The Way of Kings Prime

by Brandon Sanderson

  “And you didn’t know the Blades allowed you to sense only where the other Blades were, not where the other Heralds were?” Jasnah asked.

  Taln shook his head. “You’d think that would come up over the centuries, but it didn’t. We are never without our Blades, Jasnah. That’s the other reason I know that my brethren didn’t abandon them here. Our powers are tied to our swords; they are part of us. We don’t just leave them behind.”

  “You say that the Heralds never leave their Blades behind, yet here they are,” Jasnah said. “You claim the Blades go with them when they die, but they haven’t. So they can’t either be alive or dead. Don’t you see how circular this is?”

  Taln nodded. “And that is what has me confused. Like I said before, something must have happened at the end of the last Return. I was the first to die. If something happened to the nahel bond after I left, perhaps . . . I don’t know. Maybe my brethren aren’t in either world. Maybe they really are dead. Killed, somehow. Permanently.”

  And this, she sensed, was what made him so depressed. He had worked through it all on his own already. He had arrived at the same double dead end, and worried that the other Heralds—men he knew of only in his delusions, but who were real to him nonetheless—were all dead.

  “Wouldn’t you have seen them in the Dwelling?” Jasnah said. “During the times between Returns? Didn’t you ever wonder what happened to them?”

  Taln shook his head. “Things are . . . complicated on the other side, Jasnah. I wouldn’t have known if they came back or not. I assumed that they did, but I don’t know.” He turned toward her, haunted. “I’m the only one left. Even if they are alive somewhere, I’m the only one who came for this Return. Mankind only has me. They needed brilliant, intelligent leaders, but they received only Talenel.”

  This time, Jasnah spoke honestly. “Taln, you do yourself injustice. What do you think you are? An idiot of some sort? You’ve a clever mind, far more intelligent than most of the men I’ve known. Why must you insist on self-deprecation?”

  “No self-deprecation, Jasnah,” Taln said. “Just truth. Three thousand years has taught me some things, but the others . . . They are brilliant, Jasnah. Ishar wrote all ten Arguments and founded a religion. Chanaral designed the Oathgates and the Shardblades. Bajerden wrote The Way of Kings primarily based on the things he learned from Jezrien. Nale gave the Suur their Code, which became the standard of law throughout Roshar.

  “The others weren’t just men, but geniuses—every one. Listen to their names. Lightcall. Discerning. Holydawn. Timeless. What am I? Talenel the Steadfast. That’s what I’ve always been. Reliable and stalwart, but not a leader. I am no man of great wisdom; I’m just a warrior. That’s why I was so eager to come find the others. They know what to do, how to organize mankind. Without them . . .”

  “Self-pity will serve you nothing, Taln,” Jasnah said. “You’re too quick to judge. Maybe the others left their swords here for good reason. Maybe they never died last time; maybe they’re still out there somewhere. You haven’t really looked yet—they may not even know you’re back.”

  Taln sighed. “It is not self-pity I feel, Jasnah. Three millennia have helped me learn to avoid sullenness. However, the time has also taught me a few things about the Khothen. The odds are not good. We have one Herald instead of ten, and the few people who have come to know me best since the Return began still think I am insane. One cannot consider such difficult events without some measure of sorrow.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Taln . . .” she said. Come back with me. Come to Alethkar and forget about your failure. It doesn’t matter.

  Forget about your insanity. It wasn’t that easy. Instead,she asked, “Do you intend to continue with us?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I will have to consider it. Things are . . . troubling.”

  She didn’t press him, though she wanted to. It wasn’t her place. Hers was in Alethkar, in a union that brought her power. Icy, comfortless power with the snide man who stood on the other side of the room, watching her and Taln with the unveiled rage of jealousy.

  So she left Taln sitting in the room, below the statue of a massive, muscular man with a chiseled face and heroic expression. Taln the man, sitting at the feet of Talenel the legend.

  The aggregate army left Jorevan the next morning. Aneazer was impressed to discover that they had an Awakener, and it seemed to increase their standing with him. He offered to share some of his equipment with Jasnah’s men, and she accepted gratefully—though she suspected Meridas had something to do with the offer. Either way, Aneazer saw that each of her men at least had a spear, if not a metal cap and leather jerkin. There were even some shields to spread around.

  The despot lord and Meridas rode together, and Jasnah had trouble thinking of a reason to command otherwise. Still, she was suspicious of Meridas’s motives. If Elhokar and Dalenar really had gone to war, she had little doubt as to which side Meridas would be on. That put him and her at odds even more soundly, since she would back Dalenar in the conflict. However, for the moment there was a greater threat. She could only hope that her uncle and brother had realized that fact, and now resisted the invaders together.

  Taln rode alone, rebuffing even Lhan’s attempts at conversation. He didn’t leave the army, though Jasnah still feared that he might. When asked directly, he implied that he hadn’t decided whether to help her in Alethkar or not, claiming that the disputes of nations were none of his concern.

  The army was still vaguely under Taln’s banner. Though Aneazer’s troops were not religious zealots, but instead battle-hardened soldiers, Aneazer himself had agreed to visibly accept Taln’s claim as a Herald. This didn’t change many of his men’s attitudes—they followed because they believed that their lives would improve greatly once they were accepted as Aleth citizens—but it did give a strong measure of legitimacy to Jasnah’s recruitment efforts. In addition, the more believing part of Jasnah’s forces were quick to tell stories of how Taln had singly defeated a thousand men and had saved so many in Ral Eram. Slowly, his reputation even with Aneazer’s soldiers began to swell.

  Jasnah now had two methods of persuading men to join her banner—they could either come to fight for the Herald they had heard rumors of, or they could join in the hopes of earning a higher citizen rank when Aneazer’s cities were folded into Alethkar. The combined prongs aided them greatly in gathering forces, especially in Aneazer’s ‘tribute’ cities. Soon their army was approaching six thousand in number, and Shale—their Awakener—had to work constantly to provide grain to supplement what they could get from trade and foraging.

  Despite her success in recruitment, however, Jasnah rode with frustration. She worried for Alethkar. If Elhokar and Dalenar had gone to war over the throne, then King Ahven could have exploited their weakness, taking both armies when they were already fatigued. Most of the cities in Alethkar would be undefended, and supplies would be scarce. She worried about the people she knew. Who of her family still lived? What of Dalenar’s sons? Did Alethkar even still stand, or was she bringing her army to the certain death of a conquered kingdom?

  Taln worried her as well. Despite his noble words about avoiding sullenness, he looked like he was doing a fair job of moping. She didn’t know if it was because he thought his Heralds dead, or if there was a deeper reason—one derived from his failure to prove his delusions. Perhaps this was the time to press him, to make him confront his insanity. Yet what if his mind couldn’t take that much stress?

  She wanted him back. But he would barely speak to her. He rode staring into the distance, his mind working on problems she could only guess at.

  They approached the border to Alethkar, their scouts warned to watch for organized resistance. They found none. The villages they soon located knew nothing other than that Lord Dalenar had ridden to battle some weeks before. Whatever was happening in the center of the kingdom, it hadn’t reached such insignificant locations.

 
So they turned their bulky trail along the northern Chamaven ridge, a line of stormlands that pointed directly east. At their current marching speed, they would reach Kholinar in less than a week.

  There, Jasnah hoped to find answers.

  chapter 73

  Shinri 14

  The ocean air smelled odd to Shinri. There was a . . . coolness to it. A purity. The gentle rocking of the waves was calming in its repetition. It was so peaceful at times that she was almost able to ignore the twisting frustration she felt within.

  The peace was a lie. Though the boats moved with a sluggish rocking, their ponderous motions hid a demonic inevitability. They were taking her back to Ahven. All of her attempts to escape, all of her planning and her worrying, had been useless. In fact, her efforts had been worse than useless—before her escape, she had at least been separated from him. Fate was a gleeful satirist, taking her struggles and using them to bind her even more closely to the man she hated.

  Though she sat primly on the deckside bench, wearing a new talla and shaded by a parasol, she felt as if she were drowning—as if she were tied to a boulder and sinking beneath the waves, being pulled toward the black depths despite her frantic struggles to swim back up.

  You’re being foolish, Shinri told herself firmly. You’re going north, true, but you aren’t going to him. Merin won’t turn you over. In fact, he’ll probably leave you somewhere secure when he takes his armies to aid Alethkar.

  But Merin didn’t understand King Ahven. Ahven was so powerful of both mind and will. Merin had fought well on the Nanah docks, but he was still just a boy. Ahven was something else. Something barely human, something more like Lady Jasnah—capable of manipulating the emotions and politics of entire nations with frightening consistency.

  Could Merin protect her? Shinri doubted it. Only distance would keep her from Ahven Vedenel.

  Several Lakhenran handmaidens sat beside her, and they suddenly began whispering excitedly in their tongue. Shinri didn’t need to look to know that Merin had emerged from his cabin. He walked the foredeck often, obviously preferring the open sky to the confines of his quarters.

  Shinri eyed the handmaidens, noting with dissatisfaction their dreamy looks and giggling blushes. In a way, however, they had a right to their idolization. They didn’t know Merin; to them, he was simply the handsome young warrior who had so dramatically defeated five Shardbearers at once. He had single-handedly ended thirty years of oppression, freeing Lakhenran and restoring its monarchy. Sensational retellings of that day had embellished the truth, making it seem like Merin had flown with the winds themselves, making hundred-foot leaps and striking down his foes with ease. How could the girls not fawn over such a seemingly-legendary figure?

  Shinri forced herself to look at him, studying the man Merin Kholin. He wore new clothing, though—like always—he had kept the deep blue Kholin cloak that didn’t quite fit him. He stood straight-backed and confident as he looked northward, several aides speaking quietly at his side. He had a power too, though not the same kind as Ahven. Merin didn’t control events consciously, but he had a habit of putting himself in extreme situations and surviving. Such people as he created stories unintentionally, influencing the world by presence rather than design.

  Of course, there was more to him than that. The stories told of that day on the docks were exaggerated, but Shinri had been there to see the truth behind them. She had seen Merin leap from the deck of a ship and land safely on the wooden docks some twenty or thirty feet below. She had seen him jump toward his enemies, covering an unnatural distance in the air, then swing his Blade with inhuman power. He had sliced a man in Shardplate completely in two, treating the Awakened metal as if it were nothing more than common steel. Renarin had been right; Merin Kholin was not a normal man. He was indeed both a fool and a hero.

  And he was also her enemy.

  There was no quibbling about this fact in her mind. Shinri’s captivity was unspoken, but it was real. Merin had refused her request to let her remain in Lakhenran, showing a hint of guilt in his eyes as he did so. He knew that she was no guest, nor just a lady beneath his protection. She was his prisoner. His tool.

  Yet he was not an undefeatable enemy—he was no Ahven, capable of quelling her with a single glance. Beneath the hero, he was still a confused boy. Shinri could see the worries and uncertainties in his eyes. He was growing more self-confident, of course, as his authority increased. That, however, would only make him more vulnerable. Lady Jasnah had often said that noblemen were far more easy to manipulate than peasants—peasants would do what you said, true, but their simple honesty often made their hearts difficult to sway. A nobleman learned to be more . . . compromising, and a man who compromised could be exploited. Citizens only had one imperative—follow commands. Noblemen had to follow multiple masters, and the reconciliation between their ethics, their beliefs, their commands, and their goals was another potential source of exploitation.

  Shinri was fairly certain she had determined Merin’s weakness: his honor. She watched him carefully, waiting for him to dismiss his aides. He usually did so, eventually, for he liked to watch the waves alone. After a few moments, he waved the men away, then stepped forward to stand beside the gunwale in his customary position.

  Stilling her nerves, Shinri rose. Days spent in contemplation had determined that she had only one chip to play. Hopefully, it would be enough.

  Merin glanced at her as she approached, then turned back toward his contemplation of the ocean. The blue sea was dotted with ships, the other four tenset vessels of the fleet floating around their flagship. Smaller vessels scuttled between the ships, delivering messages or shifting supplies.

  Now, standing closer, she could see that Merin’s face was even more troubled than usual. He stared toward the ships, not toward the goal ahead.

  “They keep looking toward me for instructions,” he said.

  Shinri paused. Was he asking her advise? “Shouldn’t they seek your leadership?”

  “I don’t see why they should,” he said. “Who am I to have anything important to say?”

  “You are their savior,” Shinri said carefully.

  Merin snorted. “I didn’t bring them salvation, Shinri; I just killed some men. It’s nothing special—that’s what I’ve been trained to do. If they want a savior, they should look to the monk who trained me in dueling, or perhaps the sergeants who taught me the spear.”

  “You did more than just kill people, Merin,” Shinri said. “You gave the Lakhenrans courage. You gave them a will to fight, then convinced them to sail north to face their enemy. And you could quite possibly save your own kingdom in the process.”

  Merin didn’t appear persuaded by her logic. He leaned against the gunwale pensively, tapping his finger against the wood. He was wearing the jade bracelet again, she noticed—he had gone without it for several days after the battle, but now it was back.

  “Tamar is king now,” Merin said. “He leads this people, not me. Yet he keeps sending messengers to ask my will for the fleet—as if I would know about water foraging or scouting processes. He wants my input on everything. It almost seems like he wants my approval. Do you think, perhaps, that he was beneath Veden command so long that he feels inadequate leading on his own?”

  “Perhaps,” Shinri said, “but not likely.”

  “Why, then?” Merin asked. “Why keep looking to me?”

  “Well,” Shinri said. “You did kind of appoint him as king.”

  “No I didn’t,” Merin complained.

  “Sure you did,” Shinri said. “What did you think you were doing when you walked up and ‘bestowed’ that Shardblade upon him? Everyone had just seen the way you fought—there are already whispers of your being an Epoch Warrior, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find Renarin behind them. Either way, you set yourself up as something greater than a monarch—something capable of off-handedly granting a king a Shardblade, then commanding him to lead his people at your will. And you’re surprised that now h
e thinks he has to seek your approval?”

  Merin blushed at the comment, glancing down toward the passing waves below. He was so . . . earnest. That didn’t stop him from being her enemy, but it did make him somewhat more tolerable. A part of her—a very small part, true, but it was there nonetheless—was reticent to take advantage of his weaknesses.

  However, she felt far more terrified of returning to Ahven than she felt guilty for using Merin. “There is something I must . . . speak to you about,” she said carefully, trying to make her voice sound weak and feminine.

  Merin looked up, sensing a change in the conversation. “This is about our returning to Alethkar, isn’t it?” he guessed.

  Shinri nodded.

  “I have already promised you that you will be in no danger,” he said. “I won’t bring you into the war, Shinri, but I have to see that you are kept safe. I can only do that if you are here, with the fleet.” Where I can keep track of you, his voice implied.

  “I just . . .” she trailed off, allowing a little bit of her fear to show in her eyes. It came out more forcefully than she had expected, her honest emotions boiling free. She was surprised to feel a tear run down her cheek.

  “What?” Merin asked with alarm, perking up.

  “I can’t go back to him, Merin,” Shinri whispered.

  “Who?” Merin asked. “King Ahven?”

  Shinri nodded. “I . . . Merin, that man took me as his wife. He claimed me, made me his own, and forced himself upon me.”

  Merin paled, his Aleth sensibilities rung by her blunt words. She exaggerated, of course, but he needn’t know that she had gone willingly that first time.

  “I can’t go back,” she said intensely. “I can’t be near him. Even with your promises of safety, I spend nights awake, terrified. If he defeats you, if he destroys the Aleth armies, he will come for me. Whatever keep you sequester me in, it won’t be strong enough to resist his rage. He was harsh to me before, when he thought me subservient. If he catches me now, after I defied him and tried to run . . .”