The Way of Kings, Part 1 (The Stormlight Archive #1.1)

Rysn hesitantly stepped down from the caravan’s lead wagon. Her feet fell on soft, uneven ground that sank down a little beneath her. That made her shiver, particularly since the too-thick grass didn’t move away as it should. Rysn tapped her foot a few times. The grass didn’t so much as quiver.

“It’s not going to move,” Vstim said. “Grass here doesn’t behave the way it does elsewhere. Surely you’ve heard that.” The older man sat beneath the bright yellow canopy of the lead wagon. He rested one arm on the side rail, holding a set of ledgers with the other hand. One of his long white eyebrows was tucked behind his ear and he let the other trail down beside his face. He preferred stiffly starched robes—blue and red—and a flat-topped conical hat. It was classic Thaylen merchant’s clothing: several decades out of date, yet still distinguished.

“I’ve heard of the grass,” Rysn said to him. “But it’s just so odd.” She stepped again, walking in a circle around the lead wagon. Yes, she’d heard of the grass here in Shinovar, but she’d assumed that it would just be lethargic. That people said it didn’t disappear because it moved too slowly.

But no, that wasn’t it. It didn’t move at all. How did it survive? Shouldn’t it have all been eaten away by animals? She shook her head in wonder, looking up across the plain. The grass completely covered it. The blades were all crowded together, and you couldn’t see the ground. What a mess it was.

“The ground is springy,” she said, rounding back to her original side of the wagon. “Not just because of the grass.”

“Hmm,” Vstim said, still working on his ledgers. “Yes. It’s called soil.”

“It makes me feel like I’m going to sink down to my knees. How can the Shin stand living here?”

“They’re an interesting people. Shouldn’t you be setting up the device?”

Rysn sighed, but walked to the rear of the wagon. The other wagons in the caravan—six in all—were pulling up and forming a loose circle. She took down the tailgate of the lead wagon and heaved, pulling out a wooden tripod nearly as tall as she was. She carried it over one shoulder, marching to the center of the grassy circle.

She was more fashionable than her babsk; she wore the most modern of clothing for a young woman her age: a deep blue patterned silk vest over a light green long-sleeved shirt with stiff cuffs. Her ankle-length skirt—also green—was stiff and businesslike, utilitarian in cut but embroidered for fashion.

She wore a green glove on her left hand. Covering the safehand was a silly tradition, just a result of Vorin cultural dominance. But it was best to keep up appearances. Many of the more traditional Thaylen people—including, unfortunately, her babsk— still found it scandalous for a woman to go about with her safehand uncovered.

She set up the tripod. It had been five months since Vstim become her babsk and she his apprentice. He’d been good to her. Not all babsk were; by tradition, he was more than just her master. He was her father, legally, until he pronounced her ready to become a merchant on her own.

She did wish he wouldn’t spend so much time traveling to such odd places. He was known as a great merchant, and she’d assumed that great merchants would be the ones visiting exotic cities and ports. Not ones who traveled to empty meadows in backward countries.

Tripod set up, she returned to the wagon to fetch the fabrial. The wagon back formed an enclosure with thick sides and top to offer protection against highstorms—even the weaker ones in the West could be dangerous, at least until one got through the passes and into Shinovar.

She hurried back to the tripod with the fabrial’s box. She slid off the wooden top and removed the large heliodor inside. The pale yellow gemstone, at least two inches in diameter, was fixed inside a metal framework. It glowed gently, not as bright as one might expect of such a sizable gem.

She set it in the tripod, then spun a few of the dials underneath, setting the fabrial to the people in the caravan. Then she pulled a stool from the wagon and sat down to watch. She’d been astonished at what Vstim had paid for the device—one of the new, recently invented types that would give warning if people approached. Was it really so important?

She sat back, looking up at the gemstone, watching to see if it grew brighter. The odd grass of the Shin lands waved in the wind, stubbornly refusing to withdraw, even at the strongest of gusts. In the distance rose the white peaks of the Misted Mountains, sheltering Shinovar. Those mountains caused the highstorms to break and fade, making Shinovar one of the only places in all of Roshar where highstorms did not reign.

The plain around her was dotted with strange, straight-trunked trees with stiff, skeletal branches full of leaves that didn’t withdraw in the wind. The entire landscape had an eerie feel to it, as if it were dead. Nothing moved. With a start, Rysn realized she couldn’t see any spren. Not a one. No windspren, no lifespren, nothing.

It was as if the entire land were slow of wit. Like a man who was born without all his brains, one who didn’t know when to protect himself, but instead just stared at the wall drooling. She dug into the ground with a finger, then brought it up to inspect the “soil,” as Vstim had called it. It was dirty stuff. Why, a strong gust could uproot this entire field of grass and blow it away. Good thing the highstorms couldn’t reach these lands.

Near the wagons, the servants and guards unloaded crates and set up camp. Suddenly, the heliodor began to pulse with a brighter yellow light. “Master!” she called, standing. “Someone’s nearby.”

Vstim—who had been going through crates—looked up sharply. He waved to Kylrm, head of the guards, and his six men got out their bows.

“There,” one said, pointing.

In the distance, a group of horsemen was approaching. They didn’t ride very quickly, and they led several large animals—like thick, squat horses—pulling wagons. The gemstone in the fabrial pulsed more brightly as the newcomers got closer.

“Yes,” Vstim said, looking at the fabrial. “That is going to be very handy. Good range on it.”

“But we knew they were coming,” Rysn said, rising from her stool and walking over to him.

“This time,” he said. “But if it warns us of bandits in the dark, it’ll repay its cost a dozen times over. Kylrm, lower your bows. You know how they feel about those things.”

The guards did as they were told, and the group of Thaylens waited. Rysn found herself tucking her eyebrows back nervously, though she didn’t know why she bothered. The newcomers were just Shin. Of course, Vstim insisted that she shouldn’t think of them as savages. He seemed to have great respect for them.

As they approached, she was surprised by the variety in their appearance. Other Shin she’d seen had worn basic brown robes or other worker’s clothing. At the front of this group, however, was a man in what must be Shin finery: a bright, multicolored cloak that completely enveloped him, tied closed at the front. It trailed down on either side of his horse, drooping almost to the ground. Only his head was exposed.