The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,310

you once tell me that you didn’t understand your own self?”

“Well, yes.”

“And yet you expect to be able to understand the exact workings of the Almighty?”

She drew her lips into a line. “All right, fine. But I still want to know more about the Voidbringers.”

He shrugged as she guided him into an archive room, filled with shelves of books. “I told you the basics, Shallan. The Voidbringers were an embodiment of evil. We fought them off ninety and nine times, led by the Heralds and their chosen knights, the ten orders we call the Knights Radiant. Finally, Aharietiam came, the Last Desolation. The Voidbringers were cast back into the Tranquiline Halls. The Heralds followed to force them out of heaven as well, and Roshar’s Heraldic Epochs ended. Mankind entered the Era of Solitude. The modern era.”

“But why is everything from before so fragmented?”

“This was thousands and thousands of years ago, Shallan,” Kabsal said. “Before history, before men even knew how to forge steel. We had to be given Shardblades, otherwise we would have had to fight the Voidbringers with clubs.”

“And yet we had the Silver Kingdoms and the Knights Radiant.”

“Formed and led by the Heralds.”

Shallan frowned, counting off rows of shelves. She stopped at the correct one, handed her lantern to Kabsal, then walked down the aisle and plucked the biography off the shelf. Kabsal followed her, holding up the lanterns.

“There’s more to this,” Shallan said. “Otherwise, Jasnah wouldn’t be digging so hard.”

“I can tell you why she’s doing it,” he said.

Shallan glanced at him.

“Don’t you see?” he said. “She’s trying to prove that the Voidbringers weren’t real. She wants to demonstrate that this was all a fabrication of the Radiants.” He stepped forward and turned to face her, the lanternlight rebounding from the books to either side, making his face pale. “She wants to prove once and for all that the devotaries—and Vorinism—are a gigantic fraud. That’s what this is all about.”

“Maybe,” Shallan said thoughtfully. It did seem to fit. What better goal for an avowed heretic? Undermining foolish beliefs and disproving religion? It explained why Jasnah would study something as seemingly inconsequential as the Voidbringers. Find the right evidence in the historical records, and Jasnah might well be able to prove herself right.

“Haven’t we been scourged enough?” Kabsal said, eyes angry. “The ardents are no threat to her. We’re not a threat to anyone these days. We can’t own property…Damnation, we’re property ourselves. We dance to the whims of the citylords and warlords, afraid to tell them the truths of their sins for fear of retribution. We’re whitespines without tusks or claws, expected to sit at our master’s feet and offer praise. Yet this is real. It’s all real, and they ignore us and—”

He cut off suddenly, glancing at her, lips tight, jaw clenched. She’d never seen such fervor, such fury from the pleasant ardent. She wouldn’t have thought him capable of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning from her, leading the way back down the aisle.

“It’s all right,” she said, hurrying after him, suddenly feeling depressed. Shallan had expected to find something grander, something more mysterious, behind Jasnah’s secretive research. Could it all really just be about proving Vorinism false?

They walked in silence out to the balcony. And there, she realized she had to tell him. “Kabsal, I’m leaving.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“I’ve had news from my family,” she said. “I can’t speak of it, but I can stay no longer.”

“Something about your father?”

“Why? Have you heard something?”

“Only that he’s been reclusive lately. More than normal.”

She suppressed a flinch. News had gotten this far? “I’m sorry to go so suddenly.”

“You’ll return?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked into her eyes, searching. “Do you know when you’ll be leaving?” he said in a suddenly cool voice.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Well then,” he said. “Will you at least do me the honor of sketching me? You’ve never given me a likeness, though you’ve done many of the other ardents.”

She started, realizing that was true. Despite their time together, she’d never done a sketch of Kabsal. She raised her freehand to her mouth. “I’m sorry!”

He seemed taken aback. “I didn’t mean it bitterly, Shallan. It’s really not that important—”

“Yes it is,” she said, grabbing his hand, towing him along the walkway. “I left my drawing things up above. Come on.” She hurried him to the lift, instructing the parshmen to carry them up. As the lift began to rise, Kabsal looked at her hand in his. She dropped it hastily.

“You’re a very confusing woman,” he said stiffly.

“I