“That close?” Jasnah asked with surprise.
Taln nodded. “They’re camped near the Rift of Northal, due east. The
scouts mark their numbers at just over twenty thousand.”
So few! Jasnah thought with concern. “The Veden army?”
“Camped on the other side of the rift, obviously waiting to move until
your brother does.” He paused. “The invaders have a force about twice the
size of your brother’s army.”
Jasnah closed her eyes. Strength. At least they still live. “Is Lord Dalenar with them?” she asked, opening her eyes, keeping her voice firm.
“Both flags fly,” Taln said. “We can assume they’re both there.”
Jasnah nodded. “Thank you, Lord Herald. I rarely get the scout reports
in a timely manner, these days.”
“I know,” Taln said. He appeared to have nothing more to say, but he did
not leave. The silence soon became awkward. Eventually, he turned from
her, moving to walk back toward his command group.
“Taln,” she said after him, making him pause. “I haven’t . . . been with
him. Our arrangement is political, not physical.”
Taln turned. He stepped closer. “We made our decisions, Jasnah,” he said
softly. “Even though I didn’t realize what I was agreeing to at the time, I hold to it. What you do is for the good of Alethkar, and what I do is for
the good of all Roshar. I learned long ago that the love of one cannot be
allowed to overrule the love of all. What good would my affection be if
it came with the taint of an entire race abandoned?”
Jasnah nodded, keeping back tears. She wished that she could make it
work, that she could have everything—the safety of Alethkar, the love of
Taln, and the willingness to ignore his madness.
Unfortunately, for the first time in her life, she had finally found some-
thing that she couldn’t manipulate, contrive, or undo. Taln wouldn’t be bent by her, and that made him all the more precious.
“You will always have my heart, Jasnah,” he said softly. “However, Roshar
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 743
must always have my sword.” He nodded to her with a slight half-bow, then
turned and walked back toward the front of the army.
They found Dalenar’s army just after midday. Jasnah watched through
the side of her litter as they approached, expecting to see relieved enthusiasm from Elhokar’s men. Instead, the men gave only wan, half-hearted cheers.
Many of them didn’t even do that much—they simply stood and watching
as her troop entered their midst. Their faces were marked with fatigue
and depression. They looked as if they didn’t have the will to celebrate,
especially since her force was obviously too small to save them outright.
What have these men been through? Jasnah thought with horror as her bearers carried her into the center of camp. The men seemed half-dead,
their eyes empty and fatigued.
She knocked for her bearers to put her down, then pushed her drapes
open fully. “See if you can locate my brother or Lord Dalenar,” she ordered one of the men.
The lead bearer nodded, moving off. Jasnah sat patiently, waiting for a
response. The five hours of marching had done her good, allowing her to
reaffirm her internal logic. Everything had grown . . . messy with Taln’s
arrival in Alethkar. She couldn’t afford to let herself grow distracted—
the kingdom would need her focused if they were to overcome current
threats.
Minutes passed before her bearer returned. His face was troubled. “My
lady,” he said. “I believe . . . you should come see this.”
She found him at the edge of the camp, sitting apart from the tents
and main body of troops. A crowd of noblemen and attendants waited
a respectful distance away, and she ordered her litter bearers to put her
down near Lord Echathen. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised to
find the Khardin lord in the camp—he had always been one of Dalenar’s
closest friends.
“How long?” she asked Echathen as she disengaged herself from the
litter.
“It happened at sunrise,” the man replied. “None of us knew about
the duel—they must have arranged it in secret. By the time any of us knew
what had happened . . .”
Jasnah nodded, then slowly walked across the cool stones. A figure sat
quietly on a boulder, Shardblade stuck into the ground before him. Beside
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the blade lay a corpse in golden Shardplate, blood forming a small lake
around it.
Dalenar looked up at her with tired eyes. “Jasnah,” he said. “I’ve killed
your bother.”
Jasnah steeled herself, and looked into the face of the dead king. Dalenar hadn’t closed her brother’s eyes—they stared up, as if accusatory, from
within a pain-frozen face. She found herself feeling an odd sense of closure, mixed with a surprising stab of grief. Elhokar had proven himself to be a
horrible man, but he had been her brother. She couldn’t completely divorce the man who had betrayed her from the young boy she had loved. A boy
she had protected, it appeared, long after he deserved the attention.
“I trained him in the sword, you know,” Dalenar said quietly, still looking down at Elhokar. “I knew his strengths, and I knew his weaknesses. He was
good, as you know, but he was never a clever enough fighter. He insisted
upon forms that didn’t suit him. Passion will only get you so far.”
Jasnah looked up at the grief in the aged Parshen’s voice. Not Parshen any longer, Jasnah realized. King.
“I told myself I’d let him win, for the good of Alethkar,” Dalenar con-
tinued. “No. Not for Alethkar. For Nolhonarin. I decided that I would die
for the love I bore my brother. The army needed one leader. Better Elhokar than me, I reasoned. He’d learned much during these last few weeks. I was
certain he would be a better king in the future.”
He turned to her, finally looking away from Elhokar’s dead face. “But,
you see, I couldn’t do it. In the end, I remembered Aredor. It turns out I loved my son more than my brother, Jasnah.”
Jasnah reached out, laying a hand on his Plated shoulder. “Dalenar . . .”
she said quietly. “There was no other way for this to end. Alethkar didn’t need him—it never did. It does need you, however.”
“You should hate me,” Dalenar replied. It was almost a request.
Jasnah shook her head. “He had me imprisoned, Uncle. He killed my
guard, Nelshenden—a man as good and honorable as any I have known.
Elhokar did it to keep his secret quiet, a secret my men and I discovered.
Jezenrosh never tried to have my brother killed—Elhokar orchestrated
the assassination attempt himself. He hired a group of men and had some
of them impersonate Jezenrosh’s Shardbearers, all so he would have an
excuse to go to war. You are not to be blamed for ridding the kingdom of
such a king.”
Dalenar nodded. “I suspected he had done something like that,” he said.
“He had been planning the attack on Crossguard for some time—apparently,
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 745
Jezenrosh was spreading rumors that the Traitor didn’t kill your father, and that the war in Prallah was negotiated on a lie.”
Jasnah frowned. “That’s foolishness. Balenmar was there when father
died—he witnessed the traitor’s betrayal.”
Dalenar nodded. “I don’t think Elhokar believed his cousin, but he did
fear the rumors. Feared them deeply. Your brother was not a . . . tolerant man.”
“Come back to the camp, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “Alethkar still needs you.
The army is a mess; the soldiers need to see you strong and confident. You’ll need to formally assume the throne—we’ll have Brother Lhan give you
the Vorin blessing and the ladies prepare an appropriate glyphward. Then
we need to get moving. That Veden army isn’t going to sit and wait on the
other side of that crack forever.”
Dalenar sighed, then nodded, rising. Had he looked so old before? His
body still bore the firm physique of a warrior, but his face seemed far more aged than she remembered. He hadn’t shaven this day, and his stubble was
coming in grey.
He straightened as he walked, however. Dalenar was a man who under-
stood duty. Responsibility would not pull him down, no matter how heavily
it weighed upon him.
Jasnah paused as they walked back, turning to look one final time at her
brother’s corpse. It lay in the shadow of the boulder, and the gilding seemed wan without the light to sparkle it. The once-golden metal was scarred and dried with blood.
In her experience, summer sunsets were rarely as spectacular as one
expected.
chapter 83
DALENAR 10
Though Elhokar was gone, his parting gift to Alethkar was the
crack in the ground he had placed between the Aleth forces and their
pursuers—and that move translated to a two-day lead on the Vedens.
It was amazing how much difference that made. The threat of destruc-
tion still loomed behind, of course. However, the mixture of an enemy
made unseen and a slackened pace caused a remarkable change in Dalenar’s
army.
Or perhaps it was the company. Dalenar stood watching the so-called
‘Herald’ leading his men in daily spear training. The man was an impressive fighter, and an equally capable instructor. There was something about him
that commanded attention—he bore a natural charisma of optimistic
leadership that Dalenar found himself envying.
A rustling of silk announced Jasnah’s arrival. The woman stepped
up beside Dalenar, arriving at the appointed time. The day was a warm
one, still a little humid from the morning’s highstorm, but morale was
improving despite the wet weather. Talenel—or Taln, as Jasnah called
him—had chosen a relatively flat space near the center of camp to do his
training. Hundreds of men clogged the area, split into square sub-groups,
each beneath the tutelage of a Taln-approved leader. The Herald himself
moved among the groups, giving examples and training.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 747
“He’s good,” Dalenar noted, “but I don’t know that I like entrusting the
training of my men to a madman.”
Jasnah smiled faintly. “I know how you feel, Uncle. But I can promise
that Taln is trustworthy. His . . . condition has remarkably little effect on his capabilities.”
Dalenar didn’t abandon his frown.
“It would help morale greatly if you would endorse him, Uncle,” Jasnah
noted.
“I will not lie to my men, Jasnah.”
“They need something to believe in,” she said. “Dalenar, we face terrible
odds, and our men know it. They need to believe that the Almighty favors
them, otherwise they’ll think that failure is inevitable.”
Dalenar shifted uncomfortably as Jasnah mentioned the Almighty.
Her atheism was not a topic the two of them discussed, but if she was
determined not to believe, couldn’t she at least refrain from using the men’s faith as another of her tools?
Dalenar shook his head. “I won’t do it, Jasnah. I will not endorse a false Herald. I will honor the oaths you gave in my name—I will let him train,
I will let him preach . . . I will even let you prepare Alethkar if we survive this war. I won’t lie about my beliefs, however.”
Jasnah sighed, turning toward the training. “It doesn’t matter,” she
finally said. “They’ll believe even without your endorsement. The rumors
are already circulating. You’ve noticed an improvement in your men, haven’t you? They’ve heard of the assault on Ral Eram and Taln’s fight there. They know that he defeated a thousand men on his own, and that he led us to a
cache of nine Shardblades in the Holy City. They want to believe, Uncle.
I’ve come to realize that hope is far more powerful than despair.”
Dalenar sighed, but made no response—he knew better than to argue
with Jasnah when she used that voice. “What is the state of the army?” he
asked instead.
“Not good,” she said. “The men are moderately well-equipped, but
many of Elhokar’s soldiers discarded their armor sometime during your
flight. We’re running low on sapphires, and the Awakeners are feeling
pensive. They seem to think that you don’t like them.”
“I don’t,” Dalenar said flatly. “You went and spoke with them?”
“Of course I did,” Jasnah said. “They’re people, Uncle, just like us.”
Hardly like us. Hardly even people, anymore. He let her continue, however.
“Some of your men are malnourished,” she said. “I don’t think they’ve
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been eating properly these last few weeks—perhaps they didn’t see the
point. Anyway, I’ve ordered the squad captains to maintain strict watch on the men during meal times. Every man is required to eat what is given to
him. Awakener-made grain may not be the most appetizing of foods, but
it will keep a man healthy.”
Dalenar nodded his thanks. Jasnah’s presence in the army made a
subtle, yet far-reaching, difference. It wasn’t that Dalenar or his aides were incompetent. Jasnah and her attendants just provided something special.
Her organizational skills and logical mind made her an ideal military
strategist and administrator. When Dalenar had offered her control of
the daily coordination of the separate armies, she had accepted with as
much eagerness as he had ever seen her display. Apparently, she had been
regulated to a somewhat perfunctory position in the Herald’s Army; and
if there was one thing Jasnah Kholin loathed, it was being ‘perfunctory.’
Ahead, the man Taln paused as a group of soldiers pulled him aside,
obviously making some sort of request. Dalenar watched half-interested
until Taln pulled out his Shardblade and handed it to one of the soldiers.
He then took the man’s spear, and waved the soldier to attack him.
“What is that man doing?” Dalenar asked with a frown.
“Hmm?” Jasnah asked, looking up from the list in her hands. “Oh, that’s
one of the soldiers’ favorite lessons. He’s been teaching them how to defend against a Shardblade.”
As Dalenar watched, the soldier stepped forward in a controlled, slow
motion, and Taln demonstrated knocking the Shardblade aside by hitting
it on the flat of the blade with the haft of his spear. The two repeated this several times for the onlookers, then the soldier backed up and attacked
with an unrestrained blow. Taln pushed the Shardblade aside as casually as another man might brush away an offending lock of hair.
No man
can be that good, Dalenar thought uncomfortably. The display must be staged—Shardblades were too dangerous to risk such a sparring
match, even in a controlled environment. Yet the attacker didn’t seem to be holding back, and his motions didn’t seem to follow any particular pattern.
The madman knocked aside every strike.
Once the display was finished, the madman jogged over to the side of the
practice yard and retrieved a bundle of what appeared to be swords. Dalenar watched with increasing trepidation as Taln handed them out to half of the soldiers in the group, then had the others practice knocking the weapons
aside as if they were Shardblades.
“He’s giving them swords,” Dalenar pointed out.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 749
“Yes,” Jasnah said without looking up from her list. “He does that
sometimes.”
“Those men aren’t noblemen,” Dalenar said.
“He’s not letting them carry the weapons, or even use them in combat—
he just uses them for practice. You can forbid him, if you want. He’ll do
as you ask.”
She was probably right. The madman had been admirably cautious about
overstepping his authority. However, the Riemak soldiers weren’t as tactful.
They continued to refer to themselves as the Herald’s Army, despite their
integration into the Aleth army. They seemed to hold themselves up as
some sort of elite force, though they had far less training or experience
than Dalenar’s regular troops. He worried about his authority in com-
manding them; their loyalty seemed to be to the man who had gathered
and trained them, not the kingdom that might get them killed.
Though is it any wonder they respect him so? Dalenar thought. If he can turn Blades with such ease, perhaps some of the other stories are true as well.
“He certainly is an interesting man,” Dalenar said.
Jasnah smiled slightly, looking up. “Yes. Taln is . . . a unique find.”
“But,” Dalenar cautioned. “We mustn’t rely on him too much. Do not
forget that his sanity is suspect.”
“Oh, trust me, Uncle,” Jasnah said quietly. “That is one thing I’m not likely to forget.”
Dalenar frowned, a thought occurring to him. “Perhaps . . . perhaps he
isn’t mad at all. Have you wondered whether it all is an act? Claiming to
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 103
