

  as a portion of the wall in front of Taln fell away, throwing chips of mortar and dust into the air. It slid back into the wall, revealing a dark passage beyond. Taln stood, Blade lowered, regarding her through unreadable eyes.

  Jasnah glanced behind self-consciously. She hadn’t touched the Obsidian,

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  however. To anyone else, it would have appeared that Taln had opened

  the door. Hopefully.

  “Get the wounded into the passage!” Taln commanded, waving at the

  gawking servants. “The rest of you, gather whatever supplies you can. We’ll need lamp oil, grains, and water. Hurry!”

  Jasnah stepped aside, letting the servants begin to scramble through

  the opening. Kemnar returned a moment later, wearing the golden suit of

  Shardplate. He paused, staring at the opening, then ran back to get Meridas and the other soldiers. The axes continued to fall in the background.

  Taln still watched her. Jasnah glanced down, not wanting to meet his

  eyes. A few minutes later, supplies gathered, the last of the peasants rushed into the hidden passage. Kemnar clinked past, as did Meridas, who had

  obviously claimed the other suit of Plate. Eventually Taln waved her

  through. She strode through the doorway, followed by the madman.

  The passage was of worked stone, much like the cellars. Yet, the stones

  here seemed . . . different. More aged, if that was possible. Taln pressed a stone on the wall, and the hidden door rumbled closed behind them,

  sealing off the cellars even as the sounds of men yelling echoed closer

  and closer.

  The servants held their lanterns nervously in the dark. Taln waved

  them to move forward, straight ahead, into the darkness. The stone sloped

  downward, and Jasnah realized that she had no idea where they were going.

  “Where does this lead?” She hissed at him.

  “Down,” Taln said simply, walking forward.

  Jasnah sighed, following him, last in line. She paused a second later,

  however, as she noticed a side passage. It appeared to be the only one in

  the corridor. She held her lantern high, revealing a door in the distance.

  It was beautiful. Worked of metal and gemstones, it sparkled in her

  lanternlight. She could make out the pattern of the Double Eye set in its

  face, marked by ten massive gemstones at the Pole positions. Even from the distance, she could hear them humming slightly in her mind.

  “Come on,” Taln said, appearing again at her side.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  Taln paused, his eyes quiet as he regarded the door. “It is nothing,” he

  finally said. “Come.”

  Hesit
antly, Jasnah allowed herself to be led away, into the dark passage-

  way and the bowels of the mountain.

  chapter 42

  DALENAR 3

  The twenty dueling forms were ancient—older even than most

  Shardblades. Formalized lore, taught to students just after they began

  training with the sword, explained that Kanaran dueling had been developed by the Heralds themselves. Nale’Elin, the finest duelist of the ten, was said to have set up the system as a way for men to prepare for the coming of

  the Stormshades by fighting and training without fracturing the Epoch

  Kingdoms through war.

  Dueling was the first and primary Masculine Noble Art; all lords

  were expected to learn its secrets. And so, Dalenar trained. Sparring was

  familiar—the one great constant in his life. Brothers, wives, and children might die. Monasteries and their morals might have to be left behind for

  war. But there was always the duel. Peace or strife, ill-temper or good,

  Dalenar always took the opportunity to spar—even if it refused to calm

  him as it once had.

  Brother Mazinchal fought with Blade and Plate, one of three prized

  sets owned by Shieldhome. Mazinchal was good. He fought with a subtle

  variation of Garnet Form—third century Deniz line, if Dalenar remem-

  bered correctly. Garnet was a solid, straightforward Form that focused

  on single-hit wins. Mazinchal was more defensive than most Garnets,

  however, mixing a bit of Obsidian in for misdirection. It made for a fine

  combination, one that Dalenar had always respected.

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  The sparring did not last long—bouts against Garnets never did. Dalenar

  won, scoring a second blunted strike against Mazinchal’s shoulder. At the

  end, Mazinchal removed his helm, waving for a young monk to bring

  them water.

  “That’s three out of four, my lord,” the monk noted as he sipped from the

  ladle. He was a husky man with powerful legs and a surprising quickness

  about him. Like most Birthgiven monks, he bore no scars from true battle,

  but that was no reason to presume him inexperienced.

  “The winds favor me today,” Dalenar said simply.

  Mazinchal shook his head. “One wonders if you even benefit from

  sparring here anymore, my lord. I can beat nine out of ten Topazes—Garnet