Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

by The Way of Kings Prime (ALTERNATIVE VERSION) (pdf)

  gates—a pair of massive wooden structures carved with tensets of intricate glyphs, most of them incarnations of taln or khof.

  Taln scanned the courtyard. It was lined with sand to cushion falls, and

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  one side seemed dedicated to training swordsmen, while the other half

  focused on the spear. Taln’s mouth downturned again as he noticed the

  spears. Even worse, he could see through one of the entry gates to another courtyard, where a group of men were practicing with the bow—another useless weapon against the Khothen.

  “Do you have a plan, or are you simply going to stand there and look

  menacing?” Lhan asked.

  “The Stormshades will be here in under a year,” Taln explained. “I need

  to judge the martial capability of your people so I know what resources are at my brethren’s command. You say that Alethkar is the most powerful of

  the existing kingdoms?”

  Lhan shrugged. “Probably about equal with Jah Keved.”

  Taln nodded. “I remember seeing Shardblades at the feast. I presume,

  then, that Shaping is somehow still available to mankind, even if Epellion Sourcing has for some reason diminished?”

  “Shaping?”

  “The power by which Shardblades are crafted,” Taln explained.

  “Oh, we can’t make them any more,” Lhan said. “What we have now are

  all leftovers from the Epoch Kingdoms.”

  “How many Blades would you say the kingdoms have?”

  Lhan shrugged. “Most important landowners—Sixth Lords or better—

  have one, and there are a fair number of unlanded Shardbearers as well.

  Maybe a hundred here in Alethkar—though we stole a good number of

  those from Pralir.”

  “That’s a fair number, all things considered.”

  “Well, when you happen to have an indestructible magical sword that

  can cut through almost anything,” Lhan noted, “you tend to keep track of

  where you put it.”

  “Didn’t help me keep ahold of mine,” Taln mumbled. “All right. I need

  to go spar with your warriors, see how good their training is, coax them

  into telling me what percentage of the civilian population is trained, find out how big the local military force is, discover what martial advancements in tactics and technology have been discovered during the last thousand

  years, and befriend both monks and soldiers to gain their trust so they

  accept my leadership when the time comes.” He paused. “You might want

  to sit down—this could take a while.”

  “I’d avoid hurting any noblemen if I were you,” Lhan said, sitting

  and leaning back in the shade to rest against the wall. “You are, by their

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  standards, just a citizen. Getting executed by a petulant lord with a broken arm would be a quick way to end your quest to save the world.”

  “I’ll take that into advisement,” Taln said as he strolled toward the sparring swordsmen. Their dueling forms were unfamiliar to him—the stances

  and styles had apparently changed during his absence. However, he could

  still see the soul of the old Epoch Kingdom methods in their combat.

  He and the other Elin had encouraged the rise of dueling as a formalized

  art—through the tradition, the kingdoms had been able to relieve tension

  in a relatively harmless way, while at the same time honing their skills in preparation for the next Return.

  Several of the groups stopped practicing as he approached, holding their

  weapons uncertainly as he kicked a wooden practice sword up off the pile

  and caught it with a deft motion. He fell into a stance, feeling the weight of the weapon in his palm and smiling at the familiar sensation.

  “Who’s first?” he asked.

  A few of the noblemen raised their weapons. Another, however, frowned.

  “Don’t I recognize you?” he asked, eyeing Taln. “What rank are you?”

  “Unimportant,” Taln replied. “Let’s spar.”

  “He’s the man from the feast!” one of the others cried. “See! He’s shaven, but I recognize that face!”

  Taln cursed quietly as one of the younger men backed away, then dashed

  off to fetch the attention of the monastery masters. Taln had to move

  quickly. He selected a younger man in a fine seasilk training outfit who

  looked like he knew how to hold his sword. “You,” Taln said, facing the

  man. “Let’s see how you do.”

  The man didn’t respond.

  Taln stood for a second, then attacked. His feet kicked up sand as he

  spun forward, swinging his weapon. The man flinched, raising his arm

  and backing away, but did not raise his weapon. Taln stopped just short of hitting him.

  “I think you are in the wrong place,” one of the older men said, his

  face dark.

  Taln glanced to the side, noting the group of armed monks running

  his direction.

  “I came to spar,” Taln said. “Is this not the place?”

  The man snorted. “You hold that sword like you think you’re a Lord.”

  Taln glanced down at the wooden sword. Dueling had always been

  dominated by the aristocracy—they could afford the finest blades, and

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  spend the time it took to practice. However, the sport was open to all

  classes—or, at least, it had been.

  “I see,” Taln said, tossing aside the sword. “All right, then.” He walked

  over to the weapon pile, selecting a spear. It was blunted, the end was

  severely battered, and the weighting was poor—it was probably just used

  to train the swordsman how to attack a spearman. He picked the weapon

  up anyway.

  “All right,” Taln said, falling into a fighting stance, the spear thrust

  forward. It had been a while since he’d used a polearm—he should probably

  take it easy at first. “I’ll take five of you at once.”

  None of the men moved to challenge him—in fact, to a man they walked

  away, leaving him in his stance. Taln’s frown deepened, and he stood up-

  right as the monks finally reached him. He held up a hand to forestall any comments.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “It’s against their sense of ‘honor’ to duel with a common citizen.”

  One of the monks nodded, and Taln sighed. They were all fighting

  men—the Order of Khonra obviously still took its duty of training both

  citizen and lord very seriously, and its members would all be expert warriors.

  “Very well,” Taln said. “I’ll spar with one of you, then. I assume that

  will be allowed?”

  “Certainly, traveler,” the lead monk said. His sword was still sheathed,

  but his hand rested carefully on its hilt. “Just register with the monastery and give proof of Eighth Citizen status, and we will be pleased to train

  you.”

  Eighth Citizen status. Taln raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me for a moment,

  holy brothers,” Taln said, turning and stalking across the sand toward the entrance to the monastery. Lhan looked up with an innocuous smile as he

  approached.

  “What are these citizenship levels they keep mentioning?” Taln asked.

  “I was wondering if you were ever going to get around to asking that,”

  Lhan replied.

  “And?” Taln prompted, planting the butt of the spear in the sand and

  standing expectantly.

  “And you should know what they are,” Lhan said. “Didn’t you tell me />
  you knew King Bajerden personally? Don’t tell me you never read The Way of Kings.”

  “The Way of Kings was written after the Return was over,” Taln informed.

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  “However, I did read it during the next Return, long after Bajerden’s death.

  It speaks of levels for lords and cities, but says nothing of citizens.”

  Lhan paused. “It doesn’t?” he asked.

  Taln shook his head. “I’m quite certain.”

  “Oh. Actually, I’ve never read it myself . . . I just always assumed . . .

  Well, anyway, citizenship ranks are the same as noble ranks. They don’t

  matter much, except that most people are Sixth Citizens, and you have to

  be at least a First Citizen if you want to marry into a noble house.”

  Taln frowned. “And, I assume, you have to be an Eighth Citizen to train

  at the monastery?”

  “You have to be one to train, or to join the military—or even hold a

  weapon, technically.” Lhan smiled, nodding toward Taln’s spear, then

  toward the group of increasingly hostile monks that stood a short distance behind him.

  “You also aren’t supposed to leave the city,” Lhan added. “And you don’t

  count in the census—that’s to keep a lord from hiring a batch of mercenaries and moving them into town just before the census to inflate his numbers.”

  “I see,” Taln said, turning slowly. There were seven monks, all armed—

  most with spears, but two with swords. None were practice weapons.

  Taln dug his toes in the sand, getting a proper footing. Seven men,

  well-trained, and him with a poorly-weighted practice weapon . . . Perhaps they’d listen to him if he proved himself. Jezrien or Chanaral probably

  would have told him not to make a stir, but they didn’t understand soldiers like he did. Social mores aside, the best warrior always commanded respect.

  He lowered the weapon, preparing to attack.

  “What is going on here?” a sharp feminine voice demanded from a short

  distance away.

  Taln glanced quickly to the side, immediately suspicious of a diversionary tactic. That glance was enough to tell him the battle was over.

  “Lady Kholin,” Taln said, standing upright and setting the spear aside.

  “That was quick.”

  Jasnah Kholin sat in a luxurious litter suspended from the shoulders

  of four approaching bearers. The litter was draped with colorful seasilks, embroidered blue and red, the side toward him open and held back by two

  tiestrings.

  The inside of the litter was piled with plush cushions, but none of the

  softness seemed to have affected the lady’s eyes. She sat in one of the intricate restrictive dresses Taln had seen only among the nobility, green in color this

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  time, and her hair was pulled up in a complex half-braid half-bun, with two tails of black hair jetting fountain-like from the back of her head.

  “You are becoming a very taxing problem, madman,” Lady Jasnah

  informed as the bearers halted beside Taln.

  “I apologize,” Taln replied, regarding her musingly. “Is that outfit as

  uncomfortable as it appears?”

  Jasnah raised an eyebrow, then nodded coolly for her bearers to set

  down the litter. She stepped out into the sand, her feet covered in seasilk slippers that matched her dress. “Walk a little ways with me, madman,” she commanded, gliding out into the now-empty courtyard.

  Taln did as requested, and the lady’s guards followed them, standing

  just out of earshot. Jasnah stopped once they were a short distance from

  the monks and her bearers.

  “What do you want?” she asked in a straightforward voice. “Shinri told

  me that you were making a stir just to get my attention. What can I do to

  make you stop being a nuisance?”

  “She promised me an audience,” Taln said.

  “You’re getting it now. What do you want?”

  “Get my sword for me,” Taln said.

  “I can’t do that,” Jasnah said.

  Taln shrugged. “You asked what I wanted, and I replied.”

  The lady’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea the chaos you are

  causing?” She asked. “People in the capital are growing restless. Most know you are mad, but there is an element that can be swayed by even the most

  foolish of claims. They are whispering that the Return has come, that

  apocalypse will follow.”

  “With all due respect, my lady,” Taln said. “That’s exactly the reaction

  I’ve been trying to generate.”

  “You foster chaos.”

  “I prepare for what must come.”

  Jasnah hissed slightly, her face controlled but frustration lurking just

  beneath.

  “Lady Jasnah,” Taln said gravely. “Have you wondered what would

  happen if I were right? All of Roshar could be in very serious danger.”

  “The cycle of Returns is over,” Jasnah replied.

  “So your records say, and so the kings at the turn of the last Return

  claimed,” Taln said. “But who are they to be trusted? Ronad the Ambitious?

  Vadren the Covetous? Ten rulers your own history dubbed the Oathshard

  kings. These are the men whose word you rely upon?”

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  “They aren’t the only ones,” Jasnah countered. “The monasteries teach

  that the Returns have finished.”

  “That only started four hundred years ago,” Taln said. “I’ve done my

  research.”

  Jasnah frowned. “Well, who are we to trust if we can’t listen to our

  religious leaders? Would you have us instead follow after the mysticisms

  of the Elinrah?

  Taln paused. “The Elinrah?”

  “A religion,” Jasnah explained. “You should look into them—they do,

  after all, claim to worship you.”

  Taln frowned. “That is heresy. Only the Almighty should be worshipped.”

  “Well, people get confused,” Jasnah said lightly. “Not all of us have

  the convenience of being able to speak with the Almighty whenever we

  wish.”

  “I haven’t spoken with Him in a very long time,” Taln mumbled. They

  claim to worship you. The heresy of Kanar has returned? Things were worse than he had assumed.

  “You don’t live with the Almighty?” Jasnah asked. “What kind of

  Herald are you?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Taln explained.

  Jasnah raised an eyebrow.

  “You speak rather flippantly of the Almighty for a Vorin,” Taln said

  slowly.

  “I’m not exactly a model Vorin,” Jasnah replied.

  “I see,” Taln said. “What happened?”

  Jasnah opened her mouth to reply, then paused, shooting a frustrated

  look at him and folding her arms. One sleeve of her dress, he noticed with interest, was far longer than the other.

  Jasnah frowned. “I’m trying to figure out how exactly this conversation

  abandoned its primary topic and moved into a discussion of my theological

  shortcomings.”

  “I was just curious—I tend to be interested in the state of men’s souls.”

  He paused, smiling. “You could call it an occupational hazard.”

  Jasnah snorted quietly. “My soul is just fine,” she assured. “Look . . .

  Taln . . . I need you to stay out of trouble. If you promise me to do so, I can get you an audience with the king. You can deliver your important

  messages to him.”
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  “He won’t believe me,” Taln said. “The Sign isn’t working.”

  “Perhaps you just need to try it again,” Jasnah said. “Promise not to make

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  a stir for a few weeks. No more going where you aren’t supposed to, no more yelling condemnations on the streetcorners—”

  “I only did that once,” Taln interjected.

  “Regardless,” Jasnah said, her voice becoming smooth and reassuring.

  “That’s not the way. You need to speak with King Elhokar. Promise to do

  as I say, and I will get you in to see him.”

  Taln smiled lightly, but on the inside he was heavily skeptical. Playing off of my supposed delusions, sister of the king? Lhan was right—you are a calculating one. She was trying too hard . . . there was something he was missing.

  “You make a persuasive argument, Lady Jasnah,” Taln said with a bow

  of the head. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Very good,” Jasnah said with a curt nod. “Visit my chancellor of

  appointments in, say, half a month. If you’ve stayed quiet and made no

  disturbances, then I will try to get you an audience with my brother.”

  Taln nodded, and Jasnah turned, walking toward her litter. He watched

  her go, frowning to himself. She was playing with him—somehow he

  doubted his ‘audience’ would be as promising as she implied. It was like the young girl’s promise just a short time before, one Jasnah still hadn’t really ever made good on.

  Yet Jasnah seemed desperate to get him to stay quiet. Something was

  going on.

  As her litter left, Taln walked over to Lhan—noting, with dissatisfaction, that the monks had absconded with his spear. Lhan had settled himself

  on the sand, eyes closed as he lay back on the shaded sand.

  “Did you have an enjoyable conference?” the monk asked as he heard

  Taln approach.

  “Thrilling,” Taln replied. “I’m still trying to figure out how she knew I

  was here. She arrived far too quickly to have been informed by one of the

  monks.”

  “Oh,” Lhan said, yawning as he opened his eyes. “I sent for her, just

  before we left Mercyhome.”

  “You sent for her?” Taln asked.

  Lhan nodded. “I couldn’t have you getting yourself killed, my dear

  madman. If you got into a fight with a nobleman and got yourself executed, I would have to go back to weaving floormats. For a supposedly docile and