The Awakeners emerged from their litters a few moments later. Taln was
disappointed when he noticed Lhan drawing back slightly in fear—not that
the reaction was unexpected. The Heralds had helped foster the current
sentiment regarding Awakeners, though they hadn’t intended it to go so
far. As long as the people were skeptical, it would be difficult for another Awakener-dominated empire to arise.
There were nearly three tensets of them—the collected Awakeners from
Elhokar, Dalenar, and Jasnah’s separate armies. Many were young to their
art, and manifested only the most trivial of physical changes—colored
finger nails or eyes, tinted skin, or the occasional crystalline manifestation.
A few, however, were in the more advanced stages. One man, probably a
Shin Pole, had completely translucent skin. Another Awakener was likely
aligned toward Kav, for they were beginning to grow a rockbud-like shell,
their fingers slowly growing together as their body changed from flesh
into wood. Repeatedly touching the Soul Tone of a particular Essence had
an effect on one’s own Tone, lethargically changing the harmonic within.
“Friends,” Taln said, bowing with respect. “I have come to thank you for
your efforts on behalf of my men.”
“What efforts?” a younger, female Balev Pole asked. “You give us gems
to touch; the goods you receive are simply a by-product.”
Taln smiled. “So you may claim,” he said. “So you’ve been taught to say;
but I know better. You are still men, Awakeners. You can feel that you
have been carelessly used, or you can feel that your skills are appreciated.
Regardless of whether or not you enjoy the work, it cannot be easy to
provide food and water for an army of twenty thousand.”
“That much,” the translucent agreed, “is true.” His voice was soft, like
a passing breeze, and his eyes—translucent though they were—bore a
deep wisdom. This one had not much time left; he was probably centuries
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old. Not old enough, unfortunately, to remember the last Return—no
Awakener lasted that long. However, perhaps they had seen or noticed
things that more short-lived men might have missed.
“I have a question for you, ancient ones,” Taln said. “You have lived
through many kings and wars. During the passing of decades, have you
ever felt a . . . weakness to your powers?”
Several of the Awakeners trailed away as he spoke, moving into their
tent and toward the gemstones undoubtedly placed within. Awakeners were
not known for their patience regarding mortal concerns—that which didn’t
interest them often got ignored.
The translucent-skinned man stayed, however, as did the younger Balev
Pole—marked by her slick, dark hair and glistening skin. The wood-
skinned Awakener—gender indistinguishable beneath the overlapping
sections of bark—moved over and settled down within earshot, but said
nothing.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” the translucent said. “What
do you mean by a ‘weakening?’”
“The old powers—the Epellion—disappeared centuries ago,” Taln said.
“I’m trying to discover what happened to them. I was once an Awakener
and a Stoneward, and both abilities seem lost to me now. It appears that
mankind can’t use Stonewarding either—but they can Awaken. I want to
know if the second power is diminishing to them in any way.”
“You were an Awakener?” the young woman asked, frowning skepti-
cally.
“It is a matter of historical record that all of the Heralds could Awaken,”
Taln said. “It doesn’t change our Soul Tones like it does yours. We have . . .
a certain resiliency to such things.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, folding her arms and pursing her lips in
disapproval. No, Awakeners were hardly inhuman. Save for her skin, this
young lady could have been a woman of the court—she was probably some
nobleman’s daughter.
“The old powers were mere legends when I was a boy, young man,” the translucent finally answered. “I don’t know what you wish to discover from us. I have not grown weaker in Awakening, but rather grown stronger as
I practiced. The tones grow more tempting each time I touch them, and
it is increasingly difficult to bring my own soul back into harmony at the end. No, there is no weakness here. Whatever ails you, it is an individual problem.”
Taln nodded his thanks, and the remaining Awakeners trailed away—
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 759
except for the wood-skinned Awakener, who remained squatting where
they were even as Taln left.
It had been Taln’s intention to skip the evening feast altogether.
Jasnah or Meridas could satisfy the fool Intara—Taln’s place was with his
men. However, when he arrived at his pavilion, he found a messenger from
the city waiting patiently by the tent door.
“My lord Intara wished me to escort you personally to the feast, Lord
Herald,” the tall man explained, bowing. “He has reserved a place for you
beside him at the lord’s table. He is very eager to speak with you.”
Taln frowned. “Tell your lord that I am a soldier, not a courtier. I have
no place at a feast—if Intara wishes to know about me, he can give my
place to the monk, Lhan, and speak with him.” Lhan had gone to his own
tent to make preparations—the monk wasn’t about to miss out on a lavish
meal, regardless of the circumstances.
“My lord was very insistent,” the messenger said, not stepping away from
Taln’s doorway. “He implied that if you personally do not attend the feast, then he will consider it a violation of his agreement to let your armies
camp here.”
Agreement? Taln thought. All I remember is an ultimatum.
“Very well,” Taln said with a sigh. “Lead the way.”
The messenger paused. “Don’t you wish to change, my lord?”
Taln looked down. He wore the same rough riding clothing as always,
his shoulders hung with the functional, but drab, cloak he had been given
in the monastery all those months before. “No, this will do,” Taln said. “If Lord Intara wishes to force a soldier to attend his feast, then a soldier he will get.”
The messenger sighed, then nodded for Taln to follow. The sky was only
beginning to darken in the east—apparently, Lord Intara liked to start
his parties early. Taln shook his head critically as the messenger led him through the gates and into the city itself. Teth-Kanar might have been
built on the same rocks as the legendary city whose name it shared, but
the two had little else in common. Kanar had been a majestic creation, a
metropolis in a time when populations were scattered and often nomadic.
Teth-Kanar, however, was run-down and poorly maintained. Cromstone
grew unrestrained on most of the buildings, and there was a sense of
abandonment to many of them. Teth-Kanar was a large city, true, but it was a place of alleys and beggars. The poor clogged nearly every corner, hands outstretched, eyes hollow.
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This sort of thing isn’t supposed to be able to happen, Taln thought with disgust as they approached the palace at the center of the ci
ty. Bad rulers are not supposed to prosper—the Right of Movement allows his people to seek a better life elsewhere. As his population decreases, so should his rank. This man should not be a Third Lord.
There were flaws in every system, however, and Teth-Kanar was obvi-
ously one of them. Taln was curious to know how Intara maintained such
a large population while at the same time proving himself incompetent.
Perhaps it was simply location—the Bay of Kanar was one of the finest
ports in the area, and had historically been Alethkar’s main thoroughfare
for international trade. Apparently, even a wasteful fool could keep up his population while in possession of such a fine location.
Taln walked up the palace steps, expecting to find lavish wastefulness
inside. Selfish lords tended to enjoy the purchase of extravagant decorations, and would spend money with ridiculous pomposity even while their people
starved.
Taln was quite surprised, then, when the entry hallway proved to be
rather inconspicuous. In fact, if anything, the palace chambers looked even more unkempt than the city streets. The few tapestries were faded and
worn, and the carpets were frayed. Only about a third of the wall-lamps
were lit, and many were missing. As he turned down a side hallway, Taln
reached out and brushed his fingers against the ridges of a column. They
came back tipped with dust.
This isn’t a man who cares only about himself, Taln realized. It’s a man who has stopped caring about anything.
Except feasts, apparently. Taln could already hear the sound of clanking
dishes and murmured conversation from ahead. The hallway grew brighter
until it burst into a massive dining room, lit by enormous hearths at each corner. There was a primitive, unrefined feel to the chamber. The haphazard arrangement of tables, mixed with ruddy hearthlight and ununiformed
servants, made for quite a contrast from the other contemporary feasts Taln had seen. Even Elhokar’s dueling competition had felt far more formal—
everyone there had been restrained, sitting in their appointed places or
standing in pre-arranged viewing sections. Like most of what Taln had
seen of Aleth culture, the competition had been designed to minimize
chaos and maximize occasions for political fraternizing.
Not so here. Intara’s feast felt more like something Taln would have seen
two thousand years before, when visiting the uncivilized people in what
would eventually become Riemak. Large platters of food were distributed
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 761
with very little variation between masculine and feminine dishes, and the
room was stuffed with performers and minstrels.
The messenger led Taln to a table near the front of the room where, as
promised, Intara sat with an open seat beside him. Lord Dalenar sat near
the other end of the table, watching the evening’s proceedings with obvious disapproval. Jasnah was correct—the new Aleth king was a good man. A
little too conscious of formality for Taln’s taste, but in this case they shared a sentiment. The feast was a waste of time.
“Ah, Lord Herald,” Intara said, standing as Taln approached. “I am
honored that you chose to attend.”
Taln raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t given a choice.”
“Ah, perhaps,” Intara said, gesturing toward Taln’s seat. “But it isn’t nice to point such things out. Please, seat yourself.”
Taln paused, then sighed, sitting.
Intara smiled broadly, returning to his own seat. “I couldn’t let you stay in camp, Lord Herald,” the man explained. “You see, I mostly threw this
particular feast for your benefit—or, at least, to get you here.”
“And why is that?” Taln asked.
“Well, it isn’t often that a man gets to meet a Herald,” the short man
said. He still hadn’t shaved, and his clothing—upon closer examination—
looked about as worn as some of the tapestries. “I heard that you were
accompanying the army here, of course—even one such as I cannot ignore
an army of twenty thousand men marching upon his city. When I heard
who you were, I realized what an opportunity I had. You see, I have been
without a spiritual advisor for some time, as the local monks refuse to attend my feasts any more. I never imagined that I would have the opportunity to
speak with an actual Herald.”
Taln sat quietly, trying to sort through the man’s eager words. Intara
actually seemed . . . excited. There was no irony or mockery in his words.
Taln blinked in surprise. “You believe my claims that I am a Herald?”
Intara didn’t even pause. “Wel , of course,” he said. “I mean, it’s been some time since we had a Return—nine hundred and eighty years! I’ve been
expecting that you would come sooner or later. I haven’t studied much in
recent years, ever since my . . . problems began, but I used to be very fond of history. Tell me, where are the others? Your brethren and sister?”
Taln sat, dumbfounded. Months of fighting against disbelief had condi-
tioned him so that he wasn’t certain how to respond to someone who was
actually willing to believe.
But, of all the people I’ve met this Return, why did it have to be him ?
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“I don’t know what happened to them,” Taln said, still a bit uncertain
whether Intara was honest or not. “I located their Shardblades, all buried at the Holy City. They must have returned, as I have, but is very strange
this time. Their Blades should have disappeared when they died a thousand
years ago—I don’t know, however, since I died before anyone else.”
“Ah,” Intara said. “That’s right—the Battle of Veletal, only three months
into the Return. You were killed when the Stormshades surrounded and
overran the keep.”
“That’s right,” Taln said.
“Odd how they singled that keep out for attack,” Intara said. “I always
found the move to be strange—it wasn’t really a strategic point in the
battle, and moving to Veletal in such numbers cost them some serious
losses elsewhere.”
I can’t believe I’m having this conversation, Taln thought. The background noise of minstrels and balladesses faded. Jasnah had come to care for him, and Kemnar obviously respected his ability to fight, but neither actually
believed he was sane.
“The Stormshades are coming, then?” Intara asked.
Taln nodded. “In a little over half a year,” he said. “And mankind isn’t
ready.”
“We never are,” Intara said. “But, if that is the case, what are you doing here? Why fight for Alethkar? Don’t you have better things you should be
doing?”
Taln glanced unconsciously toward Jasnah. She was back in her element,
the regal noblewoman, perfectly in control, flawlessly beautiful. “I have
certain . . . obligations,” he said, turning back to Intara. “Besides, I have had some trouble gaining momentum this Return. Alethkar’s leaders have
promised to support my preparations if I lend them aid in this battle.”
“But,” Intara said, frowning. “The Aleth army is doomed. Even I can see
that—the men are exhausted, a lot of them wounded, and Vedenar has a
far larger force.”
“I have fought for causes far more hopeless,” Taln said. Like every time I support mankind against the Khothen. “What comes will come. Is this why you wished to speak with me? To ask about the
upcoming battle?”
Intara blushed. “Well, no,” he admitted. “I have something of a more
personal question, and I thought you might be able to answer. I was just
wondering—why hasn’t the Almighty killed me?”
Taln paused. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve tried to be a poor leader,” Intara said. “Though it wasn’t intentional
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 763
at first—I really wasn’t all that rational after my wife died. I thought the feasts would dull the pain, so I became a drunkard and an idler.
“Months had passed before I realized I really wasn’t suffering much from
my excesses. In fact, I felt healthier than I ever had—and that was wrong.
You see, I wanted to suffer. I needed to suffer. But He wouldn’t let me. So, I decided to see how far I could go before He struck me down. I made
the parties more and more lavish. I drank myself stupid every evening. I
ignored the duties of my station. In fact, I started using The Way of Kings as a guide book—taking all the things Bajerden taught, and trying to do
the reverse.
“Only, it didn’t work. My parties created a booming industry, and
attracted merchants from across Roshar. My feasts were piled with food far beyond what my attendees could eat, and so the extra was distributed to
the needy the next morning—and as soon as word of that got out, fleets
of the poor began coming to my city, increasing my numbers even further.
Rather than destroying Teth-Kanar, I raised it up from a Fourth City to
a Third!”
Intara sat back, shaking his head. “And, through it all, I couldn’t make
my body waste away. Alcohol barely seems to affect me anymore, and I
always have energy, no matter how much I eat or starve. I can’t seem to get fat—though I’ve tried, trust me. I’ve attracted every useless, idle, fool of a nobleman in the nation—and not a single one has had the decency to have
me assassinated so he can take my place.” The short man sighed, waving
his hand toward the feasting people. “I mean, look at this. It’s ridiculous!
You are a Herald of the Almighty—you have spoken with Him. You know
Him. What does a man have to do before he gets a little divine judgement?”
Taln frowned, studying the nobleman. “What happened?” he asked
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