The Way of Kings Prime

by Brandon Sanderson

  She found him at the edge of the camp, sitting apart from the tents and main body of troops. A crowd of noblemen and attendants waited a respectful distance away, and she ordered her litter bearers to put her down near Lord Echathen. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised to find the Khardin lord in the camp—he had always been one of Dalenar’s closest friends.

  “How long?” she asked Echathen as she disengaged herself from the litter.

  “It happened at sunrise,” the man replied. “None of us knew about the duel—they must have arranged it in secret. By the time any of us knew what had happened . . .”

  Jasnah nodded, then slowly walked across the cool stones. A figure sat quietly on a boulder, Shardblade stuck into the ground before him. Beside the blade lay a corpse in golden Shardplate, blood forming a small lake around it.

  Dalenar looked up at her with tired eyes. “Jasnah,” he said. “I’ve killed your bother.”

  Jasnah steeled herself, and looked into the face of the dead king. Dalenar hadn’t closed her brother’s eyes—they stared up, as if accusatory, from within a pain-frozen face. She found herself feeling an odd sense of closure, mixed with a surprising stab of grief. Elhokar had proven himself to be a horrible man, but he had been her brother. She couldn’t completely divorce the man who had betrayed her from the young boy she had loved. A boy she had protected, it appeared, long after he deserved the attention.

  “I trained him in the sword, you know,” Dalenar said quietly, still looking down at Elhokar. “I knew his strengths, and I knew his weaknesses. He was good, as you know, but he was never a clever enough fighter. He insisted upon forms that didn’t suit him. Passion will only get you so far.”

  Jasnah looked up at the grief in the aged Parshen’s voice. Not Parshen any longer, Jasnah realized. King.

  “I told myself I’d let him win, for the good of Alethkar,” Dalenar continued. “No. Not for Alethkar. For Nolhonarin. I decided that I would die for the love I bore my brother. The army needed one leader. Better Elhokar than me, I reasoned. He’d learned much during these last few weeks. I was certain he would be a better king in the future.”

  He turned to her, finally looking away from Elhokar’s dead face. “But, you see, I couldn’t do it. In the end, I remembered Aredor. It turns out I loved my son more than my brother, Jasnah.”

  Jasnah reached out, laying a hand on his Plated shoulder. “Dalenar . . .” she said quietly. “There was no other way for this to end. Alethkar didn’t need him—it never did. It does need you, however.”

  “You should hate me,” Dalenar replied. It was almost a request.

  Jasnah shook her head. “He had me imprisoned, Uncle. He killed my guard, Nelshenden—a man as good and honorable as any I have known. Elhokar did it to keep his secret quiet, a secret my men and I discovered. Jezenrosh never tried to have my brother killed—Elhokar orchestrated the assassination attempt himself. He hired a group of men and had some of them impersonate Jezenrosh’s Shardbearers, all so he would have an excuse to go to war. You are not to be blamed for ridding the kingdom of such a king.”

  Dalenar nodded. “I suspected he had done something like that,” he said. “He had been planning the attack on Crossguard for some time—apparently, Jezenrosh was spreading rumors that the Traitor didn’t kill your father, and that the war in Prallah was negotiated on a lie.”

  Jasnah frowned. “That’s foolishness. Balenmar was there when father died—he witnessed the traitor’s betrayal.”

  Dalenar nodded. “I don’t think Elhokar believed his cousin, but he did fear the rumors. Feared them deeply. Your brother was not a . . . tolerant man.”

  “Come back to the camp, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “Alethkar still needs you. The army is a mess; the soldiers need to see you strong and confident. You’ll need to formally assume the throne—we’ll have Brother Lhan give you the Vorin blessing and the ladies prepare an appropriate glyphward. Then we need to get moving. That Veden army isn’t going to sit and wait on the other side of that crack forever.”

  Dalenar sighed, then nodded, rising. Had he looked so old before? His body still bore the firm physique of a warrior, but his face seemed far more aged than she remembered. He hadn’t shaven this day, and his stubble was coming in grey.

  He straightened as he walked, however. Dalenar was a man who under-stood duty. Responsibility would not pull him down, no matter how heavily it weighed upon him.

  Jasnah paused as they walked back, turning to look one final time at her brother’s corpse. It lay in the shadow of the boulder, and the gilding seemed wan without the light to sparkle it. The once-golden metal was scarred and dried with blood.

  In her experience, summer sunsets were rarely as spectacular as one expected.

  chapter 83

  Dalenar 10

  Though Elhokar was gone, his parting gift to Alethkar was the crack in the ground he had placed between the Aleth forces and their pursuers—and that move translated to a two-day lead on the Vedens. It was amazing how much difference that made. The threat of destruction still loomed behind, of course. However, the mixture of an enemy made unseen and a slackened pace caused a remarkable change in Dalenar’s army.

  Or perhaps it was the company. Dalenar stood watching the so-called ‘Herald’ leading his men in daily spear training. The man was an impressive fighter, and an equally capable instructor. There was something about him that commanded attention—he bore a natural charisma of optimistic leadership that Dalenar found himself envying.

  A rustling of silk announced Jasnah’s arrival. The woman stepped up beside Dalenar, arriving at the appointed time. The day was a warm one, still a little humid from the morning’s highstorm, but morale was improving despite the wet weather. Talenel—or Taln, as Jasnah called him—had chosen a relatively flat space near the center of camp to do his training. Hundreds of men clogged the area, split into square sub-groups, each beneath the tutelage of a Taln-approved leader. The Herald himself moved among the groups, giving examples and training.

  “He’s good,” Dalenar noted, “but I don’t know that I like entrusting the training of my men to a madman.”

  Jasnah smiled faintly. “I know how you feel, Uncle. But I can promise that Taln is trustworthy. His . . . condition has remarkably little effect on his capabilities.”

  Dalenar didn’t abandon his frown.

  “It would help morale greatly if you would endorse him, Uncle,” Jasnah noted.

  “I will not lie to my men, Jasnah.”

  “They need something to believe in,” she said. “Dalenar, we face terrible odds, and our men know it. They need to believe that the Almighty favors them, otherwise they’ll think that failure is inevitable.”

  Dalenar shifted uncomfortably as Jasnah mentioned the Almighty. Her atheism was not a topic the two of them discussed, but if she was determined not to believe, couldn’t she at least refrain from using the men’s faith as another of her tools?

  Dalenar shook his head. “I won’t do it, Jasnah. I will not endorse a false Herald. I will honor the oaths you gave in my name—I will let him train, I will let him preach . . . I will even let you prepare Alethkar if we survive this war. I won’t lie about my beliefs, however.”

  Jasnah sighed, turning toward the training. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “They’ll believe even without your endorsement. The rumors are already circulating. You’ve noticed an improvement in your men, haven’t you? They’ve heard of the assault on Ral Eram and Taln’s fight there. They know that he defeated a thousand men on his own, and that he led us to a cache of nine Shardblades in the Holy City. They want to believe, Uncle. I’ve come to realize that hope is far more powerful than despair.”

  Dalenar sighed, but made no response—he knew better than to argue with Jasnah when she used that voice. “What is the state of the army?” he asked instead.

  “Not good,” she said. “The men are moderately well-equipped, but many of Elhokar’s soldiers discarded their armor sometime during your
flight. We’re running low on sapphires, and the Awakeners are feeling pensive. They seem to think that you don’t like them.”

  “I don’t,” Dalenar said flatly. “You went and spoke with them?”

  “Of course I did,” Jasnah said. “They’re people, Uncle, just like us.”

  Hardly like us. Hardly even people, anymore. He let her continue, however.

  “Some of your men are malnourished,” she said. “I don’t think they’ve been eating properly these last few weeks—perhaps they didn’t see the point. Anyway, I’ve ordered the squad captains to maintain strict watch on the men during meal times. Every man is required to eat what is given to him. Awakener-made grain may not be the most appetizing of foods, but it will keep a man healthy.”

  Dalenar nodded his thanks. Jasnah’s presence in the army made a subtle, yet far-reaching, difference. It wasn’t that Dalenar or his aides were incompetent. Jasnah and her attendants just provided something special. Her organizational skills and logical mind made her an ideal military strategist and administrator. When Dalenar had offered her control of the daily coordination of the separate armies, she had accepted with as much eagerness as he had ever seen her display. Apparently, she had been regulated to a somewhat perfunctory position in the Herald’s Army; and if there was one thing Jasnah Kholin loathed, it was being ‘perfunctory.’

  Ahead, the man Taln paused as a group of soldiers pulled him aside, obviously making some sort of request. Dalenar watched half-interested until Taln pulled out his Shardblade and handed it to one of the soldiers. He then took the man’s spear, and waved the soldier to attack him.

  “What is that man doing?” Dalenar asked with a frown.

  “Hmm?” Jasnah asked, looking up from the list in her hands. “Oh, that’s one of the soldiers’ favorite lessons. He’s been teaching them how to defend against a Shardblade.”

  As Dalenar watched, the soldier stepped forward in a controlled, slow motion, and Taln demonstrated knocking the Shardblade aside by hitting it on the flat of the blade with the haft of his spear. The two repeated this several times for the onlookers, then the soldier backed up and attacked with an unrestrained blow. Taln pushed the Shardblade aside as casually as another man might brush away an offending lock of hair.

  No man can be that good, Dalenar thought uncomfortably. The display must be staged—Shardblades were too dangerous to risk such a sparring match, even in a controlled environment. Yet the attacker didn’t seem to be holding back, and his motions didn’t seem to follow any particular pattern. The madman knocked aside every strike.

  Once the display was finished, the madman jogged over to the side of the practice yard and retrieved a bundle of what appeared to be swords. Dalenar watched with increasing trepidation as Taln handed them out to half of the soldiers in the group, then had the others practice knocking the weapons aside as if they were Shardblades.

  “He’s giving them swords,” Dalenar pointed out.

  “Yes,” Jasnah said without looking up from her list. “He does that sometimes.”

  “Those men aren’t noblemen,” Dalenar said.

  “He’s not letting them carry the weapons, or even use them in combat—he just uses them for practice. You can forbid him, if you want. He’ll do as you ask.”

  She was probably right. The madman had been admirably cautious about overstepping his authority. However, the Riemak soldiers weren’t as tactful. They continued to refer to themselves as the Herald’s Army, despite their integration into the Aleth army. They seemed to hold themselves up as some sort of elite force, though they had far less training or experience than Dalenar’s regular troops. He worried about his authority in commanding them; their loyalty seemed to be to the man who had gathered and trained them, not the kingdom that might get them killed.

  Though is it any wonder they respect him so? Dalenar thought. If he can turn Blades with such ease, perhaps some of the other stories are true as well.

  “He certainly is an interesting man,” Dalenar said.

  Jasnah smiled slightly, looking up. “Yes. Taln is . . . a unique find.”

  “But,” Dalenar cautioned. “We mustn’t rely on him too much. Do not forget that his sanity is suspect.”

  “Oh, trust me, Uncle,” Jasnah said quietly. “That is one thing I’m not likely to forget.”

  Dalenar frowned, a thought occurring to him. “Perhaps . . . perhaps he isn’t mad at all. Have you wondered whether it all is an act? Claiming to be a Herald—whether or not it makes him look mad—certainly has gained him a lot of authority in this group.”

  “His skills and heart gained him the authority,” Jasnah said dismissively. “He believes what he says—I’ve never questioned that.”

  Jasnah not suspicious? Dalenar thought, eyeing the woman. That in itself was cause enough to be dubious.

  “There is another item of business we must consider, Uncle,” Jasnah said thoughtfully. “Have you decided who to make your Parshens?”

  Dalenar shook his head. “Echathen will be one,” he said. “As for the second . . . I’m not certain. It almost feels like there isn’t anyone left.” War had killed all of Dalenar’s close male relatives, the men who should have received the title. That left a number of Fourth and Fifth Lords, any of whom would make fine leaders. Yet a Parshen was supposed to be more. He was the king’s most trusted advisor and friend, a voice and advocate for the throne at all times.

  Hopefully, whoever Dalenar chose would serve him better than Dalenar himself had served his own king.

  “I have a request, then, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “Please consider letting my husband retain the rank.”

  Dalenar started. “Meridas?” he asked with surprise. “That man is . . .” he trailed off. Meridas was Jasnah’s husband now. Though she had not spoken of the event, Dalenar had gathered the facts from other sources. He had assumed that the marriage happened before she escaped Ral Eram, and had been confused to find out about the Kholinar ceremony. However, as he considered, the move made sense—at least for Jasnah. Her political career had always been her most important passion.

  “I don’t think I can place a man I don’t trust as Parshen, Jasnah,” Dalenar said bluntly. “Besides, Meridas is a panderer and a fop. A lord must display some measure of competence to serve as Parshen.”

  “I think he may surprise you, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “He has me. Meridas isn’t quite the man we thought him to be. But that can wait until after Alethkar is safe.”

  “Let us pray that day comes,” Dalenar said quietly.

  Jasnah nodded her agreement, frowning slightly.

  “What?”

  “I just worry about our . . . upcoming accommodations,” she said, glancing westward.

  “You think we should have turned toward Kholinar instead?” Dalenar asked. It had been an option—five days ago, when King Ahven’s army had been trapped across the Rift, the Aleth forces could have broken west instead of east.

  Jasnah paused, then shook her head. “No, this is the best way. You took everything of value from Kholinar, and I brought most of what you left. The Herald’s Army drained the Aleth villages of potential soldiers as it crossed the distance between the Rift and Kholinar. No, there is nothing left for us in that direction. That doesn’t stop me from worrying about Teth-Kanar—or, rather, the man who rules it. I don’t particularly care for Intara Teth.”

  “I’ve met few men besides wine merchants who do,” Dalenar said with a snort. “Though his feasters will claim otherwise.”

  Jasnah nodded. “Alethkar faces a very serious threat, and I grow nervous every time Intara is involved in something ‘serious.’”

  “We don’t have much choice, now,” Dalenar said.

  Jasnah nodded, and he knew she was already working on ways to manipulate Intara into helping defend his kingdom. For once, Dalenar didn’t feel in the least bit sorry for the subject of her plans.

  After a few moments of silent watching, Dalenar caught sight of a familiar figure making its way th
rough the camp toward him. Palhen wore a standard brown scout’s cloak, and he walked with an unhurried step. Of course, that meant little—Palhen was not the type of man to express urgency in his posture or motions.

  Dalenar caught Jasnah’s attention, then nodded toward the beefy soldier. “My head scout has returned,” he said.

  Jasnah turned, raising an eyebrow. “I still don’t think that man is properly employed, Uncle. How good can he be as a spy—I’ve seen mountains that were less conspicuous.”

  “He gets the job done,” Dalenar said simply, nodding to Palhen as the man approached and gave a perfunctory bow.

  “The Vedens are still gaining on us,” Palhen said bluntly. “They’re a little over a day behind. Once we reach Teth-Kanar, we won’t have much time to prepare before they’re on us.”

  “Did Kemnar return with you?” Jasnah asked, frowning slightly at the man’s absence.

  Palhen shook his head. “He stayed back—wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the old queen or her son.”

  Dalenar nodded, noting the unmasked disapproval in Palhen’s eyes when Kemnar’s name was mentioned. Shardbearers were not supposed to be scouts—that duty was reserved for lesser noblemen, men such as Palhen, whose family ties didn’t provide enough income to support them. Kemnar was a greater lord now; it wasn’t right for him to risk himself by scouting the enemy army. Once this all was over—assuming Alethkar hadn’t fallen—Dalenar would have to take Kemnar aside and explain to him the duties that came with the privilege of carrying a Blade.

  He dismissed Palhen, who bowed his head and withdrew. The man hadn’t spoken the obvious. Teth-Kanar was still several days march away; at their current pace, the Vedens could very well catch up before Dalenar’s force reached the city.

  The men wouldn’t like it, but Dalenar had no choice but to increase the pace again. He couldn’t afford a repeat of their earlier flight, with constant harrying and worry—the soldiers were only just beginning to shrug off their depression.

  He turned to note as much to Jasnah, and found that she had been distracted by the madman’s training again. She stood, watching Taln correct a young spearman’s stance, her face characteristically flat and unreadable. Her eyes, however . . . there was something in them. A hint of emotion slipped past her walls, and Dalenar found himself studying her curiously. It wasn’t often that one caught Jasnah off-guard. Dalenar glanced at the madman, then back at Jasnah. It almost seemed like . . .