Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

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

  just frightened.

  This core group of people believed that Taln was a Herald, while at

  the same time worrying that he wasn’t. Jasnah could see their tension.

  Many had joined the army less from design and more by happenstance—

  they had come by curiosity, whim, or desperation. There was no way to

  keep news of army’s pursuit quiet, not with Nachin and his family in camp.

  Rumors of the Veden tensquad ran through the camp, bringing with it

  a anxiety that wasn’t dulled even by the firm marching speed Meridas

  instituted.

  The rumors only grew worse when, several days out of Galevan, one

  of Meridas’s young runners arrived at the camp with confirmation of the

  Veden army’s existence. According to the scout, the invaders had gained

  on Jasnah’s group. He admitted that there was no sign of Taln or Kemnar.

  They had their first desertions that night. It was a poor precedent, even

  if their recruits still far outnumbered the disappearances. However, it

  reminded the men of what they really were—not a cohesive army, trained

  by a formal nation and in its employ, but a random band of pseudo-refugees held together tenuously, if at all. There would be no hunts for deserters, no executions of those who fled. They had come on their own; they could

  leave the same way.

  Morale was not improved by the marching conditions, or by the need

  for rationing. Before leaving Galevan, Meridas had surprised Jasnah by

  managing to arrange a nervous trading session with the city lords. His

  argument had been simple—he reminded them that every moment the city

  delayed them, even by trading, was a moment it could claim to have helped

  its Veden conspirators. The strange reverse-argument acquired the army

  much needed supplies, though the session drained a good portion of their

  remaining chips.

  Even with the purchases, however, the food would not last long, and

  it was difficult to hide this fact from the men, since they were the ones

  carrying it. Jasnah knew that the camp must assume that she had far more

  currency than she did, otherwise the desertions would have been much

  greater. However, if the Veden army did approach, she had little doubt

  that most of these people would abandon her. They had come to fight for

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  a Herald, for food, and for pay. Soon, they would find themselves without

  any of the three.

  “His name is Aneazer, and he calls himself the ‘Lord of Riemak,’” Nachin

  explained. “Everyone in the area knows about him, and a good number of

  the cities pay him a protection tribute.”

  “‘Protection’ from his own men, no doubt,” Vinde spat. The long-limbed

  man sat looking at Kemnar’s map, Brother Lhan and the escaped soldier

  standing with him. Jasnah sat apart a short distance, listening quietly.

  “True, Lord Vinde,” Nachin agreed. “Any city that refuses him is . . .

  persuaded otherwise. However, Aneazer does make good on his contract.

  When raiders or bandits try to attack cities or caravans under his protec-

  tion, he makes swift retribution. In a way, it’s one of the safest areas in Riemak—or one of the most dangerous, since it’s oppressed by the tyrant

  with the most men and the best equipment.”

  “And he controls the Holy City?” Vinde asked. The lanky man was trying

  very hard to carry Kemnar’s position the same way he carried the man’s

  blade, but neither was an easy task. Jasnah had been forced to take upon

  herself some of the duties Kemnar had been doing—making certain food

  distribution happened in a timely manner, meting out minor disciplinary

  actions, and other basic tasks. The aggregate was simply too overwhelming

  for a man such as Vinde, who was an honest soldier and a well-trained

  duelist, but who had never commanded anything larger than a squad of

  ten men.

  Nachin, however, had proven a surprising resource. He quickly proved

  his word on being one of the best fighters in the area, his knowledge of

  tactics was sound, and he was remarkably honorable. Of all the men in

  Galevan, only he had come to her with the truth behind the city’s betrayal.

  While several other soldiers had drifted out of the city, deciding to throw their lot in with the Herald, none had Nachin’s skill or determination. He didn’t look much like a soldier with his small, awkward build and twitching eyes, but he certainly acted like one.

  “Will this Aneazer trade with us?” Lhan asked. The monk had, at Vinde’s

  pleading, taken a more active hand in camp administration. Though he had

  little experience, Lhan’s position as a Vorin clergyman had gained him the respect and goodwill of the general soldiers. Vinde gained some measure

  of authority simply by being seen counseling with the monk.

  Nachin shrugged. “Trade? No, I think Aneazer will likely to consider us

  THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 583

  a threat. An armed force, traveling through his territory? He’ll think we’ve come to try and capture his Oathgate.”

  Oathgate. It was easy to forget about the Jorevan Gate. It was used rarely, and then only by merchants willing to pay the exorbitant fees demanded

  by the despot who control ed the Holy City. She supposed that was probably this ‘Lord Aneazer.’

  “Oathgate!” Nachin exclaimed. “That’s right! Maybe we can . . .”

  “Doesn’t work that way,” Vinde said with a shake of his head. “Both sides

  have to be open, and the one in Ral Eram is most certainly sealed. It’s a

  hope, I suppose—but a flimsy one.”

  “Oh,” Nachin said, let down. His eyes glanced toward Vinde’s—Kem-

  nar’s—Shardblade. To Nachin, born away from civilization in Riemak’s

  wilds, a Shardblade was probably a legendary thing, perhaps even thought

  mythological.

  “It just seems like a bad idea, Lord Vinde,” Nachin said. “No Oathgate,

  no money to trade, and a city ruled by the most powerful despot in Riemak.

  Why even go to Jorevan? Why not head for Alethkar?”

  “Talenel told us to meet him in the Holy City,” Jasnah said, surprising

  the two with her entrance into the conversation. “That, then, is where we

  shall go.”

  Vinde blushed. “Yes, my lady,” he said. “Of course. We didn’t mean to . . .”

  “I know you didn’t,” Jasnah said, turning away.

  Unfortunately, Nachin was right. She had heard other army members

  speak of Aneazer. All agreed that he was a ruthless man, especially with

  those who posed him a threat. Even though Jasnah’s men were poorly

  equipped and barely trained, their numbers were quickly approaching a

  thousand. Theirs was not an incursion that could be ignored.

  Of course, without Taln, they might as well disband the army anyway—

  with the Vedens approaching, her men wouldn’t last long beyond his failure to return.

  Failure to return. It had been six days. He would have met the Vedens five days before, around the same time as Meridas’s scouts. Whatever plan

  Taln had intended, he had likely executed it by now.

  Nachin and Vinde trailed away, their conversation stil ed by her comment.

  Brother Lhan remained where he was.

  “It’s probably too soon for him to be back,” Lhan said. “There is little

  sense in worrying about him, though I doubt you can he
lp yourself.”

  Jasnah stifled a blush. “What makes you think I was . . .”

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  Lhan nodded to the south. “You’ve been staring in the direction he went

  for the last hour. You do that a lot, these days.”

  This time she did blush. She glanced away. “I’m just worried about the

  army,” she said. “The rumors that he’ll never return are growing stronger, and we had more desertions yesterday than we had new arrivals.”

  “Well, that’s certainly something worth worrying about. I’m afraid we’re making something of a mess of your army.”

  “You’re doing fine, Brother Lhan,” she said.

  Lhan raised an eyebrow. “I made only a passable monk, my lady. I’m not

  sure what possessed me to think I might make a good general. It’s Vinde’s

  fault—I told him that I would be of no help, but he wouldn’t listen. You

  see, I’ve spent my entire life striving to be as useless as possible.”

  “You say that as if you are proud of it,” Jasnah said with a frown.

  “You have to admit,” Lhan said, “it is a something of an accomplishment.

  Few men can truthfully claim to be as vestigial as myself. The only problem with my success is somehow I’ve arrived in a position where there are tasks I actually wish to accomplish—and, unfortunately, I find myself woefully

  underqualified.” He sat uncomfortably for a moment before speaking again.

  “It’s breaking apart, my lady. Even I can tell that.”

  “I know,” Jasnah said. “Taln was their heart—the reason they came.”

  “It’s more than that,” Lhan said. “Kemnar and Taln . . . they knew things.

  Understood things. They could make certain all the jobs got done, and that everyone wanted to do them. Vinde tries—in fact, I worry that he tries too hard. But he’s no substitute for Kemnar, and Meridas doesn’t care to even

  try to be a replacement for Taln.”

  I shouldn’t have sent Kemnar after him, Jasnah thought, not for the first time. She hadn’t realized how vital the man had become to the army’s

  running. Regardless of whether Meridas or Taln were in charge, the people

  had come to Kemnar to settle their disputes. His efficiency had made

  certain everyone had enough to eat, everyone knew where to sleep, and that guards were always posted. Meridas knew how to organize an army, but

  he obviously expected these little details to be covered by others. Though Taln had carried the people’s hopes, Kemnar had carried their day-to-day,

  functional respect.

  And all this time I was using him as my personal messenger. Kemnar’s duties as her guard had been a little more important than that, of course, but she had always used his raw effectiveness for uninspired purposes. If his ability to organize this army was any indication, Kemnar could have become a

  senior general in the King’s army despite his low noble rank. She hadn’t

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  realized what she’d kept him from. He probably didn’t either—ambition

  seemed a foreign word to the man.

  And now they might both be dead. The thought made her stomach twist.

  She had come to rely on them both so much—Kemnar for what he did,

  Taln for . . . something else. She told herself it was his ability to unite the army, that she wanted so desperately for him to return only because she

  had based her play for troops upon his growing reputation.

  He was so frustrating. He rarely did what she told him, and—despite his

  oath—he always found a way to wiggle out of her commands. Even worse,

  he was condescending. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but it was there.

  Sometimes he acted as if she were simply a child, though he couldn’t be

  more than five or six years her senior. More bothersome than his insubor-

  dination and his self-importance, however, was his determination to see the world he wanted to, rather than as it really was. She had always hated people who deluded themselves—whether they did so through religion or through

  unrealistic expectations. Taln, however, put such mild offenders to shame.

  Jasnah nodded to herself. He was a madman. It was better that he be

  gone, thereby leaving the army to understand their true situation. The ones who stayed once they realized that Taln wasn’t going to return would be

  the strong ones, the ones she wanted anyway. Yes, it was certainly better

  that he had left. Left her. Alone.

  “Don’t worry,” Lhan said. “He’ll return.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Lhan,” Jasnah snapped. “He went to die out there—to

  slow the Vedens down as much as possible and take as many of them with

  him as he could. He won’t be returning. We both know that.”

  “Actually,” Lhan corrected with a pleasant voice, “I don’t know that. And, unless you’ve been hiding a talent for numerology, I doubt that you know

  it either. I’ve seen him do some amazing things. Perhaps he will return.”

  “Unlikely,” Jasnah said.

  Lhan sat back with a thoughtful expression. “You know, people say

  you’re paranoid,” he said. “The citizens of Ral Eram talk about you a lot.

  The king’s heretic, distrusting sister, the woman with a heart as chill as a highland storm.”

  Jasnah adopted a cold expression, not dignifying the insult with a

  comment.

  Lhan continued as if he hadn’t noticed her icy glare. “They’re wrong

  about you. I know paranoia—trust me, when such people come to the

  monastery, I’m the one who gets to take care of them. You, my lady, are

  not paranoid.”

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  “I’m not?” Jasnah said flatly.

  “No,” Lhan said. “You’re just a pessimist. Not the overt kind—the man

  who complains that his lot isn’t as good as that of his neighbor, or who tells his friends their ideas are foolish. No, you’re a true pessimist. A planning, thinking pessimist. You assume things will turn out for the worst, and

  so you prepare for them to do so. You distrust not because you logically

  determine that someone will betray you, but because you know that their

  betrayal is the worst possible outcome of the relationship. You find fault to prove to yourself that you are right. And, most importantly, you refuse to believe—for in belief, there is always the worry that you might be wrong.

  That’s not a worry you can endure, for your mind is always nagging that if you might be wrong, you probably are.”

  Jasnah opened her mouth, then found herself shockingly unable to

  respond. Something about the monk’s solemn, friendly gaze made her want

  to squirm uncomfortably. Was this the same insulting, mocking man that

  had traveled with them for so long? How had he suddenly learned to be

  so . . . observant?

  “I realize you don’t believe in the Almighty, Jasnah,” Lhan said. “And,

  to be honest, there are times when I don’t know that I believe in Him

  either—though those times usually come when I’m scrubbing yet another

  floor. The faith of religion is, perhaps, something that will never suit you.

  You could, however, try to believe in your friends.”

  Friends. Ladies of the court didn’t have friends. They had their allies,

  their enemies, and their husband. Jasnah looked up, containing her intro-

  spection and instead studying the smiling monk.

  Lhan shrugged. “Instead of analyzing your personality, I could just

  make fun of you for a while—if you think it would make you feel more

  comforta
ble.”

  Jasnah snorted. “Go see if you can find a way to bother Meridas,” she said, waving her hand. “The winds know, he could use a little humility.”

  “I shall do my best,” Lhan said valiantly, then wandered off in the

  direction of the rations cart.

  Jasnah sighed, pulling her cloak close and looking again to the south.

  At the speeds Nachin had given for the enemy army, the invaders would

  catch Jasnah’s group in another day, two at the most. They would soon know whether or not Taln’s delaying tactics had been effective.

  chapter 65

  JEK 11

  Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, pulled his cloak tight as

  he stood atop a stone hill, watching northward. The wind was indeed

  strong here, in the lands of the east. He could feel it even when there was no highstorm. In Shinavar, trees and brush blocked its wrath, but in Kanar the only foliage grew low to the ground, quelled by the wind’s domineering will. Almost, he could believe the wind to be a god, as the easterners

  believed. It certainly did seem ‘almighty’ at times.

  To the north, men were dying. Ahven’s army was still a day’s march

  from Crossguard, sequestered in a large rift in the ground, remarkably

  undiscovered. The Veden pointmen had done their work well. Elhokar and

  Dalenar would be fools if they didn’t suspect something, but Ahven hoped

  they blamed each other for their missing scouts and dead messengers.

  Jek thought he could see the battlefield. It was a clear, bright day, despite the wind. There was a dark blot on the horizon. Armies? Perhaps, but it

  was equally likely that Jek’s eyes were simply seeing what his mind thought that they should.

  The messenger came on time, his red and white pass-flag flapping very

  prominently from the saddle. His news would be several hours old now; he

  had probably left Crossguard the moment the fight between Elhokar and

  Dalenar had begun. Jek tracked the man’s horse, then turned and walked

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  back toward the camp. He reached Ahven’s pavilion before the messenger,

  and waited quietly for the horseman to approach.

  Ahven stood at a map table that had been erected in the open air before

  the pavilion. Several of Ilhadal’s generals stood nearby, chatting quietly with their king. Ahven was friendly but reserved, dignified without