Merin frowned. “I don’t mean to offend, Renarin, but I thought you didn’t know very much about tactics.”
“My problem has never been knowledge, Merin,” Renarin said. “Leader-ship isn’t as much about what you know, but about how confidently you display it. That’s immaterial now, however. I just . . . don’t think we should go to Kholinar. We’ll be trapped.”
Merin’s frown deepened as he noticed the onyx in Renarin’s hand and the quick, tense exhales of wind coming from his nostrils. “Is this a guess . . . or something else?”
“A little of both,” Renarin said. “Like I said—I made my projections on too small a scale, which limited my view. I don’t think we should go to Kholinar.”
“Where then?” Merin asked.
“Lakhenran,” Renarin said confidently.
“Lakhenran?” Merin asked. “That’s part of Jah Keved—a conquered kingdom. Why would you want to go there!”
“I don’t know,” Renarin said with equal confidence.
Merin sighed, shaking his head. “It isn’t that I don’t trust your opinion, but . . . I don’t know, Renarin. Can you really do what you say? I mean, see the future?”
“It’s not like that,” Renarin said. “It’s like . . . I can see the very edges of something massive, some enormous wealth of information. I dare not get too close. It’s tremendous, and if I step inside, I fear what I might see. Yet, standing on the edges, I get hints of things. Possibilities. I see them in the way the numbers arrange, the way the permutations fall when random elements are incorporated. You have to trust me.”
Merin turned, eyeing Shinri, who stood nervously beside the Thalenah Oathgate. If soldiers returned, she would obviously have no qualms opening her own Oathgate and leaving Merin and Renarin behind.
Merin turned back to Renarin. Kholinar, with the safety of Lord Dalenar’s wisdom, had seemed like such an obvious choice. But, at the same time, there was going to be grave disappointment within those wise eyes.
“My father won’t be there anyway,” Renarin said. “He’s marched on Crossguard already.”
Renarin seemed so certain of himself now, so different from the quiet, unassuming boy of before. “All right,” Merin said. “We’ll go to Lakhenran. I hope you’re right about this.”
Merin turned back toward the Oathgates, but Renarin caught his arm.
“There’s something else,” Renarin whispered. “We need to take her with us.”
Merin froze. “What?” he demanded quietly.
“Lady Shinri,” Renarin said. “She must not go to Thalenah. Even if we only consider political reasonings, we need to keep her with us—she has power over the Oathgates, Merin, and she’s the wife of the man invading our homeland. We can’t let her just let her slip away.”
Merin felt his stomach turn. “You can’t be suggesting what I think you are,” he said through gritted teeth. “The woman just saved my life!”
“And we should show our thanks by making certain she doesn’t fall into enemy hands,” Renarin said. “I’ll take care of it. Just be ready to back me up.”
Merin closed his eyes. There wasn’t time for arguing, however. The room would soon be flooded with Veden soldiers, and Shardblade or no, Merin couldn’t fight an entire palace worth of soldiers.
“Lady Shinri,” he said. “Please open the Gate to Lakhenran.”
“Lakhenran?” She asked with surprise. “What wind takes you that direction! Why not just go to Veden City itself!”
“Just do it, please,” Merin said.
She sighed, walking over to a rectangular Gate constructed of a ruddy bronze metal, inset with smooth, bubble-like red gems. She reached out to the large opal at the side of the Gate, and lay her hand upon it.
She made a sudden intake of breath, visible only to Merin, and held it. Her eyes closed, and her face adopted a strangely excited look.
It’s like Renarin said, Merin realized. She sees things within the opal, things like the wind, or Renarin’s numbers.
Misty-white smoke fell from the top of the Gate, coating its center like an undulating sheet. The Gate was active. Merin took a breath and strode forward, through the sheet, and stepped into an empty, dome-like room lit by several windows.
Renarin approached the Gate behind him. Merin could see him through the patch of disturbed smoke, standing beside the still-enraptured Shinri. Renarin met Merin’s eyes, then reached out and grabbed Shinri by the shoulder, pushing her through the Oathgate before him.
Shinri yelped in surprise, her eyes snapping open and she stumbled—and nearly fell—through the smoke. Renarin came through afterward, still holding firmly to Shinri’s arm.
“What is this!” the girl screamed, struggling. “Let me go!” She twisted in Renarin’s grip, turning to flail against him with a barrage of feminine punches. Renarin held her as best he could, but the woman was amazingly agile. She squirmed and writhed in his grip, trying to leap toward the still-open Oathgate and escape.
Merin sighed. Almighty forgive me, he thought. Because this certainly doesn’t feel very noble . . .
“Enough!” Merin snapped, raising his Shardblade, point-first toward Shinri. “Close the gate, Lady Shinri. We don’t want the Vedens knowing which Gate we chose.”
Shinri froze, eyes falling on the glimmering Blade just a few inches from her chin. She looked up, enraged anger flaring in her eyes. “How dare you!”
“Listen,” Merin said. “The soldiers are coming on the other side. You don’t have time to escape through another Oathgate anyway. Close the portal. Otherwise they’ll pour through and take us captive. You think they’ll let you have another chance to escape after this?”
Slowly, something coalesced in Shinri’s eyes—her rage cooling to an icy hatred, then dropping behind a veil of control. Her face grew flat, and she shook off Renarin’s hands with a dignified motion. At that moment, Merin noticed something odd—her sleeve was turned inside out, and the inside lining of the cloth was unraveled in a twisted mess.
“You’re no better than him,” Shinri said, laying her hand on the Gate’s control opal. This time she did not close her eyes. The smoke dissipated, and the Oathgate fell still.
Merin breathed in relief. A moment later, the doors to the Oathgate chamber burst open, and two tenset worried soldiers piled into the room.
“Congratulations,” Shinri said. “You’ve managed to lead us from one prison into another.”
chapter 64
Jasnah 14
Taln’s disappearance didn’t stop the influx of soldiers and recruits—apparently, the momentum of the Herald rumors were too strong to be bothered by something so trivial as the actual Herald’s absence.
The army was a frighteningly diverse group. Many of its members showed surprising, even alarming, faith in Taln’s ability to defeat their pursuers. If these believers had been in charge, the army would have turned to follow its god—not to help, but to watch in wonder as their Herald destroyed the infidels.
Jasnah listened to such sentiments with stupefaction. Most of those who spoke hadn’t even heard of the army a few weeks before, yet they were already fanatically devoted to their ‘god.’ Granted, most of them were Elinrah believers, and while orthodox Vorinism had given up on the myth of the Returns long ago, Elinrah still taught men to watch for signs of the coming Heralds. Yet Jasnah couldn’t help thinking that if these people’s faith was truly as powerful and as loyal as they claimed, they wouldn’t be willing to transfer it to Taln so flippantly. They were exactly the sort of chaotic element that made her uncomfortable with religion.
Others in the army were far more skeptical. The mercenaries formed the keenest edge of this sentiment, and Vinde—Kemnar’s lanky second—had difficulty keeping the zealots from turning on their more secular comrades. Even with Vinde’s policing force—formed from some of the army’s more stable elements—there were occasional brawls. Of course, some of that could be blamed on the overall tension in the army; for while there were a good numb
er of both zealots and skeptics, the majority of the people were just frightened.
This core group of people believed that Taln was a Herald, while at the same time worrying that he wasn’t. Jasnah could see their tension. Many had joined the army less from design and more by happenstance—they had come by curiosity, whim, or desperation. There was no way to keep news of army’s pursuit quiet, not with Nachin and his family in camp. Rumors of the Veden tensquad ran through the camp, bringing with it a anxiety that wasn’t dulled even by the firm marching speed Meridas instituted.
The rumors only grew worse when, several days out of Galevan, one of Meridas’s young runners arrived at the camp with confirmation of the Veden army’s existence. According to the scout, the invaders had gained on Jasnah’s group. He admitted that there was no sign of Taln or Kemnar.
They had their first desertions that night. It was a poor precedent, even if their recruits still far outnumbered the disappearances. However, it reminded the men of what they really were—not a cohesive army, trained by a formal nation and in its employ, but a random band of pseudo-refugees held together tenuously, if at all. There would be no hunts for deserters, no executions of those who fled. They had come on their own; they could leave the same way.
Morale was not improved by the marching conditions, or by the need for rationing. Before leaving Galevan, Meridas had surprised Jasnah by managing to arrange a nervous trading session with the city lords. His argument had been simple—he reminded them that every moment the city delayed them, even by trading, was a moment it could claim to have helped its Veden conspirators. The strange reverse-argument acquired the army much needed supplies, though the session drained a good portion of their remaining chips.
Even with the purchases, however, the food would not last long, and it was difficult to hide this fact from the men, since they were the ones carrying it. Jasnah knew that the camp must assume that she had far more currency than she did, otherwise the desertions would have been much greater. However, if the Veden army did approach, she had little doubt that most of these people would abandon her. They had come to fight for a Herald, for food, and for pay. Soon, they would find themselves without any of the three.
“His name is Aneazer, and he calls himself the ‘Lord of Riemak,’” Nachin explained. “Everyone in the area knows about him, and a good number of the cities pay him a protection tribute.”
“‘Protection’ from his own men, no doubt,” Vinde spat. The long-limbed man sat looking at Kemnar’s map, Brother Lhan and the escaped soldier standing with him. Jasnah sat apart a short distance, listening quietly.
“True, Lord Vinde,” Nachin agreed. “Any city that refuses him is . . . persuaded otherwise. However, Aneazer does make good on his contract. When raiders or bandits try to attack cities or caravans under his protection, he makes swift retribution. In a way, it’s one of the safest areas in Riemak—or one of the most dangerous, since it’s oppressed by the tyrant with the most men and the best equipment.”
“And he controls the Holy City?” Vinde asked. The lanky man was trying very hard to carry Kemnar’s position the same way he carried the man’s blade, but neither was an easy task. Jasnah had been forced to take upon herself some of the duties Kemnar had been doing—making certain food distribution happened in a timely manner, meting out minor disciplinary actions, and other basic tasks. The aggregate was simply too overwhelming for a man such as Vinde, who was an honest soldier and a well-trained duelist, but who had never commanded anything larger than a squad of ten men.
Nachin, however, had proven a surprising resource. He quickly proved his word on being one of the best fighters in the area, his knowledge of tactics was sound, and he was remarkably honorable. Of all the men in Galevan, only he had come to her with the truth behind the city’s betrayal. While several other soldiers had drifted out of the city, deciding to throw their lot in with the Herald, none had Nachin’s skill or determination. He didn’t look much like a soldier with his small, awkward build and twitching eyes, but he certainly acted like one.
“Will this Aneazer trade with us?” Lhan asked. The monk had, at Vinde’s pleading, taken a more active hand in camp administration. Though he had little experience, Lhan’s position as a Vorin clergyman had gained him the respect and goodwill of the general soldiers. Vinde gained some measure of authority simply by being seen counseling with the monk.
Nachin shrugged. “Trade? No, I think Aneazer will likely to consider us a threat. An armed force, traveling through his territory? He’ll think we’ve come to try and capture his Oathgate.”
Oathgate. It was easy to forget about the Jorevan Gate. It was used rarely, and then only by merchants willing to pay the exorbitant fees demanded by the despot who controlled the Holy City. She supposed that was probably this ‘Lord Aneazer.’
“Oathgate!” Nachin exclaimed. “That’s right! Maybe we can . . .”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Vinde said with a shake of his head. “Both sides have to be open, and the one in Ral Eram is most certainly sealed. It’s a hope, I suppose—but a flimsy one.”
“Oh,” Nachin said, let down. His eyes glanced toward Vinde’s—Kemnar’s—Shardblade. To Nachin, born away from civilization in Riemak’s wilds, a Shardblade was probably a legendary thing, perhaps even thought mythological.
“It just seems like a bad idea, Lord Vinde,” Nachin said. “No Oathgate, no money to trade, and a city ruled by the most powerful despot in Riemak. Why even go to Jorevan? Why not head for Alethkar?”
“Talenel told us to meet him in the Holy City,” Jasnah said, surprising the two with her entrance into the conversation. “That, then, is where we shall go.”
Vinde blushed. “Yes, my lady,” he said. “Of course. We didn’t mean to . . .”
“I know you didn’t,” Jasnah said, turning away.
Unfortunately, Nachin was right. She had heard other army members speak of Aneazer. All agreed that he was a ruthless man, especially with those who posed him a threat. Even though Jasnah’s men were poorly equipped and barely trained, their numbers were quickly approaching a thousand. Theirs was not an incursion that could be ignored.
Of course, without Taln, they might as well disband the army anyway—with the Vedens approaching, her men wouldn’t last long beyond his failure to return.
Failure to return. It had been six days. He would have met the Vedens five days before, around the same time as Meridas’s scouts. Whatever plan Taln had intended, he had likely executed it by now.
Nachin and Vinde trailed away, their conversation stilled by her comment. Brother Lhan remained where he was.
“It’s probably too soon for him to be back,” Lhan said. “There is little sense in worrying about him, though I doubt you can help yourself.”
Jasnah stifled a blush. “What makes you think I was . . .”
Lhan nodded to the south. “You’ve been staring in the direction he went for the last hour. You do that a lot, these days.”
This time she did blush. She glanced away. “I’m just worried about the army,” she said. “The rumors that he’ll never return are growing stronger, and we had more desertions yesterday than we had new arrivals.”
“Well, that’s certainly something worth worrying about. I’m afraid we’re making something of a mess of your army.”
“You’re doing fine, Brother Lhan,” she said.
Lhan raised an eyebrow. “I made only a passable monk, my lady. I’m not sure what possessed me to think I might make a good general. It’s Vinde’s fault—I told him that I would be of no help, but he wouldn’t listen. You see, I’ve spent my entire life striving to be as useless as possible.”
“You say that as if you are proud of it,” Jasnah said with a frown.
“You have to admit,” Lhan said, “it is a something of an accomplishment. Few men can truthfully claim to be as vestigial as myself. The only problem with my success is somehow I’ve arrived in a position where there are tasks I actually wish to accomplish�
�and, unfortunately, I find myself woefully underqualified.” He sat uncomfortably for a moment before speaking again. “It’s breaking apart, my lady. Even I can tell that.”
“I know,” Jasnah said. “Taln was their heart—the reason they came.”
“It’s more than that,” Lhan said. “Kemnar and Taln . . . they knew things. Understood things. They could make certain all the jobs got done, and that everyone wanted to do them. Vinde tries—in fact, I worry that he tries too hard. But he’s no substitute for Kemnar, and Meridas doesn’t care to even try to be a replacement for Taln.”
I shouldn’t have sent Kemnar after him, Jasnah thought, not for the first time. She hadn’t realized how vital the man had become to the army’s running. Regardless of whether Meridas or Taln were in charge, the people had come to Kemnar to settle their disputes. His efficiency had made certain everyone had enough to eat, everyone knew where to sleep, and that guards were always posted. Meridas knew how to organize an army, but he obviously expected these little details to be covered by others. Though Taln had carried the people’s hopes, Kemnar had carried their day-to-day, functional respect.
And all this time I was using him as my personal messenger. Kemnar’s duties as her guard had been a little more important than that, of course, but she had always used his raw effectiveness for uninspired purposes. If his ability to organize this army was any indication, Kemnar could have become a senior general in the King’s army despite his low noble rank. She hadn’t realized what she’d kept him from. He probably didn’t either—ambition seemed a foreign word to the man.
And now they might both be dead. The thought made her stomach twist. She had come to rely on them both so much—Kemnar for what he did, Taln for . . . something else. She told herself it was his ability to unite the army, that she wanted so desperately for him to return only because she had based her play for troops upon his growing reputation.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 71
