elevation, the more prevalent rockbuds became, until the stone-like polyps could be seen growing here and there on nearly every surface. Roshtrees
hung from overhangs—they appeared as wide tubes of stone at the moment,
but after highstorms they would let down vines covered with foliage, and
sometimes fruit. A few of the more-sheltered ones even had their vines
down in the evening coolness.
The most telling sign of the farmland, however, were the hills that had
been cleared of rockbuds and other plant life. Though barren at the moment,
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they bore ring-like scars made by inavah polyps, which had clung to the
hillsides before the summer harvest. They were so similar to the fields of Stonemount that they could have been in Alethkar, if it hadn’t been for the ragged highlands behind them and the absence of the Mount of Ancestors
in the distance.
The road itself was clean of polyps, and beyond that it was easy to see
where the army had traveled. Rockbuds were resilient, but their shells were far more brittle than regular stone. A large swath of them lay shattered—
shells broken, delicate stalks inside smashed flat—by tromping soldiers
bearing metal-heeled boots. The remnants had already dried in the arid
summer air.
Aredor’s promise that they would reach the army by nightfall proved a
bit premature. About an hour after sunset, they finally crested a hill to find hundreds of lights burning across the landscape before them, marking the
rise and fall of the land.
“There,” Aredor said, pointing to the side. In the waning light, Merin
could barely make out a steep drop-off in the land. The Prenan Lait, the
valley that sheltered the city of Orinjah.
Aredor nodded in satisfaction, reining in his horse. “I told you it
was within a day’s travel. The king should have already negotiated the city’s surrender. We won’t be able to make it home this evening—the soldiers
back home only open the Oathgate to check for us at dawn. Tomorrow,
however, we’ll sleep in our own beds.”
“The Oathgate,” Merin said with wonder. “What does it feel like?
Traveling through one?”
“You’ve never done it before?” Aredor asked with surprise.
Merin shook his head. “I’ve never even seen the capital. I come from
a Tenth City?”
Aredor smirked. “Right. Don’t worry—there’s nothing frightening about
the Oathgates.”
“That’s what you said about horses,” Merin noted.
“The Oathgates are even more harmless than horses,” Aredor promised.
“They’re really nothing more than doorways—you can barely tell that
there’s anything unusual about them, except the fact that they open up
on the other side of Roshar.”
Merin nodded as their horses began to move again. He wasn’t convinced,
but if the other option was riding a horse for several weeks back around the sea of Chomar and down the second peninsula to Ral Eram, he was willing
to give the Oathgate a try. Besides, he couldn’t suppress his curiosity. He
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 57
would finally have an image to place with the gateways he had heard of
in stories and ballads. The Oathgates were said to have been given to man
by the Heralds themselves. The ten portals connected the ten capitals of
the legendary Epoch Kingdoms back to Ral Eram, the First City, a grand
neutral city open to all. The Epoch Kingdoms were long since fallen, and
Alethkar controlled Ral Eram now, but it would still be exciting to travel through the gate.
They rode into camp, Aredor nodding friendly acknowledgments to
many of those they passed. Dalenar’s heir was greeted well by all, even
those who knew him only by reputation. Merin smiled at the warmth of the
reception. Somehow, Aredor managed to remain friendly with even those
who should have been his political enemies.
Renarin followed behind them, looking distracted as he rode. Merin
eyed him for a moment, then turned to Aredor. “Are we going to report to
your father right now?”
Aredor shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“Are we going to report . . . everything? Even the things your brother
thinks?”
Aredor glanced at Merin, then followed his look back toward Renarin.
Finally, he turned forward again. “I know my brother seems odd, Merin,
but he’s really not. He’s just . . . not comfortable with those he doesn’t know. Once you get to know him, you’ll realize he’s not strange at all, just a bit of a daydreamer.”
Aredor paused. “Besides,” he continued. “Live with him for a decade or
two, and you’ll find that he has an uncanny ability to . . . well, know things.
I’ve rarely known him to be wrong. He notices things, Merin. Things regular people just don’t see.”
Merin frowned, reaching reflexively for his glyphward, then again
cursing his decision not to wear it. The three of them dismounted at the
perimeter of the noble tents, and then made their way toward Dalenar’s
pavilion. Outside, Merin saw several unfamiliar guards. One, a shorter
man, bald and lithe, with a short beard, eyed them with a careful look as
they entered the tent.
Inside, Lord Dalenar sat in discussion with a woman Merin had seen
only at a distance. Lady Jasnah Kholin was striking with her immaculate
hair, fine features, and poised attitude. She sat in one of Dalenar’s chairs, wearing a green noblewoman’s dress, well-illuminated by the room’s four
lanterns. Behind her stood a young woman with red hair and a roundish
face.
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“No, he didn’t tell me either,” Dalenar was saying. He waved Merin and
his sons forward, not pausing in his dialogue. “But whatever it is, Elhokar believed it. Part of me is eager to see Balenmar in favor at court again—the man served Nolhonarin right up to the day of his death, even taking a
wound in defense of his king despite his age.”
“I don’t like secrets, Uncle,” Lady Jasnah said. “Even if they are kept by allies.” She paused, eyeing Merin with a critical look.
“The boy is trustworthy, Jasnah,” Dalenar said. “He’s a ward in my house,
now.”
Jasnah didn’t seem as convinced as Dalenar, and Merin glanced down,
feeling self-conscious before her eyes.
“Regardless,” Dalenar said. “We can’t keep our suspicions secret from
them—we did, after all, send them to spy for us.”
“I should hardly call it spying, Father,” Aredor said lightly, stepping
forward and pouring himself something to drink from the winetable at the
side of the tent. “After all, the dead can hardly offer complaint.”
“What did you discover?” Jasnah asked, her tone cool and businesslike.
“Very little,” Aredor said. Renarin stayed near the front of the tent, and Merin—uncertain of his place, did likewise. “There was definitely a third
army,” Aredor continued.
“You have proof?” Lady Jasnah asked.
“Not a bit,” Aredor said, sighing and taking a seat beside his father. “But the third army is the only reasonable explanation. The way the soldiers were standing when they died . . . the strange manner of the wounds . . . it all points toward a third force.”
Lord Dalenar frowned deeply. “The idea of a vanishing
army that can
destroy twenty thousand troops makes me very uncomfortable, Jasnah.”
“Agreed,” Lady Jasnah said in her calm, almost emotionless voice.
“However, I’m having enough trouble keeping my brother from riding
off to try and conquer the rest of the world—it won’t be easy to persuade
him to listen to our worries.”
“I don’t know that I care whether or not he listens,” Dalenar replied. “I’m just worried that this attack will lead to something else. Another strike of some sort.”
Jasnah nodded and the tent fell silent, the only sound that of Aredor
sipping his wine. Eventually, Jasnah spoke. “We have another problem
as well, Uncle. Balenmar’s words regarding Queen Nanavah appear to be
true—I’ve been interviewing the messengers who have visited Ral Eram
recently. I may have a battle on my hands when I return.”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 59
Dalenar shook his head. “Now is not the time for the queen to begin
growing into her station. I thought perhaps, once the war was over, things would get easier.”
“They never do,” Jasnah said. “No good can come from leaving the court
to itself for several years.”
“I wish Elhokar would . . .” Dalenar tapered off, sighing. “I don’t know,
Jasnah. I don’t have the patience to deal with your brother any more. It takes all of my effort to remain civil when I talk to the boy.”
Lady Jasnah sat for a moment, looking thoughtful. Her eyes were
composed, her demeanor withdrawn. Looking into that face, Merin could
believe the stories he’d often heard told about her. She seemed to lack
anything in the way of emotion—save, perhaps, for displeasure.
“Shall we divide our efforts, then, Uncle?” Lady Jasnah asked. “I will see to my brother and the queen, and will try and find out just what Balenmar
said to gain himself the king’s good graces again. See what you can discover about our vanishing army, and send word to me if you discover anything.”
“Very well,” Dalenar said.
“Good evening, then. I have preparations to make for the morrow’s
return.”
Lady Jasnah rose, and Dalenar stood courteously as she turned to go. She
paused briefly beside Renarin as she reached the tent’s exit. “Renarin,”
she said, “how are you managing?” The words were sincere, even if her tone remained neutral—perhaps there was more warmth beneath that face than
was first apparent.
Renarin smiled. “I’m fine, my lady. Please, don’t worry about me.”
“I will get you another Shardblade,” she said.
“Don’t,” Renarin said. “I never really needed one anyway.”
Lady Jasnah paused, then nodded to him and swept from the room, her
female attendant following behind.
Lord Dalenar waved the boys forward, seating himself and nodding
for them to do likewise. “Now,” he said. “Tell me exactly what you saw and thought when you searched the battlefield.”
chapter 6
JASNAH 2
Jasnah had seen the Prallan Oathgate before, but always from the
other side. Both were identical, of course—a large archway of black
onyx with a rim of cut obsidian. The archway’s opening, like those of the
other Oathgates, was filled with a light veil of smoke. She could make out vague shapes on the other side, patterns of light and dark, forms with
edges blurred by the mist. The smoke hung unnaturally, like a draped sheet, stirring and rippling occasionally as if it were a laketop touched by wind.
There were ten sets of Oathgates in all—during the Epoch Kingdom
days, the ten gates had provided the kings with constant access to Ral
Eram. Each of the ten Epoch capitals held a domed building like the one in which Jasnah now stood, and all ten linked back to a central chamber in the palace of Ral Eram. They were a marvel, and gave a powerful strategic edge to the one who controlled Ral Eram.
But to Jasnah, they also meant something else—especial y this one. Even
standing where she was, a short distance away from the gate, she could hear the obsidian in her mind, calling to her. It was like a sound, a pure note, alive and vibrant. She couldn’t hear other gemstones unless she touched
them, but obsidian . . . it whispered from even a distance.
She blocked it out, forcing herself to ignore its longing summons,
focusing on the room around her instead.
Back in the First Palace, the Prallan Oathgate had always looked out of
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 61
place with its foreboding Cimmerian cast. Yet, here in a room dedicated to it, the gate seemed fitting. The Prallan Oathgate Vault was circular, rimmed with glyphs representing all Ten Essences and Ten Forces. The Prallans
had always been fond of obsidian, the Polestone of knowledge and mystery,
and their palace was crafted of dark iron, marble, and stained woods. With its intricate glyphs, expensive stones, and ancient architecture, the room was a vision of a time long lost.
The room’s majesty had long since fallen to the wear and tear of time.
Pralir, the newest kingdom to take root in the ancient land of Prallah, had stood for only thirty years before Elhokar’s invasion. The kingdom’s poverty and struggles were reflected in the unkempt feel of the Vault room. Wood
scarred and battered, stone scratched and chipped, iron rusting. The hints of beauty were there, but they were only shadows—as if the entire country
were covered with a thin veil of Oathgate smoke.
Jasnah could only hope Elhokar’s rule would bring the battered land
some measure of relief.
“Lady Jasnah?” Kemnar, second in command of her personal guard,
asked from behind. “What are you waiting for?” Short with a completely
bald head and a thin dark beard, Kemnar was more soldier than he was
nobleman—he was a twentieth lord, four times removed, and he received
no hereditary stipend from his home city.
“Nothing, Kemnar,” she said, not bothering to explain. She had long
awaited this day, awaited it since her father’s death, and Elhokar’s subsequent declaration of war.
She stepped through the smoke, and was home.
Wisps of smoke trailed her body, as if trying to pull her back with
incorporeal fingers. She stepped into a white marble room—the Central
Oathgate Vault of Ral Eram.
Sun shone through numerous windows, and bright white columns ringed
the ovoid room, one between each pair of windows. The Ten Oathgates
stood around her, each one distinct in craft and material, each leading
to a capital city that had once been home to a powerful kingdom, many
centuries before. The smoke held to her for a moment before settling back
toward the Prallan gate, only to be disturbed again as Kemnar stepped
through. He would be followed by many others during the days to come;
an army returning to its homeland.
The Central Vault was busy this day, bustling with Elhokar’s aides
and returning noblemen. It was also clogged with the regular guards—a
redundant safety measure, since it was impossible to pass through an
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Oathgate unless both sides were open. Still, during times of war, one could never be too careful.
The king had passed through a few moments before, and Jasnah moved
forward in search of him. The Oathgates lay in an hourglass formation
following the pattern of the Double Eye, and they were far enough
apart from one another that she could see a crowd gathered at one end of
the room.
The smoke broke again, and Shinri stepped through. The girl’s face was
composed, but Jasnah knew her far too well not to notice the excitement
in her posture as she glanced toward the other side of the room, and the
open Veden Oathgate. She’s seventeen, and she has a fiancé waiting in Vedenar, Jasnah chided herself. Let the girl go.
“You may visit,” Jasnah said to Shinri. “Be back for the feasts this evening.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Shinri said, and darted off toward the Veden
Oathgate—a massive structure of smooth glass and diamonds.
She found Elhokar at the front of the room. He smiled as he held up a
small child, one Jasnah wished didn’t look so unfamiliar. Ahrden Kholin,
the king’s son and Jasnah’s only nephew, was barely into his second year. The boy looked confused at the sudden fuss and frightened at the strange man
before him—he had been born while Elhokar had been at war, and there
had been little opportunity to visit during the last two years. It would take time for him to get used to the father he had rarely seen.
Elhokar didn’t seem to share Jasnah’s concern. His face showed only joy
as he held the young child, a crowd of deferential nobility standing around him with quiet stances. For a moment, Jasnah was able to feel her habitual worry soothed away as she looked at her brother’s face.
Practicality reasserted itself as she noticed a discrepancy in the crowd.
“Kemnar,” she said, “find out what happened to Lord Dalenar.”
The short warrior nodded curtly, stepping away from her. Behind,
other important lords were making their appearance through the Oath-
gate—most were Landed nobility or Shardbearers who had participated
in the war. Jasnah, however, was only concerned with locating a specific
stern form. During the week since that final battle, Dalenar had remained
cold toward Elhokar despite Jasnah’s numerous attempts at soothing the
wound.
Dalenar still acted as required of him, of course—the highstorms
would stop blowing before her uncle ignored his duty. Yet, she could see
a hesitance that had not been there before. A hesitance that could lead to distrust. Elhokar couldn’t afford to lose Dalenar; their uncle was the most
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 9
