Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]
Page 107
on the battle line, waiting in the heat as the Veden army assembled atop
the lait ridge.
The men around him shuffled anxiously. Not an honor guard—in Taln’s
experience, an honor guard was just something to get in the way, something to keep a lord out of danger.
He did not intend to stay out of danger.
The lives of too many men would depend on this battle—men he had
trained, men who trusted him. It was a dangerous position for him to be
in, helping one kingdom above another. Heralds were not supposed to
fight men’s wars for them, nor were they supposed to favor one faction
over another.
Yet working with them—training them from disorganized scavengers
into a cohesive army—had caused an affection to grow within Taln. How
could it not? The men who stood by him, therefore, were no honor guard,
but comrades. They carried spears, not swords, and they wore no expensive
armor. Taln chose to fight beside the spearmen he had trained, and this
time Jasnah could not complain. At Kholinar, he had been too valuable to
risk, but in this battle they were all at risk.
The heat did not abate, and his men began to grumble. “Steady,” Taln
cautioned, glancing toward the ridge and the army that sat on its lip. The
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Veden army had not pushed their march hard—they would have been
foolish to do so. No, they were rested and prepared.
But so were his men. Though Taln was loath to admit it, the previous
evening had done his men good. Intara had sent them food and drink—
though not much of the latter. After so much marching and fleeing, an
evening of relaxation had helped their overall strength. Perhaps they had
been able to forget, for a moment, the danger that was coming.
The danger that had arrived. The Veden warriors lined up in great
formations atop the ridge, ready to march down the slope. Lady Jasnah
had arranged the Aleth forces as Taln had projected, placing their backs
to the city. The Vedens would march down from the southwest, exposing
themselves to bowshot from the city walls. The Aleth armies would keep
Veden Awakeners from getting to and destroying the walls themselves.
There was no room to back away, however. If the Vedens overran them, the
Aleth forces would be crushed against the city.
The men continued to shift. They had only seen true battle once, at
Kholinar. This fight would be different—in fact, it was opposite. The Veden forces held the high ground, and would come crashing down upon the
smaller Aleth armies. Hopefully, none of his men saw the connection—
that this was almost exactly the same strategy they had used against their enemies at Kholinar.
The men were nervous, but Taln expected that. He had stood with many
a nervous, untested line during his extended lifetime. He had been a Herald for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to fear death. How nice it would be, that fear of the unknown. True, it was uncomfortable, but at
least it contained a measure of hope.
Taln was left with something far worse. He knew exactly what awaited
him when he died: madness, torture, and pain. He had to struggle not to
think of it, lest the fires return.
They threatened anyway. It had been a while since he had felt their
creeping touch. They had stayed away almost all that time with Jasnah, but now she was lost to him.
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? He had said he didn’t know, but that was a lie. He knew the answer, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
The sky turned red. The heat of the day suddenly seemed weak compared
to the fires in his mind.
No! Taln thought. Not now! I will not fail these men! He forced the fires away, quenching them with determination.
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A figure moved up beside him, though Taln was so distracted by the
conflict within that he barely noticed its arrival. He breathed deeply,
controlling himself, before finally looking to the side.
Kemnar smiled, glistening in his Shardplate.
“Shouldn’t you be with the lords?” Taln asked.
Kemnar shook his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, my friend, it’s this: when there’s a battle, I want to be as close to you as humanly possible.”
Taln smiled, and somehow Kemnar’s friendly face gave him the final
boost he needed to push away the fires. Kemnar was a link to Jasnah.
Kemnar tensed suddenly, and the men around Taln grew still. Taln
turned in time to see the Veden forces begin piling over the ridge in neat formations.
The battle had begun.
Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, rode beside his master and
lord, King Ahven of Vedenar. The king trailed the last columns of men
down the side of the lait wall, moving to join the mobile command center
that the Veden officers immediately organized at the back of the lines.
The sounds of battle had already begun by the time Ahven dismounted
and joined the generals.
“Why don’t we stay up there?” Ilhadal Davar asked anxiously, nodding
toward the lait ridge. The Davar First Prince obviously didn’t enjoy being so close to the actual fighting.
“Because,” Ahven said simply, “we would be too far from the battle itself.”
“And if they break through to attack?” Ilhadal asked.
Ahven looked up, glancing at his generals, who smiled with amusement.
“Let us hope they do,” Ahven said, looking down as several aides erected
a table and battle map. “How many Shardbearers do you count in the
immediate area, Ilhadal? You, myself, Generals Tenata, Jenazen, Lhanmar,
Dentara . . . I worry for any soldiers foolish enough to wander this direction.
Of course, if you wish, you may wait atop the ridge with the scribes and
the servants.”
Ilhadal flushed.
“General Tenata,” Ahven said, looking up from the map. “Your battle
arrangement is stunning. I commend you.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” the man said with a modest nod.
“If you would indulge me, I do have one request,” Ahven continued.
“Of course, your majesty.”
“Send scouts along the battle lines,” Ahven requested. “Discover the sub-
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commanders and Shardbearers who lead each section of Aleth resistance.
As you know, I have been granted some measure of political understanding
from the Almighty. I might be able to lend you some insight into how our
enemies will resist.”
“I will make the order immediately, your majesty,” the general said.
Ahven stood up straight, looking across the field of battle. “Her touch is here, assassin,” he said, quiet enough that only Jek could hear. “She controls this fight, as expected. It is so similar to tactics she has used before, but something is different, and I still can’t place it. The songs she requested last night seemed random—‘The Song of a Hundred Lovers,’ ‘The Blessing of
Minalah,’ ‘Windborn Fate’ . . . Something has changed.”
Jek did not answer, and Ahven just shook his head, looking down at the
table again.
Taln fought.
He truly fought. Not as he had before—no short, quick battles, executed
&nbs
p; with restraint and poise. No, this time he fought as a warrior. As a Herald.
He attacked with some of the skill he normally reserved for the Storm-
shades. Against men, such power seemed egregious. Taln was as a storm
blowing across scraps of paper. Soon after he began, Kemnar and the
spearmen moved back, giving him room to fight. Where Taln struck, lines
buckled, squads exploded, and men died. He had to continue moving,
otherwise the corpses around him grew too thick to allow other foes to
approach.
And as he fought, the fires began to mount. They were far, at first, but
they crept forward—hungering for his sanity. In the distance, far away, he could hear the screams—the terrible inhuman yells that accompanied the
dark thing that came with the fires.
The dark thing that came for him.
This shouldn’t be! Taln thought as he fought, shearing through three men at once, spraying their blood across the line of men behind. A Shardbearer stepped up to stop him, but the man was little more than a bump in Taln’s
path. The Shardbearer fell like the others, killed by swordstrokes that came faster than the man could register.
Why do the fires come for me? Taln thought with frustration. I’m not failing.
I am strong!
But he knew he had failed. He was serving one side, true, but he was
destroying another. Every life he took was a man who would not stand
with humankind against the Khothen. When the armies of human-
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kind were overrun, how would Taln be able to justify those men he had
killed?
There was a deeper failure beyond that. He said he was determined to
serve mankind—but how could serve mankind if he himself were not
stable? He had found someone who drove the fires back, someone who
brought peace to a soul that had been darkened by far too many years. If
he had dedicated himself to her, and accepted the sanity she offered, would not that have been better for mankind?
He thought to sacrifice his own love for the good of Roshar. It wasn’t
until after he had done so that he realized his love of Jasnah and his love of Roshar were not opposing needs, but one and the same.
“You’re sheltering him.”
Jasnah looked up with surprise. Their command center lay in one of the
corner towers of the city wall. From the tower’s vantage, they could watch the battlefield with ease. An open, square room, it was designed for archer placements—but had easily been converted to hold a large map table.
“Here,” Dalenar said, pointing toward the map and indicating a section
of the eastern flank. The section where Taln fought. “I realize that he is important to your plans, Jasnah, but there’s no reason to protect the Herald now. He has helped the morale of the troops, but you cannot waste resources protecting him. Besides, from all reports, he’s almost an army unto himself.
I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Of course,” Jasnah said quickly, covering her flush. Dalenar was right—
she was dedicating too many resources to Taln’s side of the battle. She made a few commands, fixing the problem.
Dalenar nodded. “I’m going to that hill near the docks,” he said. “We’ve
lost two Shardbearers there—I need to find whoever’s dueling them.”
“Take a troop of heavy infantry with you,” Jasnah said. “Have them block
that hole east of the hill—I’ve sent three squads of spearmen there, and it still keeps weakening.”
Dalenar nodded, sending a messenger to prepare his horse. He paused,
looking back at her. “I’m glad you’re here, Jasnah. There is no one I’d rather trust my battlefield to than yourself. With you here, I think we can win
this.”
Jasnah nodded thankful y, and he was off. Unfortunately, his brave words
were no match for her logic. It was going to be a difficult battle—she had never faced such poor fighting conditions. The enemy odds weren’t overwhelming, but they were great enough to give ominous signs on the map.
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In addition, the enemy commanders were obviously competent. Not
geniuses, but neither fools. They used a straightforward, stable offense—
they didn’t need flashiness to win, only consistency.
Beyond that, there was a . . . hint of something else. While most of the
moves were basic, the enemy maneuvers contained occasional hints of
brilliance. An offensive strike would work particularly well for a reason
she couldn’t quite discern, or a squad of troops would defeat a commander
who should have had no problem with such numbers.
It could have been coincidence. But, collected together, the incidents
formed a pattern. Someone on the other side was either very gifted or very lucky.
Jasnah looked up from the map, glancing through the window toward
the battlefield itself. Several lines of troops were marching back to join her reserve forces—the first of the squads she had withdrawn from around
Taln.
He will be fine, she thought. He doesn’t need any help—he’s Taln. Besides, there was always Kemnar—good, efficient Kemnar. Though she had decided
not to give him any more orders, she had given him this one final request: to watch over Taln.
He’ll be fine, she repeated to herself. The winds know—of all the people you need to worry about on this battlefield, Taln is the last.
That man fights like a Stormshade, Dalenar thought, shivering
slightly despite the heat.
Before going to the hill he had mentioned to Jasnah, Dalenar had
decided to come see if the reports and rumors were true. It was more than
just curiosity. There was something in Jasnah’s voice when she spoke of the madman, something Dalenar couldn’t place. At first, he had thought it to
be affection, but such wasn’t likely to come from the Lady Jasnah.
Eventually, he had realized what it was. She was starting to believe.
Despite all of her logic, all of her words against the Almighty and His
worship, Jasnah Kholin was coming to believe in this madman Herald. And
so, Dalenar had come to see for himself—had come to watch the man who
could inspire belief in a woman such as Jasnah.
And he was impressed.
Taln wasn’t just a Shardbearer. Though he fought without Plate, he took
no wounds. Though he had the bulk of a long-time warrior, he moved with
the grace of a dancer. And he was brutally efficient. None of the men he
struck arose, few even moved. No weapon could come close to him without
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being sheared in two, and no man could stand against him without being
brushed aside.
He was almost too good. It was like . . . like he didn’t even need the army at his back, like he could take the entire Veden force on his own.
Dalenar shivered, turning his horse to seek out his destination. He knew
what it was like to be good at killing, and wondered what burdens this false Herald carried.
Perhaps they were what had driven him mad.
“Bah!” General Tenata said. “I’m not sending another Shardbearer
to the eastern flank. That man has killed five already! Let him slaughter
spearmen all day, if he wishes. Our Blades will do more good elsewhere.”
Jek studied the map. The Veden forces had tried pushing against the
east first, but the man who called himself a Herald formed too strong an
opposition. It wasn’t just hi
m—where he fought, other soldiers seemed to
do better as well. Together with them, the Herald formed an impenetrable
flank that had rebuffed every offensive.
The west, however, was another story—it was here that Ahven had been
focusing his subtle, yet telling, suggestions. Slowly, Jek was beginning to wonder if the Idiot King’s philosophy was not justified—one man, Ahven
Vedenel, was having a very profound effect on this particular battle.
“General,” Ahven said, drawing Tenata’s attention. “Might I make
another suggestion?”
“Your majesty,” Tenata said, “the last seven suggestions you’ve made have
brought down entire sections of the Aleth line. Whatever it is, you need
not ask our permission to give the order.”
Jek saw Ahven’s subtle smile. These men would reject a usurper, espe-
cially one with little obvious battle experience. But, like most soldiers, they responded quickly to results.
“The Aleth forces have just shored up this far western section with
a group of heavy infantry,” Ahven explained. “That squad is led by one
Taven Reintar, a high-ranked lord—but one without a Shardblade. Taven
is a stalwart man, not prone to quick judgement. However, he tried the
entire Pralir campaign to earn himself a Blade and failed. Most of the few mistakes of command he made were performed because he was so desperate
to get himself one of the weapons.”
“Your command?” Tenata asked.
“Send a Shardbearer who doesn’t have Plate to attack the spearmen
a short distance from Taven. Taven won’t be able to resist sending his
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squad to attack, and you can have your forces ready to surround and destroy him.”
“It will be done,” Tenata said, moving off to give the orders. Most of the other generals had gone to the battlefield somewhere, working as Shardbearers to seek duels, fill in weak sections, or do extra damage to the enemy.
Ahven placed his hands on the map, as if trying to see his personal enemy
through its numbers and movements. “She’s there,” he whispered. “She
fights me, but she doesn’t realize it. I know her, and she doesn’t know me.
That is her weakness. And . . . there is more. But what?”
He became fixated on the map, standing over it even as scribes approached