busied themselves with common tasks put off until such a time. Yet there
had been plenty of opportunity for leisure. At first, the men had been
worried that a conscription call would be made for the King’s Army, as
had happened several times during the Pralir War. This time, however, it
appeared that Elhokar intended to be finished before a conscription could
be gathered, and for that the men were relieved. Anyone with adventurous
inclinations had already been taken, and the last few calls for soldiers had required their local lord to begin choosing young men—and sometimes older
ones—regardless of their desire. Men had stopped going to the monastery
for weapons training—remote monasteries such as theirs trained in all of
the arts, regardless of their order—for fear that such would single them
out for military duty. Taln took this little tidbit in with a bitter frown. His brethren had instituted citizen arms training during the Epoch Kingdoms
era to ensure that everyone would be able to defend themselves against the Khothen. Unfortunately, the palace servants’ performance during the Veden
invasion proved that many had grown lax in their training.
Kemnar did more than just listen. Soon after they settled into their
places, he began grumbling about his duties, his noble captain, and the
lengths he was required to travel. His dissatisfaction with his superiors
prompted general agreement from those around him, and soon he had a
small group of confidants grumbling with him. The grumbles turned to
smiles as Kemnar offered to spend a few of his lord’s chips to buy his new comrades a mug or two of inavah beer. Within a short time, Kemnar was
chatting with the men as if they were childhood buddies, skillfully probing for information about current events.
Taln was impressed at Kemnar’s tact. The townsmen soon revealed that
they were annoyed by the number of strangers in town this time of year—they didn’t even pause to think that they were speaking with one such—and that
the bars along the main strip had raised their prices to capitalize on the influx. The Damp Stone—their own bar—appeared to be the favored spot
for the common men, and was rarely visited by the passing rabble.
The men had no news from Ral Eram. Through a series of careful
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questions, Kemnar was able to gather that no one had come through town
recently asking about travelers, and there was no word in the underground
about a group such as Jasnah’s. That fact was comforting, though Taln had
hoped that somehow the fall of the First Capital would be known. Either
the invaders had succeeded in taking the town quietly, or word simply
hadn’t reached this corner of the kingdom yet.
Of the war at Crossguard, the men knew little of substance. Appar-
ently, this section of the kingdom was loyal to the king, and they spoke of Jezenrosh with spiteful voices. Their own city lord rode with the king, as did his sons, and the townsmen spoke of this fact with pride—though Taln
doubted Elhokar had any care for a tributing sixth lord or his offspring.
Several men claimed to have heard that the siege had begun, a few guessed
it already over, but the majority professed ignorance. Elhokar was moving
quickly, and they had heard little from their sons or friends in the army.
They all expected it would be a quick, easy battle. After all, the king had taken his wrath to Prallah, running down the Traitor who had killed his
father. After that, dealing with a pest such as Jezenrosh would be simple.
Kemnar was winding down the evening’s discussions by asking after any
horses that might be for sale when the atmosphere changed.
Taln perked up, though no one else in the tavern seemed to notice it.
Something had happened. Something subtle, something even he couldn’t
pick out. His senses were such that his unconscious mind often discerned
trouble long before it actually arrived. He sat tensely, hand resting on
Kemnar’s pack, fingers inching toward the Shardblade hilt within, as a
newcomer entered the bar.
Taln tracked the young man, noting his excitement, his slightly drunken
posture, and his quick, searching eyes. This was a man with news. Taln
elbowed Kemnar, nodding toward the newcomer.
He needn’t have bothered. When the young man spoke, his voice
was loud enough for the entire bar to hear. “A nobleman in the city!” he
exclaimed to his friends at the other end of the bar. “High of rank, with a Shardblade. They say he’s come with the king’s sister herself!”
Kemnar and Taln exchanged a glance, and were out the door a heartbeat
later.
A crowd had gathered near an inn on the main thoroughfare. This
building was one of the few in the city kept clean of cromstone, and it stood more like a structure from Ral Eram or Kholinar, with strong stone sides
and pillars at the front. A surprising number of townspeople had gathered,
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many of them looking as if they had been roused from sleep, and they
stood whispering to themselves, trying to press up against the inn’s door or windows for a look. Taln and Kemnar paused at the outer rim, ineffectually trying to push their way through the mass of bodies.
With a sigh, Taln nodded to Kemnar, and they removed their Shardblades
from the pack. Taln handed Kemnar’s weapon to him, then hefted his own
weapon, exposing the distinctive silvery metal and pommel, which still
bore the dark black opal of its previous owner. It only took the townspeople a few moments to notice them, and suddenly the crowd’s focus changed
directions. The people parted with alarm, people bowing with shocked or
excited expressions.
Taln pushed through the front door and saw precisely what he had
expected and dreaded. This inn was lavish compared to the tavern they
had left, with rugs on the floor, ornamented pillars, and even some marble coatings on a few surfaces. Most of the furniture in the common room
had been cleared, making room at the center for two wooden tables—one
for the men, one for the women. A haughty-faced Meridas sat at the head
of the men’s table, a lavish meal being laid out before him. Jasnah sat at the other table with her ladies-in-waiting. She seemed less pleased than
Meridas, though her face was always difficult to read.
“So much for stealth,” Taln muttered. As he stepped inside, he noted
that the rest of the refugees were eating a short distance away, in a separate, larger dining hall.
Kemnar snorted in agreement, but said nothing.
Meridas smiled as soon as he saw Taln. “Ah, madman,” he said. “And the
good Lord Kemnar. I had hoped you would wait until dinner was finished to return, as to not spoil the taste, but I suppose we can find a place for you somewhere.”
Taln ignored him, stalking through the room to Jasnah’s table. He stood
beside her, folding his arms expectantly.
“You should have come to report as soon as you saw the city, Taln,” she
said, stabbing a piece of glazed meat with a small, spear-like fork. “We
wondered what happened to you, and sent other scouts.”
Taln raised an eyebrow. Her words were scolding, but they lacked her
usual sting. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you would be foolish enough to reveal yourself by coming inside to look for us.”
Jasnah shot him a
veiled glare at that one. “We had to come in sometime,”
she said. “We need supplies.”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 439
“Kemnar and I could have gathered them without exposing ourselves
to our pursuers.”
“And what of those?” Jasnah said, waving toward the refugees in the
other room. “You knew we needed to drop them off. How did you expect to
do that without ‘exposing ourselves to our pursuers?’ Or did you somehow
expect us to travel quickly to Kholinar while carrying with us the wounded and the weak?”
Taln gritted his teeth in frustration. “Do not reveal our destination! ” he hissed, glancing back at the peasants watching outside. “Do you want the
invaders to know all of our plans?”
Jasnah paused, flushing slightly.
Beside them, however, Meridas laughed openly. “You are a fool, madman.
Though I suppose it is too much to ask anything else of you. There is no
proof of these ‘pursuers’ you mention other than your own word—which
we already know to be often delusional. Did you really think we would
simply pass this town by, quiet as Stormshades? As Lady Jasnah noted, we
have to rid ourselves of excess weight. Besides, we must send messengers to his majesty and Lord Dalenar. You expected us to do such things without
inspiring gossip from messengers’ family and friends? Better we come in
openly so that we might prevent rumors. Information is our ally, not that
of our enemy.”
Taln ground his teeth. Unfortunately, the foppish man spoke some
measure of truth. It was highly unlikely that they could have passed
Marcabe without revealing themselves. Later vil ages they could avoid with stealth, but not this first one. They would simply have to hope that their pursuers were slow to find their trail.
“It really is for the best, Taln,” Jasnah informed. “Meridas was right, this time. We needed to come in. Besides, without the authority of the crown,
we wouldn’t have the necessary funds to do as we need.”
Taln glanced down, realizing for the first time that their group hardly
had the money to pay for such extravagant meals, let alone horses, which
were apparently still extremely rare in Kanaran Roshar.
“They will loan us gems against the king’s name?” Taln asked.
Jasnah nodded. “Marcabe is loyal to my brother, and Meridas is known
here. He was a merchant until just recently, and this was one of his main
trade stops. We can borrow from the lord’s own stewards. Probably not
much, mind you, but enough to get us by.”
Taln sighed, seating himself at an open stool beside Jasnah—the move
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causing snickers from Meridas’s table. Taln ignored them, frowning at
his own foolishness. He should have returned rather than visiting the
city—he had left Jasnah open to Meridas’s manipulation. Perhaps revealing
themselves was necessary, but certainly this level of pomp was excessive.
“Pout if you must, madman,” Meridas noted, as if he had known what
Taln was thinking. “But I, for one, never planned to give up this last
opportunity for comfort. Lady Jasnah has spent the last two weeks traipsing through tunnels and across stormlands. You don’t think she deserved a
warm meal and a night of rest after such?”
Taln groaned inwardly, wondering how much Meridas was going to
reveal of their secret flight. Probably everything. By the morning, the entire story of their escape would be known to the town.
Wel , perhaps that is a good thing, Taln told himself. He eyed Meridas.
The man was such a pompous fool, yet there was a hidden cleverness to
him. Meridas’s comment about information had been lucid—secrecy was
the agent of the invaders. If even rumors reached King Elhokar, it would
serve as something of a warning. And the surest way to spread rumors was
through drama. A midnight entry, followed by an expensive and highly
visible meal and accompanied by a daring tale of escape . . . It was just the sort of news that would move quickly and eagerly, especially once men left the vil age fol owing the Bel ow. If Jasnah’s group had to expose themselves to the city, perhaps it was better that they did so with flare, using the
situation to their advantage.
Meridas did not reveal whether he was making such a calculated and
daring move, or if he simply wanted a warm meal. He caught Taln’s study-
ing eye, and smiled. One thing was certain—here, in the city, Meridas
was once again in his element. Taln would not get the better of him while
within its borders.
Taln sighed, giving into Kemnar’s prompting and joining the men’s
table, where he allowed himself to be fed before the gawking townspeople.
Reasons aside, it had happened—they were in the city, exposed. The best
thing to do was to make use of the conveniences, then get out as quickly
as possible.
chapter 48
MERIN 11
A column of smoke twisted toward the Dwelling—a black streak
that faded to translucence, barely visible in the starlight. Merin stood,
stepping away from their meager fire—a fire whose smoke had masked the
wind’s ominous scent. A scent familiar, but unwelcome.
Burning flesh.
“I can smell the burning stations,” Merin said, scanning the darkness for
other columns of smoke. “The battlefield is close.”
Renarin didn’t respond. Merin turned back, glancing through the em-
bers of smoldering rockbud shel s. Renarin crouched in the ruddy light, one hand clutching his onyx sphere, the other pinching a worn bit of charcoal
between two talon-like fingers as he scribbled on the stone beside their
campfire. The light barely illuminated his figure, leaving his face dark,
faintly outlined in red.
“Renarin?” Merin prodded.
There was a long pause, then Renarin looked up, his movements slow—as
if impeded by a great weight of stone. He blinked. “Yes?”
Merin pointed toward the sky. “I just noticed those smoke trails—they’re
probably from burning stations.”
Renarin blinked, then slowly stood, eyes becoming more alert. It’s like he has to pull himself away from . . . somewhere else, Merin thought. Like he has to rejoin this world before he can interact.
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“They’re close,” Renarin said in a monotone voice, moving over to stand
beside Merin.
Merin nodded. “We stopped too early. We could have made it tonight
after all.”
Renarin stood for a moment, looking up into the night sky, the last waves
of dusk creeping away in the west. “You want to go on?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” Merin said eagerly. “Probably better to go at night anyway. We’ll
need to sneak past the king’s lines and get into Jezenrosh’s camp.”
“All right,” Renarin said, though he turned his eyes toward the campfire
as he spoke, staring down at the ground. Toward his strange notations.
Merin hurriedly gathered their supplies and repacked the saddlebags.
Renarin watched the ground until Merin stamped out the embers, stealing
the light.
“We should probably lead the horses in the darkness,” Renarin said,
accepting his beast’s reins from Merin.
“All right,” Merin said, leading the
way to the south, toward the lines
of smoke. Fortunately, Renarin followed, trailing along behind like a wisp from their now-dead fire.
You shouldn’t be so worried about him, Merin told himself. Everyone says that Renarin is strange, and you haven’t really known him that long. Maybe this kind of distraction is actually normal for him.
Better to worry about more pertinent problems—like exactly how they
were going to find Aredor. Merin had mentioned sneaking past the king’s
lines and entering Jezenrosh’s camp, but he doubted it would be that simple.
For one thing, there was a good chance that Jezenrosh had chosen to
remain besieged in his city rather than face Elhokar in the open. If that
were the case, Merin wasn’t sure how they were going to get past the city
walls.
What would Merin and Renarin do if confronted by scouts or sentries?
And, assuming they did find Aredor, how were they going to persuade him
to return? Aredor hadn’t been willing to listen to such arguments on the
day he left Kholinar; what made Merin think this time would be different?
He expected us to come, Merin thought. He left instructions regarding us. He thought we might come and help him—come fight with him.
And he probably had a right to expect it of them. Leaving Kholinar had
been an act of disobedience itself—what more would it hurt by joining
Aredor in his fight? Could Lord Dalenar really blame Merin if he were
acting alongside the man’s own sons?
The hike took longer than it might have during the day, but it still
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only took them about an hour to reach Crossguard. Merin kept careful,
but untrained, watch for any scouts or sentries—knowing with a sort of
resigned gloom that he probably wouldn’t see them before he himself was
spotted. Strangely, however, he didn’t see anything—nor was he stopped
by oncoming soldiers. In fact, Merin rounded a hillside and practically
stumbled into the camp itself.
Merin quickly ducked back into the shadows, waving Renarin to follow.
The sky was lit by fires and torches, but Merin had incorrectly judged the light’s proximity.
“Leave the horses,” Merin whispered, bending down to tie his reins to
a rockbud polyp. Then he waved Renarin to follow as he scuttled up the
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 61
