just a fop. He was a dangerous enemy. She had to remember the cool hate
she had felt on that night of the dueling competition as she knelt over
Nelshenden’s corpse.
With that thought firmly in mind, she was able to notice things she
should have seen earlier, and recognize the extent of her mistakes. The hundred vil agers marched around her, but they were not her men. They belonged to Meridas. In the city, she had assumed that since she had Meridas’s oath, she would have control of the soldiers as well. She had misjudged—always
before, when she had been allowed to meddle in military affairs, she had
done so at her brother’s indulgence. Meridas intended to give her no such
leeway, and he had both tradition and law on his side. The command of
fighting men was a Masculine Art. As long as their group had been made
up of refugees, a female could claim leadership. As soon as it became a
military expedition, however, her authority found its end.
Scouts did not report to her. Great consideration was given to her comfort, but Meridas’s two nobleman lieutenants felt no need to ask her opinion or
consent for their actions. She could command Meridas, of course, but she
could only do so in private, and he could easily conceal information from
her with excuses.
As the evening march progressed, Jasnah realized that she had work to
do—Meridas could not be allowed to remain in control. Somehow, she
would have to re-take command of the group.
Unfortunately, the march soon revealed a second, even more humiliating
mistake in her reasoning. She had been wrong to assume she could easily
maintain a quicker speed. Meridas set a fervent pace, and the men followed without complaint—some of the older citizens had served in the military in their youth, and even those who weren’t accustomed to military discipline
had spend their lives working in fields and doing other kinds of manual
labor. She would have thought Meridas himself to be plush from his life
as a merchant, but that was obviously another error. He seemed completely
unfazed by the strenuous pace.
The pain in her feet grew worse, and aches from their previous march
returned with vengeful anger. Until the escape from Ral Eram, she had
been carried almost everywhere she went, and it was discomforting to
discover just how unprepared she was for an extended hike. Soon she was
sweating despite the cool air, and she felt pains in her chest and side.
488
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
Taln’s pack was heavy on her back, as if he had filled it with stones just to spite her.
She wouldn’t complain, however. She wouldn’t call for them to slow their
pace just to appease her weakness. Taln’s words from before had stung more than he probably knew. Are you so charmed by your own arrogant grandeur that you would risk the safety of your kingdom in exchange for a little comfort? She had acted no differently than any noblewoman would, but apparently that
wasn’t good enough for him. Well, he would get no further pleasure from
mocking her weakness. She would keep up; she would continue placing
step after step, forcing herself to keep moving, until Meridas called halt.
Or she collapsed.
“It will grow easier,” a voice said beside her. “You may not realize it, but our hike to Marcabe strengthened you. Your body is still unaccustomed to
extended movement, but it will grow stronger. Today and tomorrow will
be the worst.”
Jasnah glanced to the side, not bothering to mask her spite. Taln marched
with apparent ease. No sweat marred his brow, despite his enormous pack,
and his step even had a bit of a spring to it. Of course he’s happy, she thought, Meridas may have recruited himself an army, but we’re still moving toward Taln’s goal. He doesn’t care about Alethkar—he simply wants to feed his delusions. As long as we continue toward the ruins of the Holy City, he will be happy.
Taln eyed her, smiled slightly, but didn’t say anything.
“What?” Jasnah demanded, raising a hand to wipe her brow. “No
mocking words? Or is the sight of me walking along like this enough of
an amusement on its own?”
“You’re tired,” Taln said, “and that has made you irritable. Try and take
your mind off of your misery.”
“And perhaps you’d like to tell me what to think of instead?” she snapped.
Taln nodded toward the front of the line. “Well, we could decide exactly
what we’re going to do about him.”
Meridas and his attendants marched at the head of the group, their
silhouettes distinguished by their broad nobleman’s cloaks. When they had
begun the night’s trip, Jasnah had been near the front, but she noticed with chagrin that she was now trailing the main body by a short distance. There was little formality to their march—no neat lines, just men in clusters,
talking and joking with each other. It was amazing to Jasnah that they could be so lighthearted when the pace left her gasping. Meridas had organized
the troops into ten-man squads, and rotated scouting duties between them
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 489
for now, until he determined which men were more proficient at the duty
than others.
The teams also traded turns pulling Taln’s four supply carts, which rolled and bumped across the uneven ground. They had left behind the farmlands,
moving once again into rolling hills growing with rockbuds and other wild
foliage. Creeping roshtree vines, engorged with water from the Bellow,
curled in shadowed places alongside larger boulders or crevices. Cratters, with their four arrow-shaped leaves, clung to stone surfaces—most were
dead and dry. They would only begin growing again with the steady fall
highstorms.
Something bothered her about the scene. Meridas seemed . . . too
comfortable. True, he had been in the Pralir war with Elhokar, and was
no stranger to troops or even leadership. However, a court dandy shouldn’t know how to organize and command troops—moreover, he shouldn’t know
how to carry himself as he did. Like a man to be followed, a strong com-
mander of soldiers.
He’s done this before, Jasnah decided. It wasn’t that his foppish mannerisms were a show—she suspected that he really was exactly as he presented
himself. There were just more sides to the man than she’d first assumed—he wasn’t simply a merchant who had talked his way into her brother’s graces.
He was a clever man, with a background and experience, just like any other.
“What do you think we should do about him?” Jasnah said, trying to
overcome her physical pains and focus on the dialogue.
“Well,” Taln said, “first I suggest that you and I stop squabbling.”
Jasnah eyed him. “A truce?” she asked.
“An alliance,” he corrected. “One not born of forced oaths, Jasnah, but
of simple honesty. I respect your opinion and your right to lead these men.
In turn, all I ask is that you respect my desire to reach Jorevan.”
Jasnah shifted her pack from one uncomfortable position to another,
studying the man who walked beside her. What did he owe her, really?
What did she even know about him?
“I want to reach the Holy City,” Taln said, “but I have no intention
of breaking my oath at this time. I want to see this people cared for and
trained, the same that you do. You can trust me, Jasnah. I will not betray you.”
S
he felt a desire . . . almost a need to trust him. And, to an extent, she thought she could. There was a piece of him that could never be trusted,
however. The madness.
490
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
We’ll worry about that later, she decided. For the moment, Meridas was a far more pressing problem.
“Very well,” she said. “Let’s work together.”
“Good,” Taln said, nodding forward again. “What do you know of him—
particularly of his life before he came to court?”
“Not much,” Jasnah said with a sigh. “I looked into his background, of
course, once my brother started paying attention to him. Meridas’s recent
record as a merchant is well-known—he was active in Alethkar for about
a decade before he came to the capital. Before that . . . well, I know that he came from a Fifth city in southeastern Alethkar, where he was of a lesser
noble line. I could find no close living relatives, however.”
“Nothing about his childhood?” Taln asked. “Or where he got his
military experience?”
Jasnah shook her head. “What I could discover didn’t lead me to believe
he had any military experience.”
“That’s obviously not true,” Taln said, studying the man’s form up ahead.
“I know,” Jasnah said. “I noticed the same thing. But he could have
learned these skills during the war in Prallah. He spent a lot of time with my brother, though Meridas himself was never given any major commands.
Also, most noble boys—no matter what their rank—receive training in the
arts of military leadership.”
“Perhaps,” Taln said doubtfully. “Kemnar said that Meridas dueled well
at the competitions.”
“He dueled very well,” Jasnah said. “Or, at least, he did the one time he
decided to fight—when he wanted to humiliate Lord Dalenar’s heir. But
I’ve met tensets of traveling dandies who can swordfight with the finest of soldiers. That doesn’t mean they’re much use in real war, once you remove
the formalities and conveniences of the dueling ring. I don’t know, Taln.
He carries himself well, but maybe he’s just good at mimicking what he
sees in others.”
Taln nodded. “Some things, however, cannot be faked. Kemnar also told
me Meridas had an opal to place in Glyphting, once the king granted it to
him. Why did he choose my Blade from the pile?”
“I don’t know,” Jasnah said. “Because he wanted to spite you?”
“No, he and I had no rivalry then. He chose my Blade because it was
a soldier’s weapon—it was weighted the best, and formed the best, for
practical use. He saw that, even if he did so unconsciously, and selected it.”
Jasnah sighed. She didn’t mention that she had been there when Taln
lost ‘his’ Blade. The weapon’s opal had been newly placed, still clear, which
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 491
meant its imprinted form would have belonged to the man who owned it
before Taln. Taln, however, would never admit that.
Taln was stil studying Meridas. “This man has been oft underestimated,”
he decided. “And he encourages such misunderstandings.”
Jasnah nodded. “Our fist task should be to keep him from gaining
absolute control of these men. I realize you don’t approve of my decision
to bring them, but that is past us now. It’s going to be a very long march to Kholinar if we let Meridas remain in control.”
“Agreed,” Taln said.
“However,” Jasnah continued, “it’s going to be difficult to do anything
about his leadership. Meridas is the ranking nobleman of the group, and
he was the one who organized the men in the first place.”
Taln paused, frowning slightly. “He told them of our departure, true. But
I don’t know that he is the only reason they decided to join us.”
He nodded forward again, and Jasnah noticed occasional glances from
the men up ahead—glances backward. The few close to Jasnah and Taln
seemed to be trying to watch the madman without actually looking at
him. Suddenly, Jasnah remembered the stories, the whispers, and the stir
that Taln had caused in Marcabe. The initial refugee group had regarded
Taln with almost worshipful reverence, though Jasnah had attributed
the sentiment to his saving their lives. If, however, they had passed their feelings on to the people of Marcabe . . .
Taln was right. The stories of his rescues in Ral Eram, mixed with the
common man’s superstitious nature, would have persuaded many to wonder
if, indeed, he was a Herald—despite Jasnah and Meridas’s insistences
otherwise. These men had not come simply because Meridas had asked.
They had come, at least partially, because they hoped to see proof of Taln’s possible divinity.
“Offer to train them,” Jasnah said. “See if they’ll spar with you. I’ll order Meridas to let you provide them with lessons—he won’t have any grounds
to object, since the men obviously need instruction if they’re to be of any use to my brother.”
Taln nodded. “A good suggestion. As I spar with them . . . well, we’ll
see where their loyalties truly lie.”
Over the next few days, Taln proved annoyingly correct about her fatigue.
The first few days of marching were by far the worst she had experienced
yet, but the pain and fatigue did begin to decrease by the third day.
Meridas made no formal objection to Taln’s training of the soldiers,
492
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
though he did argue with Jasnah in private, claiming that Taln would ‘taint the men with his madness.’ Though Jasnah worried about the same thing,
she remained firm in her command. Not only did Taln’s training undermine
Meridas, but she soon realized that—whatever its motivations—the lessons
made quick and vast improvements in their troop quality.
Though she had spent little time on battlefields themselves, she suspected she knew more about troops, fighting, and combat units than any other
noblewoman. Meridas might have some unexplained military experience in
his background, but it was soon obvious that Taln himself was the far better commander. The men obeyed Meridas, but he treated them with the same
terse arrogance that he used with all of his inferiors. Even after just three training sessions—each performed at the end of a day’s march—Jasnah
could see that the men had grown to respect Taln far more than they ever
would Meridas. Meridas spoke to them as a nobleman commander; Taln
spoke to them as a fellow solider.
On their third day out of Marcabe, a second, smaller group of men
approached in the distance. There turned out to be about forty of them—
men of Marcabe who had decided belatedly that they didn’t want to miss
out on the chance to accompany Taln and Meridas on their quest to save
Alethkar. Taln easily folded the newcomers into the main body of troops,
giving only a passing comment to Jasnah that they would have to be certain to watch for settlements with which to trade, since the influx of men would drain their supplies.
They crossed the border into Riemak sometime during the fourth day.
When they stopped for their midnight meal, one final group from Marcabe
caught up with them. This one contained only twenty men, and Jasnah
was surprised when Kemnar was the one who went out to meet them. He
retur
ned with a short, wiry peasant man, and both walked directly toward
Jasnah.
“What is this?” Jasnah said, rousing from her seat—a shennah blanket
thrown over a small boulder.
“My Lady,” Kemnar said, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is
Fourth Citizen Nachen, owner of the Damp Stone—the finest tavern in
Marcabe.”
“Citizen Nachen,” Jasnah said as the man bowed.
“Before we left,” Kemnar continued, “I mentioned to Nachen that
someone might come looking for a group fitting our description. He was
kind enough to keep watch for me.”
Jasnah frowned. She had given Kemnar no such command. However . . .
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 493
“Since you’re here, citizen,” Jasnah said. “I assume that Kemnar’s prediction was well-founded?”
“Yes, my lady,” Nachen said. “They arrived a day and a half after the
Bellow. Five of them, all on horses—lords I suspect, though they weren’t
dressed in finery. They wore glyphs that proclaimed them to be of King
Elhokar’s army, and said they were messengers on an important task. They
fooled the rest of the town, but I lived in Vedenar during my youth—my
elder brother married a Veden merchant’s daughter—and I recognize a
Veden accent, even a subtle one. Besides, those men were too tall to be
Aleths, and they seemed too blunt to be noblemen trained in one of our
courts.”
Jasnah raised an eyebrow, surprised at the man’s knowledge. “What did
they say?”
“Nothing overt, my lady,” Nachen said. “They kept to the bars, asking
too many questions, listening a little too well, being a bit too free with their chips—kind of like Lord Kemnar here did, the first night he came to
town.” Kemnar blushed at this, but Nachen continued. “Anyway, it was
obvious who they were after. They asked too much about your ladyship
and the Herald. They rode off that very night—heading back the way they
came.”
Jasnah frowned. It appeared that at least one of Taln’s suspicions was
no delusion. King Ahven was searching for them, and his soldiers had just
found the proper trail.
“Go and make the same report to Lord Meridas,” she told the innkeeper.
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 68