The dockhands scattered, leaving the insane vessel bobbing slightly in
the shallow waters. Merin turned with apprehension as a rushing sound
approached. He could see the rainwall streaking toward them. Behind it
roared a massive, crushing wave of rumbling liquid. It frothed and beat
upon itself like a pulsating beast of brown and white, its howl that of
screaming winds.
“The only trick to this all is steering!” Selsen called. “If I take us the wrong direction, we’ll be caught in the winds and ripped to pieces!”
Merin gulped. “What do we do if that happens!” he screamed over the
water’s roar.
Selsen smiled, catching Merin’s eye. “If that happens, lad,” he bellowed,
“hold your breath!”
The winds hit a second later.
Vorinism didn’t speak much of the afterlife. The monks said that it was
not man’s place to worry about the next life, but that his focus should be on this one. The mortal life was where man faced his challenges—and to the
Vorins, those challenges were manifest in the danger of the Stormshades.
The Returns were finished, Vorinism now taught, but there was much
that could be learned from the past. The Khothen themselves were a
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metaphor. When the Stormshades threatened, men had been forced to
live within the precepts of society, not creating chaos or fighting against other men—for all of humankind had a far greater enemy to face. Men
needed that same unity in everything they did. If one pressed the monks to speak about the afterlife, they simply explained that living well—remaking oneself by transforming the Ten Carnal Attributes into the Ten Divine
Attributes—would assure a man rewards.
The Elinrah priests were more forthcoming. They whispered of the
Almighty’s Dwelling, the radiant gathering of stars that shone in the night sky. The Dwel ing was said to be at the very center of that col ection of stars, where the points of light were so thick that one couldn’t distinguish space between them. That place of light and peace was where the souls of good
men would find rest.
There were other places too. One, Khothar, was a place of fire and smoke.
Khothar was the land of the Stormshades—and the Elinrah taught that
this was a land where the souls of men who did not follow the Almighty
were punished. There was a place even worse, however. The Deep. A place
reserved for men who professed allegiance to the Almighty, but who were
evil in their hearts. This was a place of special suffering, a land of dark coldness. A land of madness.
Merin hadn’t expected to find himself there.
But where else could he be than the Deep? What had he done that he
would lie bound, his screams lapped up by the highstorm’s roar, his face
beaten by both rains and the crashing waves from the river below? The wind of the tempest pushed from behind, but it was doubled by passing air to
the sides, a wind created as their boat moved at a ridiculous speed over the waters.
Cities, dark from the clouds overhead, blipped past like drops of forgotten rain. If men in them watched the river, they might have seen fools caught
in a perpetual roar of destruction. They might have heard screams of terror over the wind. But they probably didn’t.
Fortunately, unconsciousness took Merin before madness could.
The feeling of wet soreness that awakened him was worse, even, than
the pain he had felt on his second day in the army. Merin felt as if a tenset of spearmen had taken their practice weapons and beaten him repeatedly.
He groaned, water dripping from his mouth. He would have vomited,
but he had freed his stomach of its contents before the first few minutes of travel had passed.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 409
“Ah, first time’s the worst, you know!” Selsen’s voice quipped from a
short distance away.
Merin opened sodden eyes, lifting his face from the wooden plank. His
bonds had been loosed, but he could barely move anyway.
“Hand me my sword,” he mumbled. “I’m going to kill you.”
Selsen laughed. Merin groggily located the man standing on the deck a
short distance away, fiddling with some ropes near the sails. “Thought we’d overshoot there for a moment! Almost couldn’t get these knots undone.
That’s the really tricky part. Anyone can start, but stopping . . . well, that takes a smooth hand. Have to find an open place, where the stormflood
weakens, then cut the sails and ride it out. But we made it. My men should have seen us pass—they’ll be here soon.”
Merin managed to sit. His head hurt worst of all, and he blinked in the
waning light. It was dusk, and they seemed to be floating on a random
section of the river, no buildings in sight. “Where are we?” he asked.
“Near Jeznarn,” the man said. “About fifty miles north of Crossguard.”
Merin froze, pain forgotten for a moment. “Fifty miles north of . . . but, that trip could take weeks on foot! How long were we . . . ?”
“Usually takes about five hours,” Selsen said happily.
Halfway across the kingdom in five hours. Merin had marched that same distance in the army, and had taken more than three weeks.
Selsen noticed his wonder. He waddled over, then stooped down,
grinning. “This is it, you see, young lord? The future! No more waiting for messengers on horses, no! We have a new way of traveling. New, bright,
and wondrous!”
“New, bright, and insane,” Merin mumbled, rubbing his bruised right
arm. “Besides, what if you want to send a message south instead of east or west? Or, what if you want it delivered during the summer, when days pass
without storms? In fact, what if you don’t happen to live near a lait at all!”
Selsen rubbed his chin. “I’m working on a way to do it without the river,”
he said. “Though I haven’t quite decided how to do it without the storm.
That part’s kind of central to the strategy, eh?”
Merin lurched to his feet, stumbling over to where Renarin still lay, wet
and unconscious. “You’re crazier than a rock with no name,” Merin said,
patting Renarin’s cheek and trying to wake him up.
“Ha! You don’t know how lucky you are! Why, poor Aredor, he had to
come on the big ship!”
“The big ship?” Merin asked, turning.
“Sure,” Selsen said. “This gal, the Calmness, is the design ship. I built it
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first as a kind of model, then built the larger version that Aredor rode. He had so many men with him that we couldn’t fit them all on the little ship!
Safer, true, but not half as exciting!”
Merin closed his eyes. Ignore him. Ignore him. You’re alive, and you’re near Crossguard. He turned back to Renarin, who was beginning to stir.
Renarin opened his eyes, groaning. “So this is what they do to boys who
disobey their fathers,” he mumbled as Merin helped him up. He paused,
freezing, then reached for his pocket with an urgent motion. He pulled free the onyx sphere with a sigh of relief.
“Ah, there they are!” Selsen said, pointing toward a group of riders
descending the lait slope. “They’re good men. Much obliged, like I am,
to Lord Aredor’s generosity. We’ll give you a pair of horses to replace the ones you left at the Perch, and you can be on your way. You could be to
Crossguard in a few days, if you ride hard.”
Merin sighed at the thought
of more traveling. He looked at Renarin,
who didn’t look much better.
But Renarin was right. Aredor did come by river. A clever guess, given what Aredor had said back in Kholinar, or . . . something else?
“Let’s go,” Renarin said. “We need to find him as quickly as possible.”
chapter 45
JASNAH 10
At first, Jasnah thought that the spark of sunlight was a trick
of the caves. During their week-long passage through darkness she
had occasionally seen promising glints of light up ahead, only to discover a shard of quartz jutting from the cavern wall, its crystalline surface
deceptively reflecting their lanternlight. She had almost begun to think
the caverns eternal, that she had led the frightened palace servants from a quick slaughter to a slow, creeping death by starvation. The mountain was
an oppressive tyrant around them, its endless passages misleading, almost
maddening. Surely men were not meant to delve its secrets. This place with its dripping waters, its twisted rock formations, and its darkened corners should be death to those who arrogantly thought to navigate its paths.
One thing, however, kept the servants from bending beneath the weight
of uncertainty and gloom. Taln always seemed to know where he was going.
When they reached a merging of caverns or tunnels, he instantly picked
a direction, prodding them on with his sheer force of decisiveness. Men
did not grumble when Taln led, and women did not question. Jasnah was
amazed at how easily they followed, how quick they were to smile and
forget their pains when the daily march was through. Theirs should have
been a desolate company—their kin slaughtered, their home ransacked,
their lives in question. Instead of despair, however, she saw in them a
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stalwart determination. And, with resignation, she could only determine
one source for their resilience. They believed him.
Taln guided them firmly. He cared for their wounded, showing a
surprising level of medical proficiency. He spoke to them with confidence, ignoring Meridas’s frequent suggestions that the troop was headed to its
doom. Taln spoke of Heralds and Stormshades, of the Return and the need
to defend mankind. Jasnah cringed at every such profession, his mental
problems forcing her to acknowledge that despite his competence, he was
not a man who could be trusted with extended leadership. Many of the
servants, however, didn’t share her apprehension. She could blame them
little—considering their sufferings, any hint of hope was of value. She
became certain, however, that when . . . if . . . they escaped the caves,
she would need to adopt a firmer stand with Taln, lest he infect the others with his delusions.
Meridas presented his own problem. Her refusal to recognize their
wedding had angered him, and though he was civil, she could see his
frustration. Though he was by far the ranking nobleman in the group, he
had been wrong about the passages, and couldn’t very well demand leader-
ship when he didn’t know the way. His barbs against Taln were plentiful
and snide, but he didn’t attempt to give flagrant commands—he was clever
enough to understand that the madman was their only chance to escape.
Indeed, Meridas found himself isolated by necessity. There were few nobles in the group, and besides Jasnah and Kemnar, none were very high in rank.
Kemnar’s guards were all nineteenth or twentieth Lords—professional
guards, well beneath Meridas’s consideration. Jasnah’s ladies-in-waiting
were little better. That only left two sixteenth lords, palace couriers who had been absorbed into the group during the escape. Meridas quickly appropriated these two to be his adjuncts, but they were hardly fitting confidants.
Despite Meridas’s cool demeanor, Jasnah could see that the situation
grated upon him. He didn’t like feeling subordinate, and he shot occasional hateful looks at Taln. Once the group reached safety, Meridas would
also have to be controlled, lest he act on his frustration and try to kill Taln.
So, when the sunlight ahead was finally confirmed, Jasnah knew she had
to act quickly. She pulled herself up, trying not to think about her bruised feet and aching muscles. Even as the citizens piled from the cave opening, exulting in the open sky and waning evening light, Jasnah approached
Meridas and Taln, who stood at the back of the crowd. The two men were
eyeing each other with hostility—their reasons for truce had just expired.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 413
“No,” Jasnah commanded.
The men glanced at her, but kept wary watch on each other. Meridas’s
hand was at his side, white smoke curling as his Blade was summoned.
“Stay out of this, Jasnah,” Taln said. “I will try not to kill him.”
Meridas smiled at that.
“Why do you need that sword so badly, Taln?” Jasnah asked. “Aren’t you
worried that he’ll kill you? Who will fulfill your quest if that happens?”
Taln shook his head, dismissing Jasnah’s argument. “The odds now are
not as they were at the feast. I need that sword. I’ll have to risk death for the good of the very quest you mention.”
Jasnah ground her teeth as Meridas raised his Blade. “You need the
weapon to determine where your brothers are, correct? It will point you in their direction?”
“Yes,” Taln said.
“So you only need to hold it for a moment, right?”
Taln paused. “Yes,” he admitted.
Jasnah turned to Meridas.
“What?” the nobleman asked with amusement. “You expect me to give
my weapon over to the madman?”
“Only for a few heartbeats,” Jasnah said.
“That’s long enough to kill a man,” Meridas said.
Jasnah rolled her eyes. “I’ll take both Blades, then stick his in the ground near the cave entrance. Then I’ll give yours to him. If it looks like he’s going to try and attack, you can run over and take the one from the ground. We’ll let him hold it for a count of a hundred, then he has to give it back.”
Meridas smiled. “Ah, my dear Lady Jasnah, you forget. I am a simple
merchant by heart. What have I to gain from such a bargain? Why would I
let him hold my Blade, if only for a moment? There is nothing in it for me.”
“You are wrong,” Jasnah countered. “There is something in it for you.”
Meridas raised his eyebrows.
Jasnah gritted her teeth. She had considered this bargain during the
length of their trip in darkness. Meridas was a shrewd business man, if
nothing else. She had only one gem to offer—and even it would be a
gamble.
I’m sorry Nelshenden, she thought silently. “There is something you want, Meridas,” Jasnah said. “Me. We are not married yet. If you ever intend to
see that ceremony completed, then you should be wary of offence. I will not look favorably upon a suitor who ignores my will in this matter.”
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Meridas snorted. “Suitor? Your brother has already given you to me, my
dear. The betrothal, at least, is still official.”
“It was official as long as Elhokar had me locked in his palace,” Jasnah
replied. “He no longer has that palace, and the only guards I see here are my own. I could be persuaded to see my brother’s will in this matter, if it were for the good of Alethkar. But, make no mistake, I will not again put
&nbs
p; myself in a position where I will be forced to wed. If you wish my hand,
then you will need to convince me that such a union should occur.”
Meridas paused, frowning slightly. Taln was still tense, newly-captured
Shardblade gripped before him. Both, however, were considering her
proposal. Jasnah sighed at the necessities of sating masculine pride—one
would think that a god and a Parshen would be a little less childish.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t finished yet—it would do her no good to solve
this argument if she just had to quell another one on the morrow.
“There is one more thing, my lords,” Jasnah said forcibly, drawing their
attention back to her.
“Lords?” Meridas asked, emphasizing the plural.
“He holds a Blade now, Meridas,” Jasnah said. “Taken from a Shardbearer
in battle.”
“Taken falsely,” Meridas spat.
“He took it in the defense of Alethkar’s people,” Jasnah said. “Something
you did not seem very concerned about doing. We will see which man
retains his Blade once I tell my brother how you walked away, leaving me
to fend for myself in a palace filled with enemy soldiers.”
Meridas’s frown deepened.
Jasnah sighed. “My lords, the First City has fallen, and our king’s back
is exposed to an enemy he doesn’t know exists. There is no time for squab-
bling—we need to act decisively. This troop, wearied though it is, must
bring word to my brother. We can’t afford to be divided—we need one
leader, not three. That leader will be me.”
“Excuse me?” Meridas asked.
Taln didn’t respond, though his eyes narrowed slightly.
“You will be in command of the group, Meridas, as befits your rank,”
Jasnah said. “But I will decide where we go and what we do. It is vital that we get word to my brother, and that we do so without revealing ourselves.
Taln, you get to hold Meridas’s Blade for a hundred heartbeats. Meridas,
you get my hand in betrothal. In exchange, you will both do as I say until such time as my kingdom has been rescued from its invaders.”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 415
“You promise to accept the marriage?” Meridas asked carefully, speaking
with the tongue of a merchant. “By your oath?”
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