Maybe his mind has been affected by the captivity, Shinri thought, standing. “I’ll return,” she said, picking up her basket.
He never really wanted you, Ahven hissed in her mind. He couldn’t have—you were given to him freely.
“Get me a Shardblade!” Merin repeated, his face appearing in the cell window. “I have to go help Lord Dalenar.”
Shinri nodded, turning and walking down the hallway. Before, she’d had the benefit of presumption—as long as Ahven’s words had been her only proof of Tethren’s love of the queen, Shinri had been able to disbelieve. But now . . .
The man is dead, Shinri told herself. Months gone. His infidelity shouldn’t matter. What power has he over you?
“You were in there a long time,” the guard said as she passed. “Spent a while chatting, didn’t you?”
Shinri paused, wrestling down her emotions and giving the guard a flat stare. “I had to make certain the prisoners were fit,” she said. “My only concern is that they be healthy enough to be of use to my husband.”
“Of course,” the guard said, reclining in his chair. “Very good of you. Next time, bring some money.”
Shinri thinned her eyes slightly at the man, then nodded and turned down the hallway to make her way back toward her chambers.
chapter 57
Lhan 1
Lhan Radenmev had only ever been good at two things in his life. The first was avoiding responsibility. The second was helping people.
Some called it altruism. That, however, was far too noble a word. Lhan understood himself, and—with all frankness—knew himself to be a selfish, lethargic man. However, he had always been interested in people. When growing up, his only inborn asset had been his tongue—he could get anyone to talk to him, even those who didn’t particularly like him. The variety he saw in personalities, attitudes, and opinions had fascinated him even as a child.
Others thought that because Lhan had little regard for possessions, he was humble. That was a mistake. If Lhan ignored the baubles and finery that had delighted his brother, sister, and their noble friends, it was only because he was busy with objects far more splendid: people.
The young Lhan had met as many individuals as he could, prompting them to speak, using his strange ability to put them at ease to discover their true opinions and emotions. He had a gift in his ability to make strangers open up and speak to him as if they were confiding in a spouse, rather than some random Shardbearer’s son. Lhan listened to their ramblings with rapt attention, collecting minds in the same way a wealthy merchant might gather precious works of art. The more interesting and strange the personality, the more excited Lhan was to speak with its owner.
The benefit his subjects gained from these discussions had been quite unexpected. He soon became a topic of discussion among the Kholinar elite; the ladies in their sitting groups would speak about Chaden Radenmev’s firstborn son. They referred to Lhan by all manner of praiseful adjectives—respectful, wise, sober. That last one had particularly bothered Lhan, and so he had decided to disprove it by getting himself quite drunk on his twelfth birthday.
Lhan’s father hadn’t quite known what to do with the boy. In Lhan’s mind, Chaden had been anything but interesting. He was a straightforward, stout, bull of a man, a loyal Shardbearer to King Nolhonarin, but otherwise rather unimpressive. Looking back, Lhan thought that his father had probably been a very good and noble person, a man whose only crime had been being less clever than his son would have liked. At the time, however, Lhan had found his family incurably boring, and had instead preferred to spend his time with more lively subjects—such as the gossiping palace maids, or the men confined to the stocks in the courtyard, or even (when he could manage it) the mysterious Awakeners of Nolhonarin’s court.
Regardless of the reasonings, Chaden hadn’t seen in Lhan the ‘wise young man’ that the court seemed to think he had spawned. To him, Lhan had just been a disrespectful slop of a boy who refused to learn proper discipline and who found great amusement in mocking his own father.
Back then, people often told Lhan that his tongue would get him in trouble, but he usually quipped that there wasn’t any trouble his tongue could bring that his wit wouldn’t be able to solve. Then the day had come when his father had realized an amazing fact—that there was an easy, court-approved way to remove Lhan from the succession, thereby allowing Chaden to pass his Blade and title on to Lhan’s younger brother, a boy far more modest in both acumen and action.
Lhan had found himself in the monastery the very next day.
It hadn’t even been a scandal. People had often remarked that Chaden’s thoughtful little boy possessed a gift for helping people. What better place was there for such a person than in Peacehome monastery? No amount of wit had been able to free Lhan from the pact his father made—Lhan was Birthgiven, and would remain a monk until the day he died.
At first, Lhan hadn’t realized how perfect the monastery was for him. After all, it gave him wonderful opportunities to develop both of his strengths: there had been no lack of responsibilities to avoid, and Peacehome—as an Order of Kavel monastery—saw a constant rotation of the poor, the wounded, and even the insane. Fascinating personalities abounded.
It hadn’t taken long for Lhan to bless his father’s decision rather than resent it. The other monks had been surprised by Lhan’s willingness to work with the mad, but they had been more than willing to give him the duty—in many of their minds, it was a fitting punishment for his fondness of avoiding work. Only the wizened Peacehome First Monk had seen some of the truth in Lhan’s motivations. The man had never gone so far as to forbid Lhan’s work with the insane, but he had always warned—as if speaking with the same spirit as those who had spoken of Lhan’s troublemaking tongue—that Lhan’s fascination with madmen would eventually lead him to poor ends.
For the first time in his life, Lhan had a mind to agree with the old corpse.
What was Lhan—lover of peaceful mornings, relaxing afternoons, and quiet evenings—doing on a cliffside in northern Riemak? Why was he standing beside soldiers and Shardbearers, holding a spear as if he thought he might know what to do with it? The idea was so ridiculous that, at times, he laughed.
And yet, there he was, standing in the evening light, wearied from marching, drawn halfway across the continent by the most fascinating personality he had ever found.
Taln stood at the very edge of the cliffside, scanning the rock plains below them. Apparently, northern Riemak was a progressive gradient, the land rising to what would eventually become the desolate stormlands of Kavenar. Several days before, the group had arrived at a set of step-like plateaus leading up. Lhan cringed when he remembered lugging his pack all the way up those switchbacks. There were apparently more plateaus ahead, but they had passed the greater deal of the climbing.
The land they would now have to travel consisted of a series of broken plateaus, the stone pocketed and slashed by rainchannels. It was colder than Lhan would have expected, despite it being the Searing, and the winds swept across the army’s line unbroken and strong. He hated to think how it would feel in a highstorm.
Taln the Madman looked down toward the path they had taken just a few days before, scanning for something the scouts had reported. Of all the minds Lhan had seen, this was the strangest. At first, Lhan had assumed that Taln was just another delusional man—Lhan had met many during his days at Peacehome. Taln had soon proven himself different from any other person Lhan had met. Other delusionals did not like to be confronted by the truth—they couldn’t listen to criticism, and argued violently when their ‘truths’ were confronted. Taln did none of this. In fact, most of the time he seemed quite accepting of others’ perception of him.
Yet there was a kernel of the standard delusional in him. An instability that manifest at certain times of great stress. Yes, Taln was a madman—the fact that he didn’t completely fit the profile was what made him so fascinating to Lhan.
Now Lhan was paying the de
bts for his curiosity. Why had he thought to accompany Taln on his quest? How had he let himself be drawn away from Peacehome and his life of comfort? It wouldn’t be so bad if Lhan hadn’t felt so out of place. The men expected spirituality from him, but Lhan had neglected that side of his training. Fortunately he had been able to pilfer several pages from the Arguments from the monastery in Marcabe to use for crash memorization sessions.
There was more. The men expected certain things from a monk, and these Lhan could fake. Taln, however, often looked to him for . . . what? Reliance? Suggestions? Lhan had ignored his childhood lessons in military tactics and Masculine Arts, and had never seen fit to revisit them during his monastery days—despite the fact that any art, whether it be tactics, painting, or swordplay, was open to him as a monk. What did Taln want from him? Lhan had forced his way into the man’s company, but now—instead of resenting him, as many would—Taln looked to him for advice. That fact was discomforting enough, but Lhan’s sincere desire to make Taln proud of him was a completely unexpected emotion.
Lhan was a fool. He had known that fact for most of his life, but having the knowledge and facing it were apparently different things. Alethkar was in danger of being destroyed by invaders, and Lhan had an opportunity to help save it—only, he had no skills, little knowledge, and poor training. All three situations were his fault.
“There,” Taln said suddenly, pointing below.
The other members of the command group—Lord Meridas the Arrogant, Lord Kemnar the Unassuming, and Lords Unimportant the Flunkies—perked up at Taln’s comment. Meridas looked as if he would challenge Taln’s assertion, but held his tongue. The scouts had already told them that there were groups of men below—it would be foolish to challenge Taln. Besides, the madman’s eyesight had proven itself superior on several occasions.
Meridas. Now, there was another fascinating person. The lord had given Lhan little opportunity to speak with him—Meridas guarded his time not for its own sake, but for the way it made him look by always being too busy to take visitors. However, Lhan could easily tell there was more to this fop than he projected. There was a strength below the arrogance, and the wit to use it well. Of course, despite his unusual attributes, Meridas was still a fop. Apparently, even fops could have some depth to them—and that fact made the nobleman twice as fascinating as any humble, Bajerden-studying lord.
“How many?” Kemnar asked.
That was another one. The nobleman who felt guilty for his own privilege, a man who avoided leadership not because of the responsibility it brought, but because he worried that he wouldn’t do a good enough job. A man who sought out the company of thieves because, subconsciously, he found their morals less threatening than the ones he himself was expected to live.
Yes, despite the hardships, despite the humiliation, Lhan decided that he was glad to be on the trip—if only for the people it contained. One didn’t often find men like Kemnar, Taln, and Meridas—let alone get the opportunity to watch the three interact.
“At least fifty people,” Taln said in response to Kemnar’s question. “And other specks in the distance that could be more.”
“Soldiers?” Meridas asked.
Taln squinted in the waning light. “They’re too far away,” he said. “We’ll have to wait until the scouts get back.”
Meridas frowned, folding his arms. Of course, the nobleman had good reason to be frustrated. The fractured crags and valleys of the Riemak plateaus had frustrated the army’s progress. The highstorms would begin again in a couple of days, and those in the know claimed that flooding would prove dangerous. Taln kept mumbling at the terrible loss of Riemak’s highway system, a thing that hadn’t existed for over half a millennium.
Trackers claimed to have discovered several trails, though when they pointed them out, Lhan saw only scattered rockbuds and monochrome rocks. Yet Taln claimed the rockbud polyps there were smaller and younger, bespeaking routes sometimes used by passing caravans. But if they took the army down one of the supposed roads only to find themselves blocked when the path dead-ended at a wash or rift in the rock, the time wasted backtracking and trying again would be great. Scouts could move far more quickly than the army itself, and they had been sent to find high ground and determine the best way north.
Even Meridas had agreed that waiting for the scout reports was a move that would, ultimately, save time. However, waiting in the same place for three days had made Meridas tense. As far as Lhan had heard, there were no reports of immediate pursuit. Taln claimed that their marching speed would make it difficult for non-mounted enemies to catch them. Unfortunately, they also had no information from the east. The status of Alethkar’s armies—if they hadn’t been destroyed already—was an ominous worry common to most of their company. The men spoke of their concerns often to Lhan, wondering if they should have remained behind, to defend Marcabe if invaders came. Lhan carefully pointed out that without Taln’s weapons and formation training, they probably wouldn’t have been of much use to their town. They were better off where they were, marching to their king’s defense.
“If it is a Veden attack party,” Kemnar noted, “our position at the top of the ridge is enviable. It wouldn’t be wise to move now.”
“More delays,” Meridas said with thin-lipped frustration, marching forward to stand beside Taln and scan the plains.
Kemnar snorted quietly beside Lhan. “I’m surprised Meridas even bothers with the act,” he said quietly. “He can’t expect us to believe he cares for Alethkar or its king. I’m half certain he’d join with our invaders if he had the chance.”
Lhan shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. Meridas has put a lot of effort into Alethkar, effort he probably doesn’t want to see dashed by an untimely change in governments. Besides, he’s a well-known associate of the king. If they capture the kingdom, Elhokar’s Parshens will be among the first noblemen to be executed. No, I’d say Meridas has a very healthy desire to keep Alethkar safe.”
Kemnar raised an eyebrow at the comment, but nodded thoughtfully. Lhan looked away from him, toward where Meridas was studying the plains below. Lhan could see distrust in the man’s eyes. Meridas probably thought that Taln was lying about being able to see the men below in order to enhance his reputation for having superior senses. Perhaps he was right. Taln was, after all, only confirming what the scouts below had seen.
“We will wait,” Meridas finally announced. Then he swept away, attendants in tow. He paused a few steps later, however, glancing back at Lhan and the others. “Oh, and by the way, dear Lord Kemnar. I don’t think that you have any place questioning my loyalty.”
Kemnar blushed deeply as he realized his comment had been overheard.
“Instead, perhaps you should ask yourself this:” Meridas continued. “Why exactly is the madman so concerned with the training of our men? Does he work for Alethkar’s good, or for his own?” With that, he left.
Meridas’ words turned out to be almost prophetic, in a twisted way.
Their pursuers were indeed armed, but they were not from Vedenar. Lhan stood with Meridas’s troops, his spear held at the ready, sweating nervously like the rest of them. Their captains had seen to their placement, organizing them in formations that could quickly be manipulated to accommodate the unpredictability of battle. Still, with only a hundred and eighty men, theirs seemed a small army. Lhan was near the front, and he was able to see the cautious group of ten men that climbed up the final incline to the plateau’s top.
They were a ragged bunch, yet they held their spears with warrior’s hands. They wore dark leather armor—stained with dye, sweat, and probably blood—that had been patched in numerous places.
“Who are you?” called one of Meridas’s attendants—Lhan thought it was Chathan, though he got the two mixed up.
The newcomers paused, regarding the soldiers arrayed before them with grim eyes. One stepped forward. “We seek the Herald’s army,” he called.
There was a pause at this. Finally, Chathan—actin
g as Meridas’s mouthpiece—spoke again. “To whom to your loyalties belong?”
“They belong to you, if you’ll feed us,” the man said. “Are you recruiting soldiers or not?”
And, apparently they were, for Meridas eventually accepted the mercenaries into their company. They were not the last. Lady Jasnah claimed that she should have seen it—Riemak was historically the place militaries went when they needed to hire additional spears. It would stand to reason that the mercenary bands would be in a state of flux, kicking out and gathering new members even as the groups themselves were dissolved and reformed. Their members would always be seeking work.
Some came as those first, seeking work. Others came, not as mercenaries, but as pilgrims. Somehow, stories of Taln’s exploits in Ral Eram had managed to reach even the assumedly-sheltered communities of Riemak. Tales had spread, stories of Taln defeating hundreds of soldiers on his own. Rumors claimed that the Return had come, and that the Stormshades were attacking mankind again. Stories whispered that Taln had come to refound Riemak, and to free its people from their lives of uncertainty and chaos. Some said that he was insane, but that he had the power of an Awakener, and was commanding an army of thralls. Others said that all Ten Heralds were in his company, and that they had come to seek support for Alethkar’s war—though why Heralds would care about protecting one kingdom from another was a point of uncertainty. The more rational among them claimed that there was no Herald—that the army belonged to Alethkar itself, and it was seeking mercenaries to help against the Veden invasion.
All of the stories agreed on one thing: someone was gathering an army. And so, they came. Some to fight for money, others to fight for hope. Some came for religious reasons, others for simple curiosity. Early in their trip, Taln had suggested to Lhan that the land of Riemak was hardly as underpopulated as some had claimed. Lhan hadn’t understood what made Taln so certain, but the madman certainly proved himself correct as hundreds of soldiers, refugees, and pilgrims dribbled into their ranks.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 64