at the feet of a massive statue.
“Taln?” she asked gently, kneeling beside him.
He sighed deeply. He had been despondent since the discovery earlier
in the day. Night was quickly approaching now, and the men worked by
lanternlight.
“Something has gone very wrong, Jasnah,” he said softly. “I’ve known
it since the Return began. The failure of the Sign, the unresponsiveness
of my nahel bond, my missing powers, and now my brethren . . . They’re connected, all of these problems. Something went wrong a thousand years
ago, but I wasn’t there to see what. I died too early.”
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“Taln, you’re not dead,” she said. “You’re right here.”
Taln shook his head. “We all die, every time, Jasnah. Either we die at
Khothen hands or our own. We can’t stay in this world, not for very long.
Sometimes we can remain for several decades, but we always have to go
eventually. There are . . . reasons we cannot be here. I died early last time, defending the Keep of Veletal, as your legends explain. I often die early, since I do the most fighting. Regardless, I never saw the end of the Return last time. Something must have happened after I died. The book I took
from your library, it claims that the Elin declared the cycle of Returns
broken. I don’t believe that is possible. Even if it were, I would be dead right now.”
He paused, nodding toward the room before them. “This was a place of
men. We never asked for it, but they built it anyway. To put our bodies in each Return after we died.”
“But,” Jasnah said, “there aren’t any bodies in the caskets. No bones or
anything, just the Blades.”
Taln shook his head. “There wouldn’t be bodies,” he said. “When Heralds
die, their bodies turn into smoke after a time. The songs teach of that, do they not?”
Songs she had always thought of, and still thought of, as silly. Still, he had his mythology right.
“Look, maybe you’re over-reacting,” she said. “Perhaps they’re not dead—
maybe they just never came to get their swords.” She couldn’t believe what she was saying, that she was feeding his delusions so. But if it brought back the Taln she knew . . .
“No,” Taln said. “It doesn’t work that way. When we are reborn in the
other world, our Blades come to us. That is what the opals are for—
the summoning and dismissing of Blades is an improvement Mankind
devised. When a Herald dies, his Blade goes with him to the next world.
When he Returns, it comes to Roshar with him. How do you think I got
my Blade back when I Returned?”
“And you didn’t know the Blades allowed you to sense only where the
other Blades were, not where the other Heralds were?” Jasnah asked.
Taln shook his head. “You’d think that would come up over the centuries,
but it didn’t. We are never without our Blades, Jasnah. That’s the other
reason I know that my brethren didn’t abandon them here. Our powers are
tied to our swords; they are part of us. We don’t just leave them behind.”
“You say that the Heralds never leave their Blades behind, yet here they
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 675
are,” Jasnah said. “You claim the Blades go with them when they die, but
they haven’t. So they can’t either be alive or dead. Don’t you see how circular this is?”
Taln nodded. “And that is what has me confused. Like I said before,
something must have happened at the end of the last Return. I was the first to die. If something happened to the nahel bond after I left, perhaps . . . I don’t know. Maybe my brethren aren’t in either world. Maybe they really
are dead. Killed, somehow. Permanently.”
And this, she sensed, was what made him so depressed. He had worked
through it all on his own already. He had arrived at the same double dead
end, and worried that the other Heralds—men he knew of only in his
delusions, but who were real to him nonetheless—were all dead.
“Wouldn’t you have seen them in the Dwelling?” Jasnah said. “During
the times between Returns? Didn’t you ever wonder what happened to
them?”
Taln shook his head. “Things are . . . complicated on the other side,
Jasnah. I wouldn’t have known if they came back or not. I assumed that they did, but I don’t know.” He turned toward her, haunted. “I’m the only one
left. Even if they are alive somewhere, I’m the only one who came for this Return. Mankind only has me. They needed brilliant, intelligent leaders,
but they received only Talenel.”
This time, Jasnah spoke honestly. “Taln, you do yourself injustice. What
do you think you are? An idiot of some sort? You’ve a clever mind, far
more intelligent than most of the men I’ve known. Why must you insist
on self-deprecation?”
“No self-deprecation, Jasnah,” Taln said. “Just truth. Three thousand
years has taught me some things, but the others . . . They are brilliant,
Jasnah. Ishar wrote all ten Arguments and founded a religion. Chanaral designed the Oathgates and the Shardblades. Bajerden wrote The Way of
Kings primarily based on the things he learned from Jezrien. Nale gave the Suur their Code, which became the standard of law throughout Roshar.
“The others weren’t just men, but geniuses—every one. Listen to their
names. Lightcall. Discerning. Holydawn. Timeless. What am I? Talenel
the Steadfast. That’s what I’ve always been. Reliable and stalwart, but not a leader. I am no man of great wisdom; I’m just a warrior. That’s why I was so eager to come find the others. They know what to do, how to organize
mankind. Without them . . .”
“Self-pity will serve you nothing, Taln,” Jasnah said. “You’re too quick to
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judge. Maybe the others left their swords here for good reason. Maybe they never died last time; maybe they’re still out there somewhere. You haven’t really looked yet—they may not even know you’re back.”
Taln sighed. “It is not self-pity I feel, Jasnah. Three mil ennia have helped me learn to avoid sullenness. However, the time has also taught me a few
things about the Khothen. The odds are not good. We have one Herald
instead of ten, and the few people who have come to know me best since
the Return began still think I am insane. One cannot consider such difficult events without some measure of sorrow.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Taln . . .” she said. Come back with me. Come to Alethkar and forget about your failure. It doesn’t matter.
Forget about your insanity. It wasn’t that easy. Instead,she asked, “Do you intend to continue with us?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I will have to consider it.
Things are . . . troubling.”
She didn’t press him, though she wanted to. It wasn’t her place. Hers was
in Alethkar, in a union that brought her power. Icy, comfortless power with the snide man who stood on the other side of the room, watching her and
Taln with the unveiled rage of jealousy.
So she left Taln sitting in the room, below the statue of a massive,
muscular man with a chiseled face and heroic expression. Taln the man,
sitting at the feet of Talenel the legend.
The aggregate army left Jorevan the next morning. Aneazer was
impressed to discover that they had an Awakener, and it seemed to increase their standing with him. He o
ffered to share some of his equipment with
Jasnah’s men, and she accepted gratefully—though she suspected Meridas
had something to do with the offer. Either way, Aneazer saw that each of
her men at least had a spear, if not a metal cap and leather jerkin. There were even some shields to spread around.
The despot lord and Meridas rode together, and Jasnah had trouble
thinking of a reason to command otherwise. Still, she was suspicious of
Meridas’s motives. If Elhokar and Dalenar really had gone to war, she had
little doubt as to which side Meridas would be on. That put him and her
at odds even more soundly, since she would back Dalenar in the conflict.
However, for the moment there was a greater threat. She could only
hope that her uncle and brother had realized that fact, and now resisted
the invaders together.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 677
Taln rode alone, rebuffing even Lhan’s attempts at conversation. He
didn’t leave the army, though Jasnah still feared that he might. When asked directly, he implied that he hadn’t decided whether to help her in Alethkar or not, claiming that the disputes of nations were none of his concern.
The army was still vaguely under Taln’s banner. Though Aneazer’s
troops were not religious zealots, but instead battle-hardened soldiers,
Aneazer himself had agreed to visibly accept Taln’s claim as a Herald. This didn’t change many of his men’s attitudes—they followed because they
believed that their lives would improve greatly once they were accepted
as Aleth citizens—but it did give a strong measure of legitimacy to Jasnah’s recruitment efforts. In addition, the more believing part of Jasnah’s forces were quick to tell stories of how Taln had singly defeated a thousand men
and had saved so many in Ral Eram. Slowly, his reputation even with
Aneazer’s soldiers began to swell.
Jasnah now had two methods of persuading men to join her banner—
they could either come to fight for the Herald they had heard rumors
of, or they could join in the hopes of earning a higher citizen rank when
Aneazer’s cities were folded into Alethkar. The combined prongs aided
them greatly in gathering forces, especially in Aneazer’s ‘tribute’ cities.
Soon their army was approaching six thousand in number, and Shale—their
Awakener—had to work constantly to provide grain to supplement what
they could get from trade and foraging.
Despite her success in recruitment, however, Jasnah rode with frustra-
tion. She worried for Alethkar. If Elhokar and Dalenar had gone to war
over the throne, then King Ahven could have exploited their weakness,
taking both armies when they were already fatigued. Most of the cities in
Alethkar would be undefended, and supplies would be scarce. She worried
about the people she knew. Who of her family still lived? What of Dalenar’s sons? Did Alethkar even still stand, or was she bringing her army to the
certain death of a conquered kingdom?
Taln worried her as well. Despite his noble words about avoiding
sullenness, he looked like he was doing a fair job of moping. She didn’t
know if it was because he thought his Heralds dead, or if there was a deeper reason—one derived from his failure to prove his delusions. Perhaps this
was the time to press him, to make him confront his insanity. Yet what if
his mind couldn’t take that much stress?
She wanted him back. But he would barely speak to her. He rode staring
into the distance, his mind working on problems she could only guess at.
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They approached the border to Alethkar, their scouts warned to watch
for organized resistance. They found none. The villages they soon located
knew nothing other than that Lord Dalenar had ridden to battle some
weeks before. Whatever was happening in the center of the kingdom, it
hadn’t reached such insignificant locations.
So they turned their bulky trail along the northern Chamaven ridge,
a line of stormlands that pointed directly east. At their current marching speed, they would reach Kholinar in less than a week.
There, Jasnah hoped to find answers.
chapter 73
SHINRI 14
The ocean air smelled odd to Shinri. There was a . . . coolness to it.
A purity. The gentle rocking of the waves was calming in its repetition.
It was so peaceful at times that she was almost able to ignore the twisting frustration she felt within.
The peace was a lie. Though the boats moved with a sluggish rocking,
their ponderous motions hid a demonic inevitability. They were taking her
back to Ahven. All of her attempts to escape, all of her planning and
her worrying, had been useless. In fact, her efforts had been worse than
useless—before her escape, she had at least been separated from him. Fate
was a gleeful satirist, taking her struggles and using them to bind her even more closely to the man she hated.
Though she sat primly on the deckside bench, wearing a new talla and shaded by a parasol, she felt as if she were drowning—as if she were tied
to a boulder and sinking beneath the waves, being pulled toward the black
depths despite her frantic struggles to swim back up.
You’re being foolish, Shinri told herself firmly. You’re going north, true, but you aren’t going to him. Merin won’t turn you over. In fact, he’ll probably leave you somewhere secure when he takes his armies to aid Alethkar.
But Merin didn’t understand King Ahven. Ahven was so powerful of
both mind and will. Merin had fought well on the Nanah docks, but he
was still just a boy. Ahven was something else. Something barely human,
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something more like Lady Jasnah—capable of manipulating the emotions
and politics of entire nations with frightening consistency.
Could Merin protect her? Shinri doubted it. Only distance would keep
her from Ahven Vedenel.
Several Lakhenran handmaidens sat beside her, and they suddenly began
whispering excitedly in their tongue. Shinri didn’t need to look to know
that Merin had emerged from his cabin. He walked the foredeck often,
obviously preferring the open sky to the confines of his quarters.
Shinri eyed the handmaidens, noting with dissatisfaction their dreamy
looks and giggling blushes. In a way, however, they had a right to their
idolization. They didn’t know Merin; to them, he was simply the handsome
young warrior who had so dramatically defeated five Shardbearers at
once. He had single-handedly ended thirty years of oppression, freeing
Lakhenran and restoring its monarchy. Sensational retel ings of that day had embel ished the truth, making it seem like Merin had flown with the winds
themselves, making hundred-foot leaps and striking down his foes with
ease. How could the girls not fawn over such a seemingly-legendary figure?
Shinri forced herself to look at him, studying the man Merin Kholin. He
wore new clothing, though—like always—he had kept the deep blue Kholin
cloak that didn’t quite fit him. He stood straight-backed and confident as he looked northward, several aides speaking quietly at his side. He had a
power too, though not the same kind as Ahven. Merin didn’t control events
consciously, but he had a habit of putting himself in extreme situations and surviving. Such people as
he created stories unintentionally, influencing the world by presence rather than design.
Of course, there was more to him than that. The stories told of that day
on the docks were exaggerated, but Shinri had been there to see the truth
behind them. She had seen Merin leap from the deck of a ship and land
safely on the wooden docks some twenty or thirty feet below. She had
seen him jump toward his enemies, covering an unnatural distance in the
air, then swing his Blade with inhuman power. He had sliced a man in
Shardplate completely in two, treating the Awakened metal as if it were
nothing more than common steel. Renarin had been right; Merin Kholin
was not a normal man. He was indeed both a fool and a hero.
And he was also her enemy.
There was no quibbling about this fact in her mind. Shinri’s captivity was unspoken, but it was real. Merin had refused her request to let her remain in Lakhenran, showing a hint of guilt in his eyes as he did so. He knew that she was no guest, nor just a lady beneath his protection. She was his prisoner. His tool.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 681
Yet he was not an undefeatable enemy—he was no Ahven, capable of
quelling her with a single glance. Beneath the hero, he was still a confused boy. Shinri could see the worries and uncertainties in his eyes. He was
growing more self-confident, of course, as his authority increased. That,
however, would only make him more vulnerable. Lady Jasnah had often said
that noblemen were far more easy to manipulate than peasants—peasants
would do what you said, true, but their simple honesty often made their
hearts difficult to sway. A nobleman learned to be more . . . compromising, and a man who compromised could be exploited. Citizens only had
one imperative—follow commands. Noblemen had to follow multiple
masters, and the reconciliation between their ethics, their beliefs, their commands, and their goals was another potential source of exploitation.
Shinri was fairly certain she had determined Merin’s weakness: his
honor. She watched him carefully, waiting for him to dismiss his aides.
He usually did so, eventually, for he liked to watch the waves alone. After a few moments, he waved the men away, then stepped forward to stand
beside the gunwale in his customary position.
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