Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

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

  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,

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  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