And then, Renarin grew stiff, the light of consciousness fading from
his eyes.
“No!” Merin screamed, shaking Renarin’s suddenly loose body. “Renarin,
don’t go! I need you!”
Renarin’s lips suddenly moved, his eyes burning to life for just a brief
moment, locking onto Merin’s face.
“I am the answer! ” Renarin hissed with a passionate intensity.
And then Renarin’s life fled. Like a campfire light stirred by the winds,
then doused by the same, the flame that was Renarin slipped away. The
eyes grew dull again, and while the boy’s body still lived, Merin knew that the mind within was gone. It had been destroyed by the terrible vastness
that it had seen but could not comprehend.
Merin lay the limp body—little more than a corpse despite its continued
heartbeat—down on the wooden floor, directly in the center of the hole in
the glyphpattern. Merin waited through the entire highstorm, ignoring the
men that gathered in the hallway, ignoring the howling winds outside,
ignoring the bucking ship around him.
The light never returned. Renarin was gone.
chapter 81
DALENAR 9
Hours after the retreat into the Rift, Dalenar’s anger had finally
cooled enough for him to admit that his argument with Elhokar had
been a terrible mistake.
He sat on a rock, body fatigued from climbing up the other side of the
Rift. Now that Elhokar had destroyed the ramp down, it made a great deal
of sense to climb up a similar incline on the other side, thereby removing any chances of attack from above. Unfortunately, the nearest ramp up had
been several hours away.
That night’s march had been the most difficult of the last few weeks.
Dalenar had forced his men forward after just two hours of rest, joining
Elhokar’s force as they marched their way through the sheer valley and
finally up another ramp, this one much steeper than the first.
He still wore his Plate. Not only did it look good for the men, but it gave him strength and stamina—both of which he had needed after giving up
his horse to help carry the wounded.
Dalenar closed his eyes, sighing in exhaustion. But he didn’t want to
sleep, not yet. The rock upon which he sat lay a short distance from the
edge of the camp, beyond the range of the moanings of the wounded and
the evening lanternlight. He’d left both officers and honor guard behind,
finding solitary quiet in the night to seek some serenity of thought.
It was slow in coming. His exchange with Elhokar would only fuel
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the sense of hopelessness in both camps. It was bad to be seen arguing
with one’s allies even in the best of times—now, with the armies held
together only tenuously, the kingdom on the very edge of being conquered,
Dalenar feared his temper would bring a terrible cost.
“It’s peaceful here, isn’t it?” a voice asked—a familiar voice.
Dalenar looked up. Elhokar was alone, his golden armor scratched
and scarred. How tired was Dalenar that he hadn’t heard a man in Plate
approaching?
The king walked forward, looking up at the sky. In the east, dawn’s light
was beginning to warm. They had marched all night—no wonder Dalenar
felt so fatigued.
“It’s not like Prallah at all,” Elhokar said. “Not cold or bitter, but temperate and calm, even outside the laits. I spent so long there, I almost forgot what it was like back home.”
“It’s peaceful now,” Dalenar said quietly. “But the storms will come. They always do.”
Elhokar nodded, and for the first time, Dalenar could see the exhaustion
in the boy’s face. The gouge on his face bore no bandage, and his eyes were red from tiredness. All masks dropped, Elhokar seemed to be nothing
more than a haggard, worn-out man. He stopped beside Dalenar’s rock,
then squatted down.
“I should have enjoyed the time before the storm a bit more, I think,”
Elhokar said. “I was too worried about my preparations.”
“To attack Crossguard?” Dalenar asked.
Elhokar nodded. “I knew it was coming. I knew it from the day Jezenrosh
left the Pralir campaign to marshal the nobility against me. I know what
you think of me, Uncle. I suspect you might be right. But I’ve tried to do as I must—tried to do what would keep Alethkar safe.”
“You shouldn’t have attacked, Elhokar,” Dalenar said. “There are other
ways. And even if Jezenrosh had come against you, the nobility would have
stood with you. I would have stood with you.”
Elhokar shook his head. “I’m not sure of that,” he said. “You don’t know
what Jezenrosh was telling them, do you?”
Dalenar frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“He came to me with it first, in Pralir,” Elhokar said in a worn voice. He seemed a man drained, sucked free of strength, determination, and even
hope. “He claimed that the war in Prallah was without merit, that I was
leading the men to conquer, not to avenge my father.”
“Men make such claims about all wars,” Dalenar said.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 735
“No, this was different,” Elhokar said. “You see, Uncle, Jezenrosh claimed that the entire foundation for our war was false. He said he had proof that the Traitor didn’t kill my father.”
Dalenar paused. The morning suddenly seemed a bit colder. “Proof?” he
asked. “What proof?”
“A witness,” Elhokar said. “He even produced the man, though I didn’t
believe his claims. That’s what we argued about. Jezenrosh’s argument
was foundless, of course, but he held to it. When he gathered my enemies
against me, this was the lie he told them. Your son believed it. Aredor spat in my face and called me a conqueror, claiming I knew that the Traitor
was innocent. I shouldn’t have struck him, but I did, and I was wearing
Plate . . .”
Dalenar closed his eyes.
“I couldn’t let those lies continue, Uncle,” Elhokar said, a bit of his usual passion returning. “Jezenrosh would have corrupted the kingdom with
his tales. Before long, the Traitor would have become a martyr to them.
Pralir would have risen against us, and there would have been chaos.”
“There is chaos now,” Dalenar said quietly, opening his eyes.
Elhokar was still for a moment. “I know,” he finally said. He bowed his
head. “Nanavah’s gone.”
Dalenar frowned. “What?”
“Talshekh doesn’t lead that army,” Elhokar said. “I finally got a spy
close enough to find out who leads the Veden forces—it’s Ahven Vedenel,
Nanavah’s brother. I don’t know who is controlling him; the soldiers in his army evidently believe that his mind has been healed by the Almighty, and
that he’s been given a charge to attack Alethkar. A convenient way to get
around Bajerden’s forbiddance of conquering.”
“Men always find ways,” Dalenar said.
“Anyway, Nanavah must have decided that she would be safer with her
brother than with me. She slipped away as we retreated, and by the time
I discovered she was gone, I had already destroyed the ramp. She took my
son with her.”
“I’m . . . sorry,” Dalenar said.
Elhokar shook his head. “She might be right. I did
n’t want her to go—
I . . . needed her strength. This is so hard, Uncle. All of it is so hard.
Everywhere I turn, I find another enemy. I can’t do what I need to in order to protect the kingdom, for old rules and traditions confine me. And even
when I do find a way to try and defend the throne, I discover I’ve only led the kingdom into an even worse storm.”
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The boy stood, turning from Dalenar and facing south. Toward Ral
Eram, or toward the army behind? Eventually, Elhokar turned toward
him again.
“You know why I’ve come to you.”
Dalenar nodded, forcing himself to his feet. “This cannot go on,” he
agreed. “The men need a leader. One leader, not two.”
Smoke curled around Elhokar’s palm, trailing out to form a sword. In
the east, dawn broke.
“If it matters, Uncle,” Elhokar said, raising his Blade. “I forgive you for what you have done. You didn’t know about Jezenrosh. I never believed
you a traitor, not really.”
Dalenar summoned his own Blade, and looked into Elhokar’s eyes. There
was a question therein.
“You killed my son, Elhokar,” Dalenar said regretfully, raising his own
weapon. “You will get no forgiveness from me. Your sorrow does not change
the fact that you’ve led our kingdom to destruction.”
Elhokar nodded. The change Dalenar had noted before was again evident
in the man’s face. He was harder now, stronger. Perhaps he had learned.
One thing was certain, he looked more like his father now than he ever had.
Can I do this? Dalenar thought with exhaustion. Can I kill your son, Nolhonarin? This was the boy Dalenar had trained to duel, Nolhonarin’s only son. All Dalenar had ever wanted during those years was to serve the
brother he loved. What was there left for Dalenar now? Two sons dead,
the other likely having joined them. His brothers had both gone to the
Almighty as well. His honor would never be the same again, after having
made a grab for the throne. What was left of Dalenar that was worth
keeping?
Elhokar bowed, then fell into a dueling stance. Dalenar prepared himself.
There was one last service he could perform for his beloved brother and
king. He could let Nolhonarin’s son live to atone for his mistakes.
At that moment, Dalenar realized something. The thought of sacrificing
his life to Elhokar’s Blade didn’t sadden him. He was ready to die—he’d
been ready to die for some time now.
Blade met Blade in the peace of morning, and the duel began.
Part 3
chapter 82
JASNAH 18
Good sunrises were rare in the summer. Once, during Jasnah’s
youth, a stormkeeper had explained the reason. In the summer, there
weren’t enough clouds to reflect the sunlight, and the most vivid colors
required their distorting interference. Without clouds, the light simply
escaped into the sky, bland and uniform.
Jasnah watched the sunrise anyway. She sat beside the open window-flap
of her tent, waiting as the horizon came alight like a ribbon of fire. False dawn rose in the east, heralding the coming of morning like messengers
before an army. The sun itself was a majestic king, sending forth its spearmen and archers to brighten the land. There were no brilliant colors, true, but Jasnah was not disappointed. This was not a time for subtle artistry. It was a day that needed power and strength—not reflections or distortions.
This day, the sun rose not to provide beauty, but to fulfill its greater duty of illuminating the land.
A hand fell lightly on her shoulder. Jasnah turned, giving Meridas a flat
glare. The man knelt in a lord’s traditional evening clothes—loose seasilk trousers and a matching, open-fronted shirt.
Meridas bore her stare for a few moments, then obediently withdrew his
hand. She had moved into his tent to keep up appearances, but there were
two sleeping pallets. She intended to maintain this one last reservation as long as she could.
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Meridas smiled as he stood. He knew, as she did, that he would prove
the eventual victor in this struggle. Her position of power as his wife was too vital to risk letting him continue long without a heir.
He stretched, then pushed apart the dividing flap and left the sleeping
chamber for another section of the pavilion. Jasnah shivered as he left. Being vulnerable before him—wearing only a light sleeping robe, her left hand
exposed, her hair loose—unnerved her more than she would admit.
She sighed, then rose to go about her morning preparations. The army’s
brief stop in Kholinar had provided a host of comforts, not the least of
which included two more Awakeners to help provide food and fresh water
for the army. Jasnah now had a group of trained lady’s maids to attend
her—no more masculine-cut clothing and unprimped features would
mar her image. Yet as she submitted to their care this morning she couldn’t help longing for the days in Riemak when she had taken care of herself.
There was a strength in seeing to one’s own needs, an independence Jasnah
had never known before.
When the maids finished—Jasnah’s face expertly painted, her hair
combed and braided, her clothing immaculate and colorful—she was ready
to be presented to the world.
Not that it mattered any more. The addition of reserve forces from
Kholinar had swelled the army’s numbers to nearly eight thousand, but
Jasnah had very little to do with their management any more. Her marriage
to Meridas had elevated him in most people’s eyes, signaling a unification of power in the camp. While the people still considered themselves the
Herald’s Army, Meridas was universally accepted as the unnamed second
in command.
Her loss of control was not an enormous problem, however. Jasnah had
achieved her goals. Messengers had been sent to Dalenar, warning of the
invasion, and the army itself was marching to him. As long as these things happened, Jasnah didn’t really care who directed the daily operations of
the camp.
By the time she was washed, clothed, and fed, the rest of the army was
nearly ready to march. She had forgotten how long things could take when
one was attended by proper maids—during the previous part of their march,
Jasnah would have overseen the feeding of the men, the disassembling of
sub-camps, and the organization of the marching columns. Now she barely
had time to finish off her morning meal before the soldiers came to break
down Meridas’s pavilion and stow it in the supply carts.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 741
Her litter waited outside. Jasnah shuffled over to it—though a week had
passed since her return to ‘luxury,’ she had yet to reaccustom herself to the talla’s restrictive motion. She waited patiently while the soldiers worked on the pavilion—the same men would become her litter-bearers once they
were finished.
As the men worked, she turned toward the main body of the army,
watching as its members moved about now-familiar patterns of organiza-
tion. She felt some measure of pride as she watched them. What had been
refugees, wandering mercenaries, and isolated farmers had become an army
beneath her tutelage. Though they had no formal uniforms, they marched
with i
ncreasing cohesion. Kholinar and Aneazer had armed them, and
each men carried a weapon of good worth—most even had good armor,
scavenged from the dead Veden force at Kholinar. Taln’s training had
proven remarkably effective, considering its limited time. The man had an
amazing ability to change peasants into soldiers—somewhere in his past,
he had done such before.
Thoughts of the would-be Herald prompted her to seek him out with
her eyes. He was not difficult to spot. Taln always stood at the center of activity—though she wasn’t certain whether that was because he sought
it out, or because he created motion and activity wherever he went. A
gathering of soldiers and guards stood around him, giving advice and
taking orders. The sight gave her a smile; no effort on Meridas’s part, even marrying Jasnah, had shaken free the people’s reliance upon Taln. Rather
the opposite, actually. Even Lord Aneazer’s mercenaries were beginning
to accept Taln’s divine authority. He made a powerful symbol, standing
broad-chested and self-assured, always calm and friendly, ever competent at his duties. Few sane men could claim such an impressive list of credentials.
Jasnah watched him with pride.
Taln made a few more commands, then apparently excused himself from
the group. As he began walking, Jasnah realized with a start that he was
moving toward her tent.
She quickly composed herself, pretending that she hadn’t been staring
in his direction. He had spoken with her little during the past week, as
was proper. She was now married—it would not do for the men to think
her unfaithful to her union.
Besides. She could see the hurt in his eyes—he had always been easy
to read, considering his supposed age. She had rejected him. Perhaps
he understood the necessity of her actions—the two of them were
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obviously incompatible. However, that knowledge obviously didn’t lessen
his hurt.
Nor did it hers.
She adopted a look of passive curiosity as he approached. “Lord Talenel,”
she said respectfully as he paused beside her litter.
“Lady Jasnah,” he replied, nodding slightly. “I thought you would wish to
know that the scouts have located your brother’s army. If the Aleth armies remain where they are, we should reach them by mid-afternoon.”
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