The Way of Kings Prime

by Brandon Sanderson

  One of the attendants noticed that Taln was awake, and the man waved over an older monk. The elderly man regarded Taln with a displeased expression, whispering to his companion in a voice most men probably wouldn’t have been able to hear. Taln was not most men.

  “Where is Brother Lhan?” the elder monk hissed. “He should be here!”

  “I’ll fetch him, Telilah,” the younger monk promised, bowing his head in deference, then rushing off.

  The older man cleared his face of displeasure, smiling reassuringly toward Taln. He had a large nose and grizzled features, and his hands were callused. “I see you finally awoke from your slumber, traveler.”

  “Yes, holy one,” Taln replied, still bothered by the fact that he had fallen asleep in the first place. “Thank you for caring for me.” Taln flexed his arm, testing his muscles against their extended immobility. “It seems I’ve been a bit out of sorts these last few days. How long was I . . . asleep?”

  “Four days, off and on,” the senior monk explained. “You were awake for much of the time, but you seemed unable to focus.”

  Four days. . . . Taln shook his head. Yet, he could feel the weakness of his mind, the whispers at the edge of his sanity. It was getting worse each Return. Perhaps that was the reason for his apparent slumber.

  “I must say, traveler,” the kindly monk said. “You seem far more . . . lucid now than when they first brought you.”

  “I feel far more lucid, holy one,” Taln said with a smile. He raised his sheet slightly, noticing that he was still naked. Hopefully, the monks would loan him some clothing—though he doubted anyone was going to give him a weapon any time soon.

  “Tell me, traveler,” the senior monk said uncertainly. “What do you . . . remember of yourself?”

  Taln raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I still think that I’m a Herald?”

  “In not so many words,” the monk replied.

  “My problems of the last few days were not related to my identity, holy one,” Taln said. “I am an Elin. I will not lie to you; that would do us both a disservice.”

  “I see,” the monk said, his disappointment apparent.

  “However,” Taln continued. “I don’t expect you to believe me. The Sign did, after all, fail—I’ll have to solve that problem before I can move onto other items. For now, let it suffice to say that I was a traveler in need of your assistance, and you provided it. The Almighty bless you for that.”

  The monk smiled, glancing to the side as another brown-robed form, looking a bit disheveled, entered from the north hallway.

  “You are welcome to stay with us as long as you need, friend,” the elderly monk said, gesturing toward the newcomer. “Brother Lhan has been assigned to care for you. He will travel with you, and make certain you are aquatinted with the city.”

  In other words, he’ll make certain I don’t get into trouble, Taln thought, smiling and nodding his head as the elder monk backed away to care for other patients.

  Taln was pleased to note that Brother Lhan was carrying a folded pile of clothing with him. Lhan was a younger man—probably in his early twenties—a bit on the pudgy side, with an unconcerned oval of a face. Lhan blinked tiredly as he approached, and his left cheek was still imprinted with the lines of whatever he had been lying on when they woke him.

  Lhan yawned as he pulled a stool up beside Taln’s bed, resting the clothing on the floor beside him. “Greetings, traveler. Welcome to the glorious Mercyhome monastery.”

  “Thank you,” Taln said, reaching immediately for the clothing. “I assume these are for me?”

  Lhan nodded, yawning again.

  “I’m sorry they woke you,” Taln noted, picking through the clothing.

  Lhan shrugged. “It’s my own fault—I’ve really got to find a better place to hide.”

  Taln raised an eyebrow at the comment as he examined the clothing. The cut was unfamiliar to him, though fashion changes between Returns were normal. The trousers were very loose through the legs, and ended in wide triangular cuffs about halfway down the calf. The shirt was equally loose, probably intended to be worn tucked into the pants, then tied with the sash. There were undergarments as well.

  The most important article, however, was the thick brown cloak—a piece of Rosharan fashion that would never change. Cloaks were necessary even in the summer to ward off highstorm rains. All of the clothing had been crafted from shennah, a plant whose bark was stringy and fluffy enough to be spun. It made for rough fabric; fortunately, all but the cloak had been treated in such a way to make them softer to the touch. Taln nodded in satisfaction—he would have preferred seasilk, of course. The material was lighter, stronger, and more comfortable. These, however, were a citizen’s clothing. He could have hoped for nothing more.

  “Brother Lhan,” Taln said. “Please run and fetch me some thread and a needle.”

  “Excuse me?” the monk asked.

  “You and I are in a forced relationship,” Taln said. “Your superiors obviously expect you to keep me from causing any serious trouble. If you want my cooperation in this, you are going to need to make yourself useful.”

  Lhan raised an eyebrow. “How very . . . economical of you.”

  Taln sighed, regarding the man. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Lhan; I’m just trying to save the world. A needle and some thread would be very helpful.”

  Lhan rolled his eyes, rising from his stool. “All right.”

  “Oh, and bring me four medium-sized rocks,” Taln added, rising and beginning to dress. “About half the size of your fist.”

  “Rocks?” Lhan asked skeptically.

  “Yes, rocks,” Taln replied. “This is Roshar. The last time I checked—which, admittedly, was several centuries ago—they were fairly prevalent here.”

  “Rocks,” Lhan mumbled again as he walked off.

  Taln was dressed by the time Lhan returned. Taln accepted the thread, needle, and rocks from the monk, then proceeded to begin sewing a flap into the hem of his cloak. The monk sat down, regarding Taln with curiosity.

  “The second thing I’m going to need from you, Brother Lhan, is information,” Taln said, pulling the thread tight.

  “Ask away.”

  “What year is it?”

  “10e980,” Lhan replied.

  Taln paused, needle held halfway through a stitch. “980?” he asked.

  “Indeed,” the monk replied. “Not that I’ve seen daylight for the last ten years or so, but at least they tell me that’s what the year is.”

  980. Nearly a thousand years since the Ninth Epoch, since the last Return. Such a long time—something must have happened to the Khothen. They had never waited that long between Returns before. “What happened to the Epoch Kingdoms?” Taln asked, turning back to his sewing.

  Lhan didn’t respond immediately. “You’re kidding, right?” he eventually asked.

  “Pretend I’m not,” Taln said without looking up.

  “They fell,” the monk explained. “Right after the beginning of the Tenth Epoch.”

  Taln closed his eyes, sighing to himself. He’d hoped it wasn’t true, but . . .” What about Alethkar?” he said, opening his eyes. “It obviously still exists.”

  “Well, a lot of the Epoch Kingdoms exist in name,” Lhan explained. “It’s always a good idea to use one of the old names when you found a kingdom—it makes you seem more legitimate.”

  “Which ones still stand, then?” Taln asked. “Even if only in name.”

  “Alethkar, of course,” the monk said. “Though, as the king told you, we’ve expanded a bit over the last few years. Thalenah still stands—it’s by itself on that island over there, so its borders stay pretty stable. Vedenar is now called Jah Keved, though it’s ruled by three Veden Houses with a figurehead as their leader.”

  Taln frowned. “That’s it?”

  “Well, Shinavar is still there,” Lhan said. “No one ever really pays much attention to the clansmen. The land that used to be Lakhenran is ruled by Jah
Keved, as it has been off and on for the last few centuries. Prallah’s a mixture of a tenset different kingdoms—our king just captured the largest one, as you’ve probably heard.”

  “Riemak, Bethram, Inava?”

  “Gone,” the monk said. “Kingdoms sometimes try to claim them, but mostly they’re uninhabited—except Riemak. There are enough bandits over there to form their own kingdom.”

  Taln nodded. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been—Bethram was the smallest of the kingdoms, and would be missed only briefly. Riemak’s disappearance would be a strong blow—the Holy City at its center had been a powerful center of morale during times of battle. However, Alethkar, Vedenar, and Thalenah had always been the most populous—and powerful—of the ten.

  “Vorinism is still strong, I assume,” Taln noted, reaching for the rocks Lhan had brought him.

  “And always will be, Almighty willing,” Lhan said in a dutiful monotone, his piousness weakened slightly by the extended yawn in the middle of the sentence.

  “If the Vorin religion is still in power,” Taln said with a frown, “how is it that no one takes my claim to be a Herald seriously? Have you forgotten about the cycle of Returns, the coming of the Khothen? The religion was founded to prepare for such things.”

  “Well,” Lhan said, “we’ve kind of had to change our focus during the last epoch. You did, after all, promise that you weren’t going to come back any more.”

  Taln froze, glancing up. “What?”

  “At the end of the Last Return,” Lhan explained. “The Elin disappeared and said they wouldn’t be coming back, that the cycle of Returns was through, and the Khothen had been defeated.”

  “That’s not possible,” Taln said.

  Lhan raised an eyebrow.

  “I wouldn’t be here if the cycle of Returns were over,” Taln explained. “Trust me. Which of the Elin proclaimed this?”

  “Well, I’m not really sure,” Lhan said. “It didn’t become official Vorin doctrine until around the fifth century, I think.”

  “Why so long?”

  Lhan shrugged. “You’re kind of asking the wrong monk—actually, the wrong monastery. The Order of Ishar contains all the history experts. This all happened a thousand years ago, after all.”

  “But it’s your theological heritage,” Taln said, finishing his stitching.

  “So the senior monks are fond of telling me.”

  Taln stood, putting on the cloak.

  “You sewed rocks into your hem,” Lhan noted. “How very . . . odd of you.”

  Taln spun, turning a few times to judge the motion of the cloak. Then he turned to the side in a quick motion, pulling the garment off with a smooth gesture. He nodded to himself, putting it back on.

  “For weight,” Taln explained. “A weighted cloak is easier to position in a battle, and easier to remove quickly.” He could also use it as a surprise weapon, though he didn’t offer that bit of explanation.

  “Oh,” Lhan said.

  “What did you think I was doing?” Taln asked with amusement, sitting down on the bed and removing the cloak.

  “I wasn’t sure,” Lhan replied. “I just figured you were confused. You are, after all, crazy.”

  Taln raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a very subtle one, are you, Brother Lhan?”

  “I make up for it in sheer laziness,” Lhan replied. “What are you doing now?”

  “Pockets,” Taln said, setting out the cloak again. “Do you mind if I cut up this blanket?”

  Lhan shrugged. “That’s the kind of thing we expect crazy people to do anyway. You’ll have to tear it, though. I’m certainly not going to give you a knife.”

  Taln frowned, but did as requested. “You seem surprisingly flippant with regard to my supposed lunacy. Aren’t you afraid I’ll become violent?”

  “You’re not a violent one,” Lhan said. “I’ve seen a lot of your type come through the monastery. I also know you can’t be talked out of who you think you are. My job is simply to make certain you don’t accidentally hurt yourself or anyone else—especially not myself.”

  “You have experience with ‘my type,’ then?” Taln asked, sewing a large pocket into the cloak’s inner right side.

  “I tend to get all of the more . . . undesirable assignments.”

  “I wonder why,” Taln mumbled. He fell silent as he worked, turning his thoughts to a topic he had been avoiding. What was he going to do? Normally, he would let the other Elin decide the plan, but he appeared to be the only one to have reached Ral Eram. He needed to find the others, and that required one thing: his sword.

  It had been taken from him . . . he remembered that night at the feast only vaguely. “My sword . . .” he said.

  “It was confiscated,” Lhan said. “You didn’t exactly make a good impression on the king. Enduring, perhaps, but definitely not good.”

  “There was . . . a woman,” Taln said thoughtfully. “She saved my life.”

  “Lady Jasnah,” Lhan agreed. “The king’s sister. Don’t assume she protected you out of fondness. Lady Jasnah is about as compassionate as a sleeping chull. Even her breathing is politically motivated. No one’s certain why she pled for you, but most think it was some kind of stunt.”

  “Either way, I owe her my life,” Taln said. The loss of his weapon was troubling. With Glyphting, he could sense the locations of the other Elin. It would be the easiest and fastest way to find them.

  Assuming, of course, he thought, that the Blade’s powers still work.

  Taln paused. A feeling of dread struck him. Stonewarding didn’t work, and he couldn’t manifest the Nahel. If he lost the sword as well . . .

  The windowlight turned red. Taln gasped, feeling dizzy, and an expression of concern actually crossed the monk’s face. “Are you all right?” Lhan asked.

  The monk burst into flames. The windows melted. Blood-red fire ripped up the sides of the building, pooling at the top and bearing down on Taln with its heat. Smoke rose from suddenly-ignited beds, curling ominously, bringing with it screams. Sudden, formless screams that came from the far edge of the room. Taln looked up. Fire roared, and something moved within it. Something dark. The screams mounted, pulsing in his ears, searing him, flaying him.

  “What’s wrong?” Lhan asked, still in flames, his flesh melting from his face.

  Taln closed his eyes, grabbing the sides of his head, pushing the screams away. He shivered, exhaling in a long, demanding sigh.

  When Taln opened his eyes, the room had returned to normal. He sat for a few moments, breathing deeply.

  “I’m fine,” Taln finally said, forcing himself to stand and look at his new cloak. It had one large pocket, two smaller ones, and a small ribbon at the back to hold a hidden dagger—if he ever managed to get his hands on one. “I assume I’m allowed to leave the monastery?”

  “As long as you take me with you,” Lhan replied. “But . . .”

  Taln raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re kind of expected to go work in the royal mines,” Lhan explained. “To help pay for your keep.”

  “But no one is going to force me,” Taln clarified.

  “Well, no . . .”

  “Good,” Taln said, throwing on his cloak. “We’re leaving, then.”

  “Um, where are we going?”

  “To get some information,” Taln replied.

  “Oh?” Lhan asked. “You mean my wealth of accumulated wisdom isn’t good enough for you?”

  Taln turned, eyeing the monk with a suffering eye, then waved for him to follow.

  chapter 14

  Jasnah 4

  Jasnah carefully composed herself, settling into the high-backed chair. It was refreshing to have an audience chamber again; three years at war had accustomed her to tents and temporary camps.

  The First Palace’s plushness felt almost surreal. Many of the rooms were covered with intricate, mural-like carpets, and the walls of both hallways and rooms were crafted from seamless marble—made from smoothed clay that had
been transformed through the power of ancient Awakeners.

  Her personal audience chamber was as she had left it a year before. It lay in the Aleth section of the ten-winged palace, and was decorated with a deep blue marble. The men of her personal guard—eight in number, now that two stood guard at her mother’s door—stood beside the pillars on either side of the room. The carpet was a dark maroon, depicting a scene from The Fall of Kanar, brave Tanath standing before the gates of his doomed city. There wasn’t a single gemstone in the entire room—an oddity in Roshar, especially for a noblewoman.

  The storm shutters were open, filling the room with sunlight. One of the maids, she noticed, had pasted paper glyphwards to each of them in preparation for the next highstorm. Jasnah was going to have to spend some time re-explaining to the servants her opinion on superstition. They couldn’t even see how irrational their actions were—most, if not all, of them were Vorin, and the religion taught that the storms and winds were the voice of the Almighty. Yet they still held to traditions centuries old, traditions that attributed ill fortune and mystical danger to the storms.

  Despite the annoying glyphwards, the room was relaxing. Sitting in her audience chair again, the world finally seemed as if it were regaining some of the order that had been scattered and confused these last three years.

  “Show her in,” Jasnah requested.

  Nelshenden nodded, pulling open the doors and revealing the person who waited outside. Jasnah did not recognize the middle-aged woman, though her cloak bore the familiar glyph pren, the mark of a scribe. Her talla was white with little ornamentation, and she only wore one gemstone—a clear diamond ring. Behind her stood a younger woman, wearing a simple white robe and caring two thick tomes.

  “My lady,” the scribe said, bowing.

  “Lady Analesh,” Jasnah said, nodding. “I was sorry to hear of the death of your predecessor.” Her words were very truthful—Jasnah had worked very hard to gain the allegiance of Lady Shemlakh, the previous Royal Treasurer.

  “It was an unfortunate illness,” Analesh agreed. Her voice was careful, her face controlled. This was a woman who had worked hard for her station; the position of Royal Treasurer brought immense power. “I brought the ledgers you requested. I assume you have the king’s permission to view them?”