The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive 1)

The door swung closed. Kal set down the tubers and charged through the streets of Hearthstone, passing men chopping wood, women throwing out dishwater, and a group of grandfathers sitting on steps and looking at the sunset. He dunked his hands into a rain barrel, but didn’t stop as he shook the water free. He ran around Mabrow Pigherder’s house, up past the commonwater—the large hole cut into the rock at the center of the town to catch rain—and along the breakwall, the steep hillside against which the town was built to shield it from storms.

Here, he found a small stand of stumpweight trees. Knobby and about as tall as a man, they grew leaves only on their leeward sides, running down the length of the tree like rungs on a ladder, waving in the cool breeze. As Kal got close, the large, bannerlike leaves snapped up close to the trunks, making a series of whipping sounds.

Kal’s father stood on the other side, hands clasped behind his back. He was waiting where the road from the manor turned past Hearthstone. Lirin turned with a start, noticing Kal. He wore his finest clothing: a blue coat, buttoning up the sides, like a lighteyes’s coat. But it was over a pair of white trousers that showed wear. He studied Kal through his spectacles.

“I’m going with you,” Kal blurted. “Up to the mansion.”

“How did you know?

“Everyone knows,” Kal said. “You think they wouldn’t talk if Brightlord Roshone invited you to dinner? You, of all people?”

Lirin looked away. “I told your mother to keep you busy.”

“She tried.” Kal grimaced. “I’ll probably hear a storm of it when she finds those longroots sitting outside the front door.”

Lirin said nothing. The carriage rolled to a stop nearby, wheels grinding against the stone.

“This will not be a pleasant, idle meal, Kal,” Lirin said.

“I’m not a fool, Father.” When Hesina had been told there was no more need for her to work in the town…Well, there was a reason they’d been reduced to eating longroots. “If you’re going to confront him, then you should have someone to support you.”

“And that someone is you?”

“I’m pretty much all you have.”

The coachman cleared his throat. He didn’t get down and open the door, the way he did for Brightlord Roshone.

Lirin eyed Kal.

“If you send me back, I’ll go,” Kal said.

“No. Come along if you must.” Lirin walked up to the carriage and pulled open the door. It wasn’t the fancy, gold-trimmed vehicle that Roshone used. This was the second carriage, the older brown one. Kal climbed in, feeling a surge of excitement at the small victory—and an equal measure of panic.

They were going to face Roshone. Finally.

The benches inside were amazing, the red cloth covering them softer than anything Kal had ever felt. He sat down, and the seat was surprisingly springy. Lirin sat across from Kal, pulling the door closed, and the coachman snapped his whip at the horses. The vehicle turned around and rattled back up the road. As soft as the seat was, the ride was terribly bumpy, and it rattled Kal’s teeth against one another. It was worse than riding in a wagon, though that was probably because they were going faster.

“Why didn’t you want us to know about this?” Kal asked.

“I wasn’t certain I’d go.”

“What else would you do?”

“Move away,” Lirin said. “Take you to Kharbranth and escape this town, this kingdom, and Roshone’s petty grudges.”

Kal blinked in shock. He’d never thought of that. Suddenly everything seemed to expand. His future changed, wrapping upon itself, folding into a new form entirely. Father, Mother, Tien…with him. “Really?”

Lirin nodded absently. “Even if we didn’t go to Kharbranth, I’m sure many Alethi towns would welcome us. Most have never had a surgeon to care for them. They do the best they can with local men who learned most of what they know from superstition or working on the occasional wounded chull. We could even move to Kholinar; I’m skilled enough to get work as a physician’s assistant there.”

“Why don’t we go, then? Why haven’t we gone?”

Lirin watched out the window. “I don’t know. We should leave. It makes sense. We have the money. We aren’t wanted here. The citylord hates us, the people mistrust us, the Stormfather himself seems inclined to knock us down.” There was something in Lirin’s voice. Regret?

“I tried very hard to leave once,” Lirin said, more softly. “But there’s a tie between a man’s home and his heart. I’ve cared for these people, Kal. Delivered their children, set their bones, healed their scrapes. You’ve seen the worst of them, these last few years, but there was a time before that, a good time.” He turned to Kal, clasping his hands in front of him, the carriage rattling. “They’re mine, son. And I’m theirs. They’re my responsibility, now that Wistiow has gone. I can’t leave them to Roshone.”

“Even if they like what he’s doing?”

“Particularly because of that.” Lirin raised a hand to his head. “Stormfather. It sounds more foolish now that I say it.”

“No. I understand. I think.” Kal shrugged. “I guess, well, they still come to us when they’re hurt. They complain about how unnatural it is to cut into a person, but they still come. I used to wonder why.”

“And did you come to a conclusion?”

“Kind of. I decided that in the end, they’d rather be alive to curse at you a few more days. It’s what they do. Just like healing them is what you do. And they used to give you money. A man can say all kinds of things, but where he sets his spheres, that’s where his heart is.” Kal frowned. “I guess they did appreciate you.”

Lirin smiled. “Wise words. I keep forgetting that you’re nearly a man, Kal. When did you go and grow up on me?”

That night when we were nearly robbed, Kal thought immediately. That night when you shone light on the men outside, and showed that bravery had nothing to do with a spear held in battle.

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” Lirin said. “You told me that they did appreciate me. But they still do. Oh, they grumble—they’ve always done that. But they also leave food for us.”

Kal started. “They do?”

“How do you think we’ve been eating these last four months?”

“But—”

“They’re frightened of Roshone, so they’re quiet about it. They left it for your mother when she went to clean or put it in the rain barrel when it’s empty.”

“They tried to rob us.”

“And those very men were among the ones who gave us food as well.”

Kal pondered that as the carriage arrived at the manor house. It had been a long time since he’d visited the large, two-story building. It was constructed with a standard roof that sloped toward the stormward side, but was much larger. The walls were of thick white stones, and it had majestic square pillars on the leeward side.

Would he see Laral here? He was embarrassed by how infrequently he thought about her these days.

The mansion’s front grounds had a low stone wall covered with all kinds of exotic plants. Rockbuds lined the top, their vines draping down the outside. Clusters of a bulbous variety of shalebark grew along the inside, bursting with a variety of bright colors. Oranges, reds, yellows, and blues. Some outcroppings looked like heaps of clothing, with folds spread like fans. Others grew out like horns. Most had tendrils like threads that waved in the wind. Brightlord Roshone paid much more attention to his grounds than Wistiow had.