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Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

Page 97

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


  Dalenar’s own Plate looked little better—he kept more of his original

  pieces, but they were covered with dents, gashes, and nicks.

  “Come, my friend,” Dalenar said. “We have planning to do.”

  Echathen nodded. “For all the good it will do us,” he muttered.

  Impressively, the initial retreat had been performed with relatively

  little loss. Some of the bulkier items—such as tents and furniture—had

  been left behind out of necessity. However, their stores of emeralds,

  sapphires, and basic food-preparation items had mostly survived the chaotic withdrawal. Dalenar could only ascribe the miracle to the effectiveness of

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  his stewards. If the army somehow survived the next few weeks, he vowed

  to raise the men all a rank or two.

  Dalenar’s pavilion had been far too bulky to bring. However, his stewards

  had located a smaller tent—brought by a lesser nobleman—and appropri-

  ated it in Dalenar’s name. The tent was smaller than he was accustomed to, but at least it was shelter—many of his men didn’t even have that much.

  There were no chairs inside—Dalenar had ordered all lords to abandon

  any furniture that had survived the original withdrawal. It was too heavy

  to carry; Dalenar wouldn’t have servants collapsing from the rushed march

  simply because their lord wanted a comfortable place to sit his posterior.

  Echathen, his Shardplate removed, settled himself on a cushion as the

  scouts entered the tent to give their report. Dalenar remained standing.

  Palhen, the head of Dalenar’s scouts, was a thick-necked man with a

  warrior’s build and a bristly mustache. He was a lord, but as the mustache indicated, he had little care for courtly ways. Solitary and curt, but

  observant, he served well in his place.

  “Well?” Dalenar asked. Palhen didn’t care much for formality.

  “They’re definitely Veden, my lord,” the man said in his grunting voice.

  “I got close enough to the main body to seen glyphseals from all three of

  Veden Houses. I recognized a couple of the faces, too.”

  Dalenar nodded. He had concluded the same during this last battle. For a

  time, he had maintained his belief that the invaders were the mysterious

  army from Pralir, but that had apparently been a hasty conclusion.

  “Filthy hogs,” Echathen said. “It’s little wonder they wouldn’t give much

  aid to the Pralir campaign. They were planning to betray Alethkar as soon as it got back.”

  “You didn’t send help to the Pralir war either, my friend,” Dalenar

  pointed out.

  “Yes, but I always gave my reasons,” Echathen said. “The Vedens, they

  hedged and promised. It’s a wonder that Nolhonarin ever signed that

  treaty—everyone knows Vedens are about as trustworthy as smoke.”

  “Were you able to determine who leads the Veden army?” Dalenar asked.

  Palhen shook his head. “Their scouts are storm-cursed good, my lord. I

  lost three men on this mission as it is. We couldn’t get close enough to read the glyph on the central tent.”

  Dalenar nodded with a sigh. The army was probably led by Talshekh

  Davar—before the nonsense with Crossguard began, the man had been

  arranging a coup of the Three Houses. Apparently, he had decided not

  THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 697

  to stop with his own throne. Dalenar wished he knew how the man had

  managed to get past the southern Aleth fortifications so quickly and quietly.

  “My lord,” Palhen continued. “I passed by the scene of your skirmish on

  my way back. They were killing the wounded again.”

  Dalenar closed his eyes, exhaling softly while Echathen muttered a few

  more curses. Dalenar had sent scouts back to Crossguard, hoping that they

  would discover that a Veden holding force had been arranged to hold

  the abandoned men. Instead, they had found only corpses. Anyone Dalenar

  abandoned was slaughtered.

  “Thank you, Palhen,” Dalenar said, dismissing the scout.

  Palhen nodded. “A messenger from Kholinar arrived while you were

  gone, my lord,” he said as he withdrew. “Shall I send a scribe to read the letter?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The tent flap rustled as the beefy scout left, and Dalenar shared a look

  with Echathen.

  “This isn’t good,” the Khardin man noted.

  Dalenar nodded. He walked over and unrolled his map of Alethkar, then

  weighed it down on the stone floor with rocks at the corners. His female

  calligraphers had marked the army’s current location, as requested, as well as that of the trailing army.

  They were near the middle of the kingdom, a little to the north and east.

  At first, Dalenar had hoped to make for Kholinar, where he could have,

  perhaps, rallied some more forces. Their pursuer, however, had anticipated this intention. The Veden King kept his forces eastward, herding the

  refugee group to the west, away from Dalenar’s center of power.

  “So what are our choices?” Dalenar asked. “We can’t continue to wander

  as we have.”

  Echathen cocked his head slightly, as if not in complete agreement.

  “We need to take the path with the most valleys, Dalenar. Every potential

  ambush will slow them down.”

  Dalenar shook his head. “Slowing them won’t save us in the end, my

  friend. They’ll catch us eventually, no matter how clever our pathfinding.

  We need to make a stand somewhere.”

  “Khardinar?” Echathen offered. “I brought most of my forces with me,

  but there are some remaining. Our passing would gather several thousand

  more troops.”

  “And bring an inevitable war to your people,” Dalenar said. “No, I won’t

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  do that to the Restful City. Besides, it’s too far. We’d be dead before we got there.”

  Echathen grunted, leaning over, his shadow falling across the map as he

  studied their options. “Teth-Kanar,” he finally said.

  Dalenar nodded. The port city was their only option. It was a Third city,

  of goodly size and fortification.

  “Our only problem will be Lord Intara,” Echathen said.

  “Intara’s not a problem,” Dalenar said. “He’s an advantage. He was the

  only major Aleth lord who didn’t send troops to either myself or Elhokar.

  He’ll have men to add to the army.”

  “If he even lets us in the city,” Echathen said with a snort.

  “He won’t have much choice if we plant three armies on his doorstep,”

  Dalenar said, smiling slightly. The image was increasingly appealing. Teth-Kanar was one of the more defensible cities in the kingdom, despite its . . .

  unpleasant heritage. The real trick would be persuading Elhokar that it was the best place to go.

  A knock came at the tent post, and Dalenar stood, calling for the visitor

  to come in. A white-robed woman in her forties entered. He thought he

  recognized her, but the face was difficult to place—standard dark Aleth

  hair, cut short and without braids. The wife of a lesser officer, probably, who had become a scribe so that she could remain with her husband during

  extended campaigns.

  The woman bowed. “Which message would you like me to read first, my

  lord?” she asked, holding up two sheets of paper.

  Dalenar paused. “There are
two?” he asked. “Who from?”

  “The first is from your wife, my lord,” the woman said. “The second is

  from her majesty, Queen Nanavah. It came just a few moments ago.”

  Nanavah? Dalenar thought, shooting a glance at Echathen. The bald-headed warrior shrugged, leaning back on his cushion in a relaxed position.

  “Read the one from Kinae first,” Dalenar ordered.

  “It is very short, my lord,” the scribe said. “It reads: ‘My dearest betrothed.

  I don’t know if you got my other messages or not. I did receive your man.

  He was very brave in escaping the forces that chased him. Kholinar is still under siege, though the army hasn’t attacked us yet. I put two tenset men in painted armor and have them walking the ramparts. Perhaps the invading

  force will think that we have more Shardbearers than we do. The citizens

  are training at Shieldhome with all diligence, but I don’t think we have the forces to resist an attack. I don’t know what happened at Crossguard, but I trust you have defeated the king. Please, return to Kholinar with all haste.’”

  THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 699

  The scribe looked up. “And it is signed ‘With love, Kinae Khardinar.’”

  Echathen smiled with pride at the letter’s content, and Dalenar didn’t

  blame him. Kinae was an impressive young woman—resourceful, clever,

  and determined. Despite her youth, she would preside over Kholinar in its

  time of need, giving the people the firm leadership it needed.

  However, her words worried Dalenar. Cutting off Kholinar so decisively

  was a very clever move. When Talshekh had begun his campaign in Jah

  Keved, Dalenar had commissioned his spies to prepare a report on the

  Davar House leader. Nothing in that report had led Dalenar to expect

  such a competent enemy. Talshekh was supposed to be a fine warrior, but

  only a passable tactician. Yet the moves he had made so far showed amazing subtlety and preparation.

  He did attack Crossguard too early, Dalenar reminded himself. That was one error. Whoever it is that leads this invading army, he can make mistakes. The trap isn’t inescapable yet.

  “And if Teth-Kanar is besieged too?” Echathen said.

  “Then we will die,” Dalenar said. “We can only hope that the Vedens

  weren’t able to infiltrate that far—they would have had to risk sending a

  force dangerously close to Crossguard to get to Teth-Kanar. We will also

  have to hope that Kholinar can hold out long enough for us to defeat the

  main Veden force.”

  He didn’t add the obvious—that if they didn’t defeat the main Veden

  force, Kinae and the rest of the upper Aleth nobility would be executed.

  “The second letter, please,” Dalenar said to the scribe.

  “It reads: ‘My dear Lord Dalenar, I write this in the hopes that you might retain some measure of influence over my husband. Though you two have

  come to arms recently, you must know the level of respect with which he

  regards you.

  “‘My lord, I am deeply afraid. I feel weak admitting this, but I don’t know to whom else I can turn. The force chasing us must belong to Talshekh

  Davar, and its cohesion means that he has undoubtedly slain my brother,

  Ahven Vedenel. My son’s life is in great danger. Not only is Ahrden

  the heir to the Aleth throne, but he is also now the rightful ruler of the Three Houses. Talshekh will have to make certain that the boy is . . .”

  The scribe trailed off.

  “What?” Dalenar asked.

  “I apologize, my lord,” she said. “The writing is smudged. It must have

  gotten wet. I think it says ‘Will have to make certain that the boy is killed, for Ahrden is a threat to his stability.’

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  “It continues: ‘I have asked—even pled—with my Lord Elhokar to let

  me take Ahrden and flee. There are those who would hide us. We needn’t

  stay with the main bulk of the army, but could ride ahead and seek refuge

  in Khardinar, or perhaps find passage to Thalenah. Elhokar, however, insists on keeping his son with him during these dangerous times.

  “‘Please, my lord. Send a request to Elhokar. Persuade him that he must

  not let the Kholin line die here. He must let me flee.”

  The scribe looked up. “It is signed ‘Your queen, Lady Nanavah Vedenel.’

  The words are written in a very hasty hand, my lord. I do not think she was in a . . . completely solid state of mind when she penned them.”

  Dalenar nodded thoughtfully. He could see the woman behind the

  words—a terrified, uncertain girl. Nanavah had come far during the last

  year, but before that she had displayed a spoiled immaturity and unwillingness to perform her duties as queen. She wasn’t ready to face the possibility that being Elhokar’s wife might very well mean her death.

  “Do you have your writing tools with you?” he asked the scribe.

  The scribe nodded. “They’re outside, my lord,” she said.

  “Fetch them,” Dalenar requested.

  “You intend to do as she asks?” Echathen asked curiously as the scribe

  left.Dalenar nodded. “I need to send Elhokar a message anyway and complain of his actions today. Not that it will stop him from doing whatever the

  winds tell him, of course. Still, perhaps I can compose a letter that will make him agree that Teth-Kanar is the place to make our stand.”

  “Don’t tell him you plan to fight there,” Echathen said, reclining. “Tell

  him you plan to get a ship at the port, then flee to Pralir. He’ll want to go there for certain.”

  Dalenar frowned. “He’s not that selfish. He wouldn’t leave his men

  behind to die.”

  Echathen shrugged. “I think you’d be surprised.”

  Dalenar frowned. However, when he composed the letter, he did as

  Echathen had suggested.

  chapter 76

  JASNAH 17

  The men found out about the impending battle at Kholinar, of

  course, and it gave them the apprehensive excitement of an untested

  force. They understood that by the next evening they would be lamenting

  injuries and deaths, yet for the moment such things were only possibil-

  ities. Odds of thrown chips, the turn of a Numerologist’s soothsaying

  glyphward. Until the battle began, the men could imagine honor and

  excitement, victories won and bravery proven.

  Jasnah was more pragmatic. Not only was she naturally that way, but she

  had much experience—thanks to her brother and father—with warfare.

  She knew both losses and victories, and understood that the two often felt hauntingly similar. Men would die at her command. True, many of them

  knew exactly what they were doing—Aneazer’s force, while untested in

  large-scale battle, had the mindset of a mercenary force. Many of the other men, however, were more idealistic. They had come, not truly at her beck,

  but at the call of the man they thought a Herald.

  A man Jasnah feared would fail them.

  Jasnah watched Taln as the army went about its morning preparations,

  getting ready to march the short distance to Kholinar and spring her trap

  upon the Vedens camped there. Taln had barely spoken to her over the last

  three days, and when he met her eyes, she saw the confused pain therein.

  He confronted his own insanity, and he did it for her.

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  She wasn’t certain what brought her more shame: the knowledge that he

  suffered so for her sake, or the worry that asking him to quest
ion himself would destroy her army. She still needed him at its head. While traveling

  from Riemak, they had gathered even more followers. News of Lord

  Aneazer’s acceptance of the Herald Talenel had provided vast credibility

  to her claims, for he had been the man to squash the last three false Herald uprisings. The Herald’s section was now just as large as Aneazer’s section of the force. It had nearly thirty-five hundred people, many gathered from Aneazer’s own villages and by his suggestion. These men followed Taln,

  not her or Meridas. Without the banner of Heraldship, there was a good

  chance they would not fight.

  She knew she shouldn’t consider such things. She had confronted

  Taln for his own good. Yet she worried. What if he did overcome his

  hallucinations? He would probably denounce himself before the army, and

  in doing so destroy it as surely as an enemy ambush. She would never be

  able to take Kholinar with just Aneazer’s forces.

  A part of her didn’t care. That part—indignant that she would put her

  own lies before Taln’s well-being—wished desperately for him to admit

  he was no Herald, for it would remove the great barrier of delusion that

  kept them apart. Yet the voice that whispered such things was the same

  underdeveloped piece of her that had always warned her not to manipulate

  others. She had always quieted it in the name of a better, more dominant

  good. What was the betrayal of a minor court ally if it gained her the

  knowledge she needed to protect the crown? What was the death of one

  squad of soldiers on a battlefield when their unwitting sacrifice protected a tensquad others? What was the mind of one man, when compared to the

  cohesion of a vital fighting force?

  That was the guilt she bore. It was not helped by seeing what she had done to him already. Where he had once stared forward with firm confidence,

  he now looked down in uncertainty. Where he had once declared, he

  now remained quiet. With misery, she realized that his stubborn self-

  confidence—the thing that had frustrated her so often—was also the

  very thing that had made Taln so compelling to her. Seeing him lost and

  indecisive was painful enough to make her wince whenever he looked her

  direction.

  What right did she have to ask him to change? Who was she to make

 

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