Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]
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Dalenar raised an eyebrow. “How did you talk her into letting you see
them?”
Jasnah just smiled. “Anyway, the queen has made some very strange
expenditures during our absence. She’s unduly interested in the emerald
trade, for one thing. In addition, I’m convinced she’s been intentionally
aggravating Jezenrosh and his allies. She’s learned to manipulate the royal funds, tariffs, and work projects far too well. She’s brought several houses to near-ruin, and, given time, she could probably do the same to Jezenrosh himself.”
Dalenar accepted this information with the solemnity it demanded.
He had a clever mind for politics, despite being a man, and could see
the shadowed implications of Jasnah’s statement. Unfortunately, shadows
were all they had. If the queen really were provoking Jezenrosh, what did
it mean? Was she foolishly snapping at the man she saw as her husband’s
enemy? That would be the act of an inexperienced woman who thought
herself doing what her station demanded, and it seemed to fit. Yet, the
queen’s recent political insight made one wonder if she had more subtle
motivations.
Shinri picked at the intricate sitting cloth as she sat, pulling a string
free and marring its pattern, destroying its arrogant perfection. What was the queen’s pattern? This one question had monopolized Jasnah’s worries
over the last few weeks, and therefore had done the same to Shinri. She and her mistress had discussed the question at length—it wasn’t Shinri’s place to speak now, while Jasnah conferred with Dalenar, but she had given her
opinions before. The queen was not to be trusted, perhaps, but Shinri saw
her as Dalenar did—not vengeful or evil, but simply as a woman trying to
secure her power against the domineering threat of the great Lady Jasnah.
It was inconvenient that her flexing should come now, when Jezenrosh
threatened, but she was hardly worth the concern Jasnah gave her.
Eyes were on Shinri. She didn’t look up, but she knew that Renarin was
watching her again. What is wrong with that boy? she thought uncomfortably.
“But,” Jasnah suddenly declared, “I bore you with female politics. Tell
me of your progress, Lord Dalenar. What have you discovered about the
attack in Prallah?”
“Blessed little,” Dalenar replied. “That kingdom would have collapsed
soon with or without our help. The southern and eastern borders are still
chaos—not helped by the king’s instance on withdrawing the greater
portion of our troops. I agree that the men need rest—many of them are
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rural volunteers who need to get back to their crops—but he should leave
a larger portion of the regulars in Prallah to secure the border. I . . .”
Dalenar trailed off as a messenger bearing Elhokar’s sunburst khol
glyph approached. The Parshen waved him forward, but the messenger didn’t approach Dalenar, instead giving Jasnah a whispered message. Shinri was close enough to catch a few words—one of which sounded a lot like
‘madman.’
“What is it?” Dalenar asked as Jasnah waved the messenger away.
“A very large annoyance,” Jasnah said with a displeased frown. “One my
brother is amused to let me keep oath regarding.”
Dalenar raised an eyebrow.
“The madman who interrupted our return feast,” Jasnah explained. “He
has an undeniable talent for creating disturbances, and for pulling me away from important conferences. There is still much to discuss.” She paused,
turning an eye toward Shinri.
The look was obvious. Kemnar was out searching his ‘sources’ for infor-
mation about Jezenrosh, and Nelshenden was guarding Jasnah’s mother.
Assuming that Jasnah wished to remain in Kholinar, that only left one
person to go in her place.
“You want me to take care of it, my lady?” Shinri asked.
“Apparently he’s taken to preaching in the market square,” Jasnah said.
“Take some of my guards and see if you can’t make him go back to his
monastery peacefully. If you have any problems, send me a messenger.”
Shinri nodded, rising and waving a servant to bring her horse.
“Aredor, Merin, accompany her,” Dalenar ordered. “See that the Lady
Shinri comes to no harm.”
Shinri flushed. “That’s hardly necessary, my lord.”
“I insist,” Dalenar asserted, and there was nothing left to say. One did
not argue with Dalenar Kholin.
“So, it’s just one man?” the boy, Merin, asked. “The king sent a messenger all the way to Kholinar expecting Lady Jasnah to return to the capital and deal with a single crazy man? Isn’t that a little frivolous?”
Shinri glanced through the curtains to where Merin and Aredor walked
beside her litter. The young Shardbearer spoke bluntly, displaying his
obvious lack of understanding. While Dalenar and Jasnah might be able
to question the king’s motives, it was not for a simple boy like Merin to
do likewise.
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Aredor, unfortunately, was little better. He didn’t chastise Merin, or even pull the boy aside to explain his error. Dalenar’s second son had never needed to pay much attention to what should and shouldn’t be said—indeed, the
affable man probably wouldn’t have cared anyway. Regardless, his station
as Dalenar’s heir made him put him above most courtgoers.
“The king is a busy man,” Shinri said simply.
“Yes, but surely he could have sent some soldiers to deal with the
disturbance,” Merin said with a frown. “I mean, sending for Jasnah took
just as much effort, right? And now the problem continues while we travel
through the Oathgate and down into the city.”
Shinri sighed quietly. She couldn’t, of course, explain that the move had
been done to intentionally annoy Jasnah. Though the king probably didn’t
understand most of the implications of Jasnah’s move during the feast, he
was smart enough to understand that he had been manipulated. He had
wanted to execute the madman, and Jasnah had diverted him. Though
Elhokar could always pass off his forbearance by claiming he was simply
suffering his sister, King Elhokar could be a spiteful man. He had said that the madman was Jasnah’s responsibility. He would make certain to remind
her of the foolishness of her decision.
When Shinri didn’t respond, Merin looked to Aredor for an explanation,
but Dalenar’s heir simply shrugged. Merin frowned. He was a brooding,
serious-eyed boy—not at all what she would have expected from a rural
citizen. He carried his Shardblade with a reverence that bespoke an
awareness of his high calling, even if he didn’t yet understand all of its implications. He held the Blade up, resting it on his shoulder as he walked, the blade itself—and any budding designs it held—masked by his metal
practice sheath.
“That cloak doesn’t fit you,” Shinri noted curiously.
Merin looked up, then flushed slightly. He wore blue and white noble-
man’s seasilks, modest in coloring and embroidery. The only striking article in the ensemble was the rich blue cloak, deep in color and emblazoned with Dalenar’s glyph—a sharp-lined khol set in the shape of a shield. The cloak, however, was too broad for Merin. The length had been hemmed, and w
hile
it didn’t fit poorly, it obviously hadn’t been originally tailored for him.
Aredor laughed at her comment. “I told you it was noticeable,” the older
boy said. “I keep telling him he should have another one tailored.”
“Lord Dalenar gave this one to me,” Merin said simply.
“In a symbolic gesture, Merin,” Aredor explained. “You don’t actually
have to wear the cloak, especially not everywhere you go. Besides, it’s a
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cold-weather cloak, meant to be worn in the highlands. It’s far too thick
to be comfortable here in the lait.”
Merin shrugged. “It feels fine to me.”
Shinri smiled. Men’s emotions were so obvious. There was a resolve in
Merin’s eyes, one that hinted that he would wear the cloak no matter how
hot it became. The garment was important to Merin, probably because
Dalenar had given it to him. There was a simple honesty to the action—a
firmness. No wonder Dalenar likes the boy, Shinri thought. The two are remarkably similar, considering their backgrounds.
The scenery outside slowly changed from rich houses into more mundane
shops. Though the streets in Ral Eram were never empty, they were even
busier here, and her litter-bearers had to slow to make their way through the traffic. People gave both litter and Shardbearers moderate space, however, so the movement wasn’t difficult. Shinri picked idly at the threads in her litter curtains—she had quite nearly removed the golden embroidery from
one entire section before they arrived at the specified location.
And there he was. He stood on one of the sculpted square boulders that
marked the corner of the intersection. Shinri’s litter bearers stopped, but she didn’t knock for them to put her down, instead enjoying her vantage
as she looked over the crowd toward the madman. Not that she really
needed the view—his voice was audible even over the mumblings of the
market-goers.
He shouted brazenly, standing with a self-assurance few sane men could
boast. He wore the same simple clothing as before, in the library, but he
displayed none of his earlier tranquillity. He bellowed warnings relating
to the coming of the Return and the danger of the Stormshades. He didn’t
break or pause in his announcements, regardless of hecklers. He spoke with passion and . . . a sense of authenticity.
Shinri smiled despite herself. Here was the ultimate pebble thrown on
a polished floor, the epitome of pulled threads and spilled tea. Though the people tried to ignore him—citizens in their browns, merchants in their
colors, ladies in their litters, and lords with their retinues—Shinri could see that their efforts were only for show. Here was a man who could not
be ignored. He marred their perfection. He was the reflection of a man
broken, his mind and decorum lost. And yet, within that fallen state, he
was somehow more genuine than they.
“You know,” Aredor noted with a smile, “if I were to go insane, I hope
I’d end up preaching the apocalypse on some street corner like this fellow.
If you’re going to go mad, you might as well have some fun with it, eh?”
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Merin snorted. “If you’re going to run off and go mad, kindly do it soon
so we can be rid of you.” The young Shardbearer squinted, studying the
madman. “Shouldn’t someone be taking care of him? I mean, besides Lady
Jasnah?”
“He’s in the care of the Mercyhome monks,” Shinri explained. “There’s
one with him now, sitting by the rock. I . . . think he’s dozing.”
Merin’s frown deepened.
“I don’t think they assigned him the most honorable of monks,” Shinri
added.
“The madman really thinks he’s a Herald?” Merin asked, listening to
the man’s rantings.
“Apparently,” Shinri said. “You were at the feast, weren’t you? You
heard what he said there.”
Merin nodded. “It’s just that . . . what he says is blasphemy. We should
quiet him before the priests hear. They wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Priests?” Shinri asked. “You mean the Elinrah?” She snorted. “They’d
probably be happy for the publicity.”
Merin’s expression darkened.
Careful, Shinri, she reminded herself. This isn’t a normal nobleman. He grew up in a small village. He probably believes Elinrah—he probably doesn’t even know the difference between it and regular Vorinism.
She knocked for her bearers to set down the litter, then climbed out into
the crowd. Despite her shorter height, she could stil see the madman’s form standing upon his rock.
“Come on,” Shinri said, stepping forward. Jasnah’s four guards moved
in around her, making a path through the crowd. She approached the
madman’s rock apprehensively, and she had to admit that having two
Shardbearers with her was a nice comfort. The madman noticed her
approach, but did not stop his yelling.
Shinri paused a short distance from his rock. Merin and Aredor were
tense—they likely remembered how this man had acted at the feast, when
his eyes and actions had been so wild. Yet he had seemed so peaceful
when she had seen him in the library.
But, that’s what madness is, isn’t it? Unpredictability.
Aredor nodded to the soldiers. Despite his leisurely attitude, he was well known for his dueling ability, and Jasnah had spoken of his effectiveness
on the battlefield. He turned toward Shinri, speaking in a low voice. “I can take care of this if you wish, Shinri.”
“No,” Shinri said. “I want to speak to him first. Please, stay here.” She
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took a few hesitant steps forward, stopping just before the rock. Merin
moved to accompany her, but Aredor laid a hand on his shoulder, allowing
Shinri the space she wished to accomplish her task.
Assuming I can get his attention. It turned out that she didn’t need to. Once the madman finished his latest round of apocalyptic warnings, he turned
toward her, smiled, and seated himself.
Shocked at the sudden change in his demeanor, Shinri stood quietly for
a moment.
“I recognize you,” the madman said, reaching for a water pouch and
wiping the sweat from his brow. “You were with the Lady Jasnah Kholin
the other day, in the library.”
“I’m her ward,” Shinri explained.
“Ah,” the madman said with a nod. “Who are the swords behind you?”
Shinri glanced backward, to where Aredor and Merin watched uncer-
tainly. “Lords Aredor and Merin Kholin,” Shinri explained.
“Kholin?” he noted. “Brothers to the king?”
“No,” Shinri said. “Cousins—or, at least, Aredor is. Merin was granted
his surname by title.”
The madman nodded. He was so . . . well-exercised for a lunatic. His
body was muscled and brawny enough to make both Dalenar and Merin
look inferior by comparison; had he been a soldier before madness took
him, perhaps?
“They look as if they’re certain I’ll attack you at any moment,” the madman said with amusement. “Though, I suppose after my display the other day,
they have a right to be hesitant.”
Shinri nodded, feeling foolish. How did one speak to a man who now
acted so normally, yet who had been r
anting insanely just moments ago?
“It seems that . . .” It seems that what? That you’re still insane? “It seems that you have decided to try a different tactic.”
The madman snorted quietly, taking another swig from the water bag.
“I thought I’d give it a try. I haven’t ever really had to do it this way
before—most of the time, people just believe me when I tell them who I
am. Of course, most of those times came during the days of the Epoch
Kingdoms, when our Returns were expected.” He looked over the
crowd, eyes solemn. “This method isn’t working very well, I’m afraid.
I seem to recall that streetside preaching is what the prophets always do
in the ballads. I’ve never been much of an orator, though. I think I’m
enhancing my reputation for madness more than I am my reputation as a
Herald.”
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Shinri smiled. “Lady Jasnah sent me to ask you to stop.”
“She didn’t come herself,” he noted. “Next time perhaps I’ll have to find
something that makes a bit more of a disturbance.”
Shinri paused, studying the madman’s eyes. So lucid, she thought again.
“You wanted her to come. You did this on purpose.”
“Of course I did it on purpose,” the madman said with a smile. “You
think a man stands himself on a rock and screams at passersby by accident?
These people need to be warned of what is coming. The probability of your
Lady Jasnah visiting sometime during my speech was a side-benefit.”
“But why?”
“Because I am led to understand that I am under her care,” the madman
explained. “And that means she is my strongest connection to the nobility.
Unfortunately, the palace guards are watching for me now, since I slipped
by and got into your library, and won’t let me in to seek her out. That means I need to coax her out to see me. You don’t know if she’s managed to get
my sword back for me, do you?”
I doubt she’s given it a passing thought. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
The madman nodded. “Why don’t you give her a message for me? I’ll
promise to stop my preaching here in the market if she’ll tell the guards