Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

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

  and hours without looking up, and men who never say a word, just stare into space. I never worried about any of them. This one . . . he could be trouble.

  I even find myself half-believing him. If he ever wanted to cause trouble, I worry that these poor lads would listen to him.”

  Jan clinched his jaw in thought. He’d earned the nickname ‘Sapphire’

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  early in his career. The stories gave all the Polestones personalities, and Jan was most certainly a sapphire—stubborn, demanding, and in charge.

  “He has to go, Bother Lhan,” he decided, fingering his glyphward and

  hoping the Almighty would forgive him. “If he could learn to be quiet, it’d be different. But we both know he won’t ever stop this nonsense about the

  Return. I can’t have the man on my team. I’m sorry.”

  Lhan nodded. “That’s all right, Jan. I’ll just have to find another place

  for him.”

  Sapphire Jan shook his head, turning away as the monk removed his

  gloves and wandered over toward the working Taln.

  In three thousand years of life, there were relatively few things that

  Taln had not tried. Cromcleaning, interestingly, was one of them.

  He knelt on the stone, using a small metal tool to clean the crusty

  cromstone out of the carved cracks of a waystone—a street marker that gave directions to various parts of the city. Cromcleaning was a curious sign of the three peninsulas. The Elin had been surprised by the lack of crom on

  buildings when they had come for the First Return. They had assumed that

  people would just let it build up.

  That, however, had been long, long ago. Taln shook his head, using the

  edge of his tool to scrape the softer cromstone from the granite etchings.

  He barely even remembered what it was like to live in a land where the

  rains didn’t drop muck that eventually hardened to stone. Crom could be

  cleaned off with ease. His own problems were not so easy to repair.

  It was not easy for him to remain ‘quiet.’ The Khothen were coming, and

  something was very wrong. Epellion Sourcing didn’t work, not even his

  own. This time there would be no Windrunners or Stonewards to respond

  to the demonic assault. Mankind stood on the brink of its own destruction, and no one even realized it.

  Except Taln. And, presumably, the other Heralds. But they had yet

  to arrive. Taln had not spent the last few weeks in idleness, despite his

  attempts to remain out of trouble. He had befriended the keepers of bars,

  listening to stories of travelers, searching desperately for some hint of his Brethren. Though he no longer had access to the library, he had his one

  book, and he had studied its every page a tenset times over.

  He had interrogated every old gaffer who would speak with him,

  absorb ing as much of the recent history as he could. He had heard of

  the coming of Jarnah, who had nearly conquered the world before being

  slain by Dalenar the Tyrantbane. Taln had heard of the wars in Prallah,

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  and had gathered everything he could on the various kings of the various

  nations.

  He could do no more in Alethkar. Here, he was considered a madman.

  He needed to move on, to use his newfound information to make a better—

  hopefully more sane—impression on another kingdom’s monarch. There

  was still hope for Roshar, even if his brethren failed to arrive.

  However, there was one thing he wanted to do first.

  Lhan approached with his customary unhurried gait. Taln wasn’t certain

  if the monk didn’t trust him, or if he was just concerned for Taln’s mental health, but Lhan hadn’t left him alone a single day out of the last two weeks.

  Despite numerous complaints about how much he loathed cromcleaning,

  the monk had gotten down and scrubbed walls like a man who’d been

  doing the work all his life.

  Taln rose, dusting off his gloves as the monk approached. “You requested

  that we be allowed to leave early?”

  “You could say that,” Lhan replied.

  “Good,” Taln said with a nod, setting aside his tool and gloves. It was

  growing late in the day, and the sun was just a few hours away from setting behind the monstrous peak of the Mount of Ancestors.

  “We need to get cleaned up,” Taln said. “The duels will begin soon.”

  “Lead on then, Herald of the Almighty,” Lhan said, waving toward the

  monastery. “Though, why you want to go watch is beyond me. I know a

  couple good games of chips we could get in on . . .”

  Taln smiled. Every day, the monk—like everyone else—got wages from

  the cromcleaning. Lhan probably should have turned his earnings in to

  his superiors, since monks couldn’t own wealth. Lhan, however, promptly

  took the gems and lost them in nightly gambling games with the other

  cromcleaners. He’d once told Taln that he figured the money would get

  to the poor of the city one way or another, and he might as well have fun

  giving it to them. He never seemed to wonder what would happen if he

  won—fortunately, Lhan was absolutely terrible at chips.

  “No chips tonight, Lhan,” Taln replied. “You have a promise to keep.

  Lhan rolled his eyes. “I can tell you what’s going to happen,” the monk

  informed. “Some men are going to pretend to try and hurt each other with

  swords. They’ll hop around a bit, and one of them will strike a lucky blow.

  They’ll stop, congratulate each other for being so magnificent, then they’ll go get drunk. There will be a lot of lords there, and they’ll all do their best to make the rest of us feel like we don’t belong. It will be crowded, smelly, and melodramatic. A good game of chips, however . . .”

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  Taln shook his head. “You said if I worked on the streets, you would get

  me into the duels.”

  Lhan sighed. “All right. Since we’re citizens, we’ll only be able to watch the lesser duels, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Lhan paused. “After the duels, we need to have a talk about . . . issues

  of employment.”

  “If you wish,” Taln said.

  Sapphire Jan had been a good foreman, and Lhan had worked hard to

  provide Taln with a stable life. Taln was grateful to both of them. However, neither of them knew that Taln had no intention whatsoever of cleaning

  walls the next day—even if he did survive the night’s festivities.

  chapter 25

  JASNAH 6

  The feast hall fell silent as Jasnah entered. The quiet was eerie.

  The competition should have been a time of mirth and celebration,

  not one of solemnity. Titles would be presented, honor and prestige would

  be earned, old acquaintances could be rekindled and old rivalries enflamed.

  Yet, at Jasnah’s entrance, the women suddenly fell silent. The men, sensing the mood, trailed off as well.

  Jasnah tried to ignore the onlookers as she walked forward with a smooth

  gait. The variety in kingdoms represented at the feast was surprising. Thalen and Veden visitors were to be expected—both kingdoms were powerful

  in their own right, and were allies of Alethkar. However, there were also

  would-be noblemen from the struggling kingdoms of Distant Prall, con-

  quered aristocrats from the occupied kingdom of Lakhenran, and even a

  few Shin clansmen.

  For the festivities, Elhokar had c
hosen the Jez hall—the Eleventh Hall, as it was called, built not for a single kingdom but to accommodate a

  larger mixed group. It was wide and open, its support columns relegated

  to the outer rim with four massive pillars running down the center of

  the chamber. A dueling ring had been drawn between each set of pillars,

  with tables forming layered circles around them. There would be other

  dueling rings, of course, in lesser feast halls—attended by citizens and

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  less-important nobility. The preliminary duels had already been performed.

  Only the very best of contestants would perform before the king.

  Jasnah walked through the room, maintaining an elegant stride, talla

  blue, hair up, looking as regal as she ever had. While Elhokar had thought to keep the betrothal announcement a relative secret, Nanavah had seen to

  it that every woman in the court knew exactly what was going to happen.

  And, what a man’s wife knew, he knew.

  The men watched respectful y as Jasnah passed, pleasantly oblivious to the truth. To them, the betrothal announcement marked the joyous—and long

  overdue—marriage of the king’s aging sister. Their wives, however, knew

  better. The women of the court smiled with false eyes. Those with enough

  sense to pay attention realized that no wedding would be announced this

  day, but a funeral—the death of Jasnah’s political career. Jasnah’s struggle with the queen had been unseen, even unmentioned, but it had been as

  fervent as any battlefield war.

  Nanavah sat at the queen’s table, almost demure in her red talla, resplendent with sapphires. She had won. As Jasnah’s closest married female kin

  and surrogate mother, Nanavah had the right to choose Jasnah’s husband.

  She could choose practically anyone—provided the match wasn’t too

  unequal. However, there were plenty of lords of modest rank who lived

  far, far from Oathgates or courts. It would not be difficult to find Jasnah a man with little interest in politics, one who lived in a city so secluded from important events that Jasnah would have difficulty discovering what was

  happening in Ral Eram, let alone influence court politics. Jasnah was not

  completely defeated, but it would take her years to recover.

  Dalenar sat at the king’s table, his hostility toward Elhokar far less

  evident than it had been a few weeks before. Once again, Meridas sat in

  the place normally reserved for the king’s second Parshen. Jasnah frowned slightly as she saw the smooth-mannered nobleman. He was far too

  conniving for a male, and far too successful in his politics for one from such a relatively unknown house.

  Elhokar stood, waving for Jasnah to approach his table. She moved

  forward, bowing before him.

  “I wish you would consent to wearing jewelry, sister,” he said quietly.

  “It is unseemly of the king’s sister to appear so plain, especially on her betrothal day.”

  Jasnah gave no response. Traditional or not, this was one matter on which

  she would offer no concession.

  Elhokar sighed, turning to the crowd. “I have some business that needs

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  to be attended to before his competition begins,” he said unnecessarily to the quiet room. His next words were a surprise, however. “You,” he said,

  pointing at a young nobleman in a green seasilk shirt and loose brown

  trousers. “Stand before your king.”

  The young man flushed slightly, embarrassed. Jasnah turned, resting her

  uncuffed hand lightly on the king’s table. She didn’t recognize the man, but his cloak bore Jezenrosh’s glyph. The young nobleman rose, then walked

  forward and fell to one knee before the king’s table.

  “Introduce yourself to the court,” Elhokar ordered, leaning forward,

  hands on the table as he looked down at the younger man.

  “I am Fifth Lord Islin Naninarin of Crossguard, your majesty.”

  Fifth Lord of Crossguard. A Shardbearer. Indeed, his yet-unbonded blade could be seen leaning against his table. Jasnah recognized his family name, but only vaguely.

  “When were you given your Blade?” Elhokar demanded.

  “Several months ago, your majesty,” the young man said. “From Lord

  Jezenrosh. It belonged to one of his men who had died in the war.”

  “And where is your Lord Jezenrosh now?” Elhokar asked.

  “In Crossguard, your majesty,” the man said, eyes still lowered. “He

  regrets his inability to attend, but his illness forbids it.”

  Elhokar stood upright, waving the young Shardbearer away. Jasnah felt

  a chill. She recognized the dangerous anger in her brother’s eyes.

  “Hear that, court of Alethkar!” the king announced. “I ordered every

  Shardbearer in my realm to attend this feast, yet my cousin sees fit to ignore his king. In his place, he sends two unknown Shardbearers—men granted

  Blades less than a hundred days ago; men none of us have even met.”

  Don’t do this, Elhokar . . . Jasnah thought, taking a step toward him. He stopped her with a glare.

  “Perhaps Lord Jezenrosh truly is ill,” Elhokar said. “Perhaps, for some

  reason, he needs to keep his other Shardbearers at his side, sending only

  these pups to answer his king’s command. Either way, he is no longer able

  to fulfill his duties as Parshen. Therefore, I relieve him of the title, lest it burden him further.”

  Jasnah sighed. The title of Parshen, once given, was normally only withdrawn in response to treason. Jezenrosh had many relatives, allies, and

  friends. Taking his title was a slap that would be felt across many faces.

  The crowd seemed less surprised than it should have been. Of course they knew, Jasnah thought. This is too conniving a move for Elhokar to have managed on his own. It has been planned ever since the king announced the dueling

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  competition. Jasnah eyed Nanavah, who was smiling contentedly at her table, Ladies Desolh and Senis at her side, the wives of the two most

  powerful Third Lords in Alethkar. She was behind Elhokar’s order that all Shardbearers attend the competition. But . . . what reason could she possibly have to oust Jezenrosh?

  “Lord Meridas Isvenda,” Elhokar said, turning.

  The tall merchant fell to one knee.

  “For service to your king and country, I grant you Lordship of the city of Orinjah, formerly of Pralir. Orinjah shall bear the rank of Fourth City until the time of the next census. I also name you Parshen to the king, warden of Prallah. Select for yourself a Shardblade from those to be awarded this evening.”

  Jasnah’s displeasure seethed. Following Jezenrosh’s release, Meridas’s

  appointment was hardly surprising. The merchant finally had the power

  he had sought so hard to obtain. Now, he would be an even more potent

  force in Aleth politics—with its Oathgate, Orinjah would quickly become

  one of the most powerful cities in the kingdom. Jasnah was so displeased

  that she almost missed Elhokar’s nod for his wife to stand.

  It was time.

  “My lord,” the queen said loudly, “I have decided to exercise my Right

  of Decision. Lady Jasnah Kholin has served her house well, but it is time

  that she be wedded.”

  Nanavah paused, then smiled slightly. “Oddly, I see another problem in

  the court that needs to be rectified. Lord Meridas has a new duty and a

  new Blade, but he too is unwedded—an unfitting state for a king’s Parshen.

  Therefore, I give Lady
Jasnah to him, assuming his mother approves. Let

  Lady Jasnah Kholin be married to Lord Meridas Isvenda.”

  Jasnah stood dumbly. She turned from Nanavah, to the king, and finally

  to the smiling Meridas. What?

  Meridas stood. “I am very pleased by this opportunity to become brothers

  with the king I love so much,” he announced. “And even more pleased to

  receive a woman as beautiful and capable as Lady Jasnah. I shall send word to my mother immediately—the wedding can occur as soon as she blesses

  the union, my lady queen.”

  Elhokar smiled broadly. “Then the betrothal is official. Let the duels

  begin!”

  chapter 26

  JEK 5

  Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, moved quickly in the

  night. Around him, tents glowed from within like massive, luminescent

  fungi. Where there was light, there were shadows—and where there were

  shadows, he was unseen.

  He paused, crouching in the darkness, peering through the Davar camp.

  He couldn’t believe that they had returned so quickly—and with such force.

  Even in the darkness, he could see the banners waving with the symbol of

  House Reinar. The southern nobles, seeing the movements of the wind, had

  proposed allegiance with Talshekh. There was no longer any pretense—no

  reason for Davar to accept the rule of an Idiot King. Talshekh had arrived back at Veden City earlier in the day.

  Ahven wouldn’t survive the night.

  Jek scuttled away, slipping over smoothed rock, moving silently through

  the camp. He had finally finished with Ahven’s list—the last few names had, surprisingly, been men in Talshekh Davar’s army. Their deaths would soon

  be discovered. Yet, strangely, Talshekh’s own name had not been on the list.

  Why not have him assassinate Lord Talshekh? In Shinavar, killing

  the leader of an army would be immaterial—clan leadership was soundly

  structured, and no army would falter from the loss of one man, no matter

  how important. In the east, however, things were different. Leaders often

  provided sole inspiration for their men.

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  Perhaps Ahven realized that this situation was different. Jah Keved had

  been shattered and unified simultaneously—the Houses had risen against