The Way of Kings sa-1

by Brandon Sanderson

  Still, the picture was marvelous. This isn’t Jasnah, Dalinar realized. Whoever was doing the drawing was far, far more talented than his niece.

  The picture resolved into a depiction of a tall shadow looming over some buildings. Hints of carapace and claws showed in the thin ink lines, and shadows were made by drawing finer lines close together.

  Danlan set it aside, getting out a third sheet of paper. Dalinar held the drawing up, Adolin at his side. The nightmarish beast in the lines and shadows was faintly familiar. Like…

  “It’s a chasmfiend,” Adolin said, pointing. “It’s distorted-far more menacing in the face and larger at the shoulders, and I don’t see its second set of foreclaws-but someone was obviously trying to draw one of them.”

  “Yes,” Dalinar said, rubbing his chin.

  “‘This is a depiction from one of the books here,’” Danlan read. “‘My new ward is quite skilled at drawing, and so I had her reproduce it for you. Tell me. Does it remind you of anything?’”

  A new ward? Dalinar thought. It had been years since Jasnah had taken one. She always said she didn’t have the time. “This picture’s of a chasmfiend,” Dalinar said.

  Danlan wrote the words. A moment later, the reply came. “‘The book describes this as a picture of a Voidbringer.’” Danlan frowned, cocking her head. “‘The book is a copy of a text originally written in the years before the Recreance. However, the illustrations are copied from another text, even older. In fact, some think that picture was drawn only two or three generations after the Heralds departed.’”

  Adolin whistled softly. That would make it very old indeed. So far as Dalinar understood, they had few pieces of art or writing dating from the shadowdays, The Way of Kings being one of the oldest, and the only complete text. And even it had survived only in translation; they had no copies in the original tongue.

  “‘Before you jump to conclusions,’” Danlan read, “‘I’m not implying that the Voidbringers were the same thing as chasmfiends. I believe that the ancient artist didn’t know what a Voidbringer looked like, and so she drew the most horrific thing she knew of.’”

  But how did the original artist know what a chasmfiend looked like? Dalinar thought. We only just discovered the Shattered Plains-

  But of course. Though the Unclaimed Hills were now empty, they had once been an inhabited kingdom. Someone in the past had known about chasmfiends, known them well enough to draw one and label it a Voidbringer.

  “‘I must go now,’” Jasnah said via Danlan. “‘Care for my brother in my absence, Uncle.’”

  “Jasnah,” Dalinar sent, choosing his words very carefully. “Things are difficult here. The storm begins to blow unchecked, and the building shakes and moans. You may soon hear news that shocks you. It would be very nice if you could return and lend your aid.”

  He waited quietly for the reply, the spanreed scratching. “‘I should like to promise a date when I will come.’” Dalinar could almost hear Jasnah’s calm, cool voice. “‘But I cannot estimate when my research will be completed.’”

  “This is very important, Jasnah,” Dalinar said. “Please reconsider.”

  “‘Be assured, Uncle, that I am coming. Eventually. I just can’t say when.’”

  Dalinar sighed.

  “‘Note,’” Jasnah wrote, “‘that I am most eager to see a chasmfiend for myself.’”

  “A dead one,” Dalinar said. “I have no intention of letting you repeat your brother’s experience of a few weeks ago.”

  “‘Ah,’” Jasnah sent back, “‘dear, overprotective Dalinar. One of these years, you will have to admit that your favored niece and nephew have grown up.’”

  “I’ll treat you as adults so long as you act the part,” Dalinar said. “Come speedily, and we’ll get you a dead chasmfiend. Take care.”

  They waited to see if a further response came, but the gem stopped blinking, Jasnah’s transmission complete. Danlan put away the spanreed and the board, and Dalinar thanked the clerks for their aid. They withdrew; Adolin looked as if he wanted to linger, but Dalinar gestured for him to leave.

  Dalinar looked down at the picture of the chasmfiend again, unsatisfied. What had he gained from the conversation? More vague hints? What could be so important about Jasnah’s research that she would ignore threats to the kingdom?

  He would have to compose a more forthright letter to her once he’d made his announcement, explaining why he had decided to step down. Perhaps that would bring her back.

  And, in a moment of shock, Dalinar realized that he had made his decision. Sometime between leaving the trench and now, he’d stopped treating his abdication as an if and started thinking of it as a when. It was the right decision. He felt sick about it, but certain. A man sometimes needed to do things that were unpleasant.

  It was the discussion with Jasnah, he realized. The talk of her father. He was acting like Gavilar at the end. That had nearly undermined the kingdom. Well, he needed to stop himself before he got that far. Perhaps whatever was happening to him was some kind of disease of the mind, inherited from their parents. It-

  “You are quite fond of Jasnah,” Navani said.

  Dalinar started, turning away from the picture of the chasmfiend. He’d assumed she’d followed Adolin out. But she still stood there, looking at him.

  “Why is it,” Navani said, “that you encourage her so strongly to return?”

  He turned to face Navani, and realized that she’d sent her two youthful attendants out with the clerks. They were now alone.

  “Navani,” he said. “This is inappropriate.”

  “Bah. We’re family, and I have questions.”

  Dalinar hesitated, then walked to the center of the room. Navani stood near the door. Blessedly, her attendants had left open the door at the end of the antechamber, and beyond it were two guards in the hall outside. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but so long as Dalinar could see the guards and they him, his conversation with Navani was just barely, proper.

  “Dalinar?” Navani asked. “Are you going to answer me? Why is it you trust my daughter so much when others almost universally revile her?”

  “I consider their disdain for her to be a recommendation,” he said.

  “She is a heretic.”

  “She refused to join any of the devotaries because she did not believe in their teachings. Rather than compromise for the sake of appearances, she has been honest and has refused to make professions she does not believe. I find that a sign of honor.”

  Navani snorted. “You two are a pair of nails in the same doorframe. Stern, hard, and storming annoying to pull free.”

  “You should go now,” Dalinar said, nodding toward the hallway. He suddenly felt very exhausted. “People will talk.”

  “Let them. We need to plan, Dalinar. You are the most important highprince in-”

  “Navani,” he cut in. “I’m going to abdicate in favor of Adolin.”

  She blinked in surprise.

  “I’m stepping down as soon as I can make the necessary arrangements. It will be a few days at most.” Speaking the words felt odd, as if saying them made his decision real.

  Navani looked pained. “Oh, Dalinar,” she whispered. “This is a terrible mistake.”

  “It is mine to make. And I must repeat my request. I have many things to think about, Navani, and I can’t deal with you right now.” He pointed at the doorway.

  Navani rolled her eyes, but left as requested. She shut the door behind her.

  That’s it, Dalinar thought, letting out a long exhalation. I’ve made the decision.

  Too weary to remove his Plate unassisted, he sank down onto the floor, resting his head back against the wall. He would tell Adolin of his decision in the morning, then announce it at a feast within the week. From there, he would return to Alethkar and his lands.

  It was over.

  Interludes

  Interlude 4

  Rysn

  Rysn hesitantly stepped down from the caravan�
��s lead wagon. Her feet fell on soft, uneven ground that sank down a little beneath her.

  That made her shiver, particularly since the too-thick grass didn’t move away as it should. Rysn tapped her foot a few times. The grass didn’t so much as quiver.

  “It’s not going to move,” Vstim said. “Grass here doesn’t behave the way it does elsewhere. Surely you’ve heard that.” The older man sat beneath the bright yellow canopy of the lead wagon. He rested one arm on the side rail, holding a set of ledgers with the other hand. One of his long white eyebrows was tucked behind his ear and he let the other trail down beside his face. He preferred stiffly starched robes-blue and red-and a flat-topped conical hat. It was classic Thaylen merchant’s clothing: several decades out of date, yet still distinguished.

  “I’ve heard of the grass,” Rysn said to him. “But it’s just so odd.” She stepped again, walking in a circle around the lead wagon. Yes, she’d heard of the grass here in Shinovar, but she’d assumed that it would just be lethargic. That people said it didn’t disappear because it moved too slowly.

  But no, that wasn’t it. It didn’t move at all. How did it survive? Shouldn’t it have all been eaten away by animals? She shook her head in wonder, looking up across the plain. The grass completely covered it. The blades were all crowded together, and you couldn’t see the ground. What a mess it was.

  “The ground is springy,” she said, rounding back to her original side of the wagon. “Not just because of the grass.”

  “Hmm,” Vstim said, still working on his ledgers. “Yes. It’s called soil.”

  “It makes me feel like I’m going to sink down to my knees. How can the Shin stand living here?”

  “They’re an interesting people. Shouldn’t you be setting up the device?”

  Rysn sighed, but walked to the rear of the wagon. The other wagons in the caravan-six in all-were pulling up and forming a loose circle. She took down the tailgate of the lead wagon and heaved, pulling out a wooden tripod nearly as tall as she was. She carried it over one shoulder, marching to the center of the grassy circle.

  She was more fashionable than her babsk; she wore the most modern of clothing for a young woman her age: a deep blue patterned silk vest over a light green long-sleeved shirt with stiff cuffs. Her ankle-length skirt-also green-was stiff and businesslike, utilitarian in cut but embroidered for fashion.

  She wore a green glove on her left hand. Covering the safehand was a silly tradition, just a result of Vorin cultural dominance. But it was best to keep up appearances. Many of the more traditional Thaylen people-including, unfortunately, her babsk-still found it scandalous for a woman to go about with her safehand uncovered.

  She set up the tripod. It had been five months since Vstim become her babsk and she his apprentice. He’d been good to her. Not all babsk were; by tradition, he was more than just her master. He was her father, legally, until he pronounced her ready to become a merchant on her own.

  She did wish he wouldn’t spend so much time traveling to such odd places. He was known as a great merchant, and she’d assumed that great merchants would be the ones visiting exotic cities and ports. Not ones who traveled to empty meadows in backward countries.

  Tripod set up, she returned to the wagon to fetch the fabrial. The wagon back formed an enclosure with thick sides and top to offer protection against highstorms-even the weaker ones in the West could be dangerous, at least until one got through the passes and into Shinovar.

  She hurried back to the tripod with the fabrial’s box. She slid off the wooden top and removed the large heliodor inside. The pale yellow gemstone, at least two inches in diameter, was fixed inside a metal framework. It glowed gently, not as bright as one might expect of such a sizable gem.

  She set it in the tripod, then spun a few of the dials underneath, setting the fabrial to the people in the caravan. Then she pulled a stool from the wagon and sat down to watch. She’d been astonished at what Vstim had paid for the device-one of the new, recently invented types that would give warning if people approached. Was it really so important?

  She sat back, looking up at the gemstone, watching to see if it grew brighter. The odd grass of the Shin lands waved in the wind, stubbornly refusing to withdraw, even at the strongest of gusts. In the distance rose the white peaks of the Misted Mountains, sheltering Shinovar. Those mountains caused the highstorms to break and fade, making Shinovar one of the only places in all of Roshar where highstorms did not reign.

  The plain around her was dotted with strange, straight-trunked trees with stiff, skeletal branches full of leaves that didn’t withdraw in the wind. The entire landscape had an eerie feel to it, as if it were dead. Nothing moved. With a start, Rysn realized she couldn’t see any spren. Not a one. No windspren, no lifespren, nothing.

  It was as if the entire land were slow of wit. Like a man who was born without all his brains, one who didn’t know when to protect himself, but instead just stared at the wall drooling. She dug into the ground with a finger, then brought it up to inspect the “soil,” as Vstim had called it. It was dirty stuff. Why, a strong gust could uproot this entire field of grass and blow it away. Good thing the highstorms couldn’t reach these lands.

  Near the wagons, the servants and guards unloaded crates and set up camp. Suddenly, the heliodor began to pulse with a brighter yellow light. “Master!” she called, standing. “Someone’s nearby.”

  Vstim-who had been going through crates-looked up sharply. He waved to Kylrm, head of the guards, and his six men got out their bows.

  “There,” one said, pointing.

  In the distance, a group of horsemen was approaching. They didn’t ride very quickly, and they led several large animals-like thick, squat horses-pulling wagons. The gemstone in the fabrial pulsed more brightly as the newcomers got closer.

  “Yes,” Vstim said, looking at the fabrial. “That is going to be very handy. Good range on it.”

  “But we knew they were coming,” Rysn said, rising from her stool and walking over to him.

  “This time,” he said. “But if it warns us of bandits in the dark, it’ll repay its cost a dozen times over. Kylrm, lower your bows. You know how they feel about those things.”

  The guards did as they were told, and the group of Thaylens waited. Rysn found herself tucking her eyebrows back nervously, though she didn’t know why she bothered. The newcomers were just Shin. Of course, Vstim insisted that she shouldn’t think of them as savages. He seemed to have great respect for them.

  As they approached, she was surprised by the variety in their appearance. Other Shin she’d seen had worn basic brown robes or other worker’s clothing. At the front of this group, however, was a man in what must be Shin finery: a bright, multicolored cloak that completely enveloped him, tied closed at the front. It trailed down on either side of his horse, drooping almost to the ground. Only his head was exposed.

  Four men rode on horses around him, and they wore more subdued clothing. Still bright, just not as bright. They wore shirts, trousers, and colorful capes.

  At least three dozen other men walked alongside them, wearing brown tunics. More drove the three large wagons.

  “Wow,” Rysn said. “He brought a lot of servants.”

  “Servants?” Vstim said.

  “The fellows in brown.”

  Her babsk smiled. “Those are his guards, child.”

  “What? They look so dull.”

  “Shin are a curious folk,” he said. “Here, warriors are the lowliest of men-kind of like slaves. Men trade and sell them between houses by way of little stones that signify ownership, and any man who picks up a weapon must join them and be treated the same. The fellow in the fancy robe? He’s a farmer.”

  “A landowner, you mean?”

  “No. As far as I can tell, he goes out every day-well, the days when he’s not overseeing a negotiation like this-and works the fields. They treat all farmers like that, lavish them with attention and respect.”

  Rysn gaped. “But most vi
llages are filled with farmers!”

  “Indeed,” Vstim said. “Holy places, here. Foreigners aren’t allowed near fields or farming villages.”

  How strange, she thought. Perhaps living in this place has affected their minds.

  Kylrm and his guards didn’t look terribly pleased at being so heavily outnumbered, but Vstim didn’t seem bothered. Once the Shin grew close, he walked out from his wagons without a hint of trepidation. Rysn hurried after him, her skirt brushing the grass below.

  Bother, she thought. Another problem with its not retracting. If she had to buy a new hem because of this dull grass, it was going to make her very cross.

  Vstim met up with the Shin, then bowed in a distinctive way, hands toward the ground. “Tan balo ken tala,” he said. She didn’t know what it meant.

  The man in the cloak-the farmer-nodded respectfully, and one of the other riders dismounted and walked forward. “Winds of Fortune guide you, my friend.” He spoke Thaylen very well. “He who adds is happy for your safe arrival.”

  “Thank you, Thresh-son-Esan,” Vstim said. “And my thanks to he who adds.”

  “What have you brought for us from your strange lands, friend?” Thresh said. “More metal, I hope?”

  Vstim waved and some of the guards brought over a heavy crate. They set it down and pried off the top, revealing its peculiar contents. Pieces of scrap metal, mostly shaped like bits of shell, though some were formed like pieces of wood. It looked to Rysn like garbage that had-for some inexplicable reason-been Soulcast into metal.

  “Ah,” Thresh said, squatting down to inspect the box. “Wonderful!”

  “Not a bit of it was mined,” Vstim said. “No rocks were broken or smelted to get this metal, Thresh. It was Soulcast from shells, bark, or branches. I have a document sealed by five separate Thaylen notaries attesting to it.”