Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

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

  concern—the lord had spoken quite fondly of being able to ride again, as

  opposed to walking like common footmen.

  “I’ll need to know the size of the group, then,” Taln said. “And the path

  we’re going to take.”

  Jasnah folded her arms, frowning. She had put off these decisions until

  she knew for certain about the horses. With mounts, a quick gallop straight north—made in the hopes of outrunning any Veden spies or pursuit—would

  THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 451

  have been a distinct possibility. Without horses, however, their slow speed would make them relatively easy to locate.

  The messengers will go with speed, Jasnah told herself. Our duty is to go with safety. We must survive to bring Elhokar news, should the messengers fail.

  “Very well,” she said. “We’ll do as you recommend.”

  Taln kept his smile to himself, though she could see the sparkle of

  satisfaction in his eyes. She could think of no better plan, however, than to travel north through Riemak. A direct path to Kholinar would be

  suicide if they really were being pursued, and a diversion to the east would only place them closer to Ral Eram and its invaders. Striking west, into

  less-known and less-inhabited lands, made simple and strategic sense. If

  Taln thought, however, that she would be diverted even further—even

  if only for a few days—by taking him to the Holy City, he was mistaken.

  “The group will be myself, you, Kemnar, Meridas, Kemnar’s three

  guards, and four packmen,” Jasnah informed him.

  Taln smiled visibly this time. They would be leaving behind most of

  Meridas’s coven of followers. The group would become a small, efficient

  fighting party, rather than a band of refugees. They hardly needed to worry about attacks from Riemak bandits—not with three Shardbearers in their

  company—and a small party would help them remain undetected.

  “Brother Lhan comes as well,” Taln said, gesturing to the monk. “Or,

  would you have us go without Vorin blessings?”

  Jasnah frowned, but said, “Very well.” She wasn’t certain what function

  the monk served—he had taken very little part in the leadership of their

  group, though he did seem to enjoy spending time with servants. He

  professed no knowledge of fighting, and even less knowledge of geography

  or strategy. Yet Taln seemed to rely on him.

  As Taln turned to make further scribbles on his scroll, Jasnah noticed

  something odd. There were only two windows in this room, but both were

  crowded with faces watching from outside. She cocked her head—the other

  room, and her own audience chamber, had been free of gawkers. Yet here,

  a room containing nothing more interesting than supplies, seemed a center

  of distinct attention. Why . . . ?

  Jasnah’s curiosity tapered as she heard a word float from a whispered

  conversation happening outside the near window. “Herald.”

  “Madman!” she snapped, drawing Taln’s attention from the cluster of lan-

  terns and oil beside which he knelt. “Have you been preaching to these people?”

  “Preaching?” he asked with amusement.

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  “You know . . .” she said. “About who you think you are.”

  Taln smiled. “I have told them of my mission, yes,” he said. “And ex-

  plained the coming dangers.”

  “I commanded you not to do so!” she said.

  “No, actually. You did not,” he said. “Or, at least, not since our agreement began.”

  “Well, I intended to,” Jasnah said.

  “Even when I had my powers, Lady Jasnah, they did not extend to

  mind-reading. Or, at least, not the reading of human minds.”

  Jasnah felt frustration rising within. His careful practicality had lulled her, almost letting her forget about his insanity. This was no loyal servant or capable soldier, she reminded herself. This was a deranged man who

  could not separate fact from fantasy. His delusions seemed harmless, but

  only because they had yet to spark a catastrophe.

  “Well, you shall no longer—”

  “Jasnah,” Taln said, quietly, yet forcefully, interrupting her. “If you wish to see a Herald become oathbreaker, finish that command. I will not forsake my sacred duties simply to honor a manipulatory bargain made with a

  spoiled noblewoman.”

  Jasnah felt her face brighten with rage and embarrassment that the

  onlooking peasants should see her so contradicted. She forced herself to at least appear calm, clenching her teeth and adapting the stoneish demeanor

  that so often gave her strength.

  Taln looked back at his ledger, his face betraying a slight amount of guilt, as if he regretted the harshness of his words. “You don’t think they were

  talking, anyway?” he asked. “The ones from the palace, the ones who saw

  me fight and open a passage through the depths of the mountain. I heard

  them speaking to the townsfolk about me, and decided that it was better

  that I give them truth as opposed to rumors.”

  Truth. Jasnah glanced toward the windows, where the people watched

  with still anticipation. The city was small—really more of an overgrown

  farming community than an urban trading center. Its people’s Vorin

  training would be strongly corrupted by mystical Elinrah teachings,

  which focused so intensely on the deific nature of the Heralds and waited

  breathlessly for apocalyptic Returns. They would be easily fooled by one as charismatic as Taln, especially considering his obvious talent with swords and his propensity for ignoring social conventions.

  “These people don’t need a Herald, Taln,” she said. “They have enough

  troubles already. Their nation has been invaded by an outside force.”

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  “Only a hint of the chaos to come, I fear,” Taln whispered.

  Jasnah’s retort was interrupted by motion from the common room. She

  turned as Meridas entered, resplendent in what was obviously a new seasilk outfit. Deep maroon in color, the ensemble had a pair of open-cuffed,

  straight trousers, a white seasilk shirt, and a long, open-fronted sencoat instead of a cloak. The black leather belt was wide and bejeweled. The

  change was hardly necessary. His blue wedding outfit had been martially

  cut, and had worn well during their travels. Briefly, Jasnah regretted di-

  viding their provision funds between Taln and Meridas. Apparently, the

  merchant nobleman had a different interpretation of ‘necessary provisions’

  from Jasnah. She had expected him to purchase extra cloaks and strong

  boots, not fine new outfits.

  Before she could object, however, Meridas waved for an overweight,

  well-dressed man to enter. He bore bejeweled fingers, but wore no sword.

  Probably not a nobleman, but a very high-ranked citizen.

  The man eyed her, rubbing one of his chins. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “She is slight of build, but not incredibly so. My tailors should be able to alter some things for her rather quickly. You’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Meridas said.

  The merchant nodded. “I’ll have my girls work through the highstorm.

  By the time you go, your betrothed will have a wardrobe to match her

  station.”

  A master tailor, then—a First or Second Citizen who supervised a large

  group of underworkers. “Your efforts are appreciated, master . . .” she said.

  “Mendalin,” the man s
aid, bowing.

  “However,” Jasnah continued, “we hardly have the funds right now for

  such things.” She shot a glare at Meridas and his fine outfit.

  “Nonsense!” Meridas said. “You are the betrothed of a Parshen, Jasnah.

  If you do not look your station, no one will take you with any measure of

  seriousness. Besides, Master Mendalin is a long-time associate of mine. He has indicated that he’ll give us a respectable discount, assuming that once Alethkar is rid of its invaders, you will be certain to indicate to the other court women who it was that outfitted you in your time of need.”

  Jasnah raised an eyebrow. “How much of a discount?”

  “Enough of one that it hardly even covers his costs,” Meridas said. “I got all of this for twenty ishmarks.”

  This gave her pause. It was, in fact, an incredible deal—Mendalin was

  betting heavily upon Elhokar’s victory, and subsequent thankfulness to

  those who had helped his sister during her refugee trek.

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  Jasnah glanced down at her dress, the same, tattered clothing she had

  been wearing for nearly two weeks. If this man were really willing to

  sacrifice pay for publicity . . .

  “Very well, Master Mendalin,” Jasnah said. “Let us see what you offer.”

  She waved for Kemnar to fetch her a chair, stopping herself too late. It

  was going to take time to accustom herself to Kemnar’s new station as a

  Shardbearer. He wasn’t making it easy for her—despite his new rank, he

  continued to serve her as if nothing had changed. She had even gone so far as to officially dismiss him from her guard, choosing one of the remaining three soldiers—Vinde—as her new captain. Kemnar took it all in stride,

  never offering an objection, then completely ignored the fact that he was

  now nearly the same rank as she.

  Mendalin turned, waving several aides into the room. A powerful mer-

  chant such as himself didn’t really have much to do with the production of his wares, but he acted as if each design were his own. He knew his stock

  well, and produced a tenset different gown designs for her to inspect.

  Apologetically, he admitted that she was restricted to the colors he

  presented, since he wouldn’t have time to create completely new garments.

  Yet, considering her situation, he offered an impressive number of choices.

  Jasnah was surprised to find such lavishness in a Sixth City. The gowns

  were constructed with a richness to match many she had seen in Ral Eram.

  Their delicate embroideries, cleverly-accentuated folds, and rich colors

  were impressive. Soon, she found herself debating between not one or

  two selections, but instead trying to narrow her purchases down to five

  or six.

  A vague shadow fell across the room as Jasnah ordered one of Mendalin’s

  models to turn, so she could inspect the gown’s train. Jasnah glanced to

  the side at the change in light, to find Taln standing just inside the supply room, his powerful frame taking up nearly the entire doorway.

  He inspected the frills, silken hang-ribbons, and trains with a critical

  eye. “I would have thought you’d pick something a little more practical,” he said.

  Jasnah frowned. “Meridas is correct, Taln,” she said. “I am an emissary of House Kholin—I need to present myself in a respectable manner.”

  “We aren’t going to present ourselves at all,” Taln pointed out. “From

  here, we’re traveling by stealth.”

  “Yes, well,” Jasnah said, switching tactics. “Master Mendalin’s offered

  prices are very humble. As long as I can get finery for the price of more

  mundane outfits, why not choose the finery?”

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  Taln raised an eyebrow. “If he will give you rich gowns for such a price,

  then how much less might he charge for something more sensible?”

  Jasnah flushed. Again. She could withstand the fury of kings and stare

  down Awakeners, yet this man could make her blush in shame with barely

  a phrase.

  Meridas, unfortunately, was the one who came to her rescue. “Cease your

  pesterings, madman,” he snapped, waving Taln away, “and leave us be. This

  is something about which you obviously know nothing.”

  Taln snorted, leaning against the doorframe with folded arms, his

  posture indicating just how unlikely he was to ‘leave them be.’ “I know

  something about crossing stormlands,” Taln said. “Our path so far has been easy. Once we leave Marcabe, we will need to increase the pace drastically to avoid pursuit. I’m surprised that women can stand up in those outfits,

  let alone walk.”

  Jasnah sat for a moment, confused, until she realized the source of Taln’s indignation.

  Meridas voiced her same thoughts. “You expect Lady Jasnah to walk all the way to Kholinar?” he said, voice twinged with amusement.

  Now it was Taln’s turn to pause uncertainly. “We have no horses,” he

  said. “How else . . . ?” He trailed off as he glanced through the open inn doorway, toward the merchant’s carts and litters outside, eyes widening

  slightly with surprise.

  He glanced at her accusingly. “You expect us to carry you?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be one of the bearers,” Jasnah said. “You are a

  Shardbearer. But it is customary for a lady to travel by litter. That’s why we’re bringing the four packmen.”

  Taln appeared as if he didn’t know whether to be angered or amused.

  Final y he just shook his head. “I thought we were to travel incon spicuously.”

  “Litters are not uncommon,” Jasnah said.

  “Along the path we’ll be taking?” he asked, obviously careful not to

  reveal too much.

  Jasnah paused.

  “And how fast can it be?” Taln continued. “Really, Jasnah. Are you so

  charmed by your own arrogant grandeur that you would risk the safety of

  your kingdom in exchange for a little comfort?”

  Meridas hissed, crossing the room with a flourishing red cloak. “You

  shall not speak so familiarly to my betrothed, madman,” he informed him

  sternly—pointing at Taln with his left hand, right hand held to the side in a Blade-summoning posture.

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  “Meridas!” Jasnah snapped. “The mad . . . Taln has a point. We should

  think of Alethkar first. I can walk.” Her sore feet and tired legs groaned at the thought.

  Meridas’s eyes thinned as he glanced at her, and she could see something

  in them. Jealousy? Anger? Or perhaps just frustration. It was gone in a flash, and the nobleman contained himself. “Very wel ,” he said. “Merchant, bring the lady some more . . . simple outfits.”

  “Masculine cut,” Jasnah requested, “with a full stride.”

  “Of course, my lord and lady,” Mendalin said, waving for one of his

  assistants to be off. “In the meantime, shall we see to outfitting my lord’s attendants?”

  “Yes,” Meridas said, waving for Tenin and Chathan, the younger palace

  noblemen, to step forward.

  “You needn’t bother,” Taln said with almost gleeful bluntness. “They

  won’t be coming.”

  Meridas froze, then glanced at Jasnah for confirmation. She gave it with

  a small nod. Instead of rising to Taln’s bait, however, Meridas smiled

  with thin lips. “And is the monk coming?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Taln said.

  “I see,” Meridas said. “
So we leave behind two capable swordsmen

  who could wield a Shardblade, should one of us fall, and instead bring a

  self-professed idler with no combat experience?”

  Behind Taln, Jasnah saw Brother Lhan flush at the comment.

  “We have my guards, Meridas,” Jasnah said.

  “And do we not ride to the rescue of our kingdom?” Meridas asked.

  “Your brother, the king, is he not in great danger? One would think we

  would bring any with us who might prove useful to the king’s war effort.”

  Meridas and Taln stared at one another. Despite Meridas’s words, it

  seemed that the two of them were not arguing about swordsmen or armies,

  but instead locked in some sort of personal struggle. Jasnah, however, could not ignore the logic of Meridas’s words. What were two more men to an

  army? Not much, true. But they wouldn’t slow the group that much, and

  Alethkar’s armies were going to need every swordsman they could get.

  In the end, however, her decision came from a different logic. She

  realized Meridas had been shamed. He had brought her one of his personal

  contacts, a man willing to make great monetary sacrifices on her behalf.

  Then, she had refused his finest wares in the name of practicality. She cared little for Meridas’s honor, but as she watched the staring match between

  the nobleman and Taln, she realized that the pair could not see her playing

  THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 457

  favorites. She had listened to Taln’s counsel regarding the litter. She needed to at least appear to give Meridas the same level of consideration. She didn’t trust him—she didn’t even like him—but she did need him.

  “Very well, Lord Meridas,” Jasnah said, breaking the silence. “You are

  correct. We cannot refuse my brother the king soldiers he may need. You

  may bring your men to help defend Alethkar.”

  Meridas smiled, nodding, and Taln disappeared back to his supplies

  with a dark look.

  chapter 50

  SHINRI 9

  In the end, after all of her waiting in the darkness, shamed by her

  fears, Ahven never came to her bedchamber.

  Instead, he summoned her to his.

  It makes sense, Shinri thought ruefully as her handmaidens quickly prepared her talla and hair. Why did I assume that he would go through the inconvenience of actually coming to my room?