Dalenar caught himself, then shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. No, he was obviously reading too much into her expression.
It was, after all, Jasnah Kholin he was considering.
chapter 84
Taln 14
Taln looked down at what was now called the Teth Lait, toward the bay below. It was a short Lait, barely more than a few miles long, and its only real habitable area was here, near the ocean, where the valley expanded to form a natural, secluded bay.
The new city lay almost in the same place as the city of Kanar once had. Looking down upon it, Taln was surprised to realize that he felt nothing.
What did you expect? he thought, shaking his head. Two thousand years had passed since Kanar’s fall—or, more accurately, since the Heralds’ destruction of the city. Nothing was left of the grand city that had once stood over the bay. After the city’s defeat, its very stones had been changed to water by Marnah Awakeners, Kanar’s substance sent to mix with the ocean and be forgotten.
“So, this is where we stand,” Kemnar said, scanning the valley.
“Teth-Kanar,” Brother Lhan agreed. “I’ve never been here before, if you can believe it. I asked for a transfer a tenset times over—there’s a perfectly nice monastery in the city. No one ever listened to me, though.”
“An oversight,” Taln said, urging his horse down the slope. He had tried to give up his mount for the carrying of the wounded, but his men would not hear of it. They were the Herald’s Army, and their Herald would ride, as was proper. “From what I hear, the city would agree with you.”
Lhan sighed, “I know. It’s a pity.”
Kemnar paused for a moment atop the ridge, then he moved his horse forward, joining Taln and Lhan on their way down. “Where do you think the battle will take place?” he asked.
Taln studied the landscape as they moved, Dalenar’s army piling over the ledge behind them. The valley was wide and squat for a lait, with plenty of flat ground to fit an army or two. “There,” he said, pointing toward an open plain to the south of the city. “If Dalenar puts us there, he will have the city to his back and the ocean to his left. It’s a good, solid position—ideal for a defending army.”
“The river would cut off retreat to the northwest,” Kemnar noted.
“I know,” Taln said. He left the rest unstated. There would be no retreat from this battle. The Veden armies had slaughtered the occupants of Ral Eram, and it was doing the same to any stragglers it passed. King Ahven intended to leave no survivors to rise against him in the future.
The Aleth army continued its march down into the valley. Their force was obviously expected—the army arrayed beside Teth-Kanar’s walls was small, perhaps two thousand in number, but it had obviously been gathered recently, for it was arrayed in tents rather than housed in the city. A small party detached itself from the army below and began moving up the slope.
“Come on,” Taln said to his companions, nudging his horse to the side so that he could join Dalenar and Jasnah at the head of the line.
Lord Intara turned out to be a short man, not overweight as Taln would have assumed from the stories. Instead, he had a blockishly rectangular face with chiseled features, a thin wiry form, and a head of lightly curly hair that was more brown than it was black—not unusual, considering his family’s proximity to Prallah. Intara hadn’t shaved in several days, and his beard was coming in a light red. He smiled broadly as Dalenar and Echathen reined in their horses, halting the column. Jasnah’s bearers turned her litter to the side, and she pushed back her drapes. Taln, Lhan, and Kemnar rode up on one side just as Meridas and Aneazer joined on the other.
“Ah, good,” Lord Intara said. “It took you long enough to get here. You’ll want to hurry and arrange your men so you can be ready for the feast tonight.”
Dalenar frowned. “We don’t have time for your nonsense, Intara.”
“Oh?” Intara asked lightly. “Well, you’d better find some time for my nonsense if you want into my city or to use my troops. I haven’t had a proper feast in some time.”
“The last I heard, Lord Intara,” Jasnah noted calmly from her litter, “you have a feast every evening.”
“Ah, the incalculable Lady Jasnah,” Intara said with a slight bow. “Undoubtedly working on a half-tenset schemes to whip me into line, eh? Well, I shall save you the trouble. You’ll notice that I said I lack ‘proper’ feasts—my nightly parties are always attended by the same dull people. It’s rare that I have guests to entertain. So, come play with me this evening, and I will command my men to play with you on the morrow.” He turned his horse with a flip of his hand and began riding back down the valley slope.
“Intara,” Dalenar called after the man.
The short man paused, turning back with a questioning look.
“To what do we feast?” Dalenar asked.
Intara smiled. “To our deaths, Lord Dalenar. Ours, and that of our kingdom. It will be the finest funeral feast I have ever prepared.” He turned again, leaving an annoyed group behind as he trotted lightly back to his city.
“It supposedly started after his wife died,” Kemnar explained, climbing off his horse and handing it to a stableboy. “Intara tried to drink himself to death. Unfortunately, he found himself surprisingly resilient to the effects of wanton partying.”
“Resilient?” Taln asked with a raised eyebrow. Around them, the soldiers were setting up camp once again—only this time, there was a finality about their actions. If they won the battle, there was a good chance they would remain camped at Teth-Kanar for a moderate amount of time, recovering from wounds and fatigue. If they lost . . . well, they wouldn’t have to worry about disassembling the camp then either.
“Lord Intara would feast all night and drink himself into a stupor,” Kemnar said. “But the next day he would supposedly suffer amazingly trivial effects from the punishment. He didn’t glut himself to fatness no matter how much he ate, nor did he waste away to nothingness no matter how much he drank. Instead of dying slowly from his indulgences, he just grew healthier and healthier. It’s been going on for ten years now.”
“A feast every night,” Lhan agreed. “Teth-Kanar is a Third City with a strong income, and Lord Intara keeps few Shardbearers or other noble adjuncts to drain his funds. He spends nearly everything he earns on the feasts. A rather inspiring story, in my estimation.”
Taln snorted, then spun and punched at Lhan. The monk jumped quickly in alarm, reflexively dodging and falling into a trained battle stance. Taln smiled, withdrawing his fist. “Eventually you’re going to have to abandon that lazy façade, Lhan,” he noted. “It’s becoming less believable every day.”
Lhan raised an eyebrow, joining Taln and Kemnar in walking through the half-erected camp. “If you don’t think I’m useless, Taln, then you should see me thrust a spear sometime.”
“Anyway,” Kemnar explained, “Intara hasn’t changed much over the years. Jasnah sent me to investigate his court a couple of years back—she was convinced that no one could possibly be as indulgent as Intara’s reputation made him out to be, and suspected some kind of political maneuvering in the background of the feasts.
“I worked my way into his staff and watched him for several weeks. Every night was the same—a ridiculously lavish feast, filled with the kind of revelers and sycophants that wanton spending attracts. Intara drank until he passed out at the high table sometime in the early morning, then his servants—he has special men dedicated to the task—carried him to his chambers and put him into bed. He was always up early the next day, and didn’t display even minor hints of a hangover.”
“And this is the man we have fled to for refuge?” Taln asked.
“From what I understand,” Kemnar said, “we didn’t have much choice.”
“Where did he get the troops?” Taln asked, nodding toward the group of soldiers camped beside the city. “If they are made up of men who frequent Intara’s feasts, then I doubt they’ll be of much use against Ahven.”<
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“I don’t think he keeps a standing army,” Kemnar said, studying the tents. “Too expensive. He probably called them up from his tributing lords. But, anyway, Lady Jasnah asked me to report to her once I was settled.”
Taln nodded his farewell, and Kemnar dashed off toward the nobleman’s section of the camp. Taln and Lhan stood for a moment, uncertain.
“What now?” Lhan asked. “The feast doesn’t start for another couple of hours.”
“I’m not sure,” Taln admitted. “I want to visit the men and give some final encouragement, but that should wait until they have their camp assembled.”
Lhan adopted a fond smile. “It’s almost like those days back in Ral Eram before the attack—the two of us, standing around without anything to do. I suppose you could go preach to someone, though it wouldn’t be half as amusing now as it was then. I doubt anyone would throw you out of camp, no matter what kind of loony things you told them.”
Taln snorted, considering his options. “I know what to do,” he finally said, choosing a direction. He picked his way through the growing camp, past men erecting tents, organizing supplies, and unpacking armor for the upcoming battle. Most men paused when they saw him, and many bowed—including some who weren’t from the Herald’s Army. It was amazing how quickly tales of him had spread through the various sub-camps, exaggerations piling on top of exaggerations as the word was passed. He tried to correct where he could but, as always, the momentum of his reputation was far too vast a thing for one man to hinder.
He led Lhan to a group of decorated litters that lay near the outskirts of the camp. A group of soldiers worked quickly here, erecting a massive black pavilion. Their quiet, hasty movements made a strong contrast to the bustling interaction of the main camp. The soldiers finished tying down the last of the tent ropes even as Taln watched, then began scuttling away, eager to distance themselves from the pavilion and its occupants.
The Awakeners emerged from their litters a few moments later. Taln was disappointed when he noticed Lhan drawing back slightly in fear—not that the reaction was unexpected. The Heralds had helped foster the current sentiment regarding Awakeners, though they hadn’t intended it to go so far. As long as the people were skeptical, it would be difficult for another Awakener-dominated empire to arise.
There were nearly three tensets of them—the collected Awakeners from Elhokar, Dalenar, and Jasnah’s separate armies. Many were young to their art, and manifested only the most trivial of physical changes—colored finger-nails or eyes, tinted skin, or the occasional crystalline manifestation. A few, however, were in the more advanced stages. One man, probably a Shin Pole, had completely translucent skin. Another Awakener was likely aligned toward Kav, for they were beginning to grow a rockbud-like shell, their fingers slowly growing together as their body changed from flesh into wood. Repeatedly touching the Soul Tone of a particular Essence had an effect on one’s own Tone, lethargically changing the harmonic within.
“Friends,” Taln said, bowing with respect. “I have come to thank you for your efforts on behalf of my men.”
“What efforts?” a younger, female Balev Pole asked. “You give us gems to touch; the goods you receive are simply a by-product.”
Taln smiled. “So you may claim,” he said. “So you’ve been taught to say; but I know better. You are still men, Awakeners. You can feel that you have been carelessly used, or you can feel that your skills are appreciated. Regardless of whether or not you enjoy the work, it cannot be easy to provide food and water for an army of twenty thousand.”
“That much,” the translucent agreed, “is true.” His voice was soft, like a passing breeze, and his eyes—translucent though they were—bore a deep wisdom. This one had not much time left; he was probably centuries old. Not old enough, unfortunately, to remember the last Return—no Awakener lasted that long. However, perhaps they had seen or noticed things that more short-lived men might have missed.
“I have a question for you, ancient ones,” Taln said. “You have lived through many kings and wars. During the passing of decades, have you ever felt a . . . weakness to your powers?”
Several of the Awakeners trailed away as he spoke, moving into their tent and toward the gemstones undoubtedly placed within. Awakeners were not known for their patience regarding mortal concerns—that which didn’t interest them often got ignored.
The translucent-skinned man stayed, however, as did the younger Balev Pole—marked by her slick, dark hair and glistening skin. The wood-skinned Awakener—gender indistinguishable beneath the overlapping sections of bark—moved over and settled down within earshot, but said nothing.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” the translucent said. “What do you mean by a ‘weakening?’”
“The old powers—the Epellion—disappeared centuries ago,” Taln said. “I’m trying to discover what happened to them. I was once an Awakener and a Stoneward, and both abilities seem lost to me now. It appears that mankind can’t use Stonewarding either—but they can Awaken. I want to know if the second power is diminishing to them in any way.”
“You were an Awakener?” the young woman asked, frowning skeptically.
“It is a matter of historical record that all of the Heralds could Awaken,” Taln said. “It doesn’t change our Soul Tones like it does yours. We have . . . a certain resiliency to such things.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, folding her arms and pursing her lips in disapproval. No, Awakeners were hardly inhuman. Save for her skin, this young lady could have been a woman of the court—she was probably some nobleman’s daughter.
“The old powers were mere legends when I was a boy, young man,” the translucent finally answered. “I don’t know what you wish to discover from us. I have not grown weaker in Awakening, but rather grown stronger as I practiced. The tones grow more tempting each time I touch them, and it is increasingly difficult to bring my own soul back into harmony at the end. No, there is no weakness here. Whatever ails you, it is an individual problem.”
Taln nodded his thanks, and the remaining Awakeners trailed away—except for the wood-skinned Awakener, who remained squatting where they were even as Taln left.
It had been Taln’s intention to skip the evening feast altogether. Jasnah or Meridas could satisfy the fool Intara—Taln’s place was with his men. However, when he arrived at his pavilion, he found a messenger from the city waiting patiently by the tent door.
“My lord Intara wished me to escort you personally to the feast, Lord Herald,” the tall man explained, bowing. “He has reserved a place for you beside him at the lord’s table. He is very eager to speak with you.”
Taln frowned. “Tell your lord that I am a soldier, not a courtier. I have no place at a feast—if Intara wishes to know about me, he can give my place to the monk, Lhan, and speak with him.” Lhan had gone to his own tent to make preparations—the monk wasn’t about to miss out on a lavish meal, regardless of the circumstances.
“My lord was very insistent,” the messenger said, not stepping away from Taln’s doorway. “He implied that if you personally do not attend the feast, then he will consider it a violation of his agreement to let your armies camp here.”
Agreement? Taln thought. All I remember is an ultimatum.
“Very well,” Taln said with a sigh. “Lead the way.”
The messenger paused. “Don’t you wish to change, my lord?”
Taln looked down. He wore the same rough riding clothing as always, his shoulders hung with the functional, but drab, cloak he had been given in the monastery all those months before. “No, this will do,” Taln said. “If Lord Intara wishes to force a soldier to attend his feast, then a soldier he will get.”
The messenger sighed, then nodded for Taln to follow. The sky was only beginning to darken in the east—apparently, Lord Intara liked to start his parties early. Taln shook his head critically as the messenger led him through the gates and into the city itself. Teth-Kanar might have been built on t
he same rocks as the legendary city whose name it shared, but the two had little else in common. Kanar had been a majestic creation, a metropolis in a time when populations were scattered and often nomadic. Teth-Kanar, however, was run-down and poorly maintained. Cromstone grew unrestrained on most of the buildings, and there was a sense of abandonment to many of them. Teth-Kanar was a large city, true, but it was a place of alleys and beggars. The poor clogged nearly every corner, hands outstretched, eyes hollow.
This sort of thing isn’t supposed to be able to happen, Taln thought with disgust as they approached the palace at the center of the city. Bad rulers are not supposed to prosper—the Right of Movement allows his people to seek a better life elsewhere. As his population decreases, so should his rank. This man should not be a Third Lord.
There were flaws in every system, however, and Teth-Kanar was obviously one of them. Taln was curious to know how Intara maintained such a large population while at the same time proving himself incompetent. Perhaps it was simply location—the Bay of Kanar was one of the finest ports in the area, and had historically been Alethkar’s main thoroughfare for international trade. Apparently, even a wasteful fool could keep up his population while in possession of such a fine location.
Taln walked up the palace steps, expecting to find lavish wastefulness inside. Selfish lords tended to enjoy the purchase of extravagant decorations, and would spend money with ridiculous pomposity even while their people starved.
Taln was quite surprised, then, when the entry hallway proved to be rather inconspicuous. In fact, if anything, the palace chambers looked even more unkempt than the city streets. The few tapestries were faded and worn, and the carpets were frayed. Only about a third of the wall-lamps were lit, and many were missing. As he turned down a side hallway, Taln reached out and brushed his fingers against the ridges of a column. They came back tipped with dust.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 92