Taln the Madman looked down toward the path they had taken just a
few days before, scanning for something the scouts had reported. Of all the minds Lhan had seen, this was the strangest. At first, Lhan had assumed
that Taln was just another delusional man—Lhan had met many during his
days at Peacehome. Taln had soon proven himself different from any other
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person Lhan had met. Other delusionals did not like to be confronted by
the truth—they couldn’t listen to criticism, and argued violently when their
‘truths’ were confronted. Taln did none of this. In fact, most of the time he seemed quite accepting of others’ perception of him.
Yet there was a kernel of the standard delusional in him. An instability
that manifest at certain times of great stress. Yes, Taln was a madman—the fact that he didn’t completely fit the profile was what made him so fascinating to Lhan.
Now Lhan was paying the debts for his curiosity. Why had he thought to
accompany Taln on his quest? How had he let himself be drawn away from
Peacehome and his life of comfort? It wouldn’t be so bad if Lhan hadn’t
felt so out of place. The men expected spirituality from him, but Lhan had neglected that side of his training. Fortunately he had been able to pilfer several pages from the Arguments from the monastery in Marcabe to use for crash memorization sessions.
There was more. The men expected certain things from a monk, and
these Lhan could fake. Taln, however, often looked to him for . . . what?
Reliance? Suggestions? Lhan had ignored his childhood lessons in military
tactics and Masculine Arts, and had never seen fit to revisit them during
his monastery days—despite the fact that any art, whether it be tactics,
painting, or swordplay, was open to him as a monk. What did Taln want
from him? Lhan had forced his way into the man’s company, but now—
instead of resenting him, as many would—Taln looked to him for advice.
That fact was discomforting enough, but Lhan’s sincere desire to make Taln proud of him was a completely unexpected emotion.
Lhan was a fool. He had known that fact for most of his life, but having
the knowledge and facing it were apparently different things. Alethkar was in danger of being destroyed by invaders, and Lhan had an opportunity
to help save it—only, he had no skills, little knowledge, and poor training.
All three situations were his fault.
“There,” Taln said suddenly, pointing below.
The other members of the command group—Lord Meridas the Arrogant,
Lord Kemnar the Unassuming, and Lords Unimportant the Flunkies—
perked up at Taln’s comment. Meridas looked as if he would challenge
Taln’s assertion, but held his tongue. The scouts had already told them
that there were groups of men below—it would be foolish to challenge
Taln. Besides, the madman’s eyesight had proven itself superior on several occasions.
Meridas. Now, there was another fascinating person. The lord had given
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Lhan little opportunity to speak with him—Meridas guarded his time not
for its own sake, but for the way it made him look by always being too busy to take visitors. However, Lhan could easily tell there was more to this fop than he projected. There was a strength below the arrogance, and the wit to use it wel . Of course, despite his unusual attributes, Meridas was still a fop.
Apparently, even fops could have some depth to them—and that fact made
the nobleman twice as fascinating as any humble, Bajerden-studying lord.
“How many?” Kemnar asked.
That was another one. The nobleman who felt guilty for his own privilege,
a man who avoided leadership not because of the responsibility it brought, but because he worried that he wouldn’t do a good enough job. A man
who sought out the company of thieves because, subconsciously, he found
their morals less threatening than the ones he himself was expected to live.
Yes, despite the hardships, despite the humiliation, Lhan decided that
he was glad to be on the trip—if only for the people it contained. One
didn’t often find men like Kemnar, Taln, and Meridas—let alone get the
opportunity to watch the three interact.
“At least fifty people,” Taln said in response to Kemnar’s question. “And
other specks in the distance that could be more.”
“Soldiers?” Meridas asked.
Taln squinted in the waning light. “They’re too far away,” he said. “We’ll have to wait until the scouts get back.”
Meridas frowned, folding his arms. Of course, the nobleman had good
reason to be frustrated. The fractured crags and valleys of the Riemak
plateaus had frustrated the army’s progress. The highstorms would begin
again in a couple of days, and those in the know claimed that flooding
would prove dangerous. Taln kept mumbling at the terrible loss of Riemak’s highway system, a thing that hadn’t existed for over half a millennium.
Trackers claimed to have discovered several trails, though when they
pointed them out, Lhan saw only scattered rockbuds and monochrome
rocks. Yet Taln claimed the rockbud polyps there were smaller and younger, bespeaking routes sometimes used by passing caravans. But if they took
the army down one of the supposed roads only to find themselves blocked
when the path dead-ended at a wash or rift in the rock, the time wasted
backtracking and trying again would be great. Scouts could move far more
quickly than the army itself, and they had been sent to find high ground
and determine the best way north.
Even Meridas had agreed that waiting for the scout reports was a move
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that would, ultimately, save time. However, waiting in the same place
for three days had made Meridas tense. As far as Lhan had heard, there
were no reports of immediate pursuit. Taln claimed that their marching
speed would make it difficult for non-mounted enemies to catch them.
Unfortunately, they also had no information from the east. The status of
Alethkar’s armies—if they hadn’t been destroyed already—was an ominous
worry common to most of their company. The men spoke of their concerns
often to Lhan, wondering if they should have remained behind, to defend
Marcabe if invaders came. Lhan carefully pointed out that without Taln’s
weapons and formation training, they probably wouldn’t have been of much
use to their town. They were better off where they were, marching to their king’s defense.
“If it is a Veden attack party,” Kemnar noted, “our position at the top of the ridge is enviable. It wouldn’t be wise to move now.”
“More delays,” Meridas said with thin-lipped frustration, marching
forward to stand beside Taln and scan the plains.
Kemnar snorted quietly beside Lhan. “I’m surprised Meridas even
bothers with the act,” he said quietly. “He can’t expect us to believe he
cares for Alethkar or its king. I’m half certain he’d join with our invaders if he had the chance.”
Lhan shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. Meridas has put a lot of effort into
Alethkar, effort he probably doesn’t want to see dashed by an untimely
change in governments. Besides, he’s a well-known associate of the king.
If they capture the kingdom, Elhokar’s Parshen s will be among the first noblemen to be executed. N
o, I’d say Meridas has a very healthy desire to
keep Alethkar safe.”
Kemnar raised an eyebrow at the comment, but nodded thoughtfully.
Lhan looked away from him, toward where Meridas was studying the
plains below. Lhan could see distrust in the man’s eyes. Meridas probably
thought that Taln was lying about being able to see the men below in order to enhance his reputation for having superior senses. Perhaps he was right.
Taln was, after all, only confirming what the scouts below had seen.
“We will wait,” Meridas finally announced. Then he swept away, atten-
dants in tow. He paused a few steps later, however, glancing back at Lhan
and the others. “Oh, and by the way, dear Lord Kemnar. I don’t think that
you have any place questioning my loyalty.”
Kemnar blushed deeply as he realized his comment had been overheard.
“Instead, perhaps you should ask yourself this:” Meridas continued.
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“Why exactly is the madman so concerned with the training of our men?
Does he work for Alethkar’s good, or for his own?” With that, he left.
Meridas’ words turned out to be almost prophetic, in a twisted way.
Their pursuers were indeed armed, but they were not from Vedenar.
Lhan stood with Meridas’s troops, his spear held at the ready, sweating
nervously like the rest of them. Their captains had seen to their placement, organizing them in formations that could quickly be manipulated to
accommodate the unpredictability of battle. Still, with only a hundred
and eighty men, theirs seemed a small army. Lhan was near the front, and
he was able to see the cautious group of ten men that climbed up the final incline to the plateau’s top.
They were a ragged bunch, yet they held their spears with warrior’s hands.
They wore dark leather armor—stained with dye, sweat, and probably
blood—that had been patched in numerous places.
“Who are you?” called one of Meridas’s attendants—Lhan thought it
was Chathan, though he got the two mixed up.
The newcomers paused, regarding the soldiers arrayed before them with
grim eyes. One stepped forward. “We seek the Herald’s army,” he called.
There was a pause at this. Finally, Chathan—acting as Meridas’s mouth-
piece—spoke again. “To whom to your loyalties belong?”
“They belong to you, if you’ll feed us,” the man said. “Are you recruiting soldiers or not?”
And, apparently they were, for Meridas eventually accepted the merce-
naries into their company. They were not the last. Lady Jasnah claimed that she should have seen it—Riemak was historically the place militaries went
when they needed to hire additional spears. It would stand to reason that the mercenary bands would be in a state of flux, kicking out and gathering
new members even as the groups themselves were dissolved and reformed.
Their members would always be seeking work.
Some came as those first, seeking work. Others came, not as mercenaries,
but as pilgrims. Somehow, stories of Taln’s exploits in Ral Eram had
managed to reach even the assumedly-sheltered communities of Riemak.
Tales had spread, stories of Taln defeating hundreds of soldiers on his own.
Rumors claimed that the Return had come, and that the Stormshades were
attacking mankind again. Stories whispered that Taln had come to refound
Riemak, and to free its people from their lives of uncertainty and chaos.
Some said that he was insane, but that he had the power of an Awakener,
and was commanding an army of thralls. Others said that all Ten Heralds
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were in his company, and that they had come to seek support for Alethkar’s war—though why Heralds would care about protecting one kingdom from
another was a point of uncertainty. The more rational among them claimed
that there was no Herald—that the army belonged to Alethkar itself, and
it was seeking mercenaries to help against the Veden invasion.
All of the stories agreed on one thing: someone was gathering an army.
And so, they came. Some to fight for money, others to fight for hope.
Some came for religious reasons, others for simple curiosity. Early in their trip, Taln had suggested to Lhan that the land of Riemak was hardly
as underpopulated as some had claimed. Lhan hadn’t understood what
made Taln so certain, but the madman certainly proved himself correct
as hundreds of soldiers, refugees, and pilgrims dribbled into their ranks.
Taln accepted them all into his training sessions, despite Meridas’s pro-
tests that their group was growing too bulky. Lhan suspected, however, that the nobleman had received very definite orders not to turn anyone away.
Lhan also suspected that he had been the only one who saw the musing,
devious glint in Lady Jasnah’s eyes on that first day, when the mercenaries asked for the ‘Herald’s Army.’
chapter 58
JEK 9
Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, didn’t have to sneak to
get into the fallen city of Crossguard. King Elhokar’s guards barely gave
Jek and his group a passing glance. The ease of the passage was almost
insulting.
Jek had been born into the tradition of his Clan, trained how to misrep-
resent himself from the day he could walk. As a child, he had been required to adopt different personas before being given his evening meal—he would
spend one day as a lord, the next as a beggar. He learned the stance of the soldier, the air of the craftsman, the step of the entertainer, and the humility of a holy pilgrim—practicing each mannerism so carefully that changing
personas eventually came as naturally to him as putting on a different cloak.
All of this was wasted in the east. The Crossguard soldiers needed see
only his Shin features before waving him into the captured city. The only
Shin that came to the east of their own choice were members of the
merchant clans, and these were the only Shin most Kanarans had met. Jek
needed only the most perfunctory disguise to be believable.
A waste.
Jek ordered his ‘servants’ forward with a barked command—spoken with
an intentionally strong Shin accent. None of the easterners would realize
that his normal accent was far too light to belong to a visiting merchant,
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 529
of course, but Jek wasn’t about to let their ignorance spoil a good disguise.
Still, he knew that if he did ever manage to get back his Bondstone and
return to Shinavar, his skills would need some serious refinement.
Jek’s men—a group of ten solders who had been chosen for their
packman-like appearances—moved forward at the command, carrying
large packs on their backs. Jek stood, ostensibly overseeing their progress through the gate. His eyes flickered to the sides, however, doing a quick
head count of soldiers on the city walls.
There were fewer men than he had expected. King Elhokar had obviously
won Crossguard quickly, but he had done so at a great price. Ahven’s spies had estimated Elhokar’s army at forty thousand strong before the assault;
including the men camped outside, Jek counted barely twenty five thousand
remaining. A heavy toll indeed, though Crossguard had obviously suffered
worse.
The massive gap in the city wall stood as a testament to King Elhokar’s<
br />
corruption. The city-goers—both soldiers and townspeople—tried to avoid
looking at the crumbled structure. Even they knew that the Holy Powers
were not supposed to be used in such a way. Yet Elhokar’s desecration had
won the day—and Jek doubted any other Kanaran leader would have done
differently. Honor was simply a word to these people; when the time came
to test their devotion, beliefs crumbled faster than the Crossguard stones.
This was not the first time Awakeners had been used in battle, and it would not be the last.
Other than the wal , however, the city was remarkably hale. King Elhokar
was not so much a fool that he would allow the looting of his own city, and the people obviously knew this. While there was a strong military presence in Crossguard, the common citizens bustled about their business as if their local aristocracy hadn’t just been purged in a bloody assault.
In fact, Jek suspected that Crossguard was even busier this day than
normal. Armies were good business; there was a reason Jek had been
allowed into the city so easily. Now that the fighting was through,
merchants from across the region would be flocking to Crossguard to
relieve the soldiers of their battle pay. The city taverns—of both the lord and the citizen variety—were likely full every night, and the local whores busier than usual.
Jek shook his head, stepping forward to trail after his ‘packmen.’ Some-
thing bothered him about the troop arrangements, but he couldn’t quite
decide what. It had been nagging him ever since he had first counted
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numbers while passing the camp on his way into the city. There was
something . . . odd about the way the camp was arranged.
Unfortunately, while he had been trained to imitate a soldier, he actually knew very little about tactics or armies. He would need to gather more
information, and bring it back to those who could properly interpret it.
Most importantly, he needed to discover King Elhokar’s plans. Fortunately, Jek had access to a resource that was often as informative as any spy or
secret informant.
“There,” Jek commanded, pointing toward a large, if unimpressive, stone
tavern built alongside the street ahead. A few gems given to a passing
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 73
