Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]
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needed to bargain. Taln had heard of her political savvy, her uncanny ability to dominate a court, but he had rarely seen it applied. She had always
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been more open with him—though he suspected that was because she
saw nothing to gain from him, rather than because she felt more familiar
with him.
“I should like to fight at the side of the Tyrantbane,” Aneazer noted,
rubbing his bearded chin in thought.
“It will not be that simple,” Jasnah said with a disapproving tone. “I have heard of the way you treat the people in this area. You are a despot.”
Aneazer shrugged. “The difference between a thug and a king is nothing
more than a royal banner-glyph. If a man acts in his own name, he is a
tyrant. If he acts under in the name of ‘The Kingdom,’ he is hailed as
monarch. This is a harsh land, Lady Kholin, and it needs a harsh ruler. I
have brought peace, if not ease, to their lives.”
Jasnah frowned thoughtfully. “I would be willing to look past your . . .
deficiencies, I suppose.”
Aneazer laughed, leaning back in his chair. “By the winds, woman, you
have gall. I could destroy your little army right here. Don’t think you’re the first person to think of using a ‘Herald’ to try gathering troops in Riemak.
I’ve destroyed half a tenset such armies in my lifetime, slaughtering the false Heralds who ran them. I will suffer no instability here in Riemak—either
we make an agreement, or I will destroy you right here.”
“Then let us deal,” Jasnah said, not looking at all intimidated. “But let me assure you, ‘Lord’ Aneazer, if we fail to agree, then I will leave here safely.
Do not think that my uncle will not exact retribution upon you simply
because you hide here in the wilds.”
Aneazer frowned slightly. “You are certain he will win, then?” he asked.
“Your brother has the legitimacy of the crown.”
“My uncle is a far better warrior,” Jasnah said dismissively. “And he has
the loyalty of the people. But things have changed. Both brother and uncle have another foe to worry about.”
Aneazer’s frown deepened.
“Vedenar has invaded,” Jasnah explained.
“Ah . . .” Aneazer said. “I had wondered why you would come to Riemak
for mercenaries, when Alethkar has always been so proud to fight with only its own men. But weakened by civil war . . .”
“So let us dispense with threats, Aneazer,” Jasnah said. “Will I return to Alethkar with your aid, or will I go alone?”
“That depends on whether or not you’ll pay my price,” Aneazer said.
“Name it,” Jasnah said. “But know that I, of course, carry no chips with
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me. You and I shall make a standard mercenary contract, to be paid after
the war is finished or once one year passes, which ever comes first.”
“Ah, but I have little need of more gems,” Aneazer said. “I only end up
giving them back to your country or others, buying the supplies I need to
stay safe. No, I need something a little bit more . . . permanent than what is offered in ‘standard mercenary’ contracts.”
Jasnah’s eyes thinned. “What?”
Aneazer leaned forward. “Legitimacy,” he said. “Nine hundred years ago,
your Oathshard King conquered Riemak. You destroyed the kingdom’s
infra structure and subjugated its people. Then, when Prallah threatened
your border two centuries later, you simply left. Your people claimed
Riemak, then abandoned its people to despots, squabblings, and raids from
the barbarian Kavanars. You destroyed a proud kingdom. Well, I want you to take it back.”
He waved to an attendant, who pul ed out a map and spread it on the table.
It was a very detailed representation of Alethkar and Riemak. The aging
Aneazer looked over it eagerly, standing and pointing at a line drawn from Alethkar’s border, to the Holy City, and back down to the south.
“You see,” he said. “With this perimeter you could easily form a defensible border within Riemak. It would make the Holy City and all of the towns I
control part of Alethkar, as well as give your kingdom direct access to the northern mines.”
Jasnah studied the map. Then, showing the first hint of emotion since
the negotiations had begun, she looked up at Aneazer’s face. “You really
aren’t a tyrant.”
“Ha!” he said. “Of course I am. But I’m one who’s winds-cursed tired
of fighting every bandit who tries to steal my place. I’m getting too old to worry about mutiny and rebellion. I’ll let Aleth troops into my city, I’ll even give up control of the Oathgate, as long as you name me as an independent
lord with no tribute.”
Jasnah looked down at the map, smiling slightly. “My brother spent
three years trying to conquer Prallah,” she said. “I wonder how he would
have responded if he had known that Riemak was simply waiting to let
us take it.”
Aneazer snorted.
“Very well, then,” she said, rising. “I see no reason why your price cannot be accommodated. You’ll have to get final agreement from my brother first, of course.”
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“Or your uncle,” Aneazer said. “Depending on which one still lives. Very
well, my men are ready to march. When do we leave?”
Taln stepped forward. “As soon as you show me to my brethren,” he said,
eliciting a faint frown of displeasure from Jasnah.
Aneazer looked toward her with a frown.
“Lord Aneazer,” Jasnah said. “Have any other . . . false Heralds come to
Jorevan recently?”
“No,” Aneazer said with confusion. “What is this about?”
Taln turned, walking back to his horse. “I’m riding into the city,” he said.
“Follow if you wish, but do not try to stop me.”
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JASNAH 16
Jasnah cursed to herself quietly, riding behind the galloping Taln
toward the Holy City of Jorevan. Lord Aneazer fol owed behind, looking
very troubled. Their alliance was tenuous, their armies still poised to attack one another.
If you ruin this, madman . . . she thought threateningly. Aneazer’s willingness to join with her—at the simple price of allowing himself to
be conquered—was an unforeseen and remarkable boon. His men were
obviously well-trained, and were numerous enough to be a great help
to her brother. During the negotiations, it had been all she could do to
keep herself from gasping at her remarkable good fortune. If Aneazer had
known how desperate they were, that they had not come to recruit him,
but had arrived by happenstance . . .
She didn’t even want to think about her brother and Dalenar being at
war. What could have convinced her stoic uncle to start a civil war? Her
brother must have done something terrible indeed—either that, or Dalenar
had discovered Elhokar’s ruse to frame Jezenrosh. Either way, she had to
get back before King Ahven destroyed them both.
And Taln’s recklessness was threatening it all. Unfortunately, there was
little she could do beyond follow him, trying to catch up. Behind, she could hear Meridas explaining about Taln’s madness to Aneazer. The despot,
fortunately, accepted the explanation—chuckling as he praised Jasnah
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&n
bsp; for finding an actual lunatic to be her false Herald. The ease with which
he accepted her willingness to deceive people in order to gather troops
was chilling, especially since she knew he was absolutely correct in his
assumption. Aneazer was a harsh man, but men worse than he had made
good leaders. She knew Elhokar would have no trouble granting Aneazer a
title, for the move would give Alethkar control of the Riemak garnet mines.
Dalenar might have more trouble accepting the despot, but he would feel
bound by Jasnah’s promise.
Those eventualities, however, assumed that either one still lived. Jasnah
sighed, urging her horse faster. Ahead, Taln had slowed as he entered
the city itself. He had his Shardblade out, and he paused for a moment,
holding it. Then he took off again, guiding his horse across shattered streets and around fallen statues. Jasnah followed, as did Aneazer, Meridas, and
both honor guards. The Holy City itself—what little she was able to see
of it as she rode past—wasn’t very impressive. Most of it was covered with cromstone, leaving whatever details had been left in the rubble covered
with a thick rock skin. It was like a city melted, an area filled with giant waxy lumps.
A few buildings still stood, however, and Taln made for one of these.
She caught up to him as he reached a large, pillared structure that betrayed very little decay, all things considered.
“Taln!” she called, but he ignored her, swinging off his horse and rushing into the building. She cursed, climbing off her beast with a less-adroit
scramble, then followed him into the building.
The inside was dark, and smelled of old stone. Though cromstone coated
windows and piled at their bases, most of the enormous hallway still stood intact. Ornate pillars disappeared into the depths above, and massive
marble blocks made up the floor stones. The hallway had been stripped of
anything worth carrying, but a few broken statues stood at its ends, their shattered faces staring through sun-lit, dusty air.
Taln’s footsteps echoed from in front of her. She dashed behind him,
her masculinely cut clothing letting her move far more quickly than her
usual courtly shuffle. She was puffing by the time she reached the end of
the large corridor.
A room rose around her, as grand in proportion as the hallway that led
to it. It had also been robbed of finery, but its dominant features still stood untouched. Ten enormous statues stood along the walls of the circular
chamber, their height making her gape in amazement. She had heard stories
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 671
of the legendary Elinshenten, one of the wonders of Epoch Kingdom glory.
She hadn’t realized the magnificent statues still stood.
She recognized each one, of course—she had been trained in Vorin
teachings as a child. Balear Soulsong, the Timeless. Jezrien Stormrider, the King. Vedel Keywatcher, the Elsesmith. Nale Suneyes, the Just. Shalesa
Ashmaker, the Scatterer. Kavezeren Lightcall, the Healer. Prael Smoke-
wish, the Discerning. Chanaral Bondseal, the Maker. Ishar Holydawn,
the Sacred.
And Talenel Stonesinew, the Steadfast. Taln stood in the cavernous
room, staring up at the statues, as if in a trance. Then he looked down at his Shardblade.
Taln fell to his knees and plunged his Blade into the stone at his feet.
She could hear his harsh breathing, as if he were weeping, but there were
no tears. The others arrived a few moments later, and Meridas made to step forward, but Jasnah held out a hand to stop him.
They stood in silence, watching Taln attack the ground with a random
vengeance, muttering to himself, his Blade throwing up chunks of stone
as he worked. Jasnah could see the wildness in his eyes, the confusion, the despair . . . and the danger. This was not a time to confront him.
Perhaps he’s finally realized the truth, she thought, though seeing his tortured face, she could find no joy in the concept. He’s been forced to admit his delusions.
What if he couldn’t accept the truth? What if his mind snapped? His
echoing mumbles gave her a chill. What if she had destroyed him by
bringing him here? Would not the delusional, but functional, Taln be
better than a man who had broken? She cursed her own lack of sensitivity.
She should have tried to help him—should have led him away from
Jorevan and the confrontation it represented. Instead, she had come eagerly, anticipating the satisfaction of proving herself right and Taln wrong.
Her heart broke with his at the empty room. Suddenly, she didn’t want
him to know, didn’t want him to have to be disappointed.
Ahead, Taln stopped digging. He knelt in the hole he had dug with his
maddened swinging, chunks of stone gathered around the lip. His head
was barely visible over the rubble. She approached quietly.
“Taln?” she asked.
When he looked up, she didn’t see the madness or the frenzy she had ex-
pected. Instead she saw only confused, tired grief. Taln stood and slammed his Shardblade into the stone before her.
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Except, it wasn’t his Blade. He held his own weapon beside him. The new Blade was beautiful and ornate, not a Blank, but a Blade with swirling designs, like the fringes of curling mist.
Taln looked down at the new sword with wearied eyes. “It was Jezrien’s,”
he said with a haunted voice. “I can feel the other eight buried here as
well.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “My brethren are dead. This time,
mankind must face the Khothen alone.”
“They appear to be tombs of some sort, my lady,” Kemnar said. They stood
at the mouth of the massive chamber. Men worked inside, cutting with
Shardblades to search for any further prizes hiding beneath the stone. “The passage slopes downward, and so the rainwater that got through the hallway windows here would have pooled in the statue chamber. The cromstone
there is dense, several feet thick. It appears that there were ten caskets set into the floor’s brickwork. Nine of them had Blades in them; one was
empty.”
“The empty one,” Jasnah said. “How did he get the Blade out?”
“There were a lot of cracks in the floor,” Kemnar said. “From a quake or
other disturbance. Most of the sarcophagi were broken as well. We didn’t
look too hard before we began cutting, but it’s possible one of the cracks went all the way down to the Blade chamber. Anyway, the swords have
been here a long, long time—probably since the Epoch Kingdoms, most
definitely since before Riemak fell. It would take centuries for this much cromstone to build up.”
Jasnah nodded. Taln sat inside the room, watching the work with dull
eyes. Meridas and Aneazer stood at the side, supervising. She clenched her jaw as she saw them—she hadn’t been paying enough attention to Meridas
since the discovery. He was already becoming too close to the despot lord
for her tastes.
“These blades are strange, my lady,” Kemnar noted, drawing her attention
again. “None of their opals are black, yet they hold their forms anyway.
They should have reverted to Blanks long ago. They change like any other
Blade if we put a Bonded opal in them, but there’s still something . . . odd about them.”
Jasnah nodded. “Knock all of the clear opals off, but keep ahold of
them—and keep digging. There might be more Blades to be found.”
feel whatever it is that Taln claims lets him sense the Blades, and we’ve
already dug up the eight he said were here.”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 673
“Keep going anyway,” Jasnah requested, leaving Kemnar behind and
walking over to join Meridas and Aneazer. The despot lord regarded the
excavation with troubled eyes, obviously uncertain how to react. He had
been sitting on one of the greatest treasure finds in the history of modern Roshar, and never known it. Nine Shardblades; a man could have found
mythic Lura itself and not been so well-rewarded.
“As a token of goodwill, Lord Aneazer,” Jasnah said, “I grant you half of
the Blades we have discovered. Find four good men to bear them.”
The wild-haired man regarded her through narrowed eyes.
“Yes, Aneazer,” Jasnah said in a suffering tone, “I know you could kill
us and take all of them for yourself. But what would that really gain you?
Our several positions have not changed since our negotiations, and you still want membership in Alethkar. If you do become a lord, you will have to
grow accustomed to the fact that you have superiors—if just a few of them.
Sometimes they will make decisions you don’t agree with. Part of having a
title is honoring it, following your betters even when you are dissatisfied.”
Aneazer regarded her for a moment longer, then smiled. “You are an
impressive woman, Lady Jasnah,” he finally decided. “I see why Lord
Meridas chose you to be his bride.”
“Lord Meridas did not choose me,” Jasnah corrected. “That is something
else you’ll have to accustom yourself to. In civilized lands, women arrange the marriages. Learn quickly, I suggest, since I hear that you are unwed. The court women won’t long let a powerful lord such as yourself go unmatched,
and you will need heirs.”
Aneazer shrugged. “I have heirs,” he said. “Just no wife to go with them.”
“You’ll need legitimate heirs, Lord Aneazer,” Jasnah said. “You are an Aleth nobleman now. You will need to learn to act like one.”
Aneazer just smiled again. Jasnah left him, picking her way through the
rubbled room and around the exhumed sarcophagi to where Taln sat alone