House Rienar had tried to assassinate King Elhokar on the battlefield. It was inconceivable. And yet, her proof was unmistakable. The Shardblade lay on the table, Tethren’s touch upon it seeming to fade by the moment.
Though her mind was stunned, Shinri’s body knew what it had been sent to do. She dropped the letter to the table. “Have someone you trust read it to you, Lord Aredor,” she heard herself mumble. Then she turned, walking from the room and its jovial occupants, with their masculine cheering and feminine manipulations.
She walked out into the hallway, seeking a bit of quiet to think. Why would the Rienar try to kill Elhokar? Why would they do it on the battle-field? And—the most confusing question of all—how would they have persuaded Tethren to take part in such a dishonorable act? The man she had known would never have broken Protocol.
And yet, how well had she really known him? She had still been mostly a child then. Even if her impression had been truthful, they had seen each other little during the last year. Men changed.
Shinri sighed, letting her fingers trail along the cool stone wall as she walked, the sounds of feasting growing dim behind her. The truth was, she knew very little. She was not Jasnah, able to anticipate logical discoveries with an inhuman sense of inference. Tethren’s Shardblade had been right before Shinri on several occasions, carried by the young lord Merin, and she had never even noticed it. She might never have noticed it, had Merin not taken off the practice sheath to display the Blade to his friends.
Shinri paused her wanderings, leaning back against the stone wall with her eyes closed. Even knowing of his death, even having been separated from him for so long, seeing Tethren’s Blade was a shock. It was the first tangible evidence that he was gone, a piece of her life cut away. While she couldn’t really mourn a love lost, she could at least feel depressed at what might have been.
I need to get back to Jasnah, Shinri thought. She needs to know about this. It no longer affects just me. They tried to kill Elhokar. Perhaps House Rienar is allied with Jezenrosh.
“Lady Shinri Davar?” a voice asked.
Shinri jumped, opening her eyes. A man stood in the hallway before her. Dressed in the clothing of a merchant courtier, he had pale skin and large, Shin eyes. She opened her mouth to reply, then paused, realizing that she recognized his foreign features. She had seen him before, in the Veden City Oathgate chamber.
When he moved, his body displayed the same fluid control she had sensed in him on that day weeks before. Before she could so much as speak, he had his hand wrapped around her neck, something sharp pressed against her back.
“I apologize, child,” he whispered to her in lightly-accented Veden. “But you must come with me.”
chapter 29
Taln 6
Taln gave Lhan the slip after about two hours of watching duels. Goodbye, my friend, Taln thought as he slumped down to hide his height, then ducked away amidst the massive crowd.
He was outside, in one of the palace’s outer courtyards, where several dueling rings lay well-illuminated in the night by torches and lanterns. The duelists who participated were of insignificant rank—Nineteenth and Twentieth lords who had been eliminated from the prime competition, or lesser duelists from other countries.
However, these duels were still exciting—a man’s rank had little to do with his fighting ability. There were still prizes to be had, for the king had sponsored several prestigious events outside of the prime competition, as had some of the more wealthy merchant companies. Even if these men didn’t win a Shardblade, a victory in a lesser event could mean wealth and notoriety.
Taln forced himself away from the dueling rings. He pushed through the crowd, shuffling beneath his cloak in a hunched posture. Lhan had been right—the courtyard was extremely busy, dense with the scent of bodies. However, the monk had been wrong about the duels being boring. How could he not be intoxicated by the thrill of a well-fought contest? How could he not itch to participate, hands longing for the unity of mind and weapon? Taln could have watched the duels in a joyful daze if his purpose hadn’t been so urgent.
As he approached the palace gates, he sought out a secluded overhang beside a vending tent, then stood and turned his cloak inside-out. The inside—or, actually, the outside, since he had been wearing his cloak the wrong way around since leaving the monastery—was lined with brilliant blue seasilk. He’d purchased the cloth in secret, then sewn it to the outside of his cloak in the early hours of the morning, when even the monks were asleep. He still felt guilty for gambling with the other cromcleaners, winning enough money to buy the seasilk, but he had been unable to think of another way.
Taln stepped out from behind the tent and assumed a commanding posture. His plan would require more than a skin of silk—his cloak wasn’t tailored like that of a nobleman. While it was bulky and masculine, it hung naturally on his body, and didn’t have the broad extended shoulders to give it the cape-like, rectangular look that Rosharan lords favored.
Nobility, however, was not in wealth or tailoring, but in attitude. Taln strode toward the palace doors, his cloak clasped shut in front of him, lest it open and reveal his common clothing beneath. His step was firm, his air important, and his lips formed a slight half-scowl. As he stepped up to the gates, one of the guards frowned slightly, regarding him. The man made as if to step forward, and Taln halted immediately, turning an intolerant look toward the man.
“Where would I find the primary competition?” he demanded, mimick-ing the noble accent as best he could. He would still have a bit of the backwater Riemak accent in his voice, he knew, but hopefully that would enhance the persona he was attempting to mimic.
The guard paused. He was a younger man, with dark curly hair and a boyish face. “My . . . lord?” he asked.
“The primary competition,” Taln repeated. Then, in a lower voice, he continued. “Tell me. How is the king’s . . . mood today.”
“I’m not sure, my lord,” the guard confessed.
Taln turned, looking toward the palace with a somewhat distracted expression, as if he were considering something unpleasant. “Have any other lords arrived late?” he asked.
“Not that I know of, my lord,” the guard said.
Taln’s expression darkened. “My father warned me of the king’s temper. Do you think, perhaps, the joy of the festivities might make him more accepting of my tardiness?”
“I’m not certain, my lord,” the guard replied.
Taln nodded curtly. “Very well. Where can I find him?”
The guard pointed down the central hallway. “To the east, my lord, in the grand feast hall.” The guard paused for a moment. “Good luck, my lord.”
Taln sighed, nodding his thanks, and strode into the palace. The truth was that he needed no directions—he probably knew the palace better than half of its occupants. Indeed, he knew things about its construction that had been kept secret even from kings. He quickly made his way through the pillared hallways and grand, open foyers of the Aleth section. The grand feast hall was near the center of the ten-winged structure, with the other communal rooms.
Even if he hadn’t known his way, the location would have been obvious. Servants scuttled to and from the room, bringing food and drink, and lords in bright clothing stood in the hallway outside, speaking in quiet conference or boisterous discussion. Few paid Taln any heed—hopefully, his affectation would mark him as a lord, but his relatively poor cloak would mark him as an unimportant one.
The grand hall was nearly as crowded as the courtyards, though many of the people here were sitting, and the room smelled of perfumes and luxurious food rather than sweat. The women and men sat apart in three rings of tables, each one surrounding a dueling circle. Many of the male onlookers had risen from their tables to instead stand at the peripheral of the room to watch a particular duel. The most popular ring was the one at the center.
Taln took his time, carefully scouting the room. He had intentionally waited until later in the day, when reactions w
ould be dulled by wine. The room had three exits—the main doors and two servant’s entrances. If his memory served him, the exit on the east wall led through the kitchens, and had an outlet to the main hallway. From there, it was only two turns to the Oathgates.
There were several tenset guards in the feast hall, but the congestion would make it difficult for them to react, especially if too many intoxicated noblemen decided to take arms against him. The Oathgates would probably be guarded—but, hopefully, some of them would be open to allow for foreign noblemen to return to their homes.
Taln circled the room several times, getting a feel for the layout and soldier placements. Eventually he stopped, joining a group of noblemen standing to the right of the king’s table. From the conversations he overheard, the primary competition was nearing its end. The clang of swords rang over the voices of men, nearly drowning out the single balladess who sang in the far corner. The two noblemen who fought now would both be awarded Shardblades for progressing so far. Their contest was a matter of prestige—and of rumors that the king had cities in Prallah that still had not been assigned lords.
Taln’s target sat beside the king. His name was Lord Meridas, and he had apparently already been awarded a Shardblade. Taln could see Glyphting sitting on the table in front of the man; its markings had been dulled considerably—almost completely—but he still knew the Blade for what it was.
Taln glanced to the side, eyes falling on a random nobleman standing a short distance away. The pommel of a sword jutted out from beneath the man’s cloak, the hilt within reach. Taln stretched his fingers, then let his muscles relax, carefully falling into a combat stance.
And then he saw a form moving through the crowd, a figure in tan robes and a nonchalant expression. Lhan. How had he . . . ?
Taln eyed the sword hilt again. He just had to reach out and . . . As he tensed his muscles, however, the nobleman turned to a friend, hand falling on his pommel.
“I should have known I’d find you here,” Lhan said, strolling up beside Taln. “And you were doing so well at staying out of trouble, too.” The monk paused, regarding Taln’s cloak. “Who’d you steal that from?”
“I made it,” Taln said. “Last night.”
Lhan nodded, turning toward the central ring. “So it was all an act. The king’s not going to listen to you, Taln. I don’t care what you say to him, his majesty will not be pleased if you interrupt his revelry a second time. If you’d wanted to see him, you should have just waited for Lady Jasnah’s promised audience.”
Taln didn’t respond. He watched as the sword-bearing nobleman turned back to watch the duel, hand still resting on his weapon’s pommel. Taln glanced to the side; Lhan was regarding him with a confused expression. The monk’s eyes seemed to be searching for something.
“You’re not going to make another announcement to the king, are you,” Lhan finally said. It was not a question.
Taln shook his head. He nodded toward his target. “I’m going to grab that man’s sword,” he said in a quiet voice. “In the following confusion, I’m going to take down the two guards by the king’s table. Then, I’m going to take my Shardblade back from the man sitting next to his majesty. I’ll jump onto the table, run down its length, toward the east wall, where I’ll shove through the crowd and escape into the kitchens. From there, I’ll fight my way to the Oathgates, take the best open portal—hopefully, one to Lakhenran, if it’s open. From there, I’ll escape into the wilderness and use my Blade to locate my brethren.”
Lhan’s eyes widened slightly, and he glanced toward the king. “Taln, this room is full of Shardbearers and guards!” he hissed. “Are you crazy?”
Taln met the monk’s eyes. A realization seemed to spark in Lhan’s face. “By the winds . . .” Lhan whispered quietly. “You really are. I’d almost thought that . . .”
Taln turned away. “Go, Lhan. I told you what I plan for a reason. If you’re still standing here when I move, they might connect you to me and cut you down before you can explain otherwise. Go.”
Lhan didn’t move. “If you reach for that sword, I swear I’ll scream.”
Taln snorted. “I’ll have the weapon before the sound leaves your throat,” he said. “Go.”
“Taln, this is ludicrous!” the monk said with a pleading voice, grabbing Taln’s arm. “You’re not thinking clearly—you may not be able to think clearly. Trust me. No matter what your delusions claim, you aren’t a soldier.”
Taln frowned. Where had he gotten that idea?
“You were defeated easily last time you confronted the king, and you had a Shardblade then,” Lhan said. “You’re too familiar with common work to have been a soldier all your life. Please, trust me. Come back to the monastery. Don’t do this—even if you do get the sword away from that man, every lord in this room is an expert duelist. You won’t make it ten paces before they kill you.”
“Watch, then,” Taln said, shrugging off Lhan’s hands. Taln’s target still held his pommel, but his grip was loose. It would simply be a matter of knocking his arm to the side before taking the weapon.
“You’ll kill them, then?” Lhan said quietly as the crowd cheered. “If the soldiers resist? Will you kill them?”
“I may have to,” Taln said. “I need my Shardblade back.”
“What kind of Herald would you be then?” Lhan said quickly, as if he had discovered something incriminating. “What servant of the Almighty would kill innocent men? You would perform an act of evil in order to get your sword back? You’re all right with that?”
“Moral quandaries won’t work on me, Lhan,” Taln said softly. “You have no idea how long I’ve wrestled with them.”
Lhan stepped in front of him. “Just wait, Taln. Wait a few minutes. Talk this through.”
Don’t listen to him, Taln thought. He’s just stalling you. But, stalling for what? Something specific? Lhan seemed anxious. Suddenly, the monk’s face grew relieved.
“I do not call this ‘staying out of trouble,’” a firm voice said from behind, confirming Taln’s suspicions.
Taln turned to confront the Lady Jasnah. She stood with folded arms, left sleeve drooping, her two guards nowhere to be seen. “I don’t have time for this, madman,” she snapped. “What is this about?”
“I told you earlier,” Taln explained. “I need to get my sword back, one way or another.”
“I see,” the lady replied. Behind Taln, a point was declared, and the crowd yelled in approval. He glanced to the side—the nobleman’s sword was free again.
Lhan moved over to Jasnah’s side. “Taln, listen to reason. Please.”
“To him, this is reasonable,” Jasnah said as Taln turned his back on the two. The nobleman’s hilt lay exposed, inviting.
“I wonder how the world will survive after he gets himself killed,” Jasnah said.
Taln froze.
“That’s right,” the woman said. “Think about that. What happens when you die, Talenel Elin? You said you needed to locate your brother Heralds. You haven’t found them yet, have you? What if something happened to them? What if you’re the only one left?”
What if something happened to them.
The room grew dark. Dark and red.
“What if you fail?” Jasnah asked. “A room full of warriors? An entire castle’s worth of soldiers? Even for the mythic soldier of the Heralds, those are daunting odds. You told me that you could die. What happens to us if you do?”
What if you fail.
Before him, two dueling warriors burst into flame. They danced, two candle-tips sparring on the floor. There was no crowd, just a rolling inferno.
And the screams. Horrible screams, sounding from the fires. Sounding in his ears—screams of terror and pain. The sound of some poor creature being tortured beyond sanity.
What if you fail? What if you fail? What if you fail . . . ?
Taln spun in the fiery tempest. Lhan was a blazing torch that shied back from Taln in fear. The noblemen around Taln were nothing more tha
n living pyres.
But her. She was unchanged. She stared at him with those eyes. Eyes dense, like stone.
“Can you risk it?” she asked. So unyielding, yet so right.
Behind her, the smoke of a thousand flames gathered and pooled together. Taln could see a form moving within the vortex. A dark, shifting thing. An evil thing. It moved forward, coming for him.
“Curse you woman!” Taln said, groaning, stumbling.
He had to attack. He had to do something, anything. Uncertainty was the fire’s gateway, and inaction its sustenance. The sword . . . he just had to reach for the sword . . . so close . . .
If he fought, he would fail.
He moaned, closing his eyes, holding his head. He clawed at his mind, casting out memories, seizing optimism and dragging it forth. He was not alone. He would find the others.
However, he had to live until he was absolutely sure that they were alive.
Taln opened his eyes, sweat dripping from his brow, and gasped quietly. He was on his knees, the crowd around him having backed away in alarm. Taln reached up, allowing Lhan to help him to his feet. Lady Jasnah watched with cool eyes. She nodded once, turning to leave.
“I have done what you asked,” Taln said as Lhan calmed the onlookers, explaining that Taln was having stomach pains. “I stayed out of trouble.”
Jasnah turned, eyebrow raised inquisitively. “You still want a meeting with my brother?”
“No,” Taln said. “Something else. Tomorrow, I will be leaving Ral Eram. If you wish to avoid an incident, see that the guards allow me access to the Oathgates.”
“Very well,” Jasnah said though a thin line of a mouth. “But not tomorrow—there will be too many people returning home from the dueling competition. I will send you word.”
“Soon, Jasnah,” Taln said firmly. “You will not leave me waiting as you did with our previously promised ‘meeting.’”
“You have my word,” Jasnah said.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 34
