quietly.
“What happened when? With my parties? You can see for yourself—I
keep making them bigger, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.”
“No,” Taln corrected. “What happened to make you this way?”
Intara paused. “My wife died,” he finally said.
“Many men have lost those they love,” Taln said. “They don’t react like
this. What really happened?”
Intara looked away. He didn’t respond at first. “I don’t see what that
matters,” he finally said.
“It does,” Taln replied.
Intara reached out, fiddling idly with a knife on the tabletop, spinning
it around on one of the rivets that held the wood to the steel. “What
764
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
happened?” he asked. “She loved me, that’s what happened. She loved
me too much, far more than I deserved. I never bothered with her, you
see. Those were the days of the old king—good, just Nolhonarin, a man
who demanded much of himself and twice that from his lords. I traveled
everywhere, visiting his court, bringing his wisdom to my vassals. I was
a young man then, eager to prove I wasn’t just the quiet scholar everyone
whispered me to be.
“And still she loved me. I saw her perhaps one day out of ten, and she did not hate me for it, but admired my dedication to my people.” He paused,
looking at Taln. “I’ve often wondered something, Lord Herald. Is it possible for a man to so fill his life with important things that he doesn’t have time enough left for the ones that are vital?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Taln answered honestly. Something about the man’s
words, however, left him feeling strangely guilty. Had he not spent his
life—all three thousand years of it—serving those things that were vital?
Was not the survival of mankind vital?
“I ignored that which I should have loved most of all, Lord Herald,”
Intara said. “I even took a mistress in Ral Eram—not because I loved her,
but because she excited me, and it made me feel politically powerful. I
don’t know if my wife knew about the mistress, but I think she did. Either way, she loved me despite it. She loved me right up until . . .” he trailed off, looking away again.
“I wasn’t there when it happened,” he said. “But my steward related her
final words. Do you know what they were? Do you know what she had the
gall to tell me? She said ‘Tell my lord that I love him. And that I forgive him.’”
He fell silent. “And, wel , that brings us here,” Intara finally said, feigning nonchalance. “The monks teach that when good men die, they go to the
Dwelling to be with those they love. Well, if that’s so, then I have to make certain I don’t go there. I couldn’t face her, not knowing the kind of man I was. I won’t have it, Lord Herald. Now, you tell me. What must I do
to ensure that I am punished as I deserve? What further steps must I take?
Must I stop giving food to the poor? I haven’t been able to force myself to do that as of yet—why make them suffer just so that I can die? But if you
say it is necessary, I shall do it. The sooner I am gone, the sooner they shall have a finer man to be their lord anyway.”
Taln folded his hands on the tabletop. Theology wasn’t exactly his
specialty—better that Ishar had been here to speak with the poor, confused
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 765
lord. Unfortunately, Ishar wasn’t to be found—neither were Balear or Prael.
Only Taln.
“I don’t think the Almighty works like you’re assuming He does,” Taln
said as a tall, red-haired serving man refilled Intara’s goblet. “If you were Him, what would you do?”
“About a lord with my excesses?” Intara asked, nodding his thanks to
the serving man. “I’d strike him down immediately. Make him die of some
wasting sickness, caused by too much drinking.”
“And what would that accomplish?” Taln asked. “I don’t know, Intara.
I’ve always been more of a soldier than a philosopher, but even I can see
that the Almighty isn’t likely to respond when men make selfish demands
of Him.”
“Asking Him to kill me is selfish?” Intara asked.
“Of course it is,” Taln said. “Especially if He has something else He
wants you to do. You complain that you ignored your wife, focusing only
on yourself. Well, I don’t see you doing much better now.”
Intara sat thoughtfully. “So what should I be doing instead?”
Taln groped for answers. Say something wise—this is the only lord you’ve met who actually believes in you.
“I don’t know,” Taln said. “You seem like you have a great understanding
of history—you said yourself that men thought you a scholar. What hap-
pened to that curiosity? A man with a firm knowledge of the past could be
a great help in the dangerous times to come.”
Intara cocked his head. Then he waved over a courier beside the wall
and whispered a short message. The courier walked down the table and
related the message to a younger man sitting near Lord Dalenar. Taln didn’t recognize the man—he wasn’t a member of their army. Probably one of
Intara’s regular feasters.
The young man stood and walked the length of the table, pausing beside
Intara, frowning in confusion.
“Lord Herald, this is my nephew, Netis,” Intara said. “He’s a fine boy—
my heir, since I have no sons of my own. Netis, the Lord Herald just told
me to go to Thalenah and become a stormkeeper. I leave this evening. You
are now Lord of Teth-Kanar.”
The boy started. “Now?” he asked incredulously. “You make me wait five
years, then you give me the city the night before we’re about to be destroyed by the Vedens?”
“Oh, don’t whine so,” Intara said, standing. “The Lord Herald says you
766
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
might actually win—though if you do, I’ll have wasted a good funeral feast.
Anyway, I guess I’ll be going.”
“Now?” Taln asked.
“Why not?” Intara asked.
“It might be bad for morale to have the lord of the city flee the night
before battle,” Taln pointed out.
Intara paused. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t think about that—I’m not much of
a warrior, if you didn’t notice. Very wel , then. Netis, I’ll abdicate tomorrow, after the battle. Go sit back down, and don’t tell anyone of this.”
The young man rolled his eyes—apparently, he was accustomed to
dealing with Intara’s ways.
Taln sighed as the lord sat back down. Might as well eat, he thought, turning, finally, to the lavish meal Intara had prepared. As he did so, he noticed a newcomer walk into the room. He had the clothing of a merchant,
but he walked with the fluid step of a warrior. Of course, that wasn’t rare for a man of his race.
Strange, Taln thought, heaping some glazed pork onto his plate. I wonder what a Shin man is doing in town.
chapter 85
JEK 13
Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, stood from his table. The
mission was a failure. Ahven’s spies in the city had informed the king
of the upcoming feast, and he had sent Jek to spy on Dalenar and Jasnah.
Jek was supposed to have gathered what information he could, particularly
about their battle plans, by placing himself close to the lord’s table and eavesdropping on the
conversations.
Obviously, Ahven hadn’t understood what kind of feast it was to be. Jek
could barely hear men at his own table, let alone those at the lord’s table.
In order to overhear what Lord Dalenar or Lady Jasnah were saying, Jek
would practically have had to stand behind their chairs. His internal sense of scope, the thing that kept him from taking outrageous risks lest he get himself killed and fail in his service, whispered that even coming to this feast had been a foolhardy act. His connection to Ahven was well-known
in the Veden camps. If his description reached the Aleth and someone
made a connection . . .
But he could only do as his master commanded. He had come. However,
there would be no report—he had heard nothing of particular interest.
Lord Dalenar didn’t even want to be at the feast; it was unlikely he would discuss any of his battle plans with the infamously negligent Lord Intara.
Jek made his way toward the room’s exit. Ahven would not be pleased.
The Veden king had asked Jek to take special notice of the songs the various
768
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
lords requested of the feast’s balladesses—however, there were no ballads
being sung. Or, rather, there were tensets of them being sung—all by
separate minstrels or performers who stood beside individual tables. Jek
couldn’t distinguish one song from the next—he would be able to provide
no new clues of personality for Ahven to pick apart and analyze.
Jek paused by the door, giving the feast hall one final glance before
retreating. And at that moment, he saw something that nearly made his
heart stop.
Standing at the lord’s table, wearing servant’s clothing and pouring wine
for the important men of Alethkar, stood Ahven Vedenel.
Jek stood frozen by the door, watching the king with stunned eyes. No
one in the room was paying Ahven any attention, except to demand more
wine. And Ahven did as requested, moving with the alacrity of a trained
servant, keeping his head down and his posture slumped—though he did
keep his eyes up, watching lips as he moved.
It’s a good thing the room is so noisy, Jek thought. He’ll have an excuse as to why he didn’t hear those who call for wine.
It was ridiculous; it was foolhardy; it was insane. But there he was,
moving to Lord Dalenar’s side and refilling the Aleth king’s own goblet.
And yet, as Jek watched, he realized that it would have taken quite a fluke for someone who didn’t know Ahven personally to connect this subservient
wine-pourer with the Idiot King of Vedenar. Ahven did an admirable job
of disguising himself, both in appearance and in posture. And, this close
to Prallah—with its less-uniform breeding stock—a man with red hair was
not so unusual as one would be in central Alethkar.
He spent thirty years passing himself off as an idiot, Jek thought. He knows a few things about disguise. The king’s idiot façade then had been flawless enough to fool even Jek, who had training from the finest Shin masters.
Even still, coming to Teth-Kanar was a foolish move. Ahven’s army
was still a couple hour’s march from the city—if the king happened to be
recognized, or somehow got into trouble . . .
Ahven looked up as he poured, noticing Jek, and nodded toward the
doorway with a covert gesture. Jek stepped outside and sought a shadowed
alcove. Ahven joined him a few minutes later.
Jek stood for a moment, uncertain how to begin. Ahven, however, was
at no loss for words.
“She’s here,” the king said with intensity. “I had to be certain.”
“Who?” Jek asked.
“Jasnah Kholin,” Ahven said with a soft, concerned voice.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 769
Jek frowned, and he had to catch the king’s attention again before
speaking. “What is it about that woman that frightens you so?” he said.
“You’ve been unnaturally fixated upon her ever since this campaign began.”
Ahven paused. “The seers told me that either I would destroy her or
she would destroy me,” he said, glancing toward the feast chamber. “She
worried me even before that, assassin. The woman is crafty. Without her,
there would be no Alethkar as we know it today—she was the force behind
her father’s throne, the true reason for his victories. She was the only thing that kept that fool Elhokar from making a disaster of his Pralir campaign.
Dalenar I can face. The man Meridas I can defeat. Jasnah Kholin . . . she
troubles me.”
“Troubles you enough to get yourself captured?” Jek asked pointedly.
“Why did you come to Teth-Kanar? You sent me to be your eyes.”
Ahven shook his head. “You cannot see as I can, assassin. You cannot . . .
hear, as I hear.”
“There is nothing to hear,” Jek said. “No ballads were played this evening.”
“Ah, but that is not true,” Ahven corrected. “There are minstrels aplenty, each one seeking recognition from a lord or lady to further their career.
Those with courage approach the lord’s table and ask if they may play a
song—Dalenar himself has been forced to request two this evening.”
Jek frowned. Ahven has been here that long? Why didn’t I notice him before?
“But songs aren’t the only way,” Ahven continued. “No, they are just
one sign. Watch a man—watch how he reacts, what decisions he makes,
and you will know him. What does he think of this feast? Does he find it
too loud, or does he enjoy himself? How does he deal with the battle on
the morrow, and the knowledge that he is outnumbered? That will affect
how he leads his men. These are the things I must know, for tomorrow
will be vital. I will face Jasnah Kholin—and, regardless of the armies and Shardbearers, she and I will be the ones who battle.”
Jek’s frown deepened. Ahven had an over-inflated view of one person’s
place in events—perhaps it was because he thought himself so influential.
The king made it sound as if none of the other warriors had anything to
do with victory and loss. If that were the case, then what was the purpose of having a larger army than one’s foe?
“I must return,” Ahven said, holding up the wine pitcher again. “I am
playing the role of a simpleton from Riemak, taken in by Dalenar’s army
as a refugee. There are so many strangers in the city that the palace cooks were willing to accept my story—they are short-handed. Intara throws
many feasts, but this one is extravagant even for him.”
770
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
Jek paused. His oaths prompted him to speak. “I suggest that you let me
go back, and you return to camp. This is too dangerous.”
Ahven shook his head. “No. I must send some of the minstrels to Lady Jasnah. I have to watch her, read her lips, study her. Something is different about the woman. She has changed since I last studied her. If I don’t
understand what happened to her, I will lose the battle. Of this I am
certain.”
He didn’t wait for further argument. Jek sighed, waiting a few moments,
then returned to the feast chamber. He took his previous seat—a place
at a table of medium-ranked lords. Aleths weren’t certain how to treat
Shins—the Kanaran system of nobility was so stratified that it made them
uncomfortable to deal with those who had no quantifiable rank. S
o most of
them just considered all Shin to be somewhere above citizens but beneath
lords. Posing as a very wealthy merchant, Jek could safely place himself with the lesser nobility without drawing too much attention.
He watched uncomfortably from the corner of his eye as Ahven con-
tinued his act. The king hovered between Jasnah and Dalenar’s tables, his
eyes darting from side to side—and Jek realized that in this environment,
Ahven was the perfect spy. Within the cacophony, men would likely feel
at ease speaking their minds, confident that no one would hear. But, as
Ahven had said, others did not ‘hear’ as he did. He could read their lips
from a goodly distance away, piecing together conversations far too quiet
for another man to overhear.
As Jek watched, minstrels did indeed approach Lady Jasnah—and
some even stayed to perform, though how they expected to distinguish
themselves among the sounds of other players, Jek did not know.
Only once did Jek consider betraying Ahven. It was a shameful thought,
but it was born of a seed Ahven himself had planted. The war could be
stopped with a single, covert meeting. If he went to King Dalenar and
told of what he knew, Ahven would be captured, punished, his armies
sent home . . .
But no. Jek’s fallen honor—the memory of promises he had made before
his Truth was taken—was all he had. The Holetental knew best, and they
had commanded him to this action.
To atone, and to sin.
It was a long, uncomfortable evening. Eventually, Dalenar and Jasnah
both retired, off to their camp to prepare for the next day’s battle. Ahven disappeared into the kitchens a few moments later.
Jek found the king again on the outskirts of town. The gates were still
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 771
open—with so many men passing from the city to military camps outside,
it would have been impractical to close the city. The two men walked quietly until they were well outside of the city, and had retrieved their separate horses.
“Did you find what you needed?” Jek finally asked.
Ahven frowned. “I’m not sure,” he said. “You will know tomorrow
evening—by then, either Jasnah or I will be dead.”
chapter 86
FINALE
It was a hot, muggy morning, despite the seaborn breeze. Taln stood
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 106
