The Way of Kings Prime

by Brandon Sanderson

  She paused, looking up and meeting his eyes. “He hurt me before, Merin,” she whispered. “If he finds me again, it will be worse. Far worse. If you bring me to Alethkar with you, then what he does to me will be partially your fault.”

  This was her chip. She could see the struggle of honor within him, the weight of her words pressing against his desire to help Alethkar. He was a good man, and good men—unfortunately—were often the easiest to manipulate.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but Shinri cut him off with a calculated plea. “Send me to Thalenah,” she asked. “On one of the smaller scout ships. I know King Amelin; he is a friend. You won’t be losing me—you’ll be putting me in a safe location. A fortified island, well-patrolled and well-​defended. I can plead Alethkar’s need before the king. He will listen to me, and perhaps send support.”

  Merin considered her words. “I don’t know . . .” he finally said.

  “You don’t know?” she said. “You would use me. Just like him. At least he only took my body—you want my powers too.”

  “No!” Merin objected.

  “Then let me go,” she challenged. “Prove your honor, Lord Kholin. Prove that you deserve the respect this fleet has seen fit to give you.” And now, the most powerful words of all—at least where Merin is concerned. “Ask yourself, Merin. What would Lord Dalenar tell you to do?”

  Merin closed his eyes. Finally he took a deep breath and turned away from her. “Very well,” he agreed.

  chapter 74

  Taln 12

  When the army made camp for the evening, Taln went searching for height. High land wasn’t hard to find in Roshar, this world of barren stone. Though the winds pushed the land toward uniformity, the rains formed gulches and crags. Stone crumbed to dust, which in turn blew off with the winds and mixed with the crom minerals to harden into rock once again. The resulting land was broken, full of cliffs and hills.

  Taln found his way to a small plateau, one only a short distance from the army but hidden from its eyes. The overlook let him see into the distance, across farmlands and hills.

  The grim stone still seemed a harsh sight to Taln, even after all these years. Where the common people saw fertile hills, perfect for planting their grain polyps, Taln saw only the lifeless rock. To him, fertility would always imply greenness. Trees and grasses. Buds, fruits, and flowers. Color. The memories seemed so real—even after three millennia, he could recall stark images from Lhar. Other events faded, but his home—a place of peaceful waves and temperate rains—remained.

  Perhaps the image was so strong because it was simply the delusion his mind was most fond of imagining.

  His doubt felt like a betrayal. Yet how could he not wonder? Perhaps there was a reason the Sign didn’t work. Perhaps there was a reason he couldn’t find the power he kept reaching to touch. If he was no Herald, then there was no power. No lost nahel bond, no missing brethren. Just a confused man with some very vivid delusions.

  But could madness fabricate such realism? He remembered his mother’s face. He remembered and knew the other Heralds—not just by appearance, but by their habits, their interests, and their favorite phrases. He remembered standing on a hilltop, watching the great city of Kanar fall to the powers of Awakening. He saw Khothen, not as stories or songs, but as they were. He knew their spindly limbs and their eyeless heads—heads split by a bone ridge that made the creatures appear as if they wore a perpetually wide, malicious smile. Taln had fought and died. He could remember the pain of crushed limbs and ribs. Could madness imitate the memories of an entire lifetime?

  What of the things he knew? The passage beneath Ral Eram, the location of the nine Shardblades? His ability to fight? These were not the possessions of a random farmer from Riemak. But could they have come from somewhere else? Forgotten experience fighting as a mercenary? Lost maps or other texts, read during a time before the madness came? What did he really know that couldn’t, conceivably, have come from either a book or a delusion?

  He could see the darkness lurking on the horizon, and he welcomed the coming highstorm. He stood and walked to the edge of the plateau, standing on its very lip, waiting as the highstorm approached. He raised his arms before it, Glyphting held in a firm grip, and let the winds crash into him with sudden, icy force.

  “Why?” Taln demanded of the gale. “Why must you make me question?” Rain splashed his face, water quickly soaking clothing and skin.

  “You said we took this task upon ourselves!” he challenged. “You said you would grant our wish. You warned that we would bear our burdens alone, but you never said you would take away our self-confidence!”

  The storm, the voice of the Almighty, gave only more rain and winds as an answer.

  “How can I be stalwart if I don’t know who I am!” Taln screamed. “How can I be determined when I am uncertain of my own sanity? How can I save a people if I don’t trust the truths I teach? We know the error of our decision. Must you prove it further? Is not the time between Returns enough? Must you steal from us our short time of life as well!”

  The rain fell, snapping against his face and proffered chest.

  “They’re your people too!” Taln yelled. “Would you abandon me now? Would you abandon them?”

  Wind tore at his cloak. No answer came.

  Eventually Taln raised his arms, gripping Glyphting in wet palms. His dueling form was as old as man’s time on Roshar; it represented three thousand years of perfecting and practice. Men did not live who could face it in battle. He fell into it now, swinging his blade through sheets of rain, sparring as if with the winds themselves.

  He practiced for some time, seeking solace in the forms he had used so long. But even this familiar activity brought no peace. Were his forms the tool of an ancient Herald, or just the fabrications of a crazed mind? He swung Glyphting vengefully, spraying drops of water into the wind, only to have them blown back upon him again. Eventually he lowered Glyphting, his breath coming in gasps from the wild swinging. He sighed, turning to seek shelter.

  And discovered that he was not alone on the lonely plateau.

  He looked upon her, standing by herself, and knew the source of much of his frustration. His questions wouldn’t have held as much weight if he hadn’t known of the reward a right answer could bring. She stood in the rain, dark hair pulled from braids to streak across her face. Somehow, she had escaped her watchful guards—a fact not half as disconcerting as her ability to approach him unheard. Even in the midst of a storm, he should have noticed her arrival. He had been far too absorbed in his sparring.

  She stepped forward, her wet brown sencoat tied at the front, sleeves dripping streams of water. Her face, stripped of facepaint by the rains, was pale and concerned.

  Taln let Glyphting’s tip tap against the stone below. The winds blew over the cliffside behind him, buffeting Taln with one vengeful burst before tapering slightly as the storm lulled.

  “Taln . . .” Jasnah said. “You should come back to the camp. Lord Aneazer brought tents. You could escape the rains.” Her voice was weak above the sound of the falling rain.

  Taln shook his head, turning back over the cliffside, toward the now-​darkened farmlands below. “No,” he said. “I have to think. I have to know why I live when my brethren are dead. There don’t seem to be an answers.”

  Jasnah paused. “Perhaps there are answers,” she said. “Just not the ones you want to find.”

  Taln looked back at her. She looked . . . apprehensive, as if her words might have set off something within him. She still thought him mad. Of course she does. You’ve given her no reason to think otherwise—in fact, you’ve begun to question it yourself. Still, her uncertainty hurt him. It was painful to see the doubt in her eyes, to sense that she didn’t trust him, and never could—not as long as she thought him insane.

  “Taln,” she said, “what if there is another answer? What if that answer lies with a warrior from Riemak? A mercenary or wandering spearman like those we’ve gathered as we�
��ve traveled? A good man, a knowledgeable man. One who taught himself to read somehow. Perhaps . . . a general or a leader of some sort. A man to whom something very terrible happened, something he doesn’t want to remember.

  “What if, instead of remembering his own life, this man remembered stories he had heard from his childhood. Stories of heroes and gods, stories of Heralds who seemed beyond the pains of normal men. He knew of the Holy City and its statues. He went there, and within the cracks of the floor discovered a Shardblade. This became his proof, the sign that he was indeed a Herald. And so, he left his old life, striving to warn of the Return. To try and stop others from hurting, so that maybe he could stop the hurt within himself . . .”

  She looked up at him guiltily, her lashes and brows dripping rainwater, as if she had exposed his secrets for the world to see. If there was any truth to her postulations, however, Taln could not sense it.

  “I . . . don’t know, Jasnah,” he said.

  “You can’t remember anything?” she pressed. “Brother Lhan says that often when a man loses his . . . memories, it’s because of something terrible he experienced.”

  Taln turned from her. “You once asked me what happens to me when I lose control during those times when I feel close to despair. I see fires around me. Everything burns, and I feel as if something dark is approaching—something I must never let touch me. A terrible, monstrous dark creature. And I hear screaming. I hear mad, terrible howls, the screams of some wretch being put through inhuman agony.” He looked back, meeting her eyes. “I recognize the voice which screams, Jasnah. It is my own.”

  She raised her arms slightly toward her chest, her slight gasp lost in the waning highstorm sounds. Her face was . . . disturbed? Concerned? Some of both?

  Taln turned away. And then she was there, crossing the distance between them in a couple of steps and grabbing ahold of him with wet arms. The warmth of her body was an alien feeling against his cold skin. He let Glyphting slide from his fingers, the Blade clanging softly to the stone, and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Come to Alethkar,” she pled, her cheek pressed against the wet cloth of his chest. “Come and help me drive away the invaders. I will see you rewarded with a city befitting your honor and a title to match your nobility. Forget about the things you have dreamed, Taln. Don’t let them hurt you any longer. Come back. Come back with me.”

  “And Meridas?”

  “Meridas can rot,” Jasnah spat.

  Taln closed his eyes, breathing deeply the wet air. Most men could ask nothing more than this. A kingdom to honor and a woman to hold. But could he? Forget the things you have dreamed . . . “Could it all really be a dream?” he asked quietly. “And you my awakener?”

  She stiffened slightly at the word. Yes, she knew what it was to hide from one’s self. If his memories made him who he was—if his memories gave him purpose—what would he be without them?

  You would have her. He had forgotten—perhaps intentionally—how much he missed that. Upon Jezrien’s request, the Heralds had forsaken themselves of intimate relationships. They needed to remain clear-minded, able to give their lives in a moment. They could have no bonds to this world, lest it pull them back and threaten the stability of their purpose.

  Yet, if he were no Herald . . . Her warmth was so comforting at his side.

  But what then? He would still remember. If the anxiety of wondering at his sanity were so great, how much more potent would his insecurity be if he thought he’d abandoned the world to destruction? How could he live? Even considering such things made his uncertainty rise, and the fires began to smolder. He contained them by looking at her.

  He looked into hopeful eyes. “I will have to think about this, Jasnah,” he said.

  Think. Think about what? Admitting that he was insane, that everything he knew and remembered was nothing more than a delusional lie? Yes, he told himself, that is exactly what I will consider. I must confront this.

  “I will think,” he repeated.

  “. . . and we’ll have to move in through the north, through the valleys, to mask our approach. Even still, they’re bound to have . . .” Meridas trailed off, looking up from his map as he noticed Taln standing in the tent doorway.

  Aneazer frowned openly at the intrusion, but Meridas was far better at hiding his displeasure.

  “What is this?” Taln asked. “The scouts have returned with news of Kholinar? Why was I not informed?”

  “We thought this beneath your notice, holy one,” Meridas said with a smooth voice. “It is only a preliminary report, and your divine presence hardly needs—”

  “I may or may not be insane, Meridas,” Taln interrupted. “But I am definitely not an idiot. Do not patronize me.”

  Meridas simply smiled.

  “What did the scouts find?” Taln asked, striding forward and regarding the tabletop map. Aneazer had brought more than men to their expedition—his supply carts carried tents, furniture, and some surprisingly detailed landscape maps. His knowledge of eastern Alethkar was so remarkable, in fact, that it was suspicious. One had to wonder what his plans might have included, should Alethkar have fared worse in the Pralir wars.

  “Kholinar is besieged,” Aneazer said. “Held by a force of several thousand.”

  “How many is ‘several,’ Aneazer?” Taln said, scanning the map. A smaller section had been arranged with a crudely-sketched layout of Kholinar and the surrounding territory, and this was marked with several troop groupings. The larger map, which showed the surrounding geography, told him something that the other two had already noticed—that their own army would have to change its route slightly. With care, they might be able to get within a few hours march of the city without being discovered.

  “Three thousand foot, six hundred heavy infantry, and perhaps five hundred archers—with towers.”

  Taln grunted.

  “Smaller than our force in numbers,” Meridas pointed out.

  “But with the advantage of location, not to mention the archers,” Taln said. “I am new to this epoch’s methods of war, but I suspect that those towers will be problematic.”

  Aneazer nodded. They had been forced to leave the man’s own towers behind in the name of speed, and their force had barely two hundred archers. “We do have the advantage of Shardbearers, I would assume,” he said.

  “Yes,” Meridas said. “Most armies carry barely one Blade per tensquad. Assuming averages hold true, this force will be lucky to be armed by three or four Shardbearers. Fewer probably, since they haven’t attacked the city itself yet. It might be best for us to skirt this army entirely. We need to join with the bulk of Alethkar’s forces.”

  There was a sudden commotion outside the tent, marked by the presence of an angry feminine voice. Beside the table, Meridas rolled his eyes and Aneazer smiled in amusement.

  “We should probably suffer her,” Meridas said with a sigh. “She won’t leave us alone until she’s been placated. Her brother indulged her by allowing her to play general with his armies.”

  “Surely you don’t—” Aneazer said.

  Meridas laughed. “By the winds, no. Elhokar is a soft-hearted brother, and he indulged her far too much. You can see the result. The woman will learn her place once our wedding is official.” If he caught Taln’s dark look at that last comment, he gave no obvious indication. “Anyway, for now there is little to do besides let her in and humor her momentarily, so that we may be rid of her quickly.”

  “As you say, Lord Meridas,” Aneazer said, waving for an attendant to relay the message. Taln himself hadn’t had any trouble gaining entrance—the army was still ostensibly his, and they couldn’t very well bar him from the command tent. Jasnah, obviously, was not afforded the same consideration.

  She stalked into the tent chamber a few moments later. Another woman might have thrown a tirade, but she simply shot Meridas a thin-eyed glance, then strode over to regard the various maps.

  “We are too late to bring my brother warning, then,” she s
aid.

  Meridas raised an eyebrow.

  “After taking Ral Eram from the inside, the invaders could hope to keep the city’s fall a secret,” Jasnah replied, “but they could never lay a siege like this without word eventually reaching my brother. At least we know that Alethkar hasn’t been conquered yet.”

  “We don’t know that,” Meridas said. “The invaders could have already destroyed King Elhokar’s army, then sent separate divisions to capture the larger cities and quell rebellion.”

  Jasnah shook her head. “This is too small a force,” she said. “And it’s arranged for an extended siege, not an offensive. It is meant to cut off Dalenar’s retreat, and to disrupt his supplies. If the invaders had won, they would not have wasted any time before taking Kholinar—it holds an Oathgate and, other than Ral Eram, is the most important city in the kingdom. The invaders wouldn’t waste time with a siege—they would attack quickly and decisively. Trying to starve the city would be an act of foolishness, consider the number of Awakeners it holds.”

  “She’s probably right,” Taln agreed. He didn’t look toward Jasnah. Every time he met her eyes, he saw the appeal therein.

  “We need to attack,” Jasnah decided. “We can’t leave this enemy at our backs, and freeing Kholinar would be a powerful aid to our allies.”

  “Yes, well,” Meridas said, “we will consider it.”

  Jasnah ignored him, leaning down closely, running her finger along the map as if tracing a path. “We can do it easily,” she said. “They won’t be expecting a force to come upon them from the west. We should send a smaller contingent to strike toward the gates quickly from the east, and they will assume it’s a breaking force, meant to try and bring a message from Elhokar’s army into the city. They’ll react quickly, pulling their forces forward to defend the city gates, exposing them to fire from Kholinar itself and leaving their towers relatively unguarded at the back of the main body. We can send mounted Shardbearers to cut down the towers, then attack from the east and retain the height advantage as we come down the lip of the Lait.”