Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

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

  “I was only seven at the time,” Jasnah said.

  “By the winds,” Taln breathed. So young. She would be incredibly

  powerful.

  Jasnah continued to speak, her voice quiet. “I did it by accident the first time. I didn’t even know what I was doing, but it was so strong . . . so

  powerful, and violent. I was visiting the home of a distant cousin. His city obtained most of its profit from an obsidian mine. So much of the stone . . .

  it called to me even though the mine was well outside the city wall. I went to it, and . . .” She shuddered slightly.

  During the days of the Epoch Kingdoms it had been called it the

  Conversion. The very first time an Awakener or Epellion used his or her

  abilities, it came out as a magnificent roar of power. It took most Awakeners decades to reach a point where they could reproduce an effect like that first, amazing Remaking. With a child of her strength, the Conversion must

  have been extraordinary.

  “They never discovered what happened to the mine,” Jasnah said. “For-

  tunately, I went there at night, drawn almost mindlessly to a call I did

  not understand. The burst of destruction, the conversion of a thousand

  brickweights of stone into black smoke, went unseen in the darkness. I

  left a gouge in the land the size of a mansion, causing the entire cavern

  complex to collapse. I . . . don’t know how I crawled back to the city. I

  don’t even know how I survived. I remember the vibration, though. Inside

  me, inside my soul. I felt agony, so much that I couldn’t even think. It felt as if . . .”

  “As if you were going to be consumed by the Soul Tone of the gemstone

  you touched,” Taln said. “As if you, too, would be transformed into smoke.”

  “And puff away,” Jasnah said, staring out into the morning sky. “Like the

  rocks I had destroyed. My parents thought I had caught a shaking fever, and that the fever delusions had led me from the house and made me wander the

  streets unseeing. I was bed-ridden for two months, spitting blood, shaking from a thunderclap no one else had been able to hear.

  “From that day on, I could hear gemstones in my mind. I knew what that

  meant, and knew what . . . it would do to me. I’d heard the stories, even

  seen my father’s Awakeners on occasion. At first, I was just frightened. I didn’t want to admit what it was, even to myself.”

  “Did you never have an impulse to seek out help?” Taln asked carefully.

  “Tell your parents what you were?”

  “I considered it, of course,” Jasnah said. “I was almost convinced to go

  to my father. But, then something happened in court. The son of Lord

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  Daves, one of my father’s Shardbearers, was discovered to be an Awakener

  at his Charan. And they took him away—away from his parents, away from his friends . . . I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let them take me; I wouldn’t let them bring back that pain I had felt, let them transform me into one

  of those alien creatures that served my father. Even if they found out now, they would take me away. They would take the court from me, and lock

  me away in a virtual prison, where I wouldn’t be allowed to have anything

  to do with anything.” She reached up, feeling the single tear on her cheek, then holding it up uncertainly, as if confused by its appearance. Finally, she rubbed finger against thumb and looked back at him. “The court is

  everything I have, Taln. It is everything I’ve ever had. I won’t let them

  take me from it.”

  Taln nodded slowly, regarding her. She was so young, barely into her

  thirties. He had seen as many millennia pass as she had seen decades, and

  he felt he hadn’t really begun to understand the world until he was well

  into his tenth century. And yet, she was so capable—she had learned so

  much, considering her short time alive. Sometimes it put him to shame,

  how much these people could accomplish when they didn’t have the crutch

  of immortality.

  He rose to go.

  “Leave the bag,” Jasnah said. “I will consider your suggestion. I won’t

  reveal myself, but I may find time for some . . . practice.”

  chapter 56

  SHINRI 10

  Shinri’s first obstacle was her own reticence. Despite her decision

  to escape, despite her knowledge that she wouldn’t soon find another

  opportunity as good, she found herself hesitating and delaying.

  Those eyes were always with her. His eyes, looking at her as if from the

  side making her question her judgement. Ahven was not a man whose

  threats were trivial; he would send his assassins after her.

  But Jasnah escaped from him, Shinri reminded herself as she walked down a quiet palace hallway, her right-hand fingers trailing along the wall beside her, her left hand carrying a reed-woven basket.

  Jasnah’s escape lent Shinri strength, for it meant that he was not infallible. Ahven’s power over Shinri seemed complete, but it wasn’t. She could

  escape. King Amelin had offered her protection, and so she would flee to

  him. Ahven wouldn’t be able to follow after her.

  Or would he? Shinri paused in the hallway beside an open window,

  looking out. The vantage overlooked the lower plateau, and the spread of

  the town below—a city full of people as much prisoners as herself. If she

  did escape to Thalenah, what assurance did she have that Ahven wouldn’t

  be able to come after her? The strange power Shinri had over the Oath-

  gates—what if others had it as well? Perhaps she had just been the most

  convenient one for Ahven to control. She still didn’t even know how he

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  had discovered her ability. Why would he know things about herself that

  even she did not?

  You’re second-guessing yourself again, Shinri, she thought. King Amelin can keep his Oathgate guarded. Even if Ahven does find another like you, he’ll have a far more difficult time assaulting a city that’s prepared for his trick.

  Shinri sighed, resting against the window’s rim and placing her basket on

  the sil . The hallway behind was empty—she was in the Riemak wing of the

  palace, a section that hadn’t been used regularly in centuries. Servants still visited and cleaned, closing the stormshutters for highstorms and keeping

  the stones free from crom, but there was little need for either activity

  during the Searing. For the moment, at least, she was alone.

  Ahven’s departure had left her with a shade more freedom. While many

  soldiers remained in the city, the great majority had gone with him to

  Crossguard. The direct manifestation of this was Shinri’s lack of guards.

  Of course, the ramps down to the city were very well-guarded, as were the

  Oathgates. In a way, the palace itself was just a massive prison.

  Even without a guard escort, Shinri had been forced to work a little

  bit to obtain true solitude. Handmaidens could be a very tenacious lot,

  especially when they assumed that becoming Shinri’s confidant was a

  sure and quick way to political power. Most of them had yet to realize

  what Shinri knew instinctively—that Ahven had no intention of leaving

  political maneuvering to the women. Shinri would be no pathway to power.

  Instead, she would be a symbol of Ahven’s new courtly feminine ideal. To

  him, a woman was a thing that looked pretty and was always obedient,

  more like the Shin women were said to be. Unfortunately, Ahven
’s in-

  tentions for social revolution were only the most minor of the dangers he

  posed to Roshar. She could see his intention in those eyes, laid bare by

  the connection and understanding he had given her through their forced

  intimacy.

  He would not stop with Alethkar. Ahven wanted what no man had ever

  obtained—total dominance of Roshar. He wished to succeed where the

  Seven Conquerors—even legendary Jarnah—had failed. That was why

  she had to escape; not just for herself, but for Roshar. If she stayed, he would use her to open the Oathgates. He would strike against Prallah, Thalenah,

  and Shinavar. The last would be difficult, but with the united forces of the Kanaran Peninsulas behind him . . .

  Ahven Vedenel could not be allowed to claim the known world as his

  own. The creature who owned those cruel eyes could not be entrusted with

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  the fates and lives of so many. That knowledge was what finally gave her the strength to overcome her fearful reluctance.

  The handmaidens had been her second problem. No escape would have

  been possible beneath their clinging eyes. Fortunately, she had found an

  easy pathway to freedom.

  Kanaran women did not like to walk.

  Shinri stood, stretching slightly, then picked up her basket and continued her wandering down the disused hallway. A thin sheet of dust bespoke the

  recent absence of cleaners. Had Ahven left orders for servants to clean

  the unoccupied wings? If he hadn’t, the dust would quickly mount. Idly,

  Shinri wondered if that would be such a bad thing. The dust had its own

  beauty about it—the beauty of sleep and restfulness, of a place undisturbed.

  Getting rid of her attendants had required more walking than even

  she was accustomed to. However, the new palace members had quickly

  come to understand that Shinri was a woman of . . . odd mannerisms.

  She remembered with a smile the first time she had idly tipped over a

  vase, letting it crash to the stone floor and shatter into a thousand ceramic shards. Jasnah would never have let her get away with something so blatant.

  Now, however, Shinri was the one in charge—at least, ostensibly. Destroy-

  ing the vase had gone a long ways toward unwinding her tension, and she

  had been able to turn back to her glyph painting with a far more relaxed

  hand. The other women in the room, however, had sat for a long while,

  staring at the broken vase with confusion and a hint of fright. After that, Shinri had been certain to break things far more regularly.

  No, they had not thought it all that uncharacteristic for the eccentric

  Lady Shinri to begin taking five-hour strolls through the palace. The more resilient ones tried to tag along at first. Then the blisters and the sore feet had appeared. After that, not ten days had passed before Shinri was able to consistently set out on walks and find herself completely unaccompanied.

  Shinri passed through several intersections, slowly making her way back

  toward occupied hallways, though she stayed away from the Oathgates.

  The last time she had lingered too close, the guards there had escorted her back to her rooms, then left her under guard for an entire day. Shinri did not doubt that they had acted upon specific orders from Ahven—and she

  didn’t want to consider the punishments he had left should she ignore this first warning.

  No, the Oathgates were still a couple of steps away; she had other things

  to consider first. One of the more important lessons Jasnah had taught

  her was one of perspective. Vast problems differed from small ones only

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  in the number of steps it took to overcome them. When clever people

  failed, it was often because they tried to accomplish those steps in the

  wrong order.

  The Oathgates were guarded by ten men by day and five at night. Both

  shifts had a Shardbearer, and even the regular men were sworded noblemen.

  The prison section of the palace, however, was only guarded by one aging

  solider. Shinri turned one final corner, and found him exactly where he

  usually was—half-dozing in a chair at the end of the hallway.

  The detention cells were on the other side of the central arcade from the

  Oathgates. This sector of the palace, while used occasionally, was populated only sparsely—mostly by guard patrols or palace staffmembers on errands.

  There were two double-hallways of cells, none of which had been used very

  often during Elhokar’s reign. There were far more appropriate dungeons for common citizen criminals—the palace cells were intended for prisoners of

  more important reputation.

  Men such as the son and adopted Shardbearer of Lord Dalenar Kholin.

  The fact that Merin and Renarin had been placed in the palace cells in-

  dicated that Ahven saw their potential worth as bargaining tools; however, the lax guard indicated that Ahven currently thought them to be of little

  value. Ahven intended to defeat the Aleth armies with ease; Renarin and

  Merin were backup tools, not vital prisoners.

  Or, at least, that was what Shinri hoped. If she was wrong, then a goodly

  amount of planning would have to be revised. She shifted her basket to

  the other hand, then walked down the hallway with what she hoped was

  an innocent-looking step. The guard perked up lethargically, standing and

  bowing slightly as she approached. He was a nobleman—a sword was at

  his waist—but he couldn’t have been very high-ranking, else he wouldn’t

  have earned such an undesirable post.

  “My lady,” he said.

  Shinri paused in front of him. “Evening’s blessing, solider,” she said. “I’ve come to bring the prisoners some food.”

  The guard rubbed his chin, which bore a Veden-style square beard.

  “They’ve been fed already, my lady.”

  “I’m sure they have,” Shinri said. “Though I doubt the meal was of enviable quality. I think they would appreciate something a little more healthy.”

  The soldier frowned. “It isn’t good to keep prisoners too healthy, my lady,”

  he said. “It encourages escape.”

  “It isn’t good for them to be sickly either,” Shinri replied. “My husband

  may have need of these men—and I intend to see that they are kept alive

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  in case that need arises. Cruelty may be your prerogative, solider, but mercy is mine—a right granted me by the Almighty.”

  The man’s face grew troubled as he considered. If he were too low a rank,

  he would take the matter to his superior. Shinri was counting on his noble upbringing and the independence it usually inspired.

  “I brought some for you too,” Shinri noted, pulling back the napkin to

  reveal the bread rolls underneath. “It’s only bread, soldier. I doubt you’ll find that it makes your prisoners too healthy to be manageable.”

  “I’ll have to check the basket first,” the soldier finally said.

  “Very well,” Shinri replied, handing it to him. You’re a little more clever than I had hoped, aren’t you? That’s a pity.

  He opened the basket, then systematically began breaking each roll

  in half to check for contraband—as if a high lady would actually have

  bothered to cook them herself. Shinri sighed inwardly, folding her arms

  and waiting upon the man’s inspection. “How have they been so far?” she

  asked as he worked. “I trust you haven’t been keeping them too u
nhealthy.”

  The soldier shrugged, ripping apart a roll. “The one on the left stays

  pretty quiet—he’s a little one, and I doubt he could be of much trouble if he wanted to. The one on the right . . . well, he’s obviously a soldier. Tall lad and well-muscled. Could have been trouble, but I think the captivity

  took the heart out of him. He screamed and yelled a lot at first, but then got really quiet.”

  Shinri frowned. “He’s still alive, I assume.”

  The soldier snorted. “He eats his food, my lady. That means he’s alive

  enough, but I don’t know if he’s still got his mind or not. I’ve guarded men like him before—men who couldn’t deal with being kept locked up. They

  usually quiet up after a while, if only because they get tired of yelling.”

  What a delightfully kind-hearted one you are, Shinri thought sourly as the man selected a few rolls for himself, then handed the basket back to her. I guess that’s how you ended up a jailer.

  Shinri nodded her satisfaction, then brushed past the man into the

  hallway. He stayed behind, thankfully, settling into his chair to work on

  the rolls. Technically, Shinri was a First Lady—his queen. Even if he had

  denied her entrance, he should never have treated her with the disrespect

  he had displayed. Ahven’s touch, virulent and destructive as a winter mold, was spreading already.

  Shinri selected the leftmost hallway. The hallways were relatively well-lit and kept clean, unlike some dungeons Shinri had heard of, but there was a

  definite smell of unwashed bodies to the place. The cells were all open but

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  one, and it bore a stout wooden door. A small window at the top provided

  a glimpse inside, though it was high enough up that Shinri would have

  trouble looking in without getting up on her toes.

  She approached the door with trepidation. “Renarin?” she asked in a

  quiet voice, glancing back toward the guard.

  There was a pause.

  “Oh, hello, Shinri,” Renarin’s familiar voice eventually said back. “How

  are you?”

  Shinri started slightly. “Um, I’m fine,” she lied, frowning. Even locked in a cell, kept half-starved, you’re a strange one, Renarin. “My family is allied with King Ahven. I talked the guard into letting me bring you some food.”