merchant on the road outside had given Jek the location. Every city had
its preferred mercantile gathering places, most of them unofficial. If a man didn’t have the skill necessary to discover the location, then he probably wasn’t a good enough merchant to bother trading with.
The packmen stayed outside, as they had been ordered previously. They
set down Jek’s ‘goods’ in a pile, then arranged themselves around to guard, similar to several other caravans’ worth of packmen along the street. A few barmaids moved among the groups, selling drinks from the tavern.
Jek stepped into the building alone. It didn’t take the tavern patrons long to give him a collective dark look—one quickly covered up by accommodating faces. Kanarans resented the Shin sense of superiority in the same
way a child resented his parents’ freedom and control. While few merchants would willingly pass up dealing with their Shin counterparts—the sale of
rare Shin goods was a very lucrative market—fewer still were respectful in their transactions.
“Friend!” a voice suddenly called, as if to directly contradict Jek’s thoughts.
“Here, drink with me. Barkeep, bring this man some good wine!”
Jek paused, careful and suspicious. The speaker was a tall man, not broad
of chest but definitely broad of voice. He was waving enthusiastical y toward Jek with one hand while at the same time gesturing toward a barmaid with
the other.
Jek approached carefully, and the man actually reached out and clapped
him on the back with a familial hand, then gestured toward a seat at his
table. The man appeared to be dining alone.
“Do I know you?” Jek asked.
“Never met me before in your life,” the man said, shooting a glare at the
barmaid and increasing the speed of his impatient gestures. “However,
whatever you’re selling, I want to buy it.”
Jek hesitated. “What makes you so certain?”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 531
“You look like a suspicious type,” the man said. “You really should try
to get over that. Bad for the health, all that worrying. Sit, sit. Barmaid, where is that wine!”
Against his better judgement, Jek allowed himself to be forced into the
seat. The man, finally convinced that the barmaid wasn’t ignoring him, slid down into his own chair.
“Why are you so eager to work with me?” Jek asked again.
“You know, you people shouldn’t be so grim all the time,” the man said.
“That’s why no one wants to work with the Shin—or, that’s what I think.
Don’t people smile over there on the first peninsula? Or do you all just sit around and scowl at each other all the time?”
Jek gave the man a pointed scowl, an action that prompted a guffawing
laugh.
“Explain yourself or I will find another table,” Jek said.
The man leaned forward, giving Jek an intense look and pointing with a
firm gesture. “Guess how many times I’ve worked with Shin merchants.”
“I really have no idea,” Jek said flatly.
“Twenty-three times,” the man said, speaking with his hands as well as
his voice. “Twenty-three business deals. I count these things. Every good
businessman should. Now, let me ask another question. Guess how many
of those deals went sour? None. Guess how many times I got cheated. Not
once. You people are honest as stones, and if the other merchants don’t
want to work with you, then I say let the storms take them. I’ll deal with any Shin who passes my way, that’s certain. Devon Lhale never passes
up a good deal, and you, my friend, are the best deal in town. I know that already.”
The man punctuated his remarks by occasionally slamming his fist
against the table, each blow rocking the three different mugs that held his drinks. The barkeep delivered Jek’s wine, and she got a wink and a pinch
from Devon. Jek watched the exchange with dissatisfaction as he tried to
read his companion. It seemed incredible, but he could detect no falsehood in Devon’s mannerisms. If the boisterous attitude was an act, then it was
one that could fool even a trained Shin assassin.
“So, what is it?” Devon asked. “What are you selling? You people never
buy—I know that. It’s always about what you can sell, as if our goods
weren’t good enough to take back with you. You know, I’ll bet that’s why
people don’t want to deal with the Shin—you make them feel like Kanaran
goods just aren’t worth your time, which we both know is ridiculous. You
really should work on that.”
532
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
Jek paused. His Aleth was good, but he was less practiced at it than he
was at Veden. Following this man’s conversation was a task unto itself.
“I . . . see,” Jek said slowly.
“So?” Devon said. “Goods? What are they?”
“Boots,” Jek said. “I have a hundred pairs with me as a sample, and could
have a thousand here within three weeks. I need a retailer.”
“Boots, eh?” Devon asked, rubbing his beardless chin. “Shin work, I
assume? Yes? Good craftsmanship, those. You people really need to teach
some of our people how to make them as good as you do.”
“It’s not in the art,” Jek said, “but in the materials. We don’t desecrate the Holy Arts to get our leather, but instead tan it from livestock.”
“You see, there you go again,” Devon said, pointing. “I love you people,
but you really have to stop making excuses. Awakened goods are the same
as non-Awakened, and that is the truth. But I suppose if you want to keep
your secrets, that’s your business. Three weeks, eh? That’s too long, friend.
Never can tell what will happen in three weeks . . .”
Jek perked up immediately, sensing something in the merchant’s attitude.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “King Elhokar’s army doesn’t appear to be going
anywhere soon. His kingdom just suffered from civil war—he’ll need to
stay here for a while and maintain order.”
Devon shrugged with an exaggerated motion. “I’m just saying . . . Well,
you would do well to be a little less curious. It’ll only give you worries, I say.” He paused, glancing at Jek with eyes akin to those of a performer
demanding applause.
“If I’m going to work with you,” Jek said, taking the prompt, “I’ll need
to know what you know.”
“Well, since I know you’ll keep quiet with it . . .” Devon said with an
eagerly conspiratorial air.
“Of course,” Jek said.
“You see, friend,” Devon said with an amazingly quiet voice. “There’s
another army coming here, to Crossguard. The king’s forces might not
survive another three weeks.”
Another army. Jek kept his shock from his face, but on the inside he cringed. Ahven’s forces had been discovered. Well, it had only been a
matter of time. But why then wasn’t King Elhokar running? Ahven’s army
was nearly twice the size of the Aleth force. Elhokar had time to retreat, moving to the west to gather troops to his cause. Surely the lords who had been reticent to take arms against Crossguard wouldn’t be so restrained
concerning a foreign invader.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 533
“Yes indeed,” Devon whispered. “When the Tyrantbane is done with
dear King Elhokar . . . well, I plan to be gone from Crossguard by the
time he arrives.”
Jek froze. “The Tyrantbane?” h
e asked. “Dalenar Kholin is on his way here?”
Devon nodded. “I have it on very good word. The king’s mobilizing his
forces for battle again, but I doubt he’ll last long against Lord Dalenar.
Should have never executed the Parshen’s son, that’s what I say. Bad idea, that.”
Dalenar Kholin. That changed things drastically—more drastically, even,
than if Elhokar had discovered Ahven’s army. Had Lady Jasnah reached
Kholinar, then, or was Dalenar’s coming a coincidence?
“Don’t know why I’m telling you these things,” Devon said, sitting back
in his chair. “Guess it’s because you’re Shin. Good people, you are. Never lie, that’s what I’ve been told. I sure know I’ve never been cheated by one of your kind.”
The thing was, Devon was probably telling the truth. Shin merchants
did not break their word; they followed Truth, and it declared that only
the lower Clans—the warrior clans, those who ruled to serve—could kill,
lie to, or hurt another man. It was doubly sinful to cheat an innocent or a child—and easterners counted as both.
Jek’s mind kept returning to Lord Dalenar’s impending arrival. Ahven
would want more information—numbers, if possible.
“How many?” Jek said. “How many in Lord Dalenar’s force?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Devon said. “My source doesn’t even know that.
For some reason, there’s been some confusion amongst the king’s scouts.
I’m surprised nobody discovered the Tyrantbane’s army sooner. True, it’s
moving quickly—without towers or Chulls—but it got within four day’s
march of Crossguard before anyone brought word of it.”
That’s because Ahven’s death parties are riding the main roads, killing anyone they see—especially messengers on horseback. For a time, at least, information in Alethkar was going to be very slow to travel. Elhokar could be dead before the noblemen on the far side of the country even knew that Alethkar had
been invaded.
“This information troubles me, friend Devon,” Jek said honestly. “I think
I shall retrieve my goods and bring them here anyway, however. After all,
Lord Dalenar’s army is going to need boots too, eh?”
Devon laughed. “That’s true. You Shin are always so pragmatic. You
know, you really should try to loosen up more sometimes. That’s probably
534
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
why people don’t want to work with you—you’re always so stiff. Always
working. But, if you’re bringing the boots, we might as well arrange a deal.
I’ll watch for you in town when you return. Promise me you won’t sell them to anyone else until you find out if I’m here or not!”
“Of course,” Jek said. “But I must be going, now, to make arrangements.”
“Good, good,” Devon said. “I’ll see you another time, then, friend.
Remember your promise—of course, I don’t need to tell you that. I’ve
never met a Shin who lies!”
You just did, Jek thought, standing.
chapter 59
JASNAH 13
“How long until it hits?” Jasnah asked worriedly, looking up at
the darkening sky.
Taln shook his head. “Two hours, maybe a bit more.”
Jasnah nodded. The Searing was over; highstorms would fall again. She
shivered slightly. The Riemak highlands weren’t as cold as those of Pralir, but she did not look forward to the soggy chill of highstorm rains—not
to mention the fury of its winds. This storm wouldn’t be anything like the Bellow, but on the highlands in the middle of summer . . . it would be bad enough.
“I’m almost sad to see them start again,” Jasnah said.
“I’m not,” Taln said. “I’m amazed we’re not dying of thirst as it is, con-
sidering that.” He waved his hand toward their growing army.
Despite its ragged and disjointed nature, Jasnah had to smile at the
size of the force. Several larger mercenary companies had tracked them
down, and that addition, mixed with the increasing numbers of refugees,
put their force at nearly eight hundred strong. Admittedly, that number
contained many who had barely a week’s worth of training beneath Taln’s
tutelage. Still, they were of hardy Riemak stock, well-aquainted with
fighting and their weapons, even if they didn’t have formalized knowledge
of formations or battlefield tactics. It was a varied group—mercenaries
536
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
mixed with farmers, Herald believers with men who just wanted the thrill
of battle—but Taln was quickly working to change that, making them
into a cohesive force.
What had begun as a refugee band had become a fighting force of
significant size. Now if she could just get them to her brother in time. The army continued to maintain a good speed, despite the increased size. Even
if she had stayed with the originally-planned group of seven, she doubted
they could have been more than a few days ahead. It would be worth the
delay to deliver an army instead of just a warning—assuming they arrived
while there was still a war to fight, of course.
Unconsciously, she glanced toward the east. Toward Alethkar.
“Worry less about your homeland,” Taln said, “and more about how
you’re going to feed all these men.”
Jasnah looked back toward the camp. Some of them had brought their
own provisions, but they all obviously expected to be fed for their time. The mercenaries wanted something more substantial than just food, of course,
though many of them were desperate enough to accept promises of coin
once they reached Alethkar—but before they fought—as long as their
stomachs were filled. She had hunting groups gathering what they could
from the land, but boiled cromlins were only barely palatable, and rockbuds were notoriously foul-tasting. The hunting parties occasionally captured
a whitespine or, on blessed occasions, a wild pig. However, the highlands
weren’t good for hunting, and the size of her army was too prohibitive to
expect it to live off the land completely.
That left . . . “There,” Jasnah said, pointing at the returning Kemnar, who was walking with several scouts. “He’s announced our presence to the town
leaders. We can go to trade now.”
Taln raised an eyebrow. “And how much coin do we have left?” he asked.
“Enough,” Jasnah said. For a little while, assuming we sell Meridas’s fine clothing and jewelry. He had not been happy about that little command, and had insisted on keeping at least two outfits and a couple of rings.
Still, his contributions—along with some more of their dwindling horse
funds—should be enough to keep the army fed for another two weeks.
Barely long enough to reach Kholinar, if there were no more delays.
“Go get dressed,” Jasnah said. “The city leaders will want to see our
Herald.”
Taln’s expression darkened. “We need to talk,” he said, not moving.
“Later,” Jasnah promised.
Taln sighed, then nodded, going off to put on the fine cloak and shirt
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 537
she had appropriated for him from Meridas’s stock. Despite tailoring, they didn’t quite fit, but the rich colors—mixed with Taln’s Shardblade—made
for a passably impressive presentation.
The city was only a short distance away. They had camped the army far
enough outside it
s borders to not be too threatening, but close enough
that it would be visible from the wall. Since entering the highlands, the
landscape had flattened out, and villages were more rare. Yet, the mines to the north—the prime locations of despotism—made certain that caravans
passed this way fairly often. So, although the towns were less frequent,
they tended to be larger. And even more suspicious, if that were possible.
Unlike the vil ages to the south, this city had a wall. The fortification was coated with enough cromstone to make it look almost like a natural growth, and it was topped by a line of suspicious guards. Evening was quickly
approaching, and if the impending highstorm hadn’t darkened the sky, the
setting sun would have. It was still possible to make out faces in the dim light, however, and theirs were expressions of rough determination. The
message given by soldiers, closed gates, and black walls was clear: this was not a city ruled by an outside tyrant, and nor would it soon be taken.
Kemnar led Jasnah, Taln, Meridas, Lhan, and their honor guard of
twenty soldiers to the front gates. Meridas still looked annoyed that he
wasn’t allowed to ride at the head of the group. Jasnah allowed herself a
smile. During the last week, the center of power within their force had
changed yet again. The newcomers came to see a Herald, not an unknown
nobleman. Before, she had allowed Meridas to command because he
represented the best hope for Alethkar. By the same reasoning, she now
required Meridas to let Taln take at least a figurehead role at the fore of the army. Ostensibly, Meridas was still the top nobleman in the group—but
everyone knew that deities ranked aristocrats.
“Where is the Herald?” one of the wall-top soldiers called down. No one
made any moves to open the gates.
Taln stepped forward and faced them, holding his Shardblade point-
down at his side. Jasnah wished—not for the first time—that she had
been able to persuade him to wear Kemnar’s Shardplate. Standing between
Kemnar and Meridas in their Plate, even Taln’s rich cloth seemed wan.
She knew what they were thinking atop that wall. This? This is the supposed Herald Talenel? This soldier with the height and muscles of a normal man? An indistinctive face and simple bearing? Where is the aura of power, the glowing eyes, the towering height and booming voice?
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 74
