The Way of Kings Prime

by Brandon Sanderson

  This isn’t a man who cares only about himself, Taln realized. It’s a man who has stopped caring about anything.

  Except feasts, apparently. Taln could already hear the sound of clanking dishes and murmured conversation from ahead. The hallway grew brighter until it burst into a massive dining room, lit by enormous hearths at each corner. There was a primitive, unrefined feel to the chamber. The haphazard arrangement of tables, mixed with ruddy hearthlight and ununiformed servants, made for quite a contrast from the other contemporary feasts Taln had seen. Even Elhokar’s dueling competition had felt far more formal—everyone there had been restrained, sitting in their appointed places or standing in pre-arranged viewing sections. Like most of what Taln had seen of Aleth culture, the competition had been designed to minimize chaos and maximize occasions for political fraternizing.

  Not so here. Intara’s feast felt more like something Taln would have seen two thousand years before, when visiting the uncivilized people in what would eventually become Riemak. Large platters of food were distributed with very little variation between masculine and feminine dishes, and the room was stuffed with performers and minstrels.

  The messenger led Taln to a table near the front of the room where, as promised, Intara sat with an open seat beside him. Lord Dalenar sat near the other end of the table, watching the evening’s proceedings with obvious disapproval. Jasnah was correct—the new Aleth king was a good man. A little too conscious of formality for Taln’s taste, but in this case they shared a sentiment. The feast was a waste of time.

  “Ah, Lord Herald,” Intara said, standing as Taln approached. “I am honored that you chose to attend.”

  Taln raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t given a choice.”

  “Ah, perhaps,” Intara said, gesturing toward Taln’s seat. “But it isn’t nice to point such things out. Please, seat yourself.”

  Taln paused, then sighed, sitting.

  Intara smiled broadly, returning to his own seat. “I couldn’t let you stay in camp, Lord Herald,” the man explained. “You see, I mostly threw this particular feast for your benefit—or, at least, to get you here.”

  “And why is that?” Taln asked.

  “Well, it isn’t often that a man gets to meet a Herald,” the short man said. He still hadn’t shaved, and his clothing—upon closer examination—looked about as worn as some of the tapestries. “I heard that you were accompanying the army here, of course—even one such as I cannot ignore an army of twenty thousand men marching upon his city. When I heard who you were, I realized what an opportunity I had. You see, I have been without a spiritual advisor for some time, as the local monks refuse to attend my feasts any more. I never imagined that I would have the opportunity to speak with an actual Herald.”

  Taln sat quietly, trying to sort through the man’s eager words. Intara actually seemed . . . excited. There was no irony or mockery in his words.

  Taln blinked in surprise. “You believe my claims that I am a Herald?”

  Intara didn’t even pause. “Well, of course,” he said. “I mean, it’s been some time since we had a Return—nine hundred and eighty years! I’ve been expecting that you would come sooner or later. I haven’t studied much in recent years, ever since my . . . problems began, but I used to be very fond of history. Tell me, where are the others? Your brethren and sister?”

  Taln sat, dumbfounded. Months of fighting against disbelief had conditioned him so that he wasn’t certain how to respond to someone who was actually willing to believe.

  But, of all the people I’ve met this Return, why did it have to be him?

  “I don’t know what happened to them,” Taln said, still a bit uncertain whether Intara was honest or not. “I located their Shardblades, all buried at the Holy City. They must have returned, as I have, but is very strange this time. Their Blades should have disappeared when they died a thousand years ago—I don’t know, however, since I died before anyone else.”

  “Ah,” Intara said. “That’s right—the Battle of Veletal, only three months into the Return. You were killed when the Stormshades surrounded and overran the keep.”

  “That’s right,” Taln said.

  “Odd how they singled that keep out for attack,” Intara said. “I always found the move to be strange—it wasn’t really a strategic point in the battle, and moving to Veletal in such numbers cost them some serious losses elsewhere.”

  I can’t believe I’m having this conversation, Taln thought. The background noise of minstrels and balladesses faded. Jasnah had come to care for him, and Kemnar obviously respected his ability to fight, but neither actually believed he was sane.

  “The Stormshades are coming, then?” Intara asked.

  Taln nodded. “In a little over half a year,” he said. “And mankind isn’t ready.”

  “We never are,” Intara said. “But, if that is the case, what are you doing here? Why fight for Alethkar? Don’t you have better things you should be doing?”

  Taln glanced unconsciously toward Jasnah. She was back in her element, the regal noblewoman, perfectly in control, flawlessly beautiful. “I have certain . . . obligations,” he said, turning back to Intara. “Besides, I have had some trouble gaining momentum this Return. Alethkar’s leaders have promised to support my preparations if I lend them aid in this battle.”

  “But,” Intara said, frowning. “The Aleth army is doomed. Even I can see that—the men are exhausted, a lot of them wounded, and Vedenar has a far larger force.”

  “I have fought for causes far more hopeless,” Taln said. Like every time I support mankind against the Khothen. “What comes will come. Is this why you wished to speak with me? To ask about the upcoming battle?”

  Intara blushed. “Well, no,” he admitted. “I have something of a more personal question, and I thought you might be able to answer. I was just wondering—why hasn’t the Almighty killed me?”

  Taln paused. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve tried to be a poor leader,” Intara said. “Though it wasn’t intentional at first—I really wasn’t all that rational after my wife died. I thought the feasts would dull the pain, so I became a drunkard and an idler.

  “Months had passed before I realized I really wasn’t suffering much from my excesses. In fact, I felt healthier than I ever had—and that was wrong. You see, I wanted to suffer. I needed to suffer. But He wouldn’t let me. So, I decided to see how far I could go before He struck me down. I made the parties more and more lavish. I drank myself stupid every evening. I ignored the duties of my station. In fact, I started using The Way of Kings as a guide book—taking all the things Bajerden taught, and trying to do the reverse.

  “Only, it didn’t work. My parties created a booming industry, and attracted merchants from across Roshar. My feasts were piled with food far beyond what my attendees could eat, and so the extra was distributed to the needy the next morning—and as soon as word of that got out, fleets of the poor began coming to my city, increasing my numbers even further. Rather than destroying Teth-Kanar, I raised it up from a Fourth City to a Third!”

  Intara sat back, shaking his head. “And, through it all, I couldn’t make my body waste away. Alcohol barely seems to affect me anymore, and I always have energy, no matter how much I eat or starve. I can’t seem to get fat—though I’ve tried, trust me. I’ve attracted every useless, idle, fool of a nobleman in the nation—and not a single one has had the decency to have me assassinated so he can take my place.” The short man sighed, waving his hand toward the feasting people. “I mean, look at this. It’s ridiculous! You are a Herald of the Almighty—you have spoken with Him. You know Him. What does a man have to do before he gets a little divine judgement?”

  Taln frowned, studying the nobleman. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

  “What happened when? With my parties? You can see for yourself—I keep making them bigger, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

  “No,” Taln corrected. “What happened to make you this way?”

/>   Intara paused. “My wife died,” he finally said.

  “Many men have lost those they love,” Taln said. “They don’t react like this. What really happened?”

  Intara looked away. He didn’t respond at first. “I don’t see what that matters,” he finally said.

  “It does,” Taln replied.

  Intara reached out, fiddling idly with a knife on the tabletop, spinning it around on one of the rivets that held the wood to the steel. “What happened?” he asked. “She loved me, that’s what happened. She loved me too much, far more than I deserved. I never bothered with her, you see. Those were the days of the old king—good, just Nolhonarin, a man who demanded much of himself and twice that from his lords. I traveled everywhere, visiting his court, bringing his wisdom to my vassals. I was a young man then, eager to prove I wasn’t just the quiet scholar everyone whispered me to be.

  “And still she loved me. I saw her perhaps one day out of ten, and she did not hate me for it, but admired my dedication to my people.” He paused, looking at Taln. “I’ve often wondered something, Lord Herald. Is it possible for a man to so fill his life with important things that he doesn’t have time enough left for the ones that are vital?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Taln answered honestly. Something about the man’s words, however, left him feeling strangely guilty. Had he not spent his life—all three thousand years of it—serving those things that were vital? Was not the survival of mankind vital?

  “I ignored that which I should have loved most of all, Lord Herald,” Intara said. “I even took a mistress in Ral Eram—not because I loved her, but because she excited me, and it made me feel politically powerful. I don’t know if my wife knew about the mistress, but I think she did. Either way, she loved me despite it. She loved me right up until . . .” he trailed off, looking away again.

  “I wasn’t there when it happened,” he said. “But my steward related her final words. Do you know what they were? Do you know what she had the gall to tell me? She said ‘Tell my lord that I love him. And that I forgive him.’”

  He fell silent. “And, well, that brings us here,” Intara finally said, feigning nonchalance. “The monks teach that when good men die, they go to the Dwelling to be with those they love. Well, if that’s so, then I have to make certain I don’t go there. I couldn’t face her, not knowing the kind of man I was. I won’t have it, Lord Herald. Now, you tell me. What must I do to ensure that I am punished as I deserve? What further steps must I take? Must I stop giving food to the poor? I haven’t been able to force myself to do that as of yet—why make them suffer just so that I can die? But if you say it is necessary, I shall do it. The sooner I am gone, the sooner they shall have a finer man to be their lord anyway.”

  Taln folded his hands on the tabletop. Theology wasn’t exactly his specialty—better that Ishar had been here to speak with the poor, confused lord. Unfortunately, Ishar wasn’t to be found—neither were Balear or Prael. Only Taln.

  “I don’t think the Almighty works like you’re assuming He does,” Taln said as a tall, red-haired serving man refilled Intara’s goblet. “If you were Him, what would you do?”

  “About a lord with my excesses?” Intara asked, nodding his thanks to the serving man. “I’d strike him down immediately. Make him die of some wasting sickness, caused by too much drinking.”

  “And what would that accomplish?” Taln asked. “I don’t know, Intara. I’ve always been more of a soldier than a philosopher, but even I can see that the Almighty isn’t likely to respond when men make selfish demands of Him.”

  “Asking Him to kill me is selfish?” Intara asked.

  “Of course it is,” Taln said. “Especially if He has something else He wants you to do. You complain that you ignored your wife, focusing only on yourself. Well, I don’t see you doing much better now.”

  Intara sat thoughtfully. “So what should I be doing instead?”

  Taln groped for answers. Say something wise—this is the only lord you’ve met who actually believes in you.

  “I don’t know,” Taln said. “You seem like you have a great understanding of history—you said yourself that men thought you a scholar. What happened to that curiosity? A man with a firm knowledge of the past could be a great help in the dangerous times to come.”

  Intara cocked his head. Then he waved over a courier beside the wall and whispered a short message. The courier walked down the table and related the message to a younger man sitting near Lord Dalenar. Taln didn’t recognize the man—he wasn’t a member of their army. Probably one of Intara’s regular feasters.

  The young man stood and walked the length of the table, pausing beside Intara, frowning in confusion.

  “Lord Herald, this is my nephew, Netis,” Intara said. “He’s a fine boy—my heir, since I have no sons of my own. Netis, the Lord Herald just told me to go to Thalenah and become a stormkeeper. I leave this evening. You are now Lord of Teth-Kanar.”

  The boy started. “Now?” he asked incredulously. “You make me wait five years, then you give me the city the night before we’re about to be destroyed by the Vedens?”

  “Oh, don’t whine so,” Intara said, standing. “The Lord Herald says you might actually win—though if you do, I’ll have wasted a good funeral feast. Anyway, I guess I’ll be going.”

  “Now?” Taln asked.

  “Why not?” Intara asked.

  “It might be bad for morale to have the lord of the city flee the night before battle,” Taln pointed out.

  Intara paused. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t think about that—I’m not much of a warrior, if you didn’t notice. Very well, then. Netis, I’ll abdicate tomorrow, after the battle. Go sit back down, and don’t tell anyone of this.”

  The young man rolled his eyes—apparently, he was accustomed to dealing with Intara’s ways.

  Taln sighed as the lord sat back down. Might as well eat, he thought, turning, finally, to the lavish meal Intara had prepared. As he did so, he noticed a newcomer walk into the room. He had the clothing of a merchant, but he walked with the fluid step of a warrior. Of course, that wasn’t rare for a man of his race.

  Strange, Taln thought, heaping some glazed pork onto his plate. I wonder what a Shin man is doing in town.

  chapter 85

  Jek 13

  Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, stood from his table. The mission was a failure. Ahven’s spies in the city had informed the king of the upcoming feast, and he had sent Jek to spy on Dalenar and Jasnah. Jek was supposed to have gathered what information he could, particularly about their battle plans, by placing himself close to the lord’s table and eavesdropping on the conversations.

  Obviously, Ahven hadn’t understood what kind of feast it was to be. Jek could barely hear men at his own table, let alone those at the lord’s table. In order to overhear what Lord Dalenar or Lady Jasnah were saying, Jek would practically have had to stand behind their chairs. His internal sense of scope, the thing that kept him from taking outrageous risks lest he get himself killed and fail in his service, whispered that even coming to this feast had been a foolhardy act. His connection to Ahven was well-known in the Veden camps. If his description reached the Aleth and someone made a connection . . .

  But he could only do as his master commanded. He had come. However, there would be no report—he had heard nothing of particular interest. Lord Dalenar didn’t even want to be at the feast; it was unlikely he would discuss any of his battle plans with the infamously negligent Lord Intara.

  Jek made his way toward the room’s exit. Ahven would not be pleased. The Veden king had asked Jek to take special notice of the songs the various lords requested of the feast’s balladesses—however, there were no ballads being sung. Or, rather, there were tensets of them being sung—all by separate minstrels or performers who stood beside individual tables. Jek couldn’t distinguish one song from the next—he would be able to provide no new clues of personality for Ahven to pick apart and analyze.

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nbsp; Jek paused by the door, giving the feast hall one final glance before retreating. And at that moment, he saw something that nearly made his heart stop.

  Standing at the lord’s table, wearing servant’s clothing and pouring wine for the important men of Alethkar, stood Ahven Vedenel.

  Jek stood frozen by the door, watching the king with stunned eyes. No one in the room was paying Ahven any attention, except to demand more wine. And Ahven did as requested, moving with the alacrity of a trained servant, keeping his head down and his posture slumped—though he did keep his eyes up, watching lips as he moved.

  It’s a good thing the room is so noisy, Jek thought. He’ll have an excuse as to why he didn’t hear those who call for wine.

  It was ridiculous; it was foolhardy; it was insane. But there he was, moving to Lord Dalenar’s side and refilling the Aleth king’s own goblet. And yet, as Jek watched, he realized that it would have taken quite a fluke for someone who didn’t know Ahven personally to connect this subservient wine-pourer with the Idiot King of Vedenar. Ahven did an admirable job of disguising himself, both in appearance and in posture. And, this close to Prallah—with its less-uniform breeding stock—a man with red hair was not so unusual as one would be in central Alethkar.

  He spent thirty years passing himself off as an idiot, Jek thought. He knows a few things about disguise. The king’s idiot façade then had been flawless enough to fool even Jek, who had training from the finest Shin masters.

  Even still, coming to Teth-Kanar was a foolish move. Ahven’s army was still a couple hour’s march from the city—if the king happened to be recognized, or somehow got into trouble . . .

  Ahven looked up as he poured, noticing Jek, and nodded toward the doorway with a covert gesture. Jek stepped outside and sought a shadowed alcove. Ahven joined him a few minutes later.