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Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]

Page 105

by The Way of Kings Prime (ALTERNATIVE VERSION) (pdf)


  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—

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  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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