"Go!" Kaladin bellowed.
Remarkably, the lighteyed man saluted him and began yelling for his squad. Kholin's men were wounded, battered, and dazed, but they were well trained. Once someone took command, orders passed quickly. Squads crossed the bridge, falling into marching formations. Likely, in the confusion, they clung to these familiar patterns.
Within minutes, the central mass of Kholin's army was flowing across the bridge like sand in an hourglass. The ring of fighting contracted. Still, men screamed and died in the anarchic tumult of sword against shield and spear against metal.
Kaladin hurriedly pulled the carapace off his armor-enraging the Parshendi didn't feel wise at the moment-then moved among the wounded, looking for more officers. He found a couple, though they were dazed, wounded, and out of breath. Apparently, those who were still battleworthy were leading the two flanks who held back the Parshendi.
Trailed by Moash, Kaladin hurried to the central front line, where the Alethi seemed to be holding the best. Here, finally, he found someone in command: a tall, stately lighteyes with a steel breastplate and matching helm, his uniform a darker shade of blue than the others. He directed the fighting from just behind the front lines.
The man nodded to Kaladin, yelling to be heard over the sounds of battle. "You command the bridgemen?"
"I do," Kaladin said. "Why aren't your men moving across the bridge?"
"We are the Cobalt Guard," the man said. "Our duty is to protect Brightlord Adolin." The man pointed toward Adolin in his blue Shardplate just ahead. The Shardbearer seemed to be pushing toward something.
"Where's the highprince?" Kaladin yelled.
"We're not sure." The man grimaced. "His guardsmen have vanished."
"You have to pull back. The bulk of the army is across. If you remain here, you'll be surrounded!"
"We will not leave Brightlord Adolin. I'm sorry."
Kaladin looked around. The groups of Alethi fighting at the flanks were barely holding their ground, but they wouldn't fall back until ordered.
"Fine," Kaladin said, raising his spear and pushing his way through to the front line. Here, the Parshendi fought with vigor. Kaladin cut down one by the neck, spinning into the middle of a group, flashing out with his spear. His Stormlight was nearly gone, but these Parshendi had gemstones in their beards. Kaladin breathed in-just a little, so as to not reveal himself to the Alethi soldiers-and launched into a full attack.
The Parshendi fell back before his furious assault, and the few members of the Cobalt Guard around him stumbled away, looking stunned. In seconds, Kaladin had a dozen Parshendi on the ground around him, wounded or dead. That opened a gap, and he tore through, Moash on his heels.
A lot of the Parshendi were focused on Adolin, whose blue Shardplate was scraped and cracked. Kaladin had never seen a suit of Shardplate in such a terrible state. Stormlight rose from those cracks in much the way it steamed from Kaladin's skin when he held-or used-a lot of it.
The fury of a Shardbearer at war gave Kaladin pause. He and Moash stopped just outside of the man's fighting range, and the Parshendi ignored the bridgemen, trying with obvious desperation to take down the Shardbearer. Adolin cut down through multiple men at once-but, as Kaladin had seen only once before, his Blade did not slice flesh. Parshendi eyes burned and blackened, and dozens fell dead, Adolin collecting corpses around him like ripened fruit falling from a tree.
And yet, Adolin was obviously struggling. His Shardplate was more than just cracked-there were holes in parts. His helm was gone, though he'd replaced it with a regular spearman's cap. His left leg limped, nearly dragging. That Blade of his was deadly, but the Parshendi drew closer and closer.
Kaladin didn't dare step into range. "Adolin Kholin!" he bellowed.
The man kept fighting.
"Adolin Kholin!" Kaladin yelled again, feeling a little puff of Stormlight leave him, his voice booming.
The Shardbearer paused, then looked back at Kaladin. Reluctantly, the Shardbearer pulled back, letting the Cobalt Guard-using the path opened by Kaladin-rush forward and hold back the Parshendi.
"Who are you?" Adolin demanded, reaching Kaladin. His proud, youthful face was slick with sweat, his hair a matted mess of blond mixed with black.
"I'm the man who saved your life," Kaladin said. "I need you to order the retreat. Your troops can't fight any longer."
"My father is out there, bridgeman," Adolin said, pointing with his overly large Blade. "I saw him just moments ago. His Ryshadium went for him, but neither horse nor man has returned. I'm going to lead a squad to-"
"You are going to retreat!" Kaladin said, exasperated. "Look at your men, Kholin! They can barely keep their feet, let alone fight. You're losing dozens by the minute. You need to get them out."
"I won't abandon my father," Adolin said stubbornly.
"For the peace of… If you fall, Adolin Kholin, these men have nothing. Their commanders are wounded or dead. You can't go to your father; you can barely walk! I repeat, get your men to safety!"
The young Shardbearer stepped back, blinking at Kaladin's tone. He looked northeastward, toward where a figure in slate grey suddenly appeared on a rock outcropping, fighting against another figure in Shardplate. "He's so close…"
Kaladin took a deep breath. "I'll go for him. You lead the retreat. Hold the bridge, but only the bridge."
Adolin glared at Kaladin. He took a step, but something in his armor gave out, and he stumbled, going to one knee. Teeth gritted, he managed to rise. "Captainlord Malan," Adolin bellowed. "Take your soldiers, go with this man. Get my father out!"
The man Kaladin had spoken to earlier saluted crisply. Adolin glared at Kaladin again, then hefted his Shardblade and stalked with difficulty toward the bridge.
"Moash, go with him," Kaladin said.
"But-"
"Do it, Moash," Kaladin said grimly, glancing toward the outcropping where Dalinar fought. Kaladin took a deep breath, tucked his spear under his arm, and dashed off at a dead run.
The Cobalt Guard yelled at him, trying to keep up, but he didn't look back. He hit the line of Parshendi attackers, turned and tripped two with his spear, then leaped over the bodies and kept going. Most Parshendi in this patch were distracted by Dalinar's fight or the battle to get to the bridge; the ranks were thin here between the two fronts.
Kaladin moved quickly, drawing in more Light as he ran, dodging and scrambling around Parshendi who tried to engage him. Within moments, he'd reached the place where Dalinar had been fighting. Though the rock shelf was now empty, a large group of Parshendi were gathered around its base.
There, he thought, leaping forward. A horse whinnied. Dalinar looked up in shock as Gallant charged into the open ring of ground the watching Parshendi had made. The Ryshadium had come to him. How… where…? The horse should have been free and safe on the staging plateau.
It was too late. Dalinar was on one knee, beaten down by the enemy Shardbearer. The Parshendi kicked, smashing his foot into Dalinar's chest, throwing him backward.
A hit to the helm followed. Another. Another. The helm exploded, and the force of the hits left Dalinar dazed. Where was he? What was happening? Why was he pinned by something so heavy?
Shardplate, he thought, struggling to rise. I'm wearing… my Shardplate…
A breeze blew across his face. Head blows; you had to be careful of head blows, even when wearing Plate. His enemy stood over him, looming, and seemed to inspect him. As if searching for something.
Dalinar had dropped his Blade. The common Parshendi soldiers surrounded the duel. They forced Gallant back, making the horse whinny. He reared. Dalinar watched him, vision swimming.
Why didn't the Shardbearer just finish him? The Parshendi giant leaned down, then spoke. The words were thick with accent, and Dalinar's mind nearly dismissed them. But here, up close, Dalinar realized something. He understood what was being said. The accent was nearly impenetrable, but the words were in Alethi.
"It is you," the Parshendi Shardbearer said. "I have found you at last."
Dalinar blinked in surprise.
Something disturbed the back ranks of the watching Parshendi soldiers. There was something familiar about this scene, Parshendi all around, Shardbearer in danger. Dalinar had lived it before, but from the other side.
That Shardbearer couldn't be talking to him. Dalinar had been hit too hard on the head. He must be delusional. What was that disturbance in the ring of Parshendi watchers?
Sadeas, Dalinar found himself thinking, his mind confused. He's come to rescue me, as I rescued him.
Unite them…
He'll come, Dalinar thought. I know he will. I will gather them…
The Parshendi were yelling, moving, twisting. Suddenly, a figure exploded through them. Not Sadeas at all. A young man with a strong face and long, curling black hair. He carried a spear.
And he was glowing.
What? Dalinar thought, dazed. Kaladin landed in the open circle. The two Shardbearers were at the center, one on the ground, Stormlight trailing faintly from his body. Too faintly. Considering the number of cracks, his gemstones must be almost spent. The other-a Parshendi, judging by the size and shape of the limbs-was standing over the fallen one.
Great, Kaladin thought, dashing forward before the Parshendi soldiers could collect their wits and attack him. The Parshendi Shardbearer was bent down, focused on Dalinar. The Parshendi's Plate was leaking Stormlight through a large fissure in the leg.
So-memory flashing back to the time he rescued Amaram-Kaladin got in close and slammed his spear into the crack.
The Shardbearer screamed and dropped his Blade in surprise. It puffed to mist. Kaladin whipped his spear free and dodged backward. The Shardbearer swung toward him with a gauntleted fist, but missed. Kaladin jumped in and-throwing his full strength behind the blow-rammed his spear into the cracked leg armor again.
The Shardbearer screamed even louder, stumbling, then fell to his knees. Kaladin tried to pull his spear free, but the man crumpled on top of it, snapping the shaft. Kaladin dodged back, now facing a ring of Parshendi, empty-handed, Stormlight streaming from his body.
Silence. And then, they began speaking again, the words they'd said before. "Neshua Kadal!" They passed it among themselves, whispering, looking confused. Then they began to chant a song he'd never heard before.
Good enough, Kaladin thought. So long as they weren't attacking him. Dalinar Kholin was moving, sitting up. Kaladin knelt down, commanding most of his Stormlight into the stony ground, retaining just enough to keep him going, but not enough to make him glow. Then he hurried over to the armored horse at the side of the ring of Parshendi.
The Parshendi shied away from him, looking terrified. He took the reins and quickly returned to the highprince. Dalinar shook his head, trying to clear his mind. His vision still swam, but his thoughts were reforming. What had happened? He'd been hit on the head, and… and now the Shardbearer was down.
Down? What had caused the Shardbearer to fall? Had the creature really talked to him? No, he must have imagined that. That, and the young spearman glowing. He wasn't doing so now. Holding Gallant's reins, the young man waved at Dalinar urgently. Dalinar forced himself to his feet. Around them, the Parshendi were muttering something unintelligible.
That Shardplate, Dalinar thought, looking at the kneeling Parshendi. A Shardblade… I could fulfill my promise to Renarin. I could…
The Shardbearer groaned, holding his leg with a gauntleted hand. Dalinar itched to finish the kill. He took a step forward, dragging his unresponsive foot. Around them, the Parshendi troops watched silently. Why didn't they attack?
The tall spearman ran up to Dalinar, pulling Gallant's reins. "On your horse, lighteyes."
"We should finish him. We could-"
"On your horse!" the youth commanded, tossing the reins at him as the Parshendi troops turned to engage a contingent of approaching Alethi soldiers.
"You're supposed to be an honorable one," the spearman snarled. Dalinar had rarely been spoken to in such a way, particularly by a darkeyed man. "Well, your men won't leave without you, and my men won't leave without them. So you will get on your horse and we will escape this death-trap. Do you understand?"
Dalinar met the young man's eyes. Then nodded. Of course. He was right; they had to leave the enemy Shardbearer. How would they get the armor out, anyway? Tow the corpse all the way?
"Retreat!" Dalinar bellowed to his soldiers, pulling himself into Gallant's saddle. He barely made it, his armor had so little Stormlight left.
Steady, loyal Gallant sprang into a gallop down the corridor of escape his men had bought for him with their blood. The nameless spearman dashed behind him, and the Cobalt Guard fell in around them. A larger force of his troops was ahead, on the escape plateau. The bridge still stood, Adolin waiting anxiously at its head, holding it for Dalinar's retreat.
With a rush of relief, Dalinar galloped across the wooden deck, reaching the adjoining plateau. Adolin and last of his troops filed along behind him.
He turned Gallant, looking eastward. The Parshendi crowded up to the chasm, but did not give chase. A group of them worked on the chrysalis atop the plateau. It had been forgotten by all sides in the fervor. They had never followed before, but if they changed their mind now, they could harry Dalinar's force all the way back to the permanent bridges.
But they didn't. They formed ranks and began to chant another of their songs, the same one they sang every time the Alethi forces retreated. As Dalinar watched, a figure in cracked, silvery Shardplate and a red cape stumbled to their forefront. The helm had been removed, but it was too distant to make out any features on the black and red marbled skin. Dalinar's erstwhile foe raised his Shardblade in a motion that was unmistakable. A salute, a gesture of respect. Instinctively, Dalinar summoned his Blade, and ten heartbeats later raised it to salute in return.
The bridgemen pulled the bridge across the chasm, separating the armies.
"Set up triage," Dalinar bellowed. "We don't leave anyone behind who has a chance at living. The Parshendi will not attack us here!"
His men let out a shout. Somehow, escaping felt like more of a victory than any gemheart they'd won. The tired Alethi troops divided into battalions. Eight had marched to battle, and they became eight again-though several had only a few hundred members remaining. Those men trained for field surgery looked through the ranks while the remaining officers got survivor counts. The men began to sit down among the painspren and exhaustionspren, bloodied, some weaponless, many with torn uniforms.
On the other plateau, the Parshendi continued their odd song.
Dalinar found himself focusing on the bridge crew. The youth who had saved him was apparently their leader. Had he fought down a Shardbearer? Dalinar hazily remembered a quick, sharp encounter, a spear to the leg. Clearly the young man was both skilled and lucky.
The bridgeman's team acted with far more coordination and discipline than Dalinar would have expected of such lowly men. He could wait no longer. Dalinar nudged Gallant forward, crossing the stones and passing wounded, exhausted soldiers. That reminded him of his own fatigue, but now that he had a chance to sit, he was recovering, his head no longer ringing.
The leader of the bridge crew was seeing to a man's wound, and his fingers worked with expertise. A man trained in field medicine, among bridgemen?
Well, why not? Dalinar thought. It's no odder than their being able to fight so well. Sadeas had been holding out on him.
The young man looked up. And, for the first time, Dalinar noticed the slave brands on the youth's forehead, hidden by the long hair. The youth stood, posture hostile, folding his arms.
"You are to be commended," Dalinar said. "All of you. Why did your highprince retreat, only to send you back for us?"
Several of the bridgemen chuckled.
"He didn't send us back," their leader said. "We came on our own. Against his wishes."
Dalinar found himself nodding, and he realized that this was the only answer that made sense. "Why?" Dalinar asked. "Why come for us?"
The youth shrugged. "You allowed yourself to get trapped in there quite spectacularly."
Dalinar nodded tiredly. Perhaps he should have been annoyed at the young man's tone, but it was only the truth. "Yes, but why did you come? And how did you learn to fight so well?"
"By accident," the young man said. He turned back to his wounded.
"What can I do to repay you?" Dalinar asked.
The bridgeman looked back at him. "I don't know. We were going to flee from Sadeas, disappear in the confusion. We might still, but he'll certainly hunt us down and kill us."
"I could take your men to my camp, make Sadeas free you from your bondage."
"I worry that he wouldn't let us go," the bridgeman said, eyes haunted. "And I worry that your camp would offer no safety at all. This move today by Sadeas. It will mean war between you two, will it not?"
Would it? Dalinar had avoided thinking of Sadeas-survival had taken his focus-but his anger at the man was a seething pit deep within. He would exact revenge on Sadeas for this. But could he allow war between the princedoms? It would shatter Alethkar. More than that, it would destroy the Kholin house. Dalinar didn't have the troops or the allies to stand against Sadeas, not after this disaster.
How would Sadeas respond when Dalinar returned? Would he try to finish the job, attacking? No, Dalinar thought. No, he did it this way for a purpose. Sadeas had not engaged him personally. He had abandoned Dalinar, but by Alethi standards, that was another thing entirely. He didn't want to risk the kingdom either.
Sadeas wouldn't want outright war, and Dalinar couldn't afford outright war, despite his seething anger. He formed a fist, turning to look at the spearman. "It will not turn to war," Dalinar said. "Not yet, at least."
"Well, if that's the case," the spearman said, "then by taking us into your camp, you commit robbery. The king's law, the Codes my men always claim you uphold, would demand that you return us to Sadeas. He won't let us go easily."
"I will take care of Sadeas," Dalinar said. "Return with me. I vow that you will be safe. I promise it with every shred of honor I have."
The young bridgeman met his eyes, searching for something. Such a hard man he was for one so young.
"All right," the spearman said. "We'll return. I can't leave my men back at camp and-with so many men now wounded-we don't have the proper supplies to run."
The young man turned back to his work, and Dalinar rode Gallant in search of a casualty report. He forced himself to contain his rage at Sadeas. It was difficult. No, Dalinar could not let this turn to war-but neither could he let things go back to the way they had been.
Sadeas had upset the balance, and it could never be regained. Not in the same way.
"All is withdrawn for me. I stand against the one who saved my life. I protect the one who killed my promises. I raise my hand. The storm responds." -Tanatanev 1173, 18 seconds pre-death. A darkeyed mother of four in her sixty-second year. Navani pushed her way past the guards, ignoring their protests and the calls of her attending ladies. She forced herself to remain calm. She would remain calm! What she had heard was just rumor. It had to be.
Unfortunately, the older she grew, the worse she became at maintaining a brightlady's proper tranquility. She hastened her step through Sadeas's warcamp. Soldiers raised hands toward her as she passed, either to offer her aid or to demand she halt. She ignored both; they'd never dare lay a finger on her. Being the king's mother gained one a few privileges.
The camp was messy and poorly laid out. Pockets of merchants, whores, and workers made their homes in shanties built on the leeward sides of barracks. Drippings of hardened crem hung from most leeward eaves, like trails of wax left to pour over the side of a table. It was a distinct contrast to the neat lines and scrubbed buildings of Dalinar's warcamp.
He will be fine, she told herself. He'd better be fine!
It was a testament to her disordered state that she barely considered constructing a new street pattern for Sadeas in her head. She made her way directly to the staging area, and arrived to find an army that hardly looked as if it had been to battle. Soldiers without any blood on their uniforms, men chatting and laughing, officers walking down lines and dismissing the men squad by squad.
That should have relieved her. This didn't look like a force that had just suffered a disaster. Instead, it made her even more anxious.
Sadeas, in unmarred red Shardplate, was speaking with a group of officers in the shade of a nearby canopy. She stalked up to the canopy, but here a group of guards managed to bar her way, forming up shoulder to shoulder while one went to inform Sadeas of her arrival.
Navani folded her arms impatiently. Perhaps she should have taken a palanquin, as her attending ladies had suggested. Several of them, looking beleaguered, were just arriving at the staging area. A palanquin would be faster in the long run, they had explained, as it would leave time for messengers to be sent so Sadeas could receive her.
Once, she had obeyed such proprieties. She could remember being a young woman, playing the games expertly, delighting in ways to manipulate the system. What had that gotten her? A dead husband whom she'd never loved and a "privileged" position in court that amounted to being put out to pasture.
What would Sadeas do if she just started screaming? The king's own mother, bellowing like an axehound whose antenna had been twisted? She considered it as the soldier waited for a chance to announce her to Sadeas.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a youth in a blue uniform arriving in the staging area, accompanied by a small honor guard of three men. It was Renarin, for once bearing an expression other than calm curiosity. Wide-eyed and frantic, he hurried up to Navani.
"Mashala," he pled in his quiet voice. "Please. What have you heard?"
"Sadeas's army returned without your father's army," Navani said. "There is talk of a rout, though it doesn't look as if these men have been through one." She glared at Sadeas, giving serious contemplation to throwing a fit. Fortunately, he finally spoke with the soldier and then sent him back.
"You may approach, Brightness," the man said, bowing to her.
"About time," she growled, shoving past and passing underneath the canopy. Renarin joined her, walking more hesitantly.
"Brightness Navani," Sadeas said, clasping his hands behind his back, imposing in his crimson Plate. "I had hoped to bring you the news at your son's palace. I suppose that a disaster like this is too large to contain. I express my condolences at the loss of your brother."
Renarin gasped softly.
Navani steeled herself, folding her arms, trying to quiet the screams of denial and pain that came from the back of her mind. This was a pattern. She often saw patterns in things. In this case, the pattern was that she could never possess anything of value for long. It was always snatched from her just when it began to look promising.
Quiet, she scolded herself. "You will explain," she said to Sadeas, meeting his gaze. She'd practiced that look over the de cades, and was pleased to see that it discomfited him.
"I'm sorry, Brightness," Sadeas repeated, stammering. "The Parshendi overwhelmed your brother's army. It was folly to work together. Our change in tactics was so threatening to the savages that they brought every soldier they could to this battle, surrounding us."
"And so you left Dalinar?"
"We fought hard to reach him, but the numbers were simply overpowering. We had to retreat lest we lose ourselves as well! I would have continued fighting, save for the fact that I saw your brother fall with my own eyes, swarmed by Parshendi with hammers." He grimaced. "They began carrying away chunks of bloodied Shardplate as prizes. Barbaric monsters."
Navani felt cold. Cold, numb. How could this happen? After finally- finally-making that stone-headed man see her as a woman, rather than as a sister. And now…
And now…
She set her jaw against the tears. "I don't believe it."
"I understand that the news is difficult." Sadeas waved for an attendant to fetch her a chair. "I wish I had not been forced to bring it to you. Dalinar and I… well, I have known him for many years, and while we did not always see the same sunrise, I considered him an ally. And a friend." He cursed softly, looking eastward. "They will pay for this. I will see that they pay."
He seemed so earnest that Navani found herself wavering. Poor Renarin, pale-faced and wide-eyed, seemed stunned beyond the means to speak. When the chair arrived, Navani refused it, so Renarin sat, earning a glance of disapproval from Sadeas. Renarin grasped his head in his hands, staring at the ground. He was trembling.
He's highprince now, Navani realized.
No. No. He was only highprince if she accepted the idea that Dalinar was dead. And he wasn't. He couldn't be.
Sadeas had all of the bridges, she thought, looking down at the lumberyard.
Navani stepped out into the late-afternoon sunlight, feeling its heat on her skin. She walked up to her attendants. "Brushpen," she said to Makal, who carried a satchel with Navani's possessions. "The thickest one. And my burn ink."
The short, plump woman opened the satchel, taking out a long brushpen with a knob of hog bristles on the end as wide as a man's thumb. Navani took it. The ink followed.
Around her, the guards stared as Navani took the pen and dipped it into the blood-colored ink. She knelt, and began to paint on the stone ground.
Art was about creation. That was its soul, its essence. Creation and order. You took something disorganized-a splash of ink, an empty page-and you built something from it. Something from nothing. The soul of creation.
She felt the tears on her cheeks as she painted. Dalinar had no wife and no daughters; he had nobody to pray for him. And so, Navani painted a prayer onto the stones themselves, sending her attendants for more ink. She paced off the size of the glyph as she continued its border, making it enormous, spreading her ink onto the tan rocks.
Soldiers gathered around, Sadeas stepping from his canopy, watching her paint, her back to the sun as she crawled on the ground and furiously dipped her brushpen into the ink jars. What was a prayer, if not creation? Making something where nothing existed. Creating a wish out of despair, a plea out of anguish. Bowing one's back before the Almighty, and forming humility from the empty pride of a human life.
Something from nothing. True creation.
Her tears mixed with the ink. She went through four jars. She crawled, holding her safehand to the ground, brushing the stones and smearing ink on her cheeks when she wiped the tears. When she finally finished, she knelt back on her knees before a glyph twenty paces long, emblazoned as if in blood. The wet ink reflected sunlight, and she fired it with a candle; the ink was made to burn whether wet or dry. The flames burned across the length of the prayer, killing it and sending its soul to the Almighty.
She bowed her head before the prayer. It was only a single character, but a complex one. Thath. Justice.
Men watched quietly, as if afraid of spoiling her solemn wish. A cold breeze began blowing, whipping at pennants and cloaks. The prayer went out, but that was fine. It wasn't meant to burn long.
"Brightlord Sadeas!" an anxious voice called.
Navani looked up. Soldiers parted, making way for a runner in green. He hurried up to Sadeas, beginning to speak, but the highprince grabbed the man by the shoulder in a Shardplate grip and pointed, gesturing for his guards to make a perimeter. He pulled the messenger beneath the canopy.
Navani continued to kneel beside her prayer. The flames left a black scar in the shape of the glyph on the ground. Someone stepped up beside her- Renarin. He went to one knee, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, Mashala."
She nodded, standing, her freehand sprinkled with drops of red pigment. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, but she narrowed her eyes, looking through the press of soldiers toward Sadeas. His expression was thunderous, face growing red, eyes wide with anger.
She turned and pushed her way through the press of soldiers, scrambling up to the rim of the staging field. Renarin and some of Sadeas's officers joined her in staring out over the Shattered Plains.
And there they saw a creeping line of men limping back toward the warcamps, led by a mounted man in slate-grey armor. Dalinar rode Gallant at the head of two thousand six hundred and fifty-three men. That was all that remained of his assault force of eight thousand.
The long trek back across the plateaus had given him time to think. His insides were still a tempest of emotions. He flexed his left hand as he rode; it was now encased by a blue-painted Shardplate gauntlet borrowed from Adolin. It would take days to regrow Dalinar's own gauntlet. Longer, if the Parshendi tried to grow a full suit from the one he had left. They would fail, so long as Dalinar's armorers fed Stormlight to his suit. The abandoned gauntlet would degrade and crumble to dust, a new one growing for Dalinar.
For now, he wore Adolin's. They had collected all of the infused gemstones among his twenty-six hundred men and used that Stormlight to recharge and reinforce his armor. It was still scarred with cracks. Healing as much damage as it had sustained would take days, but the Plate was in fighting shape again, if it came to that.
He needed to make certain it didn't. He intended to confront Sadeas, and he wanted to be armored when he did. In fact, he wanted to storm up the incline to Sadeas's warcamp and declare formal war on his "old friend." Perhaps summon his Blade and see Sadeas dead.
But he wouldn't. His soldiers were too weak, his position too tenuous. Formal war would destroy him and the kingdom. He had to do something else. Something that protected the kingdom. Revenge would come. Eventually. Alethkar came first.
He lowered his blue-gauntleted fist, gripping Gallant's reins. Adolin rode a short distance away. They'd repaired his armor as well, though he now lacked a gauntlet. Dalinar had refused the gift of his son's gauntlet at first, but had given in to Adolin's logic. If one of them was going to go without, it should be the younger man. Inside Shardplate, their differences in age didn't matter-but outside of it, Adolin was a young man in his twenties and Dalinar an aging man in his fifties.
He still didn't know what to think of the visions, and their apparent failure in telling him to trust Sadeas. He'd confront that later. One step at a time.
"Elthal," Dalinar called. The highest-ranked officer who had survived the disaster, Elthal was a limber man with a distinguished face and a thin mustache. His arm was in a sling. He'd been one of those to hold the gap alongside Dalinar during the last part of the fight.
"Yes, Brightlord?" Elthal asked, jogging over to Dalinar. All of the horses save the two Ryshadium were carrying wounded.
"Take the wounded to my warcamp," Dalinar said. "Then tell Teleb to bring the entire camp to alert. Mobilize the remaining companies."
"Yes, Brightlord," the man said, saluting. "Brightlord, what should I tell them to prepare for?"
"Anything. But hopefully nothing."
"I understand, Brightlord," Elthal said, leaving to follow the orders.
Dalinar turned Gallant to march over to the group of bridgemen, still following their somber leader, a man named Kaladin. They'd left their bridge as soon as they'd reached the permanent bridges; Sadeas could send for it eventually.
The bridgemen stopped as he approached, looking as tired as he felt, then arranged themselves in a subtly hostile formation. They clung to their spears, as if certain he'd try to take them away. They had saved him, yet they obviously didn't trust him.
"I'm sending my wounded back to my camp," Dalinar said. "You should go with them."
"You're confronting Sadeas?" Kaladin asked.
"I must." I have to know why he did what he did. "I will buy your freedom when I do."
"Then I'm staying with you," Kaladin said.
"Me too," said a hawk-faced man at the side. Soon all of the bridgemen were demanding to stay.
Kaladin turned to them. "I should send you back."
"What?" asked an older bridgeman with a short grey beard. "You can risk yourself, but we can't? We have men back in Sadeas's camp. We need to get them out. At the very least, we need to stay together. See this through."
The others nodded. Again, Dalinar was struck by their discipline. More and more, he was certain Sadeas had nothing to do with that. It was this man at their head. Though his eyes were dark brown, he held himself like a brightlord.
Well, if they wouldn't go, Dalinar wouldn't force them. He continued to ride, and soon close to a thousand of Dalinar's soldiers broke off and marched south, toward his warcamp. The rest of them continued, toward Sadeas's camp. As they drew closer, Dalinar noticed a small crowd gathering at the final chasm. Two figures in particular stood at their forefront. Renarin and Navani.
"What are they doing in Sadeas's warcamp?" Adolin asked, smiling through his fatigue, edging Sureblood up beside Dalinar.
"I don't know," Dalinar said. "But the Stormfather bless them for coming." Seeing their welcome faces, he began to feel it sink in-finally-that he had survived the day.
Gallant crossed the last bridge. Renarin was there waiting, and Dalinar rejoiced.
For once, the boy was displaying outright joy. Dalinar swung free from the saddle and embraced his son.
"Father," Renarin said, "you live!"
Adolin laughed, swinging out of his own saddle, armor clanking. Renarin pulled out of the embrace and grabbed Adolin on the shoulder, pounding the Shardplate lightly with his other hand, grinning widely. Dalinar smiled as well, turning from the brothers to look at Navani. She stood with hands clasped before her, one eyebrow raised. Her face, oddly, bore a few small smears of red paint.
"You weren't even worried, were you?" he said to her.
"Worried?" she asked. Her eyes met his, and for the first time, he noticed their redness. "I was terrified."
And then Dalinar found himself grabbing her in an embrace. He had to be careful as he was in Shardplate, but the gauntlets let him feel the silk of her dress, and his missing helm let him smell the sweet floral scent of her perfumed soap. He held her as tightly as he dared, bowing his head and pressing his nose into her hair.
"Hmm," she noted warmly, "it appears that I was missed. The others are watching. They'll talk."
"I don't care."
"Hmm… It appears I was very much missed."
"On the battlefield," he said gruffly, "I thought I would die. And I realized it was all right."
She pulled her head back, looking confused.
"I have spent too much of my time worrying about what people think, Navani. When I thought my time had arrived, I realized that all my worrying had been wasted. In the end, I was pleased with how I had lived my life." He looked down at her, then mentally unlatched his right gauntlet, letting it drop to the ground with a clank. He reached up with that callused hand, cupping her chin. "I had only two regrets. One for you, and one for Renarin."
"So, you're saying you can just die, and it would be all right?"
"No," he said. "What I'm saying is that I faced eternity, and I saw peace there. That will change how I live."
"Without all of the guilt?"
He hesitated. "Being me, I doubt I'll banish it entirely. The end was peace, but living… that is a tempest. Still, I see things differently now. It is time to stop letting myself be shoved around by lying men." He looked up, toward the ridge above, where more soldiers in green were gathering. "I keep thinking of one of the visions," he said softly, "the latest one, where I met Nohadon. He rejected my suggestion that he write down his wisdom. There's something there. Something I need to learn."
"What?" Navani asked.
"I don't know yet. But I'm close to figuring it out." He held her close again, hand on the back of her head, feeling her hair. He wished for the Plate to be gone, to not be separated from her by the metal.
But the time for that had not yet come. Reluctantly, he released her, turning to the side, where Renarin and Adolin were watching them uncomfortably. His soldiers were looking up at Sadeas's army, gathering on the ridge.
I can't let this come to bloodshed, Dalinar thought, reaching down and putting his hand into the fallen gauntlet. The straps tightened, connecting to the rest of the armor. But I'm also not going to slink back to my camp without confronting him. He at least had to know the purpose of the betrayal. All had been going so well.
Besides, there was the matter of his promise to the bridgemen. Dalinar walked up the slope, bloodstained blue cloak flapping behind him. Adolin clanked up next to him on one side, Navani keeping pace on the other. Renarin followed, Dalinar's remaining sixteen hundred troops marching up as well.
"Father…" Adolin said, looking at the hostile troops.
"Don't summon your Blade. This will not come to blows."
"Sadeas abandoned you, didn't he?" Navani asked quietly, eyes alight with anger.
"He didn't just abandon us," Adolin spat. "He set us up, then betrayed us."
"We survived," Dalinar said firmly. The way ahead was becoming clearer. He knew what he needed to do. "He won't attack us here, but he might try to provoke us. Keep your sword as mist, Adolin, and don't let our troops make any mistakes."
The soldiers in green parted reluctantly, holding spears. Hostile. To the side, Kaladin and his bridgemen walked near the front of Dalinar's force.
Adolin didn't summon his Blade, though he regarded Sadeas's troops around them with contempt. Dalinar's soldiers couldn't have felt easy about being surrounded by enemies once again, but they followed him onto the staging field. Sadeas stood ahead. The treacherous highprince waited with arms folded, still wearing his Shardplate, curly black hair blowing in the breeze. Someone had burned an enormous thath glyph on the stones here, and Sadeas stood at its center.
Justice. There was something magnificently appropriate about Sadeas standing there, treading upon justice.
"Dalinar," Sadeas exclaimed, "old friend! It appears that I overestimated the odds against you. I apologize for retreating when you were still in danger, but the safety of my men came first. I'm certain you understand."
Dalinar stopped a short distance from Sadeas. The two faced each other, collected armies tense. A cold breeze whipped at a canopy behind Sadeas.
"Of course," Dalinar said, his voice even. "You did what you had to do."
Sadeas relaxed visibly, though several of Dalinar's soldiers muttered at that. Adolin silenced them with pointed glances.
Dalinar turned, waving Adolin and his men backward. Navani gave him a raised eyebrow, but retreated with the others when he urged her. Dalinar looked back at Sadeas, and the man-looking curious-waved his own attendants back.
Dalinar walked up to the edge of the thath glyph, and Sadeas stepped forward until only inches separated them. They were matched in height. Standing this close, Dalinar thought he could see tension-and anger-in Sadeas's eyes. Dalinar's survival had ruined months of planning.
"I need to know why," Dalinar asked, too quietly for any but Sadeas to hear.
"Because of my oath, old friend."
"What?" Dalinar asked, hands forming fists.
"We swore something together, years ago." Sadeas sighed, losing his flippancy and speaking openly. "Protect Elhokar. Protect this kingdom."
"That's what I was doing! We had the same purpose. And we were fighting together, Sadeas. It was working."
"Yes," Sadeas said. "But I'm confident I can beat the Parshendi on my own now. Everything we've done together, I can manage by splitting my army into two-one to race on ahead, a larger force to follow. I had to take this chance to remove you. Dalinar, can't you see? Gavilar died because of his weakness. I wanted to attack the Parshendi from the start, conquer them. He insisted on a treaty, which led to his death. Now you're starting to act just like him. Those same ideas, the same ways of speaking. Through you they begin to infect Elhokar. He dresses like you. He talks of the Codes to me, and of how perhaps we should enforce them through all the warcamps. He's beginning to think of retreating."
"And so you'd have me think this an act of honor?" Dalinar growled.
"Not at all," Sadeas said, chuckling. "I have struggled for years to become Elhokar's most trusted advisor-but there was always you, distracting him, holding his ear despite my every eff ort. I won't pretend this was only about honor, though there was an element of that to it. In the end, I just wanted you gone."
Sadeas's voice grew cold. "But you are going insane, old friend. You may name me a liar, but I did what I did today as a mercy. A way of letting you die in glory, rather than watching you descend further and further. By letting the Parshendi kill you, I could protect Elhokar from you and turn you into a symbol to remind the others what we're really doing here. Your death might have become what finally united us. Ironic, if you consider it."
Dalinar breathed in and out. It was hard not to let his anger, his indignation, consume him. "Then tell me one thing. Why not pin the assassination attempt on me? Why clear me, if you were only looking to betray me later on?"
Sadeas snorted softly. "Bah. Nobody would really believe that you tried to kill the king. They'd gossip, but they wouldn't believe it. Blaming you too quickly would have risked implicating myself." He shook his head. "I think Elhokar knows who tried to kill him. He's admitted as much to me, though he won't give me the name."
What? Dalinar thought. He knows? But… how? Why not tell us who? Dalinar adjusted his plans. He wasn't certain if Sadeas was telling the truth, but if he was, he could use this.
"He knows it wasn't you," Sadeas continued. "I can read that much in him, though he doesn't realize how transparent he is. Blaming you would have been pointless. Elhokar would have defended you, and I might very well have lost the position of Highprince of Information. But it did give me a wonderful opportunity to make you trust me again."
Unite them… The visions. But the man who spoke to Dalinar in them had been dead wrong. Acting with honor hadn't won Sadeas's loyalty. It had just opened Dalinar up to betrayal.
"If it means anything," Sadeas said idly, "I'm fond of you. I really am. But you are a boulder in my path, and a force working-against its own knowledge- to destroy Gavilar's kingdom. When the chance came along, I took it."
"It wasn't simply a convenient opportunity," Dalinar said. "You set this up, Sadeas."
"I planned, but I'm often planning. I don't always act on my options. Today I did."
Dalinar snorted. "Well, you've shown me something today, Sadeas- shown it to me by the very act of trying to remove me."
"And what was that?" Sadeas asked, amused.
"You've shown me that I'm still a threat." The highprinces continued their low-pitched conversation. Kaladin stood to the side of Dalinar's soldiers, exhausted, with the members of Bridge Four.
Sadeas spared a glance for them. Matal stood in the crowd, and had been watching Kaladin's team the entire time, red-faced. Matal probably knew that he would be punished as Lamaril had been. They should have learned. They should have killed Kaladin at the start.
They tried, he thought. They failed.
He didn't know what had happened to him, what had gone on with Syl and the words in his head. It seemed that Stormlight worked better for him now. It had been more potent, more powerful. But now it was gone, and he was so tired. Drained. He'd pushed himself, and Bridge Four, too far. Too hard.
Perhaps he and the others should have gone to Kholin's camp. But Teft was right; they needed to see this through.
He promised, Kaladin thought. He promised he would free us from Sadeas.
And yet, where had the promises of lighteyes gotten him in the past?
The highprinces broke off their conference, separating, stepping back from one another.
"Well," Sadeas said loudly, "your men are obviously tired, Dalinar. We can speak later about what went wrong, though I think it is safe to assume that our alliance has proven unfeasible."
"Unfeasible," Dalinar said. "A kind way of putting it." He nodded toward the bridgemen. "I will take these bridgemen with me to my camp."
"I'm afraid I cannot part with them."
Kaladin's heart sank.
"Surely they aren't worth much to you," Dalinar said. "Name your price."
"I'm not looking to sell."
"I will pay sixty emerald broams per man," Dalinar said. That drew gasps from the watching soldiers on both sides. It was easily twenty times the price of a good slave.
"Not for a thousand each, Dalinar," Sadeas said. Kaladin could see the deaths of his bridgemen in those eyes. "Take your soldiers and go. Leave my property here."
"Do not press me on this, Sadeas," Dalinar said.
Suddenly, the tension was back. Dalinar's officers lowered hands to swords, and his spearmen perked up, gripping the hafts of their weapons.
"Do not press you?" Sadeas asked. "What kind of threat is that? Leave my camp. It's obvious that there is nothing more between us. If you try to steal my property, I will have every justification in attacking you."
Dalinar stood in place. He looked confident, though Kaladin saw no reason why. And another promise dies, Kaladin thought, turning away. In the end, for all his good intentions, this Dalinar Kholin was the same as the others.
Behind Kaladin, men gasped in surprise.
Kaladin froze, then spun around. Dalinar Kholin had summoned his massive Shardblade; it dripped beads of water from having just been summoned. His armor steamed faintly, Stormlight rising from the cracks.
Sadeas stumbled back, eyes wide. His honor guard drew their swords. Adolin Kholin reached his hand to the side, apparently beginning to summon his own weapon.
Dalinar took one step forward, then drove his Blade point-first into the middle of the blackened glyph on the stone. He took a step back. "For the bridgemen," he said.
Sadeas blinked. Muttering voices fell silent, and the people on the field seemed too stunned, even, to breathe.
"What?" Sadeas asked.
"The Blade," Dalinar said, firm voice carrying in the air. "In exchange for your bridgemen. All of them. Every one you have in camp. They become mine, to do with as I please, never to be touched by you again. In exchange, you get the sword."
Sadeas looked down at the Blade, incredulous. "This weapon is worth fortunes. Cities, palaces, kingdoms."
"Do we have a deal?" Dalinar asked.
"Father, no!" Adolin Kholin said, his own Blade appearing in his hand. "You-"
Dalinar raised a hand, silencing the younger man. He kept his eyes on Sadeas. "Do we have a deal?" he asked, each word sharp.
Kaladin stared, unable to move, unable to think.
Sadeas looked at the Shardblade, eyes full of lust. He glanced at Kaladin, hesitated just briefly, then reached and grabbed the Blade by the hilt. "Take the storming creatures."
Dalinar nodded curtly, turning away from Sadeas. "Let's go," he said to his entourage.
"They're worthless, you know," Sadeas said. "You're of the ten fools, Dalinar Kholin! Don't you see how mad you are? This will be remembered as the most ridiculous decision ever made by an Alethi highprince!"
Dalinar didn't look back. He walked up to Kaladin and the other members of Bridge Four. "Go," Dalinar said to them, voice kindly. "Gather your things and the men you left behind. I will send troops with you to act as guards. Leave the bridges and come swiftly to my camp. You will be safe there. You have my word of honor on it."
He began to walk away.
Kaladin shook off his numbness. He scrambled after the highprince, grabbing his armored arm. "Wait. You- That- What just happened?"
Dalinar turned to him. Then, the highprince laid a hand on Kaladin's shoulder, the gauntlet gleaming blue, mismatched with the rest of his slate-grey armor. "I don't know what has been done to you. I can only guess what your life has been like. But know this. You will not be bridgemen in my camp, nor will you be slaves."
"But…"
"What is a man's life worth?" Dalinar asked softly.
"The slavemasters say one is worth about two emerald broams," Kaladin said, frowning.
"And what do you say?"
"A life is priceless," he said immediately, quoting his father.
Dalinar smiled, wrinkle lines extending from the corners of his eyes. "Coincidentally, that is the exact value of a Shardblade. So today, you and your men sacrificed to buy me twenty-six hundred priceless lives. And all I had to repay you with was a single priceless sword. I call that a bargain."
"You really think it was a good trade, don't you?" Kaladin said, amazed.
Dalinar smiled in a way that seemed strikingly paternal. "For my honor? Unquestionably. Go and lead your men to safety, soldier. Later tonight, I will have some questions for you."
Kaladin glanced at Sadeas, who held his new Blade with awe. "You said you'd take care of Sadeas. This was what you intended?"
"This wasn't taking care of Sadeas," Dalinar said. "This was taking care of you and your men. I still have work to do today." Dalinar found King Elhokar in his palace sitting room.
Dalinar nodded once more to the guards outside, then closed the door. They seemed troubled. As well they should; his orders had been irregular. But they would do as told. They wore the king's colors, blue and gold, but they were Dalinar's men, chosen specifically for their loyalty.
The door shut with a snap. The king was staring at one of his maps, wearing his Shardplate. "Ah, Uncle," he said, turning to Dalinar. "Good. I had wanted to speak with you. Do you know of these rumors about you and my mother? I realize that nothing untoward could be happening, but I do worry about what people think."
Dalinar crossed the room, booted feet thumping on the rich rug. Infused diamonds hung in the corners of the room, and the carved walls had been set with tiny chips of quartz to sparkle and reflect the light.
"Honestly, Uncle," Elhokar said, shaking his head. "I'm growing very intolerant of your reputation in camp. What they are saying reflects poorly on me, you see, and…" He trailed off as Dalinar stopped about a pace from him. "Uncle? Is everything all right? My door guards reported some kind of mishap with your plateau assault today, but my mind was full of thoughts. Did I miss anything vital?"
"Yes," Dalinar said. Then he raised his leg and kicked the king in the chest.
The strength of the blow tossed the king backward against his desk. The fine wood shattered as the heavy Shardbearer crashed through it. Elhokar hit the floor, his breastplate cracked just faintly. Dalinar stepped up to him, then delivered another kick to the king's side, cracking the breastplate again.
Elhokar began shouting in panic. "Guards! To me! Guards!"
Nobody came. Dalinar kicked again, and Elhokar cursed, catching his boot. Dalinar grunted, but bent down and grabbed Elhokar by the arm, then yanked him to his feet, tossing him toward the side of the room. The king stumbled on the rug, crashing through a chair. Round lengths of wood scattered, splinters spraying out.
Wide-eyed, Elhokar scrambled to his feet. Dalinar advanced on him.
"What has gone wrong with you, Uncle?" Elhokar yelled. "You're mad! Guards! Assassin in the king's chamber! Guards!" Elhokar tried to run for the door, but Dalinar threw his shoulder against the king, tossing the younger man to the ground again.
Elhokar rolled, but got a hand under himself and climbed to his knees, the other hand to the side. A puff of mist appeared in it as he summoned his Blade.
Dalinar kicked the king's hand just as the Shardblade dropped into it. The blow knocked the Blade free, and it dissolved back to mist immediately.
Elhokar frantically swung a fist at Dalinar, but Dalinar caught it, then reached down and hauled the king to his feet. He pulled Elhokar forward and slammed his fist into the king's breastplate. Elhokar struggled, but Dalinar repeated the move, smashing his gauntlet against the Plate, cracking the steel casings around his fingers, making the king grunt.
The next blow shattered Elhokar's breastplate in an explosion of molten shards.
Dalinar dropped the king to the floor. Elhokar struggled to rise again, but the breastplate was a focus for the Shardplate's power. Missing it left arms and legs heavy. He went to one knee beside the squirming king. Elhokar's Shardblade formed again, but Dalinar grabbed the king's wrist and smashed it against the stone floor, knocking the Blade free yet again. It vanished into mist.
"Guards!" Elhokar squealed. "Guards, guards, guards!"
"They won't come, Elhokar," Dalinar said softly. "They're my men, and I left them with orders not to enter-or let anyone else enter-no matter what they heard. Even if that included pleas for help from you."
Elhokar fell silent.
"They are my men, Elhokar," Dalinar repeated. "I trained them. I placed them there. They've always been loyal to me."
"Why, Uncle? What are you doing? Please, tell me." He was nearly weeping.
Dalinar leaned down, getting close enough to smell the king's breath. "The girth on your horse during the hunt," Dalinar said quietly. "You cut it yourself, didn't you?"
Elhokar's eyes grew wider.
"The saddles were switched before you came to my camp," Dalinar said. "You did that because you didn't want to ruin your favorite saddle when it flew free of the horse. You were planning for it to happen, you made it happen. That's why you've been so certain that the girth was cut."
Cringing, Elhokar nodded. "Someone was trying to kill me, but you wouldn't believe! I… I worried it might be you! So I decided… I…"
"You cut your own strap," Dalinar said, "to create a visible, obvious-seeming attempt on your life. Something that would get me or Sadeas to investigate."
Elhokar hesitated, then nodded again.
Dalinar closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. "Don't you realize what you did, Elhokar? You brought suspicion on me from across the camps! You gave Sadeas an opportunity to destroy me." He opened his eyes, looking down at the king.
"I had to know," Elhokar whispered. "I couldn't trust anyone." He groaned beneath Dalinar's weight.
"What of the cracked gemstones in your Shardplate? Did you place those too?"
"No."
"Then maybe you did uncover something," Dalinar said with a grunt. "I guess you can't be completely blamed."
"Then you'll let me up?"
"No." Dalinar leaned down farther. He laid a hand against the king's chest. Elhokar stopped struggling, looking up in terror. "If I push," Dalinar said, "you die. Your ribs crack like twigs, your heart is smashed like a grape. Nobody would blame me. They all whisper that the Blackthorn should have taken the throne for himself years ago. Your guard is loyal to me. There would be nobody to avenge you. Nobody would care."
Elhokar breathed out as Dalinar pressed his hand down just slightly.
"Do you understand?" Dalinar asked quietly.
"No!"
Dalinar sighed, then released the younger man and stood up. Elhokar inhaled with a gasp.
"Your paranoia may be unfounded," Dalinar said, "or it may be well founded. Either way, you need to understand something. I am not your enemy."
Elhokar frowned. "So you're not going to kill me?"
"Storms, no! I love you like a son, boy."
Elhokar rubbed his chest. "You… have very odd paternal instincts."
"I spent years following you," Dalinar said. "I gave you my loyalty, my devotion, and my counsel. I swore myself to you-promising myself, vowing to myself, that I would never covet Gavilar's throne. All to keep my heart loyal. Despite this, you don't trust me. You pull a stunt like that one with the girth, implicating me, giving your own enemies position against you without knowing it."
Dalinar stepped toward the king. Elhokar cringed.
"Well, now you know," Dalinar said, voice hard. "If I'd wanted to kill you, Elhokar, I could have done it a dozen times over. A hundred times over. It appears you won't accept loyalty and devotion as proof of my honesty. Well, if you act like a child, you get treated like one. You know now, for a fact, that I don't want you dead. For if I did, I would have crushed your chest and been done with it!"
He locked eyes with the king. "Now," Dalinar said, "do you understand?"
Slowly, Elhokar nodded.
"Good," Dalinar said. "Tomorrow, you're going to name me Highprince of War."
"What?"
"Sadeas betrayed me today," Dalinar said. He walked over to the broken desk, kicking at the pieces. The king's seal rolled out of its customary drawer. He picked it up. "Nearly six thousand of my men were slaughtered. Adolin and I barely survived."
"What?" Elhokar said, forcing himself up to a sitting position. "That's impossible!"
"Far from it," Dalinar said, looking at his nephew. "He saw a chance to pull out, letting the Parshendi destroy us. So he did it. A very Alethi thing to do. Ruthless, yet still allowing him to feign a sense of honor or morality."
"So… you expect me to bring him to trial?"
"No. Sadeas is no worse, and no better, than the others. Any of the highprinces would betray their fellows, if they saw a chance to do it without risking themselves. I intend to find a way to unite them in more than just name. Somehow. Tomorrow, once you name me Highprince of War, I will give my Plate to Renarin to fulfill a promise. I've already given away my Blade to fulfill a different one."
He walked closer, meeting Elhokar's eyes again, then gripped the king's seal in his hand. "As Highprince of War, I will enforce the Codes in all ten camps. Then I'll coordinate the war eff ort directly, determining which armies get to go on which plateau assaults. All gemhearts will be won by the Throne, then distributed as spoils by you. We'll change this from a competition to a real war, and I'll use it to turn these ten armies of ours- and their leaders-into real soldiers."
"Stormfather! They'll kill us! The highprinces will revolt! I won't last a week!"
"They won't be pleased, that's for certain," Dalinar said. "And yes, this will involve a great deal of danger. We'll have to be much more careful with our guard. If you're right, someone is already trying to kill you, so we should be doing that anyway."
Elhokar stared at him, then looked at the broken furniture, rubbing his chest. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yes." He tossed the seal to Elhokar. "You're going to have your scribes draw up my appointment right after I leave."
"But I thought you said it was wrong to force men to follow the Codes," Elhokar said. "You said that the best way to change people was to live right, and then let them be influenced by your example!"
"That was before the Almighty lied to me," Dalinar said. He still didn't know what to think of that. "Much of what I told you, I learned from The Way of Kings. But I didn't understand something. Nohadon wrote the book at the end of his life, after creating order-after forcing the kingdoms to unite, after rebuilding lands that had fallen in the Desolation.
"The book was written to embody an ideal. It was given to people who already had momentum in doing what was right. That was my mistake. Before any of this can work, our people need to have a minimum level of honor and dignity. Adolin said something to me a few weeks back, something profound. He asked me why I forced my sons to live up to such high expectations, but let others go about their errant ways without condemnation.
"I have been treating the other highprinces and their lighteyes like adults. An adult can take a principle and adapt it to his needs. But we're not ready for that yet. We're children. And when you're teaching a child, you require him to do what is right until he grows old enough to make his own choices. The Silver Kingdoms didn't begin as unified, glorious bastions of honor. They were trained that way, raised up, like youths nurtured to maturity."
He strode forward, kneeling down beside Elhokar. The king continued to rub his chest, his Shardplate looking strange with the central piece missing.
"We're going to make something of Alethkar, nephew," Dalinar said softly. "The highprinces gave their oaths to Gavilar, but now ignore those oaths. Well, it's time to stop letting them. We're going to win this war, and we're going to turn Alethkar into a place that men will envy again. Not because of our military prowess, but because people here are safe and because justice reigns. We're going to do it-or you and I are going to die in the attempt."
"You say that with eagerness."
"Because I finally know exactly what to do," Dalinar said, standing up straight. "I was trying to be Nohadon the peacemaker. But I'm not. I'm the Blackthorn, a general and a warlord. I have no talent for back-room politicking, but I am very good at training troops. Starting tomorrow, every man in each of these camps will be mine. As far as I'm concerned, they're all raw recruits. Even the highprinces."
"Assuming I make the proclamation."
"You will," Dalinar said. "And in return, I promise to find out who is trying to kill you."
Elhokar snorted, beginning to remove his Shardplate piece by piece. "After that announcement goes out, discovering who's trying to kill me will become easy. You can put every name in the warcamps on the list!"
Dalinar's smile widened. "At least we won't have to guess, then. Don't be so glum, nephew. You learned something today. Your uncle doesn't want to kill you."
"He just wants to make me a target."
"For your own good, son," Dalinar said, walking to the door. "Don't fret too much. I've got some plans on how, exactly, to keep you alive." He opened the door, revealing a nervous group of guards keeping at bay a nervous group of servants and attendants.
"He's just fine," Dalinar said to them. "See?" He stepped aside, letting the guards and servants in to attend their king.
Dalinar turned to go. Then he hesitated. "Oh, and Elhokar? Your mother and I are now courting. You'll want to start growing accustomed to that."
Despite everything else that had happened in the last few minutes, this got a look of pure astonishment from the king. Dalinar smiled and pulled the door closed, walking away with a firm step.
Most everything was still wrong. He was still furious at Sadeas, pained by the loss of so many of his men, confused at what to do with Navani, dumbfounded by his visions, and daunted by the idea of bringing the warcamps to unity.
But at least now he had something to work with.
Shallan lay quietly in the bed of her little hospital room. She'd cried herself dry, then had actually retched into the bedpan, over what she had done. She felt miserable.
She'd betrayed Jasnah. And Jasnah knew. Somehow, disappointing the princess felt worse than the theft itself. This entire plan had been foolish from the start.
Beyond that, Kabsal was dead. Why did she feel so sick about that? He'd been an assassin, trying to kill Jasnah, willing to risk Shallan's life to achieve his goals. And yet, she missed him. Jasnah hadn't seemed surprised that someone would want to kill her; perhaps assassins were a common part of her life. She likely thought Kabsal a hardened killer, but he'd been sweet with Shallan. Could that all really have been a lie?
He had to be somewhat sincere, she told herself, curled up on her bed. If he didn't care for me, why did he work so hard to get me to take the jam?
He had handed Shallan the antidote first, rather than taking it himself.
And yet, he did take it eventually, she thought. He put that fingerful of jam into his mouth. Why didn't the antidote save him?
This question began to haunt her. As it did, something else struck her, something she would have noticed earlier, had she not been distracted by her own betrayal.
Jasnah had eaten the bread.
Arms wrapped around herself, Shallan sat up, pulling back to the bed's headboard. She ate it, but she wasn't poisoned, she thought. My life makes no sense lately. The creatures with the twisted heads, the place with the dark sky, the Soulcasting… and now this.
How had Jasnah survived? How?
With trembling fingers, Shallan reached to the pouch on the stand beside her bed. Inside, she found the garnet sphere that Jasnah had used to save her. It gave off weak light; most had been used in the Soulcasting. It was enough light to illuminate her sketchpad sitting beside the bed. Jasnah probably hadn't even bothered to look through it. She was so dismissive of the visual arts. Next to the sketchpad was the book Jasnah had given her. The Book of Endless Pages. Why had she left that?
Shallan picked up the charcoal pencil and flipped through to a blank page in her sketchbook. She passed several pictures of the symbol-headed creatures, some set in this very room. They lurked around her, always. At some times, she thought she saw them in the corners of her eyes. At others, she could hear them whispering. She hadn't dared speak back to them again.
She began to draw, fingers unsteady, sketching Jasnah on that day in the hospital. Sitting beside Shallan's bed, holding the jam. Shallan hadn't taken a distinct Memory, and wasn't as accurate as if she had, but she remembered well enough to draw Jasnah with her finger stuck into the jam. She had raised that finger to smell the strawberries. Why? Why put her finger into the jam? Wouldn't raising the jar to her nose have been enough?
Jasnah hadn't made any faces at the scent. In fact, Jasnah hadn't mentioned that the jam had spoiled. She'd just replaced the lid and handed back the jar.
Shallan flipped to another blank page and drew Jasnah with a piece of bread raised to her lips. After eating it, she'd grimaced. Odd.
Shallan lowered her pen, looking at that sketch of Jasnah, piece of bread pinched between her fingers. It wasn't a perfect reproduction, but it was close enough. In the sketch, it looked like the piece of bread was melting. As if it were squished unnaturally between Jasnah's fingers as she put it into her mouth.
Could it… could it be?
Shallan slid out of the bed, gathering the sphere and carrying it in her hand, sketchpad tucked under her arm. The guard was gone. Nobody seemed to care what happened to her; she was being shipped off in the morning anyway.
The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet. She wore only the white robe, and felt almost naked. At least her safehand was covered. There was a door to the city outside at the end of the hallway, and she stepped through it.
She crossed quietly through the city, making her way to the Ralinsa, avoiding dark alleyways. She walked up toward the Conclave, long red hair blowing free behind her, drawing more than a few strange looks and stares. It was so late at night that nobody on the roadway cared enough to ask if she wanted help.
The master-servants at the entrance to the Conclave let her pass. They recognized her, and more than a few asked if she needed help. She declined, walking alone down to the Veil. She passed inside, then looked up at the walls full of balconies, some of them lit with spheres.
Jasnah's alcove was occupied. Of course it was. Always working, Jasnah was. She'd be particularly bothered by having lost so much time over Shallan's presumed suicide attempt.
The lift felt rickety beneath Shallan's feet as the parshmen lifted her up to Jasnah's level. She rode in silence, feeling disconnected from the world around her. Walking around through the palace-through the city-in only a robe? Confronting Jasnah Kholin again? Hadn't she learned?
But what did she have to lose?
She walked down the familiar stone hallway to the alcove, weak blue sphere held before her. Jasnah sat at her desk. Her eyes looked uncharacteristically fatigued, dark circles underneath, her face stressed. She looked up and stiffened as she saw Shallan. "You are not welcome here."
Shallan walked in anyway, surprised by how calm she felt. Her hands should be shaking.
"Don't make me call the soldiers to get rid of you," Jasnah said. "I could have you thrown in prison for a hundred years for what you did. Do you have any idea what-"
"The Soulcaster you wear is a fake," Shallan said quietly. "It was a fake the whole time, even before I made the swap."
Jasnah froze.
"I wondered why you didn't notice the switch," Shallan said, sitting in the room's other chair. "I spent weeks confused. Had you noticed, but decided to keep quiet in order to catch the thief? Hadn't you Soulcast in all that time? It didn't make any sense. Unless the Soulcaster I stole was a decoy."
Jasnah relaxed. "Yes. Very clever of you to realize that. I keep several decoys. You're not the first to try to steal the fabrial, you see. I keep the real one carefully hidden, of course."
Shallan took out her sketchpad and searched through for a specific picture. It was the image she'd drawn of the strange place with the sea of beads, the floating flames, the distant sun in a black, black sky. Shallan regarded it for a moment. Then she turned it and held it up for Jasnah.
The look of utter shock Jasnah displayed was nearly worth the night spent feeling sick and guilty. Jasnah's eyes bulged and she sputtered for a moment, trying to find words. Shallan blinked, taking a Memory of that. She couldn't help herself.
"Where did you find that?" Jasnah demanded. "What book described that scene to you?"
"No book, Jasnah," Shallan said, lowering the picture. "I visited that place. The night when I accidentally Soulcast the goblet in my room to blood, then covered it up by faking a suicide attempt."
"Impossible. You think I'd believe-"
"There is no fabrial, is there, Jasnah? There's no Soulcaster. There never has been. You use the fake 'fabrial' to distract people from the fact that you have the power to Soulcast on your own."
Jasnah fell silent.
"I did it too," Shallan said. "The Soulcaster was tucked away in my safepouch. I wasn't touching it-but that didn't matter. It was a fake. What I did, I did without it. Perhaps being near you has changed me, somehow. It has something to do with that place and those creatures."
Again, no reply.
"You suspected Kabsal of being an assassin," Shallan said. "You knew immediately what had happened when I fell; you were expecting poison, or at least were aware that it was possible. But you thought the poison was in the jam. You Soulcast it when you opened the lid and pretended to smell it. You didn't know how to re-create strawberry jam, and when you tried, you made that vile concoction. You thought to get rid of poison. But you inadvertently Soulcast away the antidote.
"You didn't want to eat the bread either, just in case there was something in it. You always refused it. When I convinced you to take a bite, you Soulcast it into something else as you put it in your mouth. You said you're terrible at making organic things, and what you created was revolting. But you got rid of the poison, which is why you didn't succumb to it."
Shallan met her former mistress's eyes. Was it the fatigue that made her so indifferent to the consequences of confronting this woman? Or was it her knowledge of the truth? "You did all that, Jasnah," Shallan finished, "with a fake Soulcaster. You hadn't spotted my swap yet. Don't try to tell me otherwise. I took it on the night when you killed those three thugs."
Jasnah's violet eyes showed a glimmer of surprise.
"Yes," Shallan said, "that long ago. You didn't replace it with a decoy. You didn't know you'd been tricked until I got out the fabrial and let you save me with it. It's all a lie, Jasnah."
"No," Jasnah said. "You're just delusional from your fatigue and the stress."
"Very well," Shallan said. She stood up, clutching the dim sphere. "I guess I'll have to show you. If I can."
Creatures, she said in her head. Can you hear me?
Yes, always, a whisper came in response. Though she'd hoped to hear it, she still jumped.
Can you return me to that place? she asked.
You need to tell me something true, it replied. The more true, the stronger our bond.
Jasnah is using a fake Soulcaster, Shallan thought. I'm sure that's a truth.
That's not enough, the voice whispered. I must know something true about you. Tell me. The stronger the truth, the more hidden it is, the more powerful the bond. Tell me. Tell me. What are you?
"What am I?" Shallan whispered. "Truthfully?" It was a day for confrontation. She felt strangely strong, steady. Time to speak it. "I'm a murderer. I killed my father."
Ah, the voice whispered. A powerful truth indeed…
And the alcove vanished.
Shallan fell, dropping into that sea of dark glass beads. She struggled, trying to stay at the surface. She managed it for a moment. Then something tugged on her leg, pulling her down. She screamed, slipping beneath the surface, tiny beads of glass filling her mouth. She panicked. She was going to The beads above her parted. Those beneath her surged, bearing her upward, out to where someone stood, hand outstretched. Jasnah, back to the black sky, face lit by nearby hovering flames. Jasnah grasped Shallan's hand, pulling her upward, onto something. A raft. Made from the beads of glass. They seemed to obey Jasnah's will.
"Idiot girl," Jasnah said, waving. The oceanlike beads to the left split, and the raft lurched, bearing them sideways toward a few flames of light. Jasnah shoved Shallan into one of the small flames, and she fell backward off the raft.
And hit the floor of the alcove. Jasnah sat where she had been, eyes closed. A moment later, she opened them, giving Shallan an angry look.
"Idiot girl!" Jasnah repeated. "You have no idea how dangerous that was. Visiting Shadesmar with only a single dim sphere? Idiot!"
Shallan coughed, feeling as if she still had beads in her throat. She stumbled to her feet, meeting Jasnah's gaze. The other woman still looked angry, but said nothing. She knows that I have her, Shallan realized. If I spread the truth…
What would it mean? She had strange powers. Did that make Jasnah some kind of Voidbringer? What would people say? No wonder she'd created the decoy.
"I want to be part of it," Shallan found herself saying.
"Excuse me?"
"Whatever you're doing. Whatever it is you're researching. I want to be part of it."
"You have no idea what you're saying."
"I know," Shallan said. "I'm ignorant. There's a simple cure for that." She stepped forward. "I want to know, Jasnah. I want to be your ward in truth. Whatever the source of this thing you can do, I can do it too. I want you to train me and let me be part of your work."
"You stole from me."
"I know," Shallan said. "And I'm sorry."
Jasnah raised an eyebrow.
"I won't excuse myself," Shallan said. "But Jasnah, I came here intending to steal from you. I was planning it from the beginning."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"I planned to steal from Jasnah the bitter heretic," Shallan said. "I didn't realize I'd come to regret the need for that theft. Not just because of you, but because it meant leaving this. What I've come to love. Please. I made a mistake."
"A large one. Insurmountable."
"Don't make a larger one by sending me away. I can be someone you don't have to lie to. Someone who knows."
Jasnah sat back.
"I stole the fabrial on the night you killed those men, Jasnah," Shallan said. "I'd decided I couldn't do it, but you convinced me that truth was not as simple as I thought it. You've opened a box full of storms in me. I made a mistake. I'll make more. I need you."
Jasnah took a deep breath. "Sit down."
Shallan sat.
"You will never lie to me again," Jasnah said, raising a finger. "And you will never steal from me, or anyone, again."
"I promise."
Jasnah sat for a moment, then sighed. "Scoot over here," she said, pulling open a book.
Shallan obeyed as Jasnah took out several sheets filled with notes. "What is this?" Shallan asked.
"You wanted to be part of what I'm doing? Well, you'll need to read this." Jasnah looked down at the notes. "It's about the Voidbringers." Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, walked with bowed back, carrying a sack of grain down off the ship and onto the docks of Kharbranth. The City of Bells smelled of a fresh ocean morning, peaceful yet excited, fishermen calling to friends as they prepared their nets.
Szeth joined the other porters, carrying his sack through the twisting streets. Perhaps another merchant might have used a chull cart, but Kharbranth was infamous for its crowds and its steep walkways. A line of porters was an efficient option.
Szeth kept his eyes down. Partially to imitate the look of a worker. Partially to lower his gaze from the blazing sun above, the god of gods, who watched him and saw his shame. Szeth should not have been out during the day. He should have hidden his terrible face.
He felt his every step should leave a bloody footprint. The massacres he'd committed these months, working for his hidden master… He could hear the dead scream every time he closed his eyes. They grated against his soul, rubbing it to nothing, haunting him, consuming him.
So many dead. So very many dead.
Was he losing his mind? Each time he went on an assassination, he found himself blaming the victims. He cursed them for not being strong enough to fight back and kill him.
During each of his slaughters, he wore white, just as he had been commanded.
One foot in front of the other. Don't think. Don't focus on what you've done. On what you're… going to do.
He had reached the last name on the list: Taravangian, the king of Kharbranth. A beloved monarch, known for building and maintaining hospitals in his city. It was known as far away as Azir that if you were sick, Taravangian would take you in. Come to Kharbranth and be healed. The king loved all.
And Szeth was going to kill him.
At the top of the steep city, Szeth lugged his sack with the other porters around to the back of the palace structure, entering a dim stone corridor. Taravangian was a simpleminded man. That should have made Szeth feel more guilty, but he found himself consumed by loathing. Taravangian would not be smart enough to prepare for Szeth. Fool. Idiot. Would Szeth never face a foe strong enough to kill him?
Szeth had come to the city early and taken the job as a porter. He had needed to research and study, for the instructions commanded him-for once-not to kill anyone else in performing this assassination. Taravangian's murder was to be done quietly.
Why the difference? The instructions stated that he was to deliver a message. "The others are dead. I've come to finish the job." The instructions were explicit: Make certain Taravangian heard and acknowledged the words before harming him.
This was looking like a work of vengeance. Someone had sent Szeth to hunt down and destroy the men who had wronged him. Szeth laid his sack down in the palace larder. He turned automatically, following the shuffling line of porters back down the hallway. He nodded toward the servants' privy, and the portermaster waved for him to go ahead. Szeth had made this same haul on several occasions, and could be trusted-presumably-to do his business and catch up.
The privy didn't smell half as foul as he had anticipated. It was a dark room, cut into the underground cavern, but a candle burned beside a man standing at the pissing trough. He nodded to Szeth, tying up the front of his trousers and wiping his fingers on the sides as he walked to the door. He took his candle, but kindly lit a leftover stub before withdrawing.
As soon as he was gone, Szeth infused himself with Stormlight from his pouch and laid his hand on the door, performing a Full Lashing between it and the frame, locking it closed. His Shardblade came out next. In the palace, everything was built downward. Trusting the maps he'd purchased, he knelt and carved a square of rock from the floor, wider at the bottom. As it began to slide down, Szeth infused it with Stormlight, performing half a Basic Lashing upward, making the rock weightless.
Next, he Lashed himself upward with a subtle Lashing that left him weighing only a tenth his normal weight. He leapt onto the rock, and his lessened weight pushed the rock down slowly. He rode it down into the room below. Three couches with plush violet cushions lined the walls, sitting beneath fine silver mirrors. The lighteyes' privy. A lamp burned with a small flame in the sconce, but Szeth was alone.
The stone thumped softly to the floor, and Szeth leaped off. He shed his clothing, revealing a black and white master-servant's outfit underneath. He took a matching cap from the pocket and slipped it on, reluctantly dismissed his Blade, then slipped into the hallway and quickly Lashed the door shut.
These days, he rarely gave a thought to the fact that he walked on stone. Once, he would have revered a corridor of rock like this. Had that man once been him? Had he ever revered anything?
Szeth hurried onward. His time was short. Fortunately, King Taravangian kept a strict schedule. Seventh bell: private reflection in his study. Szeth could see the doorway into the study ahead, guarded by two soldiers.
Szeth bowed his head, hiding his Shin eyes and hurrying up to them. One of the men held out his hand wardingly, so Szeth grabbed it, twisting, shattering the wrist. He smashed his elbow into the man's face, throwing him back against the wall.
The man's stunned companion opened his mouth to yell, but Szeth kicked him in the stomach. Even without a Shardblade, he was dangerous, infused with Stormlight and trained in kammar. He grabbed the second guard by the hair and slammed his forehead against the rock floor. Then he rose and kicked open the door.
He walked into a room well illuminated by a double row of lamps on the left. Crammed bookcases covered the right wall from floor to ceiling. A man sat cross-legged on a small rug directly ahead of Szeth. The man looked out an enormous window cut through the rock, staring at the ocean beyond.
Szeth strode forward. "I have been instructed to tell you that the others are dead. I've come to finish the job." He raised his hands, Shardblade forming.
The king did not turn.
Szeth hesitated. He had to make certain the man acknowledged what had been said. "Did you hear me?" Szeth demanded, striding forward.
"Did you kill my guards, Szeth-son-son-Vallano?" the king asked quietly.
Szeth froze. He cursed and stepped backward, raising his Blade in a defensive stance. Another trap?
"You have done your work well," the king said, still not facing him. "Leaders dead, lives lost. Panic and chaos. Was this your destiny? Do you wonder? Given that monstrosity of a Shardblade by your people, cast out and absolved of any sin your masters might require of you?"
"I am not absolved," Szeth said, still wary. "It is a common mistake stone-walkers make. Each life I take weighs me down, eating away at my soul."
The voices… the screams… spirits below, I can hear them howling…
"Yet you kill."
"It is my punishment," Szeth said. "To kill, to have no choice, but to bear the sins nonetheless. I am Truthless."
"Truthless," the king mused. "I would say that you know much truth. More than your countrymen, now." He finally turned to face Szeth, and Szeth saw that he had been wrong about this man. King Taravangian was no simpleton. He had keen eyes and a wise, knowing face, rimmed with a full white beard, the mustaches drooping like arrow points. "You have seen what death and murder do to a man. You could say, Szeth-son-son-Vallano, that you bear great sins for your people. You understand what they cannot. And so you have truth."
Szeth frowned. And then it began to make sense. He knew what would happen next, even as the king reached into his voluminous sleeve and withdrew a small rock that glittered in the light of two dozen lamps. "You were always him," Szeth said. "My unseen master."
The king set the rock on the ground between them. Szeth's Oathstone.
"You put your own name on the list," Szeth said.
"In case you were captured," Taravangian said. "The best defense against suspicion is to be grouped with the victims."
"And if I'd killed you?"
"The instructions were explicit," Taravangian said. "And, as we have determined, you are quite good at following them. I probably needn't say it, but I order you not to harm me. Now, did you kill my guards?"
"I do not know," Szeth said, forcing himself to drop to one knee and dismissing his Blade. He spoke loudly, trying to drown out the screams that he thought-for certain-must be coming from the upper eaves of the room. "I knocked them both unconscious. I believe I cracked one man's skull."
Taravangian breathed out, sighing. He rose, stepping to the doorway. Szeth glanced over his shoulder to note the aged king inspecting the guards and seeing to their wounds. Taravangian called for help, and other guards arrived to see to the men.
Szeth was left with a terrible storm of emotions. This kindly, contemplative man had sent him to kill and murder? He had caused the screams?
Taravangian returned.
"Why?" Szeth asked, voice hoarse. "Vengeance?"
"No." Taravangian sounded very tired. "Some of those men you killed were my dear friends, Szeth-son-son-Vallano."
"More insurance?" Szeth spat. "To keep yourself from suspicion?"
"In part. And in part because their deaths were necessary."
"Why?" Szeth asked. "What could it possibly have served?"
"Stability. Those you killed were among the most powerful and influential men in Roshar."
"How does that help stability?"
"Sometimes," Taravangian said, "you must tear down a structure to build a new one with stronger walls." He turned around, looking out over the ocean. "And we are going to need strong walls in the coming years. Very, very strong walls."
"Your words are like the hundred doves."
"Easy to release, difficult to keep," Taravangian said, speaking the words in Shin.
Szeth looked up sharply. This man spoke the Shin language and knew his people's proverbs? Odd to find in a stonewalker. Odder to find in a murderer.
"Yes, I speak your language. Sometimes I wonder if the Lifebrother himself sent you to me."
"To bloody myself so that you wouldn't have to," Szeth said. "Yes, that sounds like something one of your Vorin gods would do."
Taravangian fell quiet. "Get up," he finally said.
Szeth obeyed. He would always obey his master. Taravangian led him to a door set into the side of the study. The aged man pulled a sphere lamp off the wall, lighting a winding stairwell of deep, narrow steps. They followed it and eventually came to a landing. Taravangian pushed open another door and entered a large room that wasn't on any of the palace maps that Szeth had purchased or bribed a look at. It was long, with wide railings on the sides, giving it a terraced look. Everything was painted white.
It was filled with beds. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Many were occupied.
Szeth followed the king, frowning. An enormous hidden room, cut into the stone of the Conclave? People bustled about wearing coats of white. "A hospital?" Szeth said. "You expect me to find your humanitarian eff orts a redemption for what you have commanded of me?"
"This is not humanitarian work," Taravangian said, walking forward slowly, white-and-orange robes rustling. Those they passed bowed to him with reverence. Taravangian led Szeth to an alcove of beds, each with a sickly person in it. There were healers working on them. Doing something to their arms.
Draining their blood.
A woman with a writing clipboard stood near the beds, pen held, waiting for something. What?
"I don't understand," Szeth said, watching in horror as the four patients grew pale. "You're killing them, aren't you?"
"Yes. We don't need the blood; it is merely a way to kill slowly and easily."
"Every one of them? The people in this room?"
"We try to select only the worst cases to move here, for once they are brought to this place, we cannot let them leave if they begin to recover." He turned to Szeth, eyes sorrowful. "Sometimes we need more bodies than the terminally sick can provide. And so we must bring the forgotten and the lowly. Those who will not be missed."
Szeth couldn't speak. He couldn't voice his horror and revulsion. In front of him, one of the victims-a man in his younger years-expired. Two of those remaining were children. Szeth stepped forward. He had to stop this. He had to "You will still yourself," Taravangian said. "And you will return to my side."
Szeth did as his master commanded. What were a few more deaths? Just another set of screams to haunt him. He could hear them now, coming from beneath beds, behind furniture.
Or I could kill him, Szeth thought. I could stop this.
He nearly did it. But honor prevailed, for the moment.
"You see, Szeth-son-son-Vallano," Taravangian said. "I did not send you to do my bloody work for me. I do it here, myself. I have personally held the knife and released the blood from the veins of many. Much like you, I know I cannot escape my sins. We are two men of one heart. This is one reason why I sought you out."
"But why?" Szeth said.
On the beds, a dying youth started speaking. One of the women with the clipboards stepped forward quickly, recording the words.
"The day was ours, but they took it," the boy cried. "Stormfather! You cannot have it. The day is ours. They come, rasping, and the lights fail. Oh, Stormfather!" The boy arched his back, then fell still suddenly, eyes dead.
The king turned to Szeth. "It is better for one man to sin than for a people to be destroyed, wouldn't you say, Szeth-son-son-Vallano?"