Jek stood for a moment, uncertain how to begin. Ahven, however, was at no loss for words.
“She’s here,” the king said with intensity. “I had to be certain.”
“Who?” Jek asked.
“Jasnah Kholin,” Ahven said with a soft, concerned voice.
Jek frowned, and he had to catch the king’s attention again before speaking. “What is it about that woman that frightens you so?” he said. “You’ve been unnaturally fixated upon her ever since this campaign began.”
Ahven paused. “The seers told me that either I would destroy her or she would destroy me,” he said, glancing toward the feast chamber. “She worried me even before that, assassin. The woman is crafty. Without her, there would be no Alethkar as we know it today—she was the force behind her father’s throne, the true reason for his victories. She was the only thing that kept that fool Elhokar from making a disaster of his Pralir campaign. Dalenar I can face. The man Meridas I can defeat. Jasnah Kholin . . . she troubles me.”
“Troubles you enough to get yourself captured?” Jek asked pointedly. “Why did you come to Teth-Kanar? You sent me to be your eyes.”
Ahven shook his head. “You cannot see as I can, assassin. You cannot . . . hear, as I hear.”
“There is nothing to hear,” Jek said. “No ballads were played this evening.”
“Ah, but that is not true,” Ahven corrected. “There are minstrels aplenty, each one seeking recognition from a lord or lady to further their career. Those with courage approach the lord’s table and ask if they may play a song—Dalenar himself has been forced to request two this evening.”
Jek frowned. Ahven has been here that long? Why didn’t I notice him before?
“But songs aren’t the only way,” Ahven continued. “No, they are just one sign. Watch a man—watch how he reacts, what decisions he makes, and you will know him. What does he think of this feast? Does he find it too loud, or does he enjoy himself? How does he deal with the battle on the morrow, and the knowledge that he is outnumbered? That will affect how he leads his men. These are the things I must know, for tomorrow will be vital. I will face Jasnah Kholin—and, regardless of the armies and Shardbearers, she and I will be the ones who battle.”
Jek’s frown deepened. Ahven had an over-inflated view of one person’s place in events—perhaps it was because he thought himself so influential. The king made it sound as if none of the other warriors had anything to do with victory and loss. If that were the case, then what was the purpose of having a larger army than one’s foe?
“I must return,” Ahven said, holding up the wine pitcher again. “I am playing the role of a simpleton from Riemak, taken in by Dalenar’s army as a refugee. There are so many strangers in the city that the palace cooks were willing to accept my story—they are short-handed. Intara throws many feasts, but this one is extravagant even for him.”
Jek paused. His oaths prompted him to speak. “I suggest that you let me go back, and you return to camp. This is too dangerous.”
Ahven shook his head. “No. I must send some of the minstrels to Lady Jasnah. I have to watch her, read her lips, study her. Something is different about the woman. She has changed since I last studied her. If I don’t understand what happened to her, I will lose the battle. Of this I am certain.”
He didn’t wait for further argument. Jek sighed, waiting a few moments, then returned to the feast chamber. He took his previous seat—a place at a table of medium-ranked lords. Aleths weren’t certain how to treat Shins—the Kanaran system of nobility was so stratified that it made them uncomfortable to deal with those who had no quantifiable rank. So most of them just considered all Shin to be somewhere above citizens but beneath lords. Posing as a very wealthy merchant, Jek could safely place himself with the lesser nobility without drawing too much attention.
He watched uncomfortably from the corner of his eye as Ahven continued his act. The king hovered between Jasnah and Dalenar’s tables, his eyes darting from side to side—and Jek realized that in this environment, Ahven was the perfect spy. Within the cacophony, men would likely feel at ease speaking their minds, confident that no one would hear. But, as Ahven had said, others did not ‘hear’ as he did. He could read their lips from a goodly distance away, piecing together conversations far too quiet for another man to overhear.
As Jek watched, minstrels did indeed approach Lady Jasnah—and some even stayed to perform, though how they expected to distinguish themselves among the sounds of other players, Jek did not know.
Only once did Jek consider betraying Ahven. It was a shameful thought, but it was born of a seed Ahven himself had planted. The war could be stopped with a single, covert meeting. If he went to King Dalenar and told of what he knew, Ahven would be captured, punished, his armies sent home . . .
But no. Jek’s fallen honor—the memory of promises he had made before his Truth was taken—was all he had. The Holetental knew best, and they had commanded him to this action.
To atone, and to sin.
It was a long, uncomfortable evening. Eventually, Dalenar and Jasnah both retired, off to their camp to prepare for the next day’s battle. Ahven disappeared into the kitchens a few moments later.
Jek found the king again on the outskirts of town. The gates were still open—with so many men passing from the city to military camps outside, it would have been impractical to close the city. The two men walked quietly until they were well outside of the city, and had retrieved their separate horses.
“Did you find what you needed?” Jek finally asked.
Ahven frowned. “I’m not sure,” he said. “You will know tomorrow evening—by then, either Jasnah or I will be dead.”
chapter 86
Finale
It was a hot, muggy morning, despite the seaborn breeze. Taln stood on the battle line, waiting in the heat as the Veden army assembled atop the lait ridge.
The men around him shuffled anxiously. Not an honor guard—in Taln’s experience, an honor guard was just something to get in the way, something to keep a lord out of danger.
He did not intend to stay out of danger.
The lives of too many men would depend on this battle—men he had trained, men who trusted him. It was a dangerous position for him to be in, helping one kingdom above another. Heralds were not supposed to fight men’s wars for them, nor were they supposed to favor one faction over another.
Yet working with them—training them from disorganized scavengers into a cohesive army—had caused an affection to grow within Taln. How could it not? The men who stood by him, therefore, were no honor guard, but comrades. They carried spears, not swords, and they wore no expensive armor. Taln chose to fight beside the spearmen he had trained, and this time Jasnah could not complain. At Kholinar, he had been too valuable to risk, but in this battle they were all at risk.
The heat did not abate, and his men began to grumble. “Steady,” Taln cautioned, glancing toward the ridge and the army that sat on its lip. The Veden army had not pushed their march hard—they would have been foolish to do so. No, they were rested and prepared.
But so were his men. Though Taln was loath to admit it, the previous evening had done his men good. Intara had sent them food and drink—though not much of the latter. After so much marching and fleeing, an evening of relaxation had helped their overall strength. Perhaps they had been able to forget, for a moment, the danger that was coming.
The danger that had arrived. The Veden warriors lined up in great formations atop the ridge, ready to march down the slope. Lady Jasnah had arranged the Aleth forces as Taln had projected, placing their backs to the city. The Vedens would march down from the southwest, exposing themselves to bowshot from the city walls. The Aleth armies would keep Veden Awakeners from getting to and destroying the walls themselves. There was no room to back away, however. If the Vedens overran them, the Aleth forces would be crushed against the city.
The men continued to shift. They had only seen true battle once, at Kholin
ar. This fight would be different—in fact, it was opposite. The Veden forces held the high ground, and would come crashing down upon the smaller Aleth armies. Hopefully, none of his men saw the connection—that this was almost exactly the same strategy they had used against their enemies at Kholinar.
The men were nervous, but Taln expected that. He had stood with many a nervous, untested line during his extended lifetime. He had been a Herald for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to fear death. How nice it would be, that fear of the unknown. True, it was uncomfortable, but at least it contained a measure of hope.
Taln was left with something far worse. He knew exactly what awaited him when he died: madness, torture, and pain. He had to struggle not to think of it, lest the fires return.
They threatened anyway. It had been a while since he had felt their creeping touch. They had stayed away almost all that time with Jasnah, but now she was lost to him.
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? He had said he didn’t know, but that was a lie. He knew the answer, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
The sky turned red. The heat of the day suddenly seemed weak compared to the fires in his mind.
No! Taln thought. Not now! I will not fail these men! He forced the fires away, quenching them with determination.
A figure moved up beside him, though Taln was so distracted by the conflict within that he barely noticed its arrival. He breathed deeply, controlling himself, before finally looking to the side.
Kemnar smiled, glistening in his Shardplate.
“Shouldn’t you be with the lords?” Taln asked.
Kemnar shook his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, my friend, it’s this: when there’s a battle, I want to be as close to you as humanly possible.”
Taln smiled, and somehow Kemnar’s friendly face gave him the final boost he needed to push away the fires. Kemnar was a link to Jasnah.
Kemnar tensed suddenly, and the men around Taln grew still. Taln turned in time to see the Veden forces begin piling over the ridge in neat formations.
The battle had begun.
Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, rode beside his master and lord, King Ahven of Vedenar. The king trailed the last columns of men down the side of the lait wall, moving to join the mobile command center that the Veden officers immediately organized at the back of the lines.
The sounds of battle had already begun by the time Ahven dismounted and joined the generals.
“Why don’t we stay up there?” Ilhadal Davar asked anxiously, nodding toward the lait ridge. The Davar First Prince obviously didn’t enjoy being so close to the actual fighting.
“Because,” Ahven said simply, “we would be too far from the battle itself.”
“And if they break through to attack?” Ilhadal asked.
Ahven looked up, glancing at his generals, who smiled with amusement. “Let us hope they do,” Ahven said, looking down as several aides erected a table and battle map. “How many Shardbearers do you count in the immediate area, Ilhadal? You, myself, Generals Tenata, Jenazen, Lhanmar, Dentara . . . I worry for any soldiers foolish enough to wander this direction. Of course, if you wish, you may wait atop the ridge with the scribes and the servants.”
Ilhadal flushed.
“General Tenata,” Ahven said, looking up from the map. “Your battle arrangement is stunning. I commend you.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” the man said with a modest nod.
“If you would indulge me, I do have one request,” Ahven continued.
“Of course, your majesty.”
“Send scouts along the battle lines,” Ahven requested. “Discover the sub-commanders and Shardbearers who lead each section of Aleth resistance. As you know, I have been granted some measure of political understanding from the Almighty. I might be able to lend you some insight into how our enemies will resist.”
“I will make the order immediately, your majesty,” the general said.
Ahven stood up straight, looking across the field of battle. “Her touch is here, assassin,” he said, quiet enough that only Jek could hear. “She controls this fight, as expected. It is so similar to tactics she has used before, but something is different, and I still can’t place it. The songs she requested last night seemed random—‘The Song of a Hundred Lovers,’ ‘The Blessing of Minalah,’ ‘Windborn Fate’ . . . Something has changed.”
Jek did not answer, and Ahven just shook his head, looking down at the table again.
Taln fought.
He truly fought. Not as he had before—no short, quick battles, executed with restraint and poise. No, this time he fought as a warrior. As a Herald.
He attacked with some of the skill he normally reserved for the Stormshades. Against men, such power seemed egregious. Taln was as a storm blowing across scraps of paper. Soon after he began, Kemnar and the spearmen moved back, giving him room to fight. Where Taln struck, lines buckled, squads exploded, and men died. He had to continue moving, otherwise the corpses around him grew too thick to allow other foes to approach.
And as he fought, the fires began to mount. They were far, at first, but they crept forward—hungering for his sanity. In the distance, far away, he could hear the screams—the terrible inhuman yells that accompanied the dark thing that came with the fires.
The dark thing that came for him.
This shouldn’t be! Taln thought as he fought, shearing through three men at once, spraying their blood across the line of men behind. A Shardbearer stepped up to stop him, but the man was little more than a bump in Taln’s path. The Shardbearer fell like the others, killed by swordstrokes that came faster than the man could register.
Why do the fires come for me? Taln thought with frustration. I’m not failing. I am strong!
But he knew he had failed. He was serving one side, true, but he was destroying another. Every life he took was a man who would not stand with humankind against the Khothen. When the armies of human-kind were overrun, how would Taln be able to justify those men he had killed?
There was a deeper failure beyond that. He said he was determined to serve mankind—but how could serve mankind if he himself were not stable? He had found someone who drove the fires back, someone who brought peace to a soul that had been darkened by far too many years. If he had dedicated himself to her, and accepted the sanity she offered, would not that have been better for mankind?
He thought to sacrifice his own love for the good of Roshar. It wasn’t until after he had done so that he realized his love of Jasnah and his love of Roshar were not opposing needs, but one and the same.
“You’re sheltering him.”
Jasnah looked up with surprise. Their command center lay in one of the corner towers of the city wall. From the tower’s vantage, they could watch the battlefield with ease. An open, square room, it was designed for archer placements—but had easily been converted to hold a large map table.
“Here,” Dalenar said, pointing toward the map and indicating a section of the eastern flank. The section where Taln fought. “I realize that he is important to your plans, Jasnah, but there’s no reason to protect the Herald now. He has helped the morale of the troops, but you cannot waste resources protecting him. Besides, from all reports, he’s almost an army unto himself. I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Of course,” Jasnah said quickly, covering her flush. Dalenar was right—she was dedicating too many resources to Taln’s side of the battle. She made a few commands, fixing the problem.
Dalenar nodded. “I’m going to that hill near the docks,” he said. “We’ve lost two Shardbearers there—I need to find whoever’s dueling them.”
“Take a troop of heavy infantry with you,” Jasnah said. “Have them block that hole east of the hill—I’ve sent three squads of spearmen there, and it still keeps weakening.”
Dalenar nodded, sending a messenger to prepare his horse.
He paused, looking back at her. “I’m glad you’re here, Jasnah. There is no one I’d rather trust my battlefield to than yourself. With you here, I think we can win this.”
Jasnah nodded thankfully, and he was off. Unfortunately, his brave words were no match for her logic. It was going to be a difficult battle—she had never faced such poor fighting conditions. The enemy odds weren’t overwhelming, but they were great enough to give ominous signs on the map.
In addition, the enemy commanders were obviously competent. Not geniuses, but neither fools. They used a straightforward, stable offense—they didn’t need flashiness to win, only consistency.
Beyond that, there was a . . . hint of something else. While most of the moves were basic, the enemy maneuvers contained occasional hints of brilliance. An offensive strike would work particularly well for a reason she couldn’t quite discern, or a squad of troops would defeat a commander who should have had no problem with such numbers.
It could have been coincidence. But, collected together, the incidents formed a pattern. Someone on the other side was either very gifted or very lucky.
Jasnah looked up from the map, glancing through the window toward the battlefield itself. Several lines of troops were marching back to join her reserve forces—the first of the squads she had withdrawn from around Taln.
He will be fine, she thought. He doesn’t need any help—he’s Taln. Besides, there was always Kemnar—good, efficient Kemnar. Though she had decided not to give him any more orders, she had given him this one final request: to watch over Taln.
He’ll be fine, she repeated to herself. The winds know—of all the people you need to worry about on this battlefield, Taln is the last.
That man fights like a Stormshade, Dalenar thought, shivering slightly despite the heat.
Before going to the hill he had mentioned to Jasnah, Dalenar had decided to come see if the reports and rumors were true. It was more than just curiosity. There was something in Jasnah’s voice when she spoke of the madman, something Dalenar couldn’t place. At first, he had thought it to be affection, but such wasn’t likely to come from the Lady Jasnah.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 94