Taln nodded, trusting Kemnar’s judgment. Taln himself was practically useless at pathfinding. While Kholinar and a couple of older cities remained where they once had, the general landscape of the kingdom had changed greatly in the nine hundred years he had been gone. He had only been able to explain the general location of the mountain exit, and they had been forced to strike out uncertainly. Only finding a town or major intersection would tell them exactly where they were.
Kemnar led the way. As they had traveled, Taln had come to trust his original impression of the man. Kemnar was competent but humble, curious but unassuming. He seemed to be completely unconcerned with rank or privilege, an odd quality in a nobleman. In fact, he had proven strangely more comfortable with the simple people of the troop, despite his lordly heritage. To a Herald still uncomfortable with the devotion he was paid, Kemnar’s attitudes were unspokenly familiar.
The town lights were still in the distance when Kemnar spoke quietly, a slight smile on his lips. “Lady Jasnah’s going to be displeased when she finds out we investigated without going back to report first.”
“You don’t seem all that concerned about her displeasure,” Taln noted.
Kemnar’s smile widened. “If we went back, she’d just order us to visit the town anyway. This saves time.”
Taln raised an eyebrow, walking around a particularly large rockbud. “The lady certainly is fond of controlling her surroundings—and the people in them.”
Kemnar chuckled, but Taln hadn’t intended the comment lightly. During his travels the last week, he had often questioned the oath of obedience he had given Jasnah. Why had he agreed to such a thing? It wasn’t that Taln chafed at letting another lead—in fact, he usually preferred to leave decision-making to one of the other Elin. Jasnah, however, knew so little of what was really happening in the world—she was only concerned with getting word of the invasion to her brother. In addition, her methods were annoying. While she wasn’t a tyrant with her power, she also seemed incapable of trusting a man to do his duty properly. She had to be involved in every detail of their work, and had to control practically every decision they made.
Only two things kept him from leaving to seek the Holy City on his own. Foremost was the peaceful knowledge of his brethren’s location. Before, he had felt lost and uncertain—worried that something had happened, and that he was alone to protect mankind. Now that he knew that the other Heralds had gathered, his tension relaxed and the fires of defeat retreated. Jezrien, Prael, Nale, Chanaral, Ishar . . . these were men far wiser than himself. Though his own efforts this Return had been ineffectual, the others would have matters in hand. He could afford a slight diversion, even suffer Jasnah’s commands, if it would build friendship and indebtedness with the leaders of Alethkar. When he joined the other Elin, he would be able to deliver that much, at least.
His second reason for staying was a matter of honor. He felt a responsibility to the people he had helped rescue. The palace servants looked up to him—he could feel their growing respect; and while their devotion made him uncomfortable, he knew that he should encourage it. These ones would spread knowledge of the Return and prepare the common people of Alethkar. He would not betray their budding dependence on him by leaving them to the desolation of summer highlands.
“You know,” Kemnar said after a few moments of walking, “she’s not really as bad as you think.”
“Jasnah?” Taln asked.
Kemnar nodded. “She’s a bit overbearing, I agree, but at least she cares. That’s more than I can say for most of the nobility in Alethkar. Lady Jasnah . . . she just tries a little too hard, I think.”
“She is fortunate to have a man such as yourself following her,” Taln noted.
Kemnar chuckled wryly. “Not for much longer, it appears.” He tapped the oversized pack on his back—duffel-wrapped with two poles sticking out the side, it ostensibly held a tent. The two Shardblades within were too obvious to carry in the open, yet neither man would consider leaving them behind. The pack was awkward, and a little strange, but it was the only alternative.
“She says that since I’m a Shardbearer, I’m too high a rank to be a common bodyguard. I should have never accepted the blasted thing—now that I have a Blade, everyone’s going to expect me to start acting respectable.”
Taln shrugged, thinking of his own Blade. Since they had no opals, both weapons had begun to revert to Blanks, and their length had shortened slightly. Taln wasn’t accustomed to the process—he had never really been forced to bond a Blade before.
It bothered him how easily Meridas had bonded Glyphting, erasing the familiar patterns that had lined its blade for millennia. Instead of the elegant efficiency of Taln’s touch, it had become the stunted, straight-backed weapon Meridas seemed to prefer. Chanaral had hypothesized that the Elin Blades, if adulterated by an imperfect opal, would act the same way as the imitation Blades crafted by Epoch Kingdom weaponsmiths. He had been right—Meridas had been able to bond Taln’s Blade as if it were nothing special. Losing his Blade to such a man . . . it felt like an invasion to Taln, a perversion.
Taln shook his head, glancing at Kemnar’s pack. At least he had a Blade. It was no Glyphting, but it would have to do, for now. In truth, human-crafted Shardblades shouldn’t even exist. Though the legends claimed otherwise, Taln’s brethren had never intended mankind to have access to Blades. Ishar claimed it was one of the great mysteries of time that men, so innocent and unskilled in the Three Arts, had managed to craft such impressive imitations of the weapons they had seen their Heralds wielding.
Shalesa had been the one who spread the rumors that the weapons had, indeed, been gifts of the Heralds, granting them some measure of control over the development. Still, Taln doubted that men understood the meaning of the Blades they wielded. To them, the weapons were simply another tool—a powerful one, true, but still just a tool. They saw a Shardblade as a trophy to possess and exploit, not a chip from one’s very soul, a link to both nahel and lhel. None of the Heralds took the opportunity to explain the difference—it was bad enough that mankind had the weapons. Almighty protect the world if they ever found out the true power locked within those Blades . . .
“She’s fond of you, you know,” Kemnar said.
Taln cocked an eyebrow. Kemnar was still on the topic of Lady Jasnah. “I doubt that,” he replied. “More frustrated than fond, I would say.”
Kemnar shook his head. “She likes people who are a bit odd—they interest her. She could have chosen practically any Aleth nobleman of lesser rank to lead her guard. She could have had brilliant duelists, keen strategists, or could have at least made clever alliances through her choices. Instead, she picked me and . . . Nelshenden.” He paused quietly for a moment when he said his friend’s name. During the last week, Taln had pried from Kemnar the true events surrounding Elhokar’s departure. The truth had only given Taln one more reason to someday find a way to duel Meridas.
“Anyway,” Kemnar said, “she chose us. We were hardly the finest swordsmen in Alethkar, and our political connections . . . well, lets just say that in my case, she’d been politically better off before she chose me. I have something of a reputation in court. Nelshenden wasn’t much better. A man as simply honest as himself earns a measure of respect from his peers, but Nelshenden was no Dalenar. He didn’t have mighty deeds or a firm, commanding air to back up his ideals. Most court members found him self-righteous and disapproving. In a way, he was even more excluded from their ranks than myself.
“And yet, we were the two men Lady Jasnah chose to lead her soldiers. Despite all her manipulations at court, when it came down to her own guards she chose men she could trust.” He paused, eyeing Taln. “And I think she trusts you. Or, at least, she would, if . . .”
“If I weren’t insane,” Taln said
Kemnar laughed, clapping Taln on the shoulder. “None of us are perfect, Taln.”
They fell silent as they walked. Ahead, the city was getting closer in the night. Hopeful
ly they would arrive before the taverns began to close. Kemnar walked quietly at Taln’s side, alert and watchful despite his conversational attitude. This was a man accustomed to slinking through darkness and watching for foes—another attribute Taln would not have thought to discover in a Kanaran nobleman.
The town was relatively large for an outlying, non-lait village. Taln suspected it augmented income, and therefore population, by trading across the Riemak border a short distance away. Eventually, the two men passed through hillsides free of rockbuds and other vegetation, though their feet scuffed the remnants of inavah stalks. The bulbous grain-providing plants would have been harvested in preparation for the coming mid-summer highstorm. As they drew closer to the city, Taln was comforted to see that they weren’t too late—at least a half-tenset taverns shone brightly across the city.
Architecture appeared to have changed little in the centuries he had been gone. Simple stone dwellings were the norm. Here, away from the prettiness of Ral Eram, many of the buildings had been allowed to grow over with the minerals dropped by highstorm rains. Over the years, countless winters filled with almost unceasing rains had caked the buildings with sheens of rock not unlike those created from drippings inside caves. The transformation made the structures look less like man-made creations and more like things that seemed to have grown up as natural hills. Stalactites dripped from overhangs, and more ancient structures almost resembled melted piles of wax.
Kemnar smiled, pausing at the base of a hill a short distance from town, standing so his body would not be silhouetted against the night sky. “My father is lord of a city not unlike this,” he noted. “On the southeast corner of the kingdom. Despite the layout of the buildings, this could have been the very place I grew up.”
Taln nodded. “What are the current customs regarding travelers? Will anyone note our visit as irregular?”
“Oh, they’ll note it,” Kemnar said. “Strangers are always noticed, my friend. But will it be unusual? No, not likely. Most communities like this depend on trade to survive—they’ll need the leathers and metals their parent city produces with its Awakeners. The war will make people edgy, but I doubt travel will cease. Wandering duelists, monks, and craftsmen will still pass through. Families looking for a new city to settle will often visit—The Way of Kings promises them Right of Travel.”
“What’s our story, then?” Taln asked.
Kemnar paused for a moment, looking over their outfits. “A pair of men-at-arms,” he decided. “Traveling back to our lord’s city after performing a task. Not noblemen, but moderately high-ranking peasants—Third Citizens. You have that knife you took off the dead nobleman?”
“Of course,” Taln said, revealing the long-bladed knife.
“Make sure to display it prominently. It’s the sort of thing a high citizen would wear—it’s short enough to be considered still a knife, but long enough to almost be a sword. We’ll be expected to have spears or, more likely, axes, but could have left those behind with our packman. Our story is that we stopped for refreshment and news, but intend to press on through the night and next day before we stop for the Bellow. Our home city is Spiremount, our master Fourth Lord Khranshel. Our task is no one’s business.”
Taln nodded.
“And . . .” Kemnar added hesitantly “you might want to let me do most of the talking. That accent of yours will be fairly recognizable here, close to the border. We could explain it away, but I’d rather not draw attention.”
Taln frowned, but nodded again. Despite the man’s friendliness, Kemnar obviously regarded Taln as Jasnah did—a lost wanderer from Riemak, addled in the head. Jasnah had yet to commit to a final course for the refugee group, but Taln was growing increasingly eager to travel through the western land to the Holy City. Beyond searching out his brethren, this would let him see this area that everyone assumed was his home.
The city turned out to be Marcabe, a Sixth City tributed to Ralinkan. They were admitted through the city gates on Kemnar’s story. Though the hour was late, the taverns were still quite busy. Kemnar explained that because the harvest was in, there would be little for the town’s men to do the next day, and no reason for them to rise early. In addition, the town inns would be full of people who had come to the city to seek shelter from the Bellow. Taln and Kemnar walked leisurely through the town, and Taln noticed not a few city guards watching at intersections, keeping a wary eye on both townsfolk and newcomers. The city even had a monastery, though it was too dark and too distant to tell which order practiced within.
Kemnar picked a tavern with moderate occupancy. It was a well-kept, but out of the way, place that lay several streets off of the main thoroughfare. Taln wasn’t certain how Kemnar knew where to find it, yet the nobleman seemed to have little trouble—he simply glanced at where the other main taverns were, and then struck off the central thoroughfare and walked directly toward his chosen location. The tavern was an older building, its sides slick with cromstone. At first glance, its outside appeared to have been abandoned to the elements, but on closer examination Taln noted the uniformity of the stalactites, and how the cromstone curled inward around the windows, allowing for unobstructed sunlight. The doorway was also well-maintained.
Inside there was a surprising amount of wood furniture. Apparently, the Aleth managed to maintain a stable Awakening economy even far from their capital. With the right Awakeners placed beside working quarries, the cost of emeralds could be off-set by the ease of transporting wood instead of stone. The result was a substance that, while rare in natural occurrence, was nearly as cheap as good building stone.
The structure’s layout was unfamiliar to Taln. Instead of traditional Kanaran pillars, the tavern had been built with enormous wooden support beams in the ceiling, allowing for a more open atmosphere. A large stone serving bar ran down the exact center of the room, with an opening down the middle for the barkeep to serve drinks. Men sat upon stools on both sides, talking amongst themselves. Nearly all the lanterns in the room burned along this central bar, and there were more secluded, darkened tables lining the walls. Kemnar shunned these, making directly for a pair of stools at the bar. He set down their pack, pulled out a couple of glazed sapphire chips to buy drinks, and waved for Taln to sit beside him.
Taln eased into the seat, mindful to keep his tongue as the barkeep brought their drinks. The mugs were metal, though they had obviously been crafted from clay first, then Awakened. The barkeep himself was a short man with Aleth coloring. Despite his size, he had a wiry build and a no-nonsense glare that reminded one to be mindful of causing trouble in his bar. None of the patrons seemed inclined to disobey. There was an air of hesitant relaxation about them. As Taln listened, he was able to pick out tensets of conversations, his Herald’s mind instantly dividing the voices one from another and following the different discussions.
The men were relieved that the harvest had come in well—insects had been found inside the first polyps of inavah harvested, the grain eaten or spoiled from water leakage. Fortunately, the vermin hadn’t gone far, and the general harvest had been a success. The monastery—Order of Ishar, interestingly enough—had planned a feast in honor of their good fortune, and it was to take place on the day after the Bellow. Following the feast, the people would repair their city from the highstorm, then begin preparations for the summer planting, which had to be ready twenty days after the Bellow—the day when normal highstorms began again.
For now, however, there was rest. The harvest had finished early, leaving the men with nearly two weeks of freedom before the Bellow. Most had busied themselves with common tasks put off until such a time. Yet there had been plenty of opportunity for leisure. At first, the men had been worried that a conscription call would be made for the King’s Army, as had happened several times during the Pralir War. This time, however, it appeared that Elhokar intended to be finished before a conscription could be gathered, and for that the men were relieved. Anyone with adventurous inclinations had already been taken, and t
he last few calls for soldiers had required their local lord to begin choosing young men—and sometimes older ones—regardless of their desire. Men had stopped going to the monastery for weapons training—remote monasteries such as theirs trained in all of the arts, regardless of their order—for fear that such would single them out for military duty. Taln took this little tidbit in with a bitter frown. His brethren had instituted citizen arms training during the Epoch Kingdoms era to ensure that everyone would be able to defend themselves against the Khothen. Unfortunately, the palace servants’ performance during the Veden invasion proved that many had grown lax in their training.
Kemnar did more than just listen. Soon after they settled into their places, he began grumbling about his duties, his noble captain, and the lengths he was required to travel. His dissatisfaction with his superiors prompted general agreement from those around him, and soon he had a small group of confidants grumbling with him. The grumbles turned to smiles as Kemnar offered to spend a few of his lord’s chips to buy his new comrades a mug or two of inavah beer. Within a short time, Kemnar was chatting with the men as if they were childhood buddies, skillfully probing for information about current events.
Taln was impressed at Kemnar’s tact. The townsmen soon revealed that they were annoyed by the number of strangers in town this time of year—they didn’t even pause to think that they were speaking with one such—and that the bars along the main strip had raised their prices to capitalize on the influx. The Damp Stone—their own bar—appeared to be the favored spot for the common men, and was rarely visited by the passing rabble.
The men had no news from Ral Eram. Through a series of careful questions, Kemnar was able to gather that no one had come through town recently asking about travelers, and there was no word in the underground about a group such as Jasnah’s. That fact was comforting, though Taln had hoped that somehow the fall of the First Capital would be known. Either the invaders had succeeded in taking the town quietly, or word simply hadn’t reached this corner of the kingdom yet.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 53
