rings of tables, each one surrounding a dueling circle. Many of the male
onlookers had risen from their tables to instead stand at the peripheral of the room to watch a particular duel. The most popular ring was the one
at the center.
Taln took his time, carefully scouting the room. He had intentionally
waited until later in the day, when reactions would be dulled by wine. The room had three exits—the main doors and two servant’s entrances. If his
memory served him, the exit on the east wall led through the kitchens,
and had an outlet to the main hallway. From there, it was only two turns
to the Oathgates.
There were several tenset guards in the feast hall, but the congestion
would make it difficult for them to react, especially if too many intoxicated noblemen decided to take arms against him. The Oathgates would probably
be guarded—but, hopefully, some of them would be open to allow for
foreign noblemen to return to their homes.
Taln circled the room several times, getting a feel for the layout and
soldier placements. Eventually he stopped, joining a group of noblemen
standing to the right of the king’s table. From the conversations he over-
heard, the primary competition was nearing its end. The clang of swords
rang over the voices of men, nearly drowning out the single balladess who
sang in the far corner. The two noblemen who fought now would both be
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awarded Shardblades for progressing so far. Their contest was a matter of
prestige—and of rumors that the king had cities in Prallah that still had not been assigned lords.
Taln’s target sat beside the king. His name was Lord Meridas, and he had
apparently already been awarded a Shardblade. Taln could see Glyphting
sitting on the table in front of the man; its markings had been dulled
considerably—almost completely—but he still knew the Blade for what it was.
Taln glanced to the side, eyes falling on a random nobleman standing a
short distance away. The pommel of a sword jutted out from beneath the
man’s cloak, the hilt within reach. Taln stretched his fingers, then let his muscles relax, carefully falling into a combat stance.
And then he saw a form moving through the crowd, a figure in tan robes
and a nonchalant expression. Lhan. How had he . . . ?
Taln eyed the sword hilt again. He just had to reach out and . . . As he
tensed his muscles, however, the nobleman turned to a friend, hand falling on his pommel.
“I should have known I’d find you here,” Lhan said, strolling up beside
Taln. “And you were doing so well at staying out of trouble, too.” The monk paused, regarding Taln’s cloak. “Who’d you steal that from?”
“I made it,” Taln said. “Last night.”
Lhan nodded, turning toward the central ring. “So it was all an act. The
king’s not going to listen to you, Taln. I don’t care what you say to him, his majesty will not be pleased if you interrupt his revelry a second time.
If you’d wanted to see him, you should have just waited for Lady Jasnah’s
promised audience.”
Taln didn’t respond. He watched as the sword-bearing nobleman turned
back to watch the duel, hand still resting on his weapon’s pommel. Taln
glanced to the side; Lhan was regarding him with a confused expression.
The monk’s eyes seemed to be searching for something.
“You’re not going to make another announcement to the king, are you,”
Lhan finally said. It was not a question.
Taln shook his head. He nodded toward his target. “I’m going to grab
that man’s sword,” he said in a quiet voice. “In the following confusion, I’m going to take down the two guards by the king’s table. Then, I’m going
to take my Shardblade back from the man sitting next to his majesty. I’ll
jump onto the table, run down its length, toward the east wall, where
I’ll shove through the crowd and escape into the kitchens. From there, I’ll fight my way to the Oathgates, take the best open portal—hopefully, one
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to Lakhenran, if it’s open. From there, I’ll escape into the wilderness and use my Blade to locate my brethren.”
Lhan’s eyes widened slightly, and he glanced toward the king. “Taln,
this room is full of Shardbearers and guards!” he hissed. “Are you crazy?”
Taln met the monk’s eyes. A realization seemed to spark in Lhan’s face.
“By the winds . . .” Lhan whispered quietly. “You really are. I’d almost
thought that . . .”
Taln turned away. “Go, Lhan. I told you what I plan for a reason. If you’re still standing here when I move, they might connect you to me and cut you
down before you can explain otherwise. Go.”
Lhan didn’t move. “If you reach for that sword, I swear I’ll scream.”
Taln snorted. “I’ll have the weapon before the sound leaves your throat,”
he said. “Go.”
“Taln, this is ludicrous!” the monk said with a pleading voice, grabbing
Taln’s arm. “You’re not thinking clearly—you may not be able to think clearly. Trust me. No matter what your delusions claim, you aren’t a soldier.”
Taln frowned. Where had he gotten that idea?
“You were defeated easily last time you confronted the king, and you
had a Shardblade then,” Lhan said. “You’re too familiar with common
work to have been a soldier all your life. Please, trust me. Come back to
the monastery. Don’t do this—even if you do get the sword away from that
man, every lord in this room is an expert duelist. You won’t make it ten
paces before they kill you.”
“Watch, then,” Taln said, shrugging off Lhan’s hands. Taln’s target still
held his pommel, but his grip was loose. It would simply be a matter of
knocking his arm to the side before taking the weapon.
“You’ll kill them, then?” Lhan said quietly as the crowd cheered. “If the
soldiers resist? Will you kill them?”
“I may have to,” Taln said. “I need my Shardblade back.”
“What kind of Herald would you be then?” Lhan said quickly, as if he
had discovered something incriminating. “What servant of the Almighty
would kill innocent men? You would perform an act of evil in order to get
your sword back? You’re all right with that?”
“Moral quandaries won’t work on me, Lhan,” Taln said softly. “You have
no idea how long I’ve wrestled with them.”
Lhan stepped in front of him. “Just wait, Taln. Wait a few minutes. Talk
this through.”
Don’t listen to him, Taln thought. He’s just stalling you. But, stalling for
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what? Something specific? Lhan seemed anxious. Suddenly, the monk’s
face grew relieved.
“I do not call this ‘staying out of trouble,’” a firm voice said from behind, confirming Taln’s suspicions.
Taln turned to confront the Lady Jasnah. She stood with folded arms, left
sleeve drooping, her two guards nowhere to be seen. “I don’t have time for this, madman,” she snapped. “What is this about?”
“I told you earlier,” Taln explained. “I need to get my sword back, one
way or another.”
“I see,” the lady replied. Behind Taln, a point was declared, and the
crowd yelled in approval. He glanced to the side—the noblema
n’s sword
was free again.
Lhan moved over to Jasnah’s side. “Taln, listen to reason. Please.”
“To him, this is reasonable,” Jasnah said as Taln turned his back on the two. The nobleman’s hilt lay exposed, inviting.
“I wonder how the world will survive after he gets himself kil ed,” Jasnah said.
Taln froze.
“That’s right,” the woman said. “Think about that. What happens when you
die, Talenel Elin? You said you needed to locate your brother Heralds.
You haven’t found them yet, have you? What if something happened to
them? What if you’re the only one left?”
What if something happened to them.
The room grew dark. Dark and red.
“What if you fail?” Jasnah asked. “A room full of warriors? An entire
castle’s worth of soldiers? Even for the mythic soldier of the Heralds, those are daunting odds. You told me that you could die. What happens to us if
you do?”
What if you fail.
Before him, two dueling warriors burst into flame. They danced, two
candle-tips sparring on the floor. There was no crowd, just a rolling inferno.
And the screams. Horrible screams, sounding from the fires. Sounding
in his ears—screams of terror and pain. The sound of some poor creature
being tortured beyond sanity.
What if you fail? What if you fail? What if you fail . . . ?
Taln spun in the fiery tempest. Lhan was a blazing torch that shied back
from Taln in fear. The noblemen around Taln were nothing more than
living pyres.
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But her. She was unchanged. She stared at him with those eyes. Eyes
dense, like stone.
“Can you risk it?” she asked. So unyielding, yet so right.
Behind her, the smoke of a thousand flames gathered and pooled
together. Taln could see a form moving within the vortex. A dark, shifting thing. An evil thing. It moved forward, coming for him.
“Curse you woman!” Taln said, groaning, stumbling.
He had to attack. He had to do something, anything. Uncertainty
was the fire’s gateway, and inaction its sustenance. The sword . . . he just had to reach for the sword . . . so close . . .
If he fought, he would fail.
He moaned, closing his eyes, holding his head. He clawed at his mind,
casting out memories, seizing optimism and dragging it forth. He was not
alone. He would find the others.
However, he had to live until he was absolutely sure that they were alive.
Taln opened his eyes, sweat dripping from his brow, and gasped quietly.
He was on his knees, the crowd around him having backed away in alarm.
Taln reached up, allowing Lhan to help him to his feet. Lady Jasnah
watched with cool eyes. She nodded once, turning to leave.
“I have done what you asked,” Taln said as Lhan calmed the onlookers,
explaining that Taln was having stomach pains. “I stayed out of trouble.”
Jasnah turned, eyebrow raised inquisitively. “You still want a meeting
with my brother?”
“No,” Taln said. “Something else. Tomorrow, I will be leaving Ral Eram.
If you wish to avoid an incident, see that the guards allow me access to the Oathgates.”
“Very well,” Jasnah said though a thin line of a mouth. “But not tomor-
row—there will be too many people returning home from the dueling
competition. I will send you word.”
“Soon, Jasnah,” Taln said firmly. “You will not leave me waiting as you
did with our previously promised ‘meeting.’”
“You have my word,” Jasnah said.
Taln nodded, then rested a weak hand on Lhan’s shoulder, not caring
that doing so revealed his poor clothing. “Let’s go,” he said.
chapter 30
JASNAH 7
With the duels finished and the awards bestowed, there was little
for the men to do but drink. As the hour grew late, the feast hall
slowly drained of participants, the feasters trickling off to the sitting rooms.
Those who remained in the main hall were subdued, their drunkenness
leading to stupor and lethargy.
Jasnah’s table—or, rather, the queen’s table—was mostly empty. The
women sat in clandestine conferences, their seating rearranged now that
formality had broken down. Many of the less-important women had retired,
and many of the more-important had moved to more suitable locations for
evening conferences. On the next day, there would be further feasting and
dueling, but the main events had already occurred. Those men who had
important duties could be on their way—though, from the looks of many,
it would be well into mid-afternoon before they considered leaving.
Seven hours of duels—interspersed by the near-catastrophe with the
madman Taln and her frustration at Shinri’s disappearance—had provided
Jasnah with little insight into her problems. There were only three ways to break the forced betrothal. The first required Elhokar’s permission, which was unlikely. The second was to join the monastery—the Order of Chonra
accepted women. The third was to have Meridas’s mother forbid the union.
Neither prospect looked very appealing. Joining the monastery would
require Jasnah to forsake all political aspirations and worldly possessions,
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not to mention require her to join the service of a religion she did not
endorse. The second was highly unlikely—through the marriage, Meridas’s
family would secure ties to the royal Kholin line. Even if Jasnah were
to engage in some extreme scandal—such as taking an illicit lover—she
doubted Meridas’s kin would renounce the union. Besides, even if Jasnah
were to persuade them to break the engagement, Nanavah would still have
her Right of Decision. There would be many an aspiring lord willing to
marry the king’s sister, no matter how unappealing Jasnah made the union.
Even if Jasnah put her displeasure with Meridas aside for the moment,
she found herself frustrated. The queen’s maneuvers made very little political sense. Why would Nanavah marry Jasnah to such a powerful man? Why
manipulate Elhokar into renouncing Jezenrosh? It made no sense.
Perhaps Nanavah had heard about the assassins. That could be a valid
reason for removing Jezenrosh from his position, thereby weakening
the man’s claim to the throne. It was a move Jasnah herself might have
considered, had she been in Nanavah’s place. Could the moves be nothing
more than spousal duty? Why, then, did Jasnah feel so strongly that she
was missing something?
Jasnah shook her head, rising to retreat from the Eleventh Hall. Nelshen-
den stood by the wall, waiting dutifully as always. His loyalty to Sheneres was unwavering— The Way of Kings spoke disapprovingly of any excess, including drunkenness, and it would take a royal edict to get Nelshenden
to have more than a single glass of wine at an evening feast.
As she stepped out of the room, a familiar figure appeared in the hallway, making his way toward the Eleventh Hall. Kemnar was not dressed like
a nobleman—his cloak was of rough shennah with no dies, his clothing a
simple vest-smock tied over a pair of ragged trousers. His eyes glistened
with urgency.
“You found something?” Jasnah said eagerly, pul
ling the man aside as he
joined them in the outside hallway.
“The assassins are here,” Kemnar replied, pulling out a purse, “in the city.
I had to use nearly every gem you gave me to figure out where.” He gave
the purse to Nelshenden, who handled all of Jasnah’s finances—the two
soldiers knew better than to try and hand her gemstones, even currency.
That was it, then. Balenmar was right; Ralmakha was wrong. “Where
are they?” Jasnah demanded.
“They’re posing as a merchant company,” Kemnar explained.
“You know when they plan to strike?” Jasnah asked hopefully.
Kemnar shook his head. “This is a clever group, my lady. Very professional,
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 281
very well-established. They don’t make mistakes, and even the most
important crime lords know not to ask too many questions.”
Jasnah folder her arms, tapping her foot in frustration. “What’s the name
of their merchant front?”
“The Channal group, out of Palinar,” Kemnar replied.
Jasnah froze. She’d heard that name before. She thought back, trying to
clear the muddled events of two months of intrigue. Channal . . .
Her eyes widened in surprise. That was the name of the company in the
treasury logs, the one Nanavah had been purchasing emeralds from. An
irregularly large number of emeralds, at an irregularly high price.
“By the winds . . .” Jasnah whispered. “Nelshenden, gather my guards!
And as many of the Royal Guard as you can persuade to come with you.”
Nelshenden frowned. “Now, my lady?”
Jasnah paused. You’re betrothed now, she thought to herself. The next few days will be filled with marriage preparations. Elhokar will never believe your allegations, not without proof, and you won’t be in a position to go out on your own.
Move now, or not at all.
“Yes,” she said. “Immediately.”
“The queen wants my brother dead,” Jasnah said in a hushed tone.
Kemnar and Nelshenden sat across from her in the hand-drawn car-
riage. The streets were empty enough this late at night to allow for such
a bulky vehicle. They had gathered about thirty soldiers, including her
own, and the group marched alongside the vehicle. Hopefully, it would
be enough.
“That’s a dangerous claim, my lady,” Nelshenden said solemnly, his face
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 39
