Renarin galloped away. Dalinar turned and ran toward Elhokar, Oathbringer misting into existence in his waiting hand. Elhokar continued to hack at the beast's lower torso, and sections of flesh blackened and died when the Shardblade struck. If he rammed the Shardblade in just right, he could stop the heart or lungs, but that would be difficult while the beast was upright.
Adolin-stalwart as always-had dismounted beside the king. He tried to stop the claws, striking at them as they fell. Unfortunately, there were four claws and only one of Adolin. Two swung at him at once, and though Adolin sliced a chunk out of one, he didn't see the other sweeping at his back.
Dalinar called out too late. Shardplate snapped as the claw tossed Adolin into the air. He arced and hit in a tumble. His Plate didn't shatter, thank the Heralds, but the breastplate and side cracked widely, leaking trails of white smoke.
Adolin rolled lethargically, hands moving. He was alive.
No time to think about him now. Elhokar was alone.
The beast struck, pounding the ground beside the king, knocking him off his feet. His blade vanished and Elhokar fell face-first on the stones.
Something changed inside of Dalinar. Reservations vanished. Other concerns became meaningless. His brother's son was in danger.
He had failed Gavilar, had lain drunk in his wine while his brother fought for his life. Dalinar should have been there to defend him. Only two things remained of his beloved brother, two things that Dalinar could protect in a hope to earn some form of redemption: Gavilar's kingdom and Gavilar's son.
Elhokar was alone and in danger.
Nothing else mattered. Adolin shook his head, dazed. He slammed his visor up, taking a gasp of fresh air to clear his mind.
Fighting. They were fighting. He could hear men screaming, rocks shaking, an enormous bleating sound. He smelled something moldy. Greatshell blood.
The chasmfiend! he thought. Before his mind was even clear, Adolin began summoning his Blade again and forced himself to his hands and knees.
The monster loomed a short distance away, a dark shadow upon the sky. Adolin had fallen near its right side. As his vision lost its fuzziness, he saw that the king was down, and his armor was cracked from the blow he'd taken earlier.
The chasmfiend raised a massive claw, preparing to slam it down. Adolin knew-suddenly-that disaster was upon them. The king would be killed on a simple hunt. The kingdom would shatter, the highprinces divided, the one tenuous link that kept them together cut away.
No! Adolin thought, stunned, still dazed, trying to stumble forward.
And then he saw his father.
Dalinar charged toward the king, moving with a speed and grace no man-not even one wearing Shardplate-should be able to manage. He leaped over a rock shelf, then ducked and skidded beneath a claw swinging for him. Other men thought they understood Shardblades and Shardplate, but Dalinar Kholin…at times, he proved them all children.
Dalinar straightened and leaped-still moving forward-cresting by inches a second claw that smashed apart the rocky shelf behind him.
It was all just a moment. A breath. The third claw was falling toward the king, and Dalinar roared, leaping forward. He dropped his Blade-it hit the ground and puffed away-as he skidded beneath the falling claw. He raised his hands and And he caught it. He bent beneath the blow, going down on one knee, and the air rang with a resounding clang of carapace against armor.
But he caught it.
Stormfather! Adolin thought, watching his father stand over the king, bowed beneath the enormous weight of a monster many times his size. Shocked archers hesitated. Sadeas lowered his grandbow. Adolin's breath caught in his chest.
Dalinar held back the claw and matched its strength, a figure in dark, silvery metal that almost seemed to glow. The beast trumpeted above, and Dalinar bellowed back a powerful, defiant yell.
In that moment, Adolin knew he was seeing him. The Blackthorn, the very man he'd been wishing he could fight alongside. The Plate of Dalinar's gauntlets and shoulders began to crack, webs of light moving down the ancient metal. Adolin finally shook himself into motion. I have to help!
His Shardblade formed in his hand and he scrambled to the side and sheared through the leg nearest to him. There was a crack in the air. With so many legs down, the beast's other legs couldn't hold its weight, particularly when it was trying so hard to crush Dalinar. The remaining legs on its right side snapped with a sickening crunch, spraying out violet ichor, and the beast toppled to the side.
The ground shook, nearly knocking Adolin to his knees. Dalinar tossed aside the now-limp claw, Stormlight from the many cracks steaming above him. Nearby, the king picked himself up off the ground-it had been mere seconds since he'd fallen.
Elhokar stumbled to his feet, looking at the fallen beast. Then he turned to his uncle, the Blackthorn.
Dalinar nodded thankfully to Adolin, then gestured sharply toward what passed for the beast's neck. Elhokar nodded, then summoned his Blade and rammed it deeply into the monster's flesh. The creature's uniform green eyes blackened and shriveled, smoke twisting into the air.
Adolin walked up to join his father, watching as Elhokar plunged his Blade into the chasmfiend's chest. Now that the beast was dead, the Blade could cut its flesh. Violet ichor spurted out, and Elhokar dropped his blade and reached into the wound, questing with Plate-enhanced arms, grabbing something.
He ripped free the beast's gemheart-the enormous gemstone that grew within all chasmfiends. It was lumpy and uncut, but it was a pure emerald and as big as a man's head. It was the largest gemheart Adolin had ever seen, and even the small ones were worth a fortune.
Elhokar held aloft the grisly prize, golden gloryspren appearing around him, and the soldiers yelled in triumph. Let me first assure you that the element is quite safe. I have found a good home for it. I protect its safety like I protect my own skin, you might say. The morning after his decision in the highstorm, Kaladin made certain to arise before the others. He threw off his blanket and strode through the room full of blanketed lumps. He didn't feel excited, but he did feel resolute. Determined to fight again.
He began that fight by throwing the door open to the sunlight. Groans and curses sounded behind him as the groggy bridgemen awoke. Kaladin turned toward them, hands on hips. Bridge Four currently had thirty-four members. That number fluctuated, but at least twenty-five were needed to carry the bridge. Anything below that, and the bridge would topple for certain. Sometimes, it did even with more members.
"Up and organize!" Kaladin shouted in his best squadleader's voice. He shocked himself with the authority in it.
The men blinked bleary eyes.
"That means," Kaladin bellowed, "out of the barrack and form ranks! You'll do it now, storm you, or I'll haul you out one by one myself!"
Syl fluttered down and landed on his shoulder, watching curiously. Some of the bridgemen sat up, staring at him, baffled. Others turned over in their blankets, putting their backs to him.
Kaladin took a deep breath. "So be it." He strode into the room and chose a lean Alethi named Moash. He was a strong man; Kaladin needed an example, and one of the skinnier men like Dunny or Narm wouldn't do. Plus, Moash was one of those who'd turned over to go back to sleep.
Kaladin grabbed Moash by one arm and heaved, pulling with all his strength. Moash stumbled to his feet. He was a younger man, perhaps near Kaladin's age, and had a hawkish face.
"Storm off!" Moash snapped, pulling his arm back.
Kaladin punched Moash right in the gut, where he knew it would wind him. Moash gasped in shock, doubling over, and Kaladin stepped forward to grab him by the legs, slinging Moash over his shoulder.
Kaladin almost toppled from the weight. Luckily, carrying bridges was harsh but effective strength training. Of course, few bridgemen survived long enough to benefit from it. It didn't help that there were unpredictable lulls between runs. That was part of the problem; the bridge crews spent most of their time staring at their feet or doing menial chores, then were expected to run for miles carrying a bridge.
He carted the shocked Moash outside and set him down on the stone. The rest of the camp was awake, woodworkers arriving at the lumberyard, soldiers jogging to their breakfast or training. The other bridge crews, of course, were still asleep. They were often allowed to sleep late, unless they were on morning bridge duty.
Kaladin left Moash and walked back into the low-ceilinged barrack. "I'll do the same to each of you, if I have to."
He didn't have to. The shocked bridgemen filed out into the light, blinking. Most stood bare-backed to the sunlight, wearing only knee-length trousers. Moash climbed to his feet, rubbing his stomach and glaring at Kaladin.
"Things are going to change in Bridge Four," Kaladin said. "For one thing, there will be no more sleeping in."
"And what are we going to do instead?" Sigzil demanded. He had dark brown skin and black hair-that meant he was Makabaki, from southwestern Roshar. He was the only bridgeman without a beard, and judging by his smooth accent, he was probably Azish or Emuli. Foreigners were common in bridge crews-those who didn't fit in often made their way to the crem of an army.
"Excellent question," Kaladin said. "We are going to train. Each morning before our daily chores, we will run the bridge in practice to build up our endurance."
More than one of the men's expressions grew dark at this.
"I know what you are thinking," Kaladin said. "Aren't our lives hard enough? Shouldn't we be able to relax during the brief times we have for it?"
"Yeah," said Leyten, a tall, stout man with curly hair. "That's right."
"No," Kaladin snapped. "Bridge runs exhaust us because we spend most of our days lounging. Oh, I know we have chores-foraging in the chasms, cleaning latrines, scrubbing floors. But the soldiers don't expect us to work hard; they just want us busy. The work helps them ignore us.
"As your bridgeleader, my primary duty is to keep you alive. There's not much I can do about the Parshendi arrows, so I have to do something about you. I have to make you stronger, so that when you charge that last leg of a bridge run-arrows flying-you can run quickly." He met the eyes of the men in the line, one at a time. "I intend to see that Bridge Four never loses another man."
The men stared at him incredulously. Finally, a hefty, thick-limbed man at the back bellowed out a laugh. He had tan skin, deep red hair, and was nearly seven feet tall, with large arms and a powerful torso. The Unkalaki-simply called Horneaters by most-were a group of people from the middle of Roshar, near Jah Keved. He'd given his name as "Rock" the previous night.
"Crazy!" said the Horneater. "Is crazy man who now thinks to lead us!" He laughed in a deep-bellied way. The others joined him, shaking their heads at Kaladin's speech. A few laughterspren-minnowlike silver spirits that darted through the air in circular patterns-began to zip about them.
"Hey Gaz," Moash called, cupping his hand around his mouth.
The short, one-eyed sergeant was chatting with some soldiers nearby. "What?" Gaz yelled back with a scowl.
"This one wants us to carry bridges about as practice," Moash called back. "Do we have to do what he says?"
"Bah," Gaz said, waving a hand. "Bridgeleaders only have authority in the field."
Moash glanced back at Kaladin. "Looks like you can storm off, friend. Unless you're going to beat us all into submission."
They broke apart, some men wandering back into the barrack, some walking toward the mess halls. Kaladin was left standing alone on the stones.
"That didn't go so well," Syl said from his shoulder.
"No. It didn't."
"You look surprised."
"No, just frustrated." He glared at Gaz. The bridge sergeant turned away from him pointedly. "In Amaram's army, I was given men who were inexperienced, but never ones who were blatantly insubordinate."
"What's the difference?" Syl asked. Such an innocent question. The answer should have been obvious, but she cocked her head in confusion.
"The men in Amaram's army knew they had worse places they could go. You could punish them. These bridgemen know they've reached the bottom." With a sigh, he let some of his tension bleed away. "I'm lucky I got them out of the barrack."
"So what do you do now?"
"I don't know." Kaladin glanced to the side, where Gaz still stood chatting with the soldiers. "Actually, yes I do."
Gaz caught sight of Kaladin approaching and displayed a look of urgent, wide-eyed horror. He broke off his conversation and hastily rushed around the side of a stack of logs.
"Syl," Kaladin said, "could you follow him for me?"
She smiled, then became a faint line of white, shooting through the air and leaving a trail that vanished slowly. Kaladin stopped where Gaz had been standing.
Syl zipped back a short time later and reassumed her girlish form. "He's hiding between those two barracks." She pointed. "He's crouched there, watching to see if you follow."
With a smile, Kaladin took the long way around the barracks. In the alleyway, he found a figure crouching in the shadows, watching in the other direction. Kaladin crept forward, then grabbed Gaz's shoulder. Gaz let out a yelp, spinning, swinging. Kaladin caught the fist easily.
Gaz looked up at Kaladin with horror. "I wasn't going to lie! Storm you, you don't have authority anywhere other than on the field. If you hurt me again, I'll have you-"
"Calm yourself, Gaz," Kaladin said, releasing the man. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not yet, at least."
The shorter man backed away, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at Kaladin.
"Today's third pass," Kaladin said. "Payday."
"You get your pay in an hour like everyone else."
"No. You have it now; I saw you talking to the courier there." He held out his hand.
Gaz grumbled, but pulled out a pouch and counted spheres. Tiny, tentative white lights shone at their centers. Diamond marks, each worth five diamond chips. A single chip would buy a loaf of bread.
Gaz counted out four marks, though there were five days to a week. He handed them to Kaladin, but Kaladin left his hand open, palm forward. "The other one, Gaz."
"You said-"
"Now."
Gaz jumped, then pulled out a sphere. "You have a strange way of keeping your word, lordling. You promised me…"
He trailed off as Kaladin took the sphere he'd just been given and handed it back.
Gaz frowned.
"Don't forget where this comes from, Gaz. I'll keep to my word, but you aren't keeping part of my pay. I'm giving it to you. Understand?"
Gaz looked confused, though he did snatch the sphere from Kaladin's hand.
"The money stops coming if something happens to me," Kaladin said, tucking the other four spheres into his pocket. Then he stepped forward. Kaladin was a tall man, and he loomed over the much shorter Gaz. "Remember our bargain. Stay out of my way."
Gaz refused to be intimidated. He spat to the side, the dark spittle clinging to the rock wall, oozing slowly. "I ain't going to lie for you. If you think one cremstained mark a week will-"
"I expect only what I said. What is Bridge Four's camp duty today?"
"Evening meal. Scrubbing and cleaning."
"And bridge duty?"
"Afternoon shift."
That meant the morning would be open. The crew would like that; they could spend payday losing their spheres on gambling or whores, perhaps forgetting for a short time the miserable lives they lived. They'd have to be back for afternoon duty, waiting in the lumberyard in case there was a bridge run. After evening meal, they'd go scrub pots.
Another wasted day. Kaladin turned to walk back to the lumberyard.
"You aren't going to change anything," Gaz called after him. "Those men are bridgemen for a reason."
Kaladin kept walking, Syl zipping down from the roof to land on his shoulder.
"You don't have authority," Gaz called. "You're not some squadleader on the field. You're a storming bridgeman. You hear me? You can't have authority without a rank!"
Kaladin left the alleyway behind. "He's wrong."
Syl walked around to hang in front of his face, hovering there while he moved. She cocked her head at him.
"Authority doesn't come from a rank," Kaladin said, fingering the spheres in his pocket.
"Where does it come from?"
"From the men who give it to you. That's the only way to get it." He looked back the way he'd come. Gaz hadn't left the alleyway yet. "Syl, you don't sleep, do you?"
"Sleep? A spren?" She seemed amused by the concept.
"Would you watch over me at night?" he said. "Make sure Gaz doesn't sneak in and try something while I'm sleeping? He may try to have me killed."
"You think he'd actually do that?"
Kaladin thought for a moment. "No. No, probably not. I've known a dozen men like him-petty bullies with just enough power to be annoying. Gaz is a thug, but I don't think he's a murderer. Besides, in his opinion, he doesn't have to hurt me; he just has to wait until I get killed on a bridge run. Still, best to be safe. Watch over me, if you would. Wake me if he tries something."
"Sure. But what if he just goes to more important men? Tells them to execute you?"
Kaladin grimaced. "Then there's nothing I can do. But I don't think he'd do that. It would make him look weak before his superiors."
Besides, beheading was reserved for bridgemen who wouldn't run at the Parshendi. So long as he ran, he wouldn't be executed. In fact, the army leaders seemed hesitant to do much to punish bridgemen at all. One man had committed murder while Kaladin had been a bridgeman, and they'd strung the fool up in a highstorm. But other than that, all Kaladin had seen was a few men get their wages garnished for brawling, and a couple get whipped for being too slow during the early part of a bridge run.
Minimal punishments. The leaders of this army understood. The lives of bridgemen were as close to hopeless as possible; shove them down too much further, and the bridgemen might just stop caring and let themselves be killed.
Unfortunately, that also meant that there wouldn't be much Kaladin could do to punish his own crew, even if he'd had that authority. He had to motivate them in another way. He crossed the lumberyard to where the carpenters were constructing new bridges. After some searching, Kaladin found what he wanted-a thick plank waiting to be fitted into a new portable bridge. A handhold for a bridgeman had been affixed to one side.
"Can I borrow this?" Kaladin asked a passing carpenter.
The man raised a hand to scratch a sawdust-powdered head. "Borrow it?"
"I'll stay right here in the lumberyard," Kaladin explained, lifting the board and putting it on his shoulder. It was heavier than he'd expected, and he was thankful for the padded leather vest.
"We'll need it eventually…" the carpenter said, but didn't offer enough of an objection to stop Kaladin from walking away with the plank.
He chose a level stretch of stone directly in front of the barracks. Then he began to trot from one end of the lumberyard to the other, carrying the board on his shoulder, feeling the heat of the rising sun on his skin. He went back and forth, back and forth. He practiced running, walking, and jogging. He practiced carrying the plank on his shoulder, then carrying it up high, arms stretched out.
He worked himself ragged. In fact, he felt close to collapsing several times, but every time he did, he found a reserve of strength from somewhere. So he kept moving, teeth gritted against the pain and fatigue, counting his steps to focus. The apprentice carpenter he'd spoken to brought a supervisor over. That supervisor scratched his head beneath his cap, watching Kaladin. Finally, he shrugged, and the two of them withdrew.
Before long, he drew a small crowd. Workers in the lumberyard, some soldiers, and a large number of bridgemen. Some from the other bridge crews called gibes, but the members of Bridge Four were more withdrawn. Many ignored him. Others-grizzled Teft, youthful-faced Dunny, several more-stood watching in a line, as if they couldn't believe what he was doing.
Those stares-stunned and hostile though they were-were part of what kept Kaladin going. He also ran to work out his frustration, that boiling, churning pot of anger within. Anger at himself for failing Tien. Anger at the Almighty for creating a world where some dined in luxury while others died carrying bridges.
It felt surprisingly good to wear himself down in a way he chose. He felt as he had those first few months after Tien's death, training himself on the spear to forget. When the noon bells rang-calling the soldiers to lunch-Kaladin finally stopped and set the large plank down on the ground. He rolled his shoulder. He'd been running for hours. Where had he found the strength?
He jogged over to the carpenter's station, dripping sweat to the stones, and took a long drink from the water barrel. The carpenters usually chased off bridgemen who tried that, but none said a word as Kaladin slurped down two full ladles of metallic rainwater. He shook the ladle free and nodded to a pair of apprentices, then jogged back to where he'd left the plank.
Rock-the large, tan-skinned Horneater-was hefting it, frowning.
Teft noticed Kaladin, then nodded to Rock. "He bet a few of us a chip each that you'd used a lightweight board to impress us."
If they could have felt his exhaustion, they wouldn't have been so skeptical. He forced himself to take the plank from Rock. The large man let it go with a bewildered look, watching as Kaladin ran the plank back to where he'd found it. He waved his thanks to the apprentice, then trotted back to the small cluster of bridgemen. Rock was reluctantly paying out chips on his bet.
"You're dismissed for lunch," Kaladin told them. "We have afternoon bridge duty, so be back here in an hour. Assemble at the mess hall at last bell before sundown. Our camp chore today is cleaning up after supper. Last one to arrive has to do the pots."
They gave him bemused expressions as he trotted away from the lumberyard. Two streets away, he ducked into an alleyway and leaned against the wall. Then, wheezing, he sank to the ground and stretched out.
He felt as if he'd strained every muscle in his body. His legs burned, and when he tried to make his hand into a fist, the fingers were too weak to fully comply. He breathed in and out in deep gasps, coughing. A passing soldier peeked in, but when he saw the bridgeman's outfit, he left without a word.
Eventually, Kaladin felt a light touch on his chest. He opened his eyes and found Syl lying prone in the air, face toward his. Her feet were toward the wall, but her posture-indeed, the way her dress hung-made it seem as if she were standing upright, not face toward the ground.
"Kaladin," she said, "I have something to tell you."
He closed his eyes again.
"Kaladin, this is important!" He felt a slight jolt of energy on his eyelid. It was a very strange sensation. He grumbled, opening his eyes and forcing himself to sit. She walked in the air, as if circumnavigating an invisible sphere, until she was standing up in the right direction.
"I have decided," Syl declared, "that I'm glad you kept your word to Gaz, even if he is a disgusting person."
It took Kaladin a moment to realize what she was talking about. "The spheres?"
She nodded. "I thought you might break your word, but I'm glad you didn't."
"All right. Well, thank you for telling me, I guess."
"Kaladin," she said petulantly, making fists at her side. "This is important."
"I…" He trailed off, then rested his head back against the wall. "Syl, I can barely breathe, let alone think. Please. Just tell me what's bothering you."
"I know what a lie is," she said, moving over and sitting on his knee. "A few weeks ago, I didn't even understand the concept of lying. But now I'm happy that you didn't lie. Don't you see?"
"No."
"I'm changing." She shivered-it must have been an intentional action, for her entire figure fuzzed for a moment. "I know things I didn't just a few days ago. It feels so strange."
"Well, I guess that's a good thing. I mean, the more you understand, the better. Right?"
She looked down. "When I found you near the chasm after the highstorm yesterday," she whispered, "you were going to kill yourself, weren't you?"
Kaladin didn't respond. Yesterday. That was an eternity ago.
"I gave you a leaf," she said. "A poisonous leaf. You could have used it to kill yourself or someone else. That's what you were probably planning to use it for in the first place, back in the wagons." She looked back up into his eyes, and her tiny voice seemed terrified. "Today, I know what death is. Why do I know what death is, Kaladin?"
Kaladin frowned. "You've always been odd, for a spren. Even from the start."
"From the very start?"
He hesitated, thinking back. No, the first few times she'd come, she'd acted like any other windspren. Playing pranks on him, sticking his shoe to the floor, then hiding. Even when she'd persisted with him during the months of his slavery, she'd acted mostly like any other spren. Losing interest in things quickly, flitting around.
"Yesterday, I didn't know what death was," she said. "Today I do. Months ago, I didn't know I was acting oddly for a spren, but I grew to realize that I was. How do I even know how a spren is supposed to act?" She shrank down, looking smaller. "What's happening to me? What am I?"
"I don't know. Does it matter?"
"Shouldn't it?"
"I don't know what I am either. A bridgeman? A surgeon? A soldier? A slave? Those are all just labels. Inside, I'm me. A very different me than I was a year ago, but I can't worry about that, so I just keep moving and hope my feet take me where I need to go."
"You aren't angry at me for bringing you that leaf?"
"Syl, if you hadn't interrupted me, I'd have stepped off into the chasm. That leaf was what I needed. It was the right thing, somehow."
She smiled, and watched as Kaladin began to stretch. Once he finished, he stood and stepped out onto the street again, mostly recovered from his exhaustion. She zipped into the air and rested on his shoulder, sitting with her arms back and her feet hanging down in front, like a girl on the side of a cliff. "I'm glad you're not angry. Though I do think that you're to blame for what's happening to me. Before I met you, I never had to think about death or lying."
"That's how I am," he said dryly. "Bringing death and lies wherever I go. Me and the Nightwatcher."
She frowned.
"That was-" he began.
"Yes," she said. "That was sarcasm." She cocked her head. "I know what sarcasm is." Then she smiled deviously. "I know what sarcasm is!"
Stormfather, Kaladin thought, looking into those gleeful little eyes. That strikes me as ominous.
"So, wait," he said. "This sort of thing has never happened to you before?"
"I don't know. I can't remember anything farther back than about a year ago, when I first saw you."
"Really?"
"That's not odd," Syl said, shrugging translucent shoulders. "Most spren don't have long memories." She hesitated. "I don't know why I know that."
"Well, maybe this is normal. You could have gone through this cycle before, but you've just forgotten it."
"That's not very comforting. I don't like the idea of forgetting."
"But don't death and lying make you uncomfortable?"
"They do. But, if I were to lose these memories…" She glanced into the air, and Kaladin traced her movements, noting a pair of windspren darting through the sky on a gusting breeze, uncaring and free.
"Scared to go onward," Kaladin said, "but terrified to go back to what you were."
She nodded.
"I know how you feel," he said. "Come on. I need to eat, and there are some things I want to pick up after lunch." You do not agree with my quest. I understand that, so much as it is possible to understand someone with whom I disagree so completely. Four hours after the chasmfiend attack, Adolin was still overseeing the cleanup. In the struggle, the monster had destroyed the bridge leading back to the warcamps. Fortunately, some soldiers had been left on the other side, and they'd gone to fetch a bridge crew.
Adolin walked amid the soldiers, gathering reports as the late afternoon sun inched toward the horizon. The air had a musty, moldy scent. The smell of greatshell blood. The beast itself lay where it had fallen, chest cut open. Some soldiers were harvesting its carapace amid cremlings that had come out to feast on the carcass. To Adolin's left, long lines of men lay in rows, using cloaks or shirts as pillows on the ragged plateau surface. Surgeons from Dalinar's army tended them. Adolin blessed his father for always bringing the surgeons, even on a routine expedition like this one.
He continued on his way, still wearing his Shardplate. The troops could have made their way back to the warcamps by another route-there was still a bridge on the other side, leading farther out onto the Plains. They could have moved eastward, then wrapped back around. Dalinar, however, had made the call-much to Sadeas's dismay-that they would wait and tend the wounded, resting the few hours it would take to get a bridge crew.
Adolin glanced toward the pavilion, which tinkled with laughter. Several large rubies glowed brightly, set atop poles, with worked golden tines holding them in place. They were fabrials that gave off heat, though there was no fire involved. He didn't understand how fabrials worked, though the more spectacular ones needed large gemstones to function.
Once again, the other lighteyes enjoyed their leisure while he worked. This time he didn't mind. He would have found it difficult to enjoy himself after such a disaster. And it had been a disaster. A minor lighteyed officer approached, carrying a final list of casualties. The man's wife read it, then they left him with the sheet and retreated.
There were nearly fifty men dead, twice as many wounded. Many were men Adolin had known. When the king had been given the initial estimate, he had brushed aside the deaths, indicating that they'd be rewarded for their valor with positions in the Heraldic Forces above. He seemed to have conveniently forgotten that he'd have been one of the casualties himself, if not for Dalinar.
Adolin sought out his father with his eyes; Dalinar stood at the edge of the plateau, looking eastward again. What did he search for out there? This wasn't the first time Adolin had seen such extraordinary actions from his father, but they had seemed particularly dramatic. Standing beneath the massive chasmfiend, holding it back from killing his nephew, Plate glowing. That image was fixed in Adolin's memory.
The other lighteyes stepped more lightly around Dalinar now, and during the last few hours, Adolin hadn't heard a single mention of his weakness, not even from Sadeas's men. He feared it wouldn't last. Dalinar was heroic, but only infrequently. In the weeks that followed, the others would begin to talk again of how he rarely went on plateau assaults, about how he'd lost his edge.
Adolin found himself thirsting for more. Today when Dalinar had leaped to protect Elhokar, he'd acted like the stories said he had during his youth. Adolin wanted that man back. The kingdom needed him.
Adolin sighed, turning away. He needed to give the final casualty report to the king. Likely he'd be mocked for it, but perhaps-in waiting to deliver it-he might be able to listen in on Sadeas. Adolin still felt he was missing something about that man. Something his father saw, but he did not.
So, steeling himself for the barbs, he made his way toward the pavilion. Dalinar faced eastward with gauntleted hands clasped behind his back. Somewhere out there, at the center of the Plains, the Parshendi made their base camp.
Alethkar had been at war for nearly six years, engaging in an extended siege. The siege strategy had been suggested by Dalinar himself-striking at the Parshendi base would have required camping on the Plains, weathering highstorms, and relying on a large number of fragile bridges. One failed battle, and the Alethi could have found themselves trapped and surrounded, without any way back to fortified positions.
But the Shattered Plains could also be a trap for the Parshendi. The eastern and southern edges were impassable-the plateaus there were weathered to the point that many were little more than spires, and the Parshendi could not jump the distance between them. The Plains were edged by mountains, and packs of chasmfiends prowled the land between, enormous and dangerous.
With the Alethi army boxing them in on the west and north-and with scouts placed south and east just in case-the Parshendi could not escape. Dalinar had argued that the Parshendi would run out of supplies. They'd either have to expose themselves and try to escape the Plains, or would have to attack the Alethi in their fortified warcamps.
It had been an excellent plan. Except, Dalinar hadn't anticipated the gemhearts.
He turned from the chasm, walking across the plateau. He itched to go see to his men, but he needed to show trust in Adolin. He was in command, and he would do well by it. In fact, it seemed he was already taking some final reports over to Elhokar.
Dalinar smiled, looking at his son. Adolin was shorter than Dalinar, and his hair was blond mixed with black. The blond was an inheritance from his mother, or so Dalinar had been told. Dalinar himself remembered nothing of the woman. She had been excised from his memory, leaving strange gaps and foggy areas. Sometimes he could remember an exact scene, with everyone else crisp and clear, but she was a blur. He couldn't even remember her name. When others spoke it, it slipped from his mind, like a pat of butter sliding off a too-hot knife.
He left Adolin to make his report and walked up to the chasmfiend's carcass. It lay slumped over on its side, eyes burned out, mouth lying open. There was no tongue, just the curious teeth of a greatshell, with a strange, complex network of jaws. Some flat platelike teeth for crushing and destroying shells and other, smaller mandibles for ripping off flesh or shoving it deeper into the throat. Rockbuds had opened nearby, their vines reaching out to lap up the beast's blood. There was a connection between a man and the beast he hunted, and Dalinar always felt a strange melancholy after killing a creature as majestic as a chasmfiend.
Most gemhearts were harvested quite differently than the one had been today. Sometime during the strange life cycle of the chasmfiends, they sought the western side of the Plains, where the plateaus were wider. They climbed up onto the tops and made a rocky chrysalis, waiting for the coming of a highstorm.
During that time, they were vulnerable. You just had to get to the plateau where it rested, break into its chrysalis with some mallets or a Shardblade, then cut out the gemheart. Easy work for a fortune. And the beasts came frequently, often several times a week, so long as the weather didn't get too cold.
Dalinar looked up at the hulking carcass. Tiny, near-invisible spren were floating out of the beast's body, vanishing into the air. They looked like the tongues of smoke that might come off a candle after being snuff ed. Nobody knew what kind of spren they were; you only saw them around the freshly killed bodies of greatshells.
He shook his head. The gemhearts had changed everything for the war. The Parshendi wanted them too, wanted them badly enough to extend themselves. Fighting the Parshendi for the greatshells made sense, for the Parshendi could not replenish their troops from home as the Alethi could. So contests over the greatshells were both profitable and a tactically sound way of advancing the siege.
With the evening coming on, Dalinar could see lights twinkling across the Plains. Towers where men watched for chasmfiends coming up to pupate. They'd watch through the night, though chasmfiends rarely came in the evening or night. The scouts crossed chasms with jumping poles, moving very lightly from plateau to plateau without the need of bridges. Once a chasmfiend was spotted the scouts would sound warning, and it became a race-Alethi against Parshendi. Seize the plateau and hold it long enough to get out the gemheart, attack the enemy if they got there first.
Each highprince wanted those gemhearts. Paying and feeding thousands of troops was not cheap, but a single gemheart could cover a highprince's expenses for months. Beyond that, the larger a gemstone was when used by a Soulcaster, the less likely it was to shatter. Enormous gemheart stones offered near-limitless potential. And so, the highprinces raced. The first one to a chrysalis got to fight the Parshendi for the gemheart.
They could have taken turns, but that was not the Alethi way. Competition was doctrine to them. Vorinism taught that the finest warriors would have the holy privilege of joining the Heralds after death, fighting to reclaim the Tranquiline Halls from the Voidbringers. The highprinces were allies, but they were also rivals. To give up a gemheart to another…well, it felt wrong. Better to have a contest. And so what had been a war had become sport instead. Deadly sport-but that was the best kind.
Dalinar left the fallen chasmfiend behind. He understood each step in the process of what had happened during these six years. He'd even hastened some of them. Only now did he worry. They were making headway in cutting down the Parshendi numbers, but the original goal of vengeance for Gavilar's murder had nearly been forgotten. The Alethi lounged, they played, and they idled.
Even though they'd killed plenty of Parshendi-as many as a quarter of their originally estimated forces were dead-this was just taking so long. The siege had lasted six years, and could easily take another six. That troubled him. Obviously the Parshendi had expected to be besieged here. They'd prepared supply dumps and had been ready to move their entire population to the Shattered Plains, where they could use these Heralds-forsaken chasms and plateaus like hundreds of moats and fortifications.
Elhokar had sent messengers, demanding to know why the Parshendi had killed his father. They had never given an answer. They'd taken credit for his murder, but had offered no explanation. Of late, it seemed that Dalinar was the only one who still wondered about that.
Dalinar turned to the side; Elhokar's attendants had retired to the pavilion, enjoying wine and refreshments. The large open-sided tent was dyed violet and yellow, and a light breeze ruffled the canvas. There was a small chance that another highstorm might arrive tonight, the stormwardens said. Almighty send that the army was back to the camp if one did come.
Highstorms. Visions.
Unite them…
Did he really believe in what he'd seen? Did he really think that the Almighty himself had spoken to him? Dalinar Kholin, the Blackthorn, a fearsome warlord?
Unite them.
At the pavilion, Sadeas walked out into the night. He had removed his helm, revealing a head of thick black hair that curled and tumbled around his shoulders. He cut an imposing figure in his Plate; he certainly looked much better in armor than he did wearing one of those ridiculous costumes of lace and silk that were popular these days.
Sadeas caught Dalinar's eyes, nodding slightly. My part is done, that nod said. Sadeas strolled for a moment, then reentered the pavilion.
So. Sadeas had remembered the reason for inviting Vamah on the hunt. Dalinar would have to seek out Vamah. He made his way toward the pavilion. Adolin and Renarin lurked near the king. Had the lad given his report yet? It seemed likely that Adolin was trying-yet again-to listen in on Sadeas's conversations with the king. Dalinar would have to do something about that; the boy's personal rivalry with Sadeas was understandable, perhaps, but counterproductive.
Sadeas was chatting with the king. Dalinar made to go find Vamah-the other highprince was near the back of the pavilion-but the king interrupted him.
"Dalinar," the king said. "Come here. Sadeas tells me he has won three gemhearts in the last few weeks alone!"
"He has indeed," Dalinar said, approaching.
"How many have you won?"
"Including the one today?"
"No," the king said. "Before this."
"None, Your Majesty," Dalinar admitted.
"It's Sadeas's bridges," Elhokar said. "They're more efficient than yours."
"I may not have won anything the last few weeks," Dalinar said stiffly, "but my army has won its share of skirmishes in the past." And the gemhearts can go to Damnation, for all I care.
"Perhaps," Elhokar said, "but what have you done lately?"
"I have been busy with other important things."
Sadeas raised an eyebrow. "More important than the war? More important than vengeance? Is that possible? Or are you just making excuses?"
Dalinar gave the other highprince a pointed look. Sadeas just shrugged. They were allies, but they were not friends. Not any longer.
"You should switch to bridges like his," Elhokar said.
"Your Majesty," Dalinar said. "Sadeas's bridges waste many lives."
"But they are also fast," Sadeas said smoothly. "Relying on wheeled bridges is foolish, Dalinar. Getting them over this plateau terrain is slow and plodding."
"The Codes state that a general may not ask a man to do anything he would not do himself. Tell me, Sadeas. Would you run at the front of those bridges you use?"
"I wouldn't eat gruel either," Sadeas said dryly, "or cut ditches."
"But you might if you had to," Dalinar said. "The bridges are different. Stormfather, you don't even let them use armor or shields! Would you enter combat without your Plate?"
"The bridgemen serve a very important function," Sadeas snapped. "They distract the Parshendi from firing at my soldiers. I tried giving them shields at first. And you know what? The Parshendi ignored the bridgemen and fired volleys onto my soldiers and horses. I found that by doubling the number of bridges on a run, then making them extremely light-no armor, no shields to slow them-the bridgemen work far better.
"You see, Dalinar? The Parshendi are too tempted by the exposed bridgemen to fire at anyone else! Yes, we lose a few bridge crews in each assault, but rarely so many that it hinders us. The Parshendi just keep firing at them-I assume that, for whatever reason, they think killing the bridgemen hurts us. As if an unarmored man carrying a bridge was worth the same to the army as a mounted knight in Plate." Sadeas shook his head in amusement at the thought.
Dalinar frowned. Brother, Gavilar had written. You must find the most important words a man can say… A quote from the ancient text The Way of Kings. It would disagree strongly with the things Sadeas was implying.
"Regardless," Sadeas continued. "Surely you can't argue with how effective my method has been."
"Sometimes," Dalinar said, "the prize is not worth the costs. The means by which we achieve victory are as important as the victory itself."
Sadeas looked at Dalinar incredulously. Even Adolin and Renarin-who had come closer-seemed shocked by the statement. It was a very un-Alethi way of thinking.
With the visions and the words of that book spinning in his mind lately, Dalinar wasn't feeling particularly Alethi.
"The prize is worth any cost, Brightlord Dalinar," Sadeas said. "Winning the competition is worth any effort, any expense."
"It is a war," Dalinar said. "Not a contest."
"Everything is a contest," Sadeas said with a wave of his hand. "All dealings among men are a contest in which some will succeed and others fail. And some are failing quite spectacularly."
"My father is one of the most renowned warriors in Alethkar!" Adolin snapped, butting into the group. The king raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise stayed out of the conversation. "You saw what he did earlier, Sadeas, while you were hiding back by the pavilion with your bow. My father held off the beast. You're a cowa-"
"Adolin!" Dalinar said. That was going too far. "Restrain yourself."
Adolin clenched his jaw, hand to his side, as if itching to summon his Shardblade. Renarin stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Adolin's arm. Reluctantly, Adolin backed down.
Sadeas turned to Dalinar, smirking. "One son can barely control himself, and the other is incompetent. This is your legacy, old friend?"
"I am proud of them both, Sadeas, whatever you think."
"The firebrand I can understand," Sadeas said. "You were once impetuous just like him. But the other one? You saw how he ran out onto the field today. He even forgot to draw his sword or bow! He's useless!"
Renarin flushed, looking down. Adolin snapped his head up. He thrust his hand to the side again, stepping forward toward Sadeas.
"Adolin!" Dalinar said. "I will handle this!"
Adolin looked at him, blue eyes alight with rage, but he did not summon his Blade.
Dalinar turned his attention to Sadeas, speaking very softly, very pointedly. "Sadeas. Surely I did not just hear you openly-before the king-call my son useless. Surely you would not say that, as such an insult would demand that I summon my Blade and seek your blood. Shatter the Vengeance Pact. Cause the king's two greatest allies to kill one another. Surely you would not have been that foolish. Surely I misheard."
Everything grew still. Sadeas hesitated. He didn't back down; he met Dalinar's gaze. But he did hesitate.
"Perhaps," Sadeas said slowly, "you did hear the wrong words. I would not insult your son. That would not have been…wise of me."
An understanding passed between them, stares locked, and Dalinar nodded. Sadeas did as well-one curt nod of the head. They would not let their hatred of one another become a danger to the king. Barbs were one thing, but dueling offenses were another. They couldn't risk that.
"Well," Elhokar said. He allowed his highprinces to jostle and contend for status and influence. He believed they were all stronger for it, and few faulted him; it was an established method of rule. More and more, Dalinar found himself disagreeing.
Unite them…
"I guess we can be done with that," Elhokar said.
To the side, Adolin looked unsatisfied, as if he'd really been hoping that Dalinar would summon his Blade and confront Sadeas. Dalinar's own blood felt hot, the Thrill tempting him, but he shoved it down. No. Not here. Not now. Not while Elhokar needed them.
"Perhaps we can be done, Your Majesty," Sadeas said. "Though I doubt this particular discussion between Dalinar and me will ever be done. At least until he relearns how to act as a man should."
"I said that is quite enough, Sadeas," Elhokar said.
"Quite enough, you say?" a new voice added. "I believe that a single word from Sadeas is 'quite enough' for anyone." Wit picked his way through the groups of attendants, holding a cup of wine in one hand, silver sword belted at his side.
"Wit!" Elhokar exclaimed. "When did you get here?"
"I caught up to your party just before the battle, Your Majesty," Wit said, bowing. "I was going to speak with you, but the chasmfiend beat me to you. I hear your conversation with it was rather energizing."
"But, you arrived hours ago, then! What have you been doing? How could I have missed seeing you here?"
"I had…things to be about," Wit said. "But I couldn't stay away from the hunt. I wouldn't want you to lack for me."
"I've done well so far."
"And yet, you were still Witless," Wit noted.
Dalinar studied the black-clad man. What to make of Wit? He was clever. And yet, he was too free with his thoughts, as he'd shown with Renarin earlier. This Wit had a strange air about him that Dalinar couldn't quite place.
"Brightlord Sadeas," Wit said, taking a sip of wine. "I'm terribly sorry to see you here."
"I should think," Sadeas said dryly, "that you would be happy to see me. I seem always to provide you with such entertainment."
"That is unfortunately true," Wit said.
"Unfortunately?"
"Yes. You see, Sadeas, you make it too easy. An uneducated, half-brained serving boy with a hangover could make mock of you. I am left with no need to exert myself, and your very nature makes mockery of my mockery. And so it is that through sheer stupidity you make me look incompetent."
"Really, Elhokar," Sadeas said. "Must we put up with this…creature?"
"I like him," Elhokar said, smiling. "He makes me laugh."
"At the expense of those who are loyal to you."
"Expense?" Wit cut in. "Sadeas, I don't believe you've ever paid me a sphere. Though no, please, don't offer. I can't take your money, as I know how many others you must pay to get what you wish of them."
Sadeas flushed, but kept his temper. "A whore joke, Wit? Is that the best you can manage?"
Wit shrugged. "I point out truths when I see them, Brightlord Sadeas. Each man has his place. Mine is to make insults. Yours is to be in-sluts."
Sadeas froze, then grew red-faced. "You are a fool."
"If the Wit is a fool, then it is a sorry state for men. I shall offer you this, Sadeas. If you can speak, yet say nothing ridiculous, I will leave you alone for the rest of the week."
"Well, I think that shouldn't be too difficult."
"And yet you failed," Wit said, sighing. "For you said 'I think' and I can imagine nothing so ridiculous as the concept of you thinking. What of you, young Prince Renarin? Your father wishes me to leave you alone. Can you speak, yet say nothing ridiculous?"
Eyes turned toward Renarin, who stood just behind his brother. Renarin hesitated, eyes opening wide at the attention. Dalinar grew tense.
"Nothing ridiculous," Renarin said slowly.
Wit laughed. "Yes, I suppose that will satisfy me. Very clever. If Brightlord Sadeas should lose control of himself and finally kill me, perhaps you can be King's Wit in my stead. You seem to have the mind for it."
Renarin perked up, which darkened Sadeas's mood further. Dalinar eyed the highprince; Sadeas's hand had gone to his sword. Not a Shardblade, for Sadeas didn't have one. But he did carry a lighteyes's side sword. Plenty deadly; Dalinar had fought beside Sadeas on many occasions, and the man was an expert swordsman.
Wit stepped forward. "So what of it, Sadeas?" he asked softly. "You going to do Alethkar a favor and rid it of us both?"
Killing the King's Wit was legal. But by so doing, Sadeas would forfeit his title and lands. Most men found it a poor enough trade not to do it in the open. Of course, if you could assassinate a Wit without anyone knowing it was you, that was something different.
Sadeas slowly removed his hand from the hilt of his sword, then nodded curtly to the king and strode away.
"Wit," Elhokar said, "Sadeas has my favor. There's no need to torment him so."
"I disagree," Wit said. "The king's favor may be torment enough for most men, but not him."
The king sighed and looked toward Dalinar. "I should go placate Sadeas. I've been meaning to ask you, though. Have you looked into the issue I asked you about earlier?"
Dalinar shook his head. "I have been busy with the needs of the army. But I will look into it now, Your Majesty."
The king nodded, then hastened off after Sadeas.
"What was that, Father?" Adolin asked. "Is it about the people he thinks were spying on him?"
"No," Dalinar said. "This is something new. I'll show you shortly."
Dalinar looked toward Wit. The black-clad man was popping his knuckles one at a time, looking at Sadeas, seeming contemplative. He noticed Dalinar watching and winked, then walked away.
"I like him," Adolin repeated.
"I might be persuaded to agree," Dalinar said, rubbing his chin. "Renarin," Dalinar said, "go and get a report on the wounded. Adolin, come with me. We need to check into the matter the king spoke of."
Both young men looked confused, but they did as requested. Dalinar started across the plateau toward where the carcass of the chasmfiend lay.
Let us see what your worries have brought us this time, nephew, he thought. Adolin turned the long leather strap over in his hands. Almost a handspan wide and a finger's width thick, the strap ended in a ragged tear. It was the girth to the king's saddle, the strap that wrapped under the horse's barrel. It had broken suddenly during the fight, throwing the saddle-and the king-from horseback.
"What do you think?" Dalinar asked.
"I don't know," Adolin said. "It doesn't look that worn, but I guess it was, otherwise it wouldn't have snapped, right?
Dalinar took the strap back, looking contemplative. The soldiers still hadn't returned with the bridge crew, though the sky was darkening.
"Father," Adolin said. "Why would Elhokar ask us to look into this? Does he expect us to discipline the grooms for not properly caring for his saddle? Is it…" Adolin trailed off, and he suddenly understood his father's hesitation. "The king thinks the strap was cut, doesn't he?"
Dalinar nodded. He turned it over in his gauntleted fingers, and Adolin could see him thinking about it. A girth could get so worn that it would snap, particularly when strained by the weight of a man in Shardplate. This strap had broken off at the point where it had been affixed to the saddle, so it would have been easy for the grooms to miss it. That was the most rational explanation. But when looked at with slightly more irrational eyes, it could seem that something nefarious had happened.
"Father," Adolin said, "he's getting increasingly paranoid. You know he is."
Dalinar didn't reply.
"He sees assassins in every shadow," Adolin continued. "Straps break. That doesn't mean someone tried to kill him."
"If the king is worried," Dalinar said, "we should look into it. The break is smoother on one side, as if it were sliced so that it would rip when it was stressed."
Adolin frowned. "Maybe." He hadn't noticed that. "But think about it, Father. Why would someone cut his strap? A fall from horseback wouldn't harm a Shardbearer. If it was an assassination attempt, then it was an incompetent one."
"If it was an assassination attempt," Dalinar said, "even an incompetent one, then we have something to worry about. It happened on our watch, and his horse was cared for by our grooms. We will look into this."
Adolin groaned, some of his frustration slipping out. "The others already whisper that we've become bodyguards and pets of the king. What will they say if they hear that we're chasing down his every paranoid worry, no matter how irrational?"
"I have never cared what they say."
"We spend all our time on bureaucracy while others win wealth and glory. We rarely go on plateau assaults because we're busy doing things like this! We need to be out there, fighting, if we're ever going to catch up to Sadeas!"
Dalinar looked at him, frown deepening, and Adolin bit off his next outburst.
"I see that we're no longer talking about this broken girth," Dalinar said.
"I…I'm sorry. I spoke in haste."
"Perhaps you did. But then again, perhaps I needed to hear it. I noticed that you didn't particularly like how I held you back from Sadeas earlier."
"I know you hate him too, Father."
"You do not know as much as you presume you do," Dalinar said. "We'll do something about that in a moment. For now, I swear…this strap does look like it was cut. Perhaps there is something we're not seeing. This could have been part of something larger that didn't work the way it had been anticipated."
Adolin hesitated. It seemed overcomplicated, but if there was a group who liked their plots overly complicated, it was the Alethi lighteyes. "Do you think one of the highprinces may have tried something?"
"Maybe," Dalinar said. "But I doubt any of them want him dead. So long as Elhokar rules, the highprinces get to fight in this war their way and fatten their purses. He doesn't make many demands of them. They like having him as their king."
"Men can covet the throne for the distinction alone."
"True. When we return, see if anyone has been bragging too much of late. Check to see if Roion is still bitter about Wit's insult at the feast last week and have Talata go over the contracts Highprince Bethab offered to the king for the use of his chulls. In previous contracts, he's tried to slip in language that would favor his claim in a succession. He's been bold ever since your aunt Navani left."
Adolin nodded.
"See if you can backtrack the girth's history," Dalinar said. "Have a leatherworker look at it and tell you what he thinks of the rip. Ask the grooms if they noticed anything, and watch to see if any have received any suspicious windfalls of spheres lately." He hesitated. "And double the king's guard."
Adolin turned, glancing at the pavilion. Sadeas was strolling out of it. Adolin narrowed his eyes. "Do you think-"
"No," Dalinar interrupted.
"Sadeas is an eel."
"Son, you have to stop fixating on him. He likes Elhokar, which can't be said of most of the others. He's one of the few I'd trust the king's safety to."
"I wouldn't do the same, Father, I can tell you that."
Dalinar fell silent for a moment. "Come with me." He handed Adolin the saddle strap, then began to cross the plateau toward the pavilion. "I want to show you something about Sadeas."
Resigned, Adolin followed. They passed the lit pavilion. Inside, darkeyed men served food and drink while women sat and scribed messages or wrote accounts of the battle. The lighteyes spoke with one another in verbose, excited tones, complimenting the king's bravery. The men wore dark, masculine colors: maroon, navy, forest green, deep burnt orange.
Dalinar approached Highprince Vamah, who stood outside the pavilion with a group of his own lighteyed attendants. He was dressed in a fashionable long brown coat that had slashes cut through it to expose the bright yellow silk lining. It was a subdued fashion, not as ostentatious as wearing silks on the outside. Adolin thought it looked nice.
Vamah himself was a round-faced, balding man. The short hair that remained stuck straight up, and he had light grey eyes. He had a habit of squinting-which he did as Dalinar and Adolin approached.
What is this about? Adolin wondered.
"Brightlord," Dalinar said to Vamah. "I have come to make certain your comfort has been seen to."
"My comfort would be best seen to if we could be on our way back." Vamah glared over at the setting sun, as if blaming it for some misdeed. He wasn't normally so foul-mooded.
"I'm certain that my men are moving as quickly as they can," Dalinar said.
"It wouldn't be nearly as late if you hadn't slowed us so much on the way here," Vamah said.
"I like to be careful," Dalinar said. "And, speaking of care, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about. Might my son and I speak to you alone for a moment?"
Vamah scowled, but let Dalinar lead him away from his attendants. Adolin followed, more and more baffled.
"The beast was a large one," Dalinar said to Vamah, nodding toward the fallen chasmfiend. "The biggest I've seen."
"I suppose."
"I hear you've had success on your recent plateau assaults, killing a few cocooned chasmfiends of your own. You are to be congratulated."
Vamah shrugged. "The ones we won were small. Nothing like that gemheart that Elhokar took today."
"A small gemheart is better than none," Dalinar said politely. "I hear that you have plans to augment the walls of your warcamp."
"Hum? Yes. Fill in a few of the gaps, improve the fortification."
"I'll be certain to tell His Majesty that you'll be wanting to purchase extra access to the Soulcasters."
Vamah turned to him, frowning. "Soulcasters?"
"For lumber," Dalinar said evenly. "Surely you don't intend to fill in the walls without using scaffolding? Out here, on these remote plains, it's fortunate that we have Soulcasters to provide things like wood, wouldn't you say?"
"Er, yes," Vamah said, expression darkening further. Adolin looked from him to his father. There was a subtext to the conversation. Dalinar wasn't speaking only of wood for the walls-the Soulcasters were the means by which all of the highprinces fed their armies.
"The king is quite generous in allowing access to the Soulcasters," Dalinar said. "Wouldn't you agree, Vamah?"
"I take your point, Dalinar," Vamah said dryly. "No need to keep bashing the rock into my face."
"I've never been known as a subtle man, Brightlord," Dalinar said. "Just an effective one." He walked away, waving for Adolin to follow. Adolin did so, looking over his shoulder at the other highprince.
"He's been complaining vocally about the fees that Elhokar charges to use his Soulcasters," Dalinar said softly. It was the primary form of taxation the king levied on the highprinces. Elhokar himself didn't fight for, or win, gemhearts except on the occasional hunt. He stood aloof from fighting personally in the war, as was appropriate.
"And so…?" Adolin said.
"So I reminded Vamah of how much he relies on the king."
"I suppose that's important. But what does it have to do with Sadeas?"
Dalinar didn't answer. He kept walking across the plateau, stepping up to the lip of the chasm. Adolin joined him, waiting. A few seconds later, someone approached from behind in clinking Shardplate, then Sadeas stepped up beside Dalinar at the lip of the chasm. Adolin narrowed his eyes at the man, and Sadeas raised an eyebrow, but said nothing about his presence.
"Dalinar," Sadeas said, turning his eyes forward, looking out across the Plains.
"Sadeas." Dalinar's voice was controlled and curt.
"You spoke with Vamah?"
"Yes. He saw through what I was doing."
"Of course he did." There was a hint of amusement in Sadeas's voice. "I wouldn't have expected anything else."
"You told him you were increasing what you charge him for wood?"
Sadeas controlled the only large forest in the region. "Doubling it," Sadeas said.
Adolin looked over his shoulder. Vamah was watching them stand there, and his expression was as thunderous as a highstorm, angerspren boiling up from the ground around him like small pools of bubbling blood. Dalinar and Sadeas together sent him a very sound message. Why…this is probably why they invited him on the hunt, Adolin realized. So they could maneuver him.
"Will it work?" Dalinar asked.
"I'm certain it will," Sadeas said. "Vamah's an agreeable enough fellow, when prodded-he'll see that it's better to use the Soulcasters than spend a fortune running a supply line back to Alethkar."
"Perhaps we should tell the king about these sorts of things," Dalinar said, glancing at the king, who stood in the pavilion, oblivious of what had been done.
Sadeas sighed. "I've tried; he hasn't a mind for this sort of work. Leave the boy to his preoccupations, Dalinar. His are the grand ideals of justice, holding the sword high as he rides against his father's enemies."
"Lately, he seems less preoccupied with the Parshendi, and more worried about assassins in the night," Dalinar said. "The boy's paranoia worries me. I don't know where he gets it."
Sadeas laughed. "Dalinar, are you serious?"
"I'm always serious."
"I know, I know. But surely you can see where the boy comes by the paranoia!"
"From the way his father was killed?"
"From the way his uncle treats him! A thousand guards? Halts on each and every plateau to let soldiers 'secure' the next one over? Really, Dalinar?"
"I like to be careful."
"Others call that being paranoid."
"The Codes-"
"The Codes are a bunch of idealized nonsense," Sadeas said, "devised by poets to describe the way they think things should have been."
"Gavilar believed in them."
"And look where it got him."
"And where were you, Sadeas, when he was fighting for his life?"
Sadeas's eyes narrowed. "So we're going to rehash that now? Like old lovers, crossing paths unexpectedly at a feast?"
Adolin's father didn't reply. Once again, Adolin found himself baffled by Dalinar's relationship with Sadeas. Their barbs were genuine; one needed only look in their eyes to see that the men could barely stand one another.
And yet, here they were, apparently planning and executing a joint manipulation of another highprince.
"I'll protect the boy my way," Sadeas said. "You do it your way. But don't complain to me about his paranoia when you insist on wearing your uniform to bed, just in case the Parshendi suddenly decide-against all reason and precedent-to attack the warcamps. 'I don't know where he gets it' indeed!"
"Let's go, Adolin," Dalinar said, turning to stride away. Adolin followed.
"Dalinar," Sadeas called from behind.
Dalinar hesitated, looking back.
"Have you found it yet?" Sadeas asked. "Why he wrote what he did?"
Dalinar shook his head.
"You're not going to find the answer," Sadeas said. "It's a foolish quest, old friend. One that's tearing you apart. I know what happens to you during storms. Your mind is unraveling because of all this stress you put upon yourself."
Dalinar returned to walking away. Adolin hurried after him. What had that last part been about? Why "he" wrote? Men didn't write. Adolin opened his mouth to ask, but he could sense his father's mood. This was not a time to prod him.
He walked with Dalinar up to a small rock hill on the plateau. They picked their way up it to the top, and from there looked out at the fallen chasmfiend. Dalinar's men continued harvesting its meat and carapace.
He and his father stood there for a time, Adolin brimming with questions, yet unable to find a way to phrase them.
Eventually, Dalinar spoke. "Have I ever told you what Gavilar's final words to me were?"
"You haven't. I've always wondered about that night."
"'Brother, follow the Codes tonight. There is something strange upon the winds.' That's what he said to me, the last thing he told me just before we began the treaty-signing celebration."
"I didn't realize that Uncle Gavilar followed the Codes."
"He's the one who first showed them to me. He found them as a relic of old Alethkar, back when we'd first been united. He began following them shortly before he died." Dalinar grew hesitant. "Those were odd days, son. Jasnah and I weren't sure what to think of the changes in Gavilar. At the time, I thought the Codes foolishness, even the one that commanded an officer to avoid strong drink during times of war. Especially that one." His voice grew even softer. "I was unconscious on the ground when Gavilar was murdered. I can remember voices, trying to wake me up, but I was too addled by my wine. I should have been there for him."
He looked to Adolin. "I cannot live in the past. It is foolishness to do so. I blame myself for Gavilar's death, but there is nothing to be done for him now."
Adolin nodded.
"Son, I keep hoping that if I make you follow the Codes long enough, you will see-as I have-their importance. Hopefully you will not need as dramatic an example of it as I did. Regardless, you need to understand. You speak of Sadeas, of beating him, of competing with him. Do you know of Sadeas's part in my brother's death?"
"He was the decoy," Adolin said. Sadeas, Gavilar, and Dalinar had been good friends up until the king's death. Everyone knew it. They had conquered Alethkar together.
"Yes," Dalinar said. "He was with the king and heard the soldiers crying that a Shardbearer was attacking. The decoy idea was Sadeas's plan-he put on one of Gavilar's robes and fled in Gavilar's place. It was suicide, what he did. Wearing no Plate, making a Shardbearer assassin chase him. I honestly think it was one of the bravest things I've ever known a man to do."
"But it failed."
"Yes. And there's a part of me that can never forgive Sadeas for that failure. I know it's irrational, but he should have been there, with Gavilar. Just like I should have been. We both failed our king, and we cannot forgive one another. But the two of us are still united in one thing. We made a vow on that day. We'd protect Gavilar's son. No matter what the cost, no matter what other things came between us, we would protect Elhokar.
"And so that's why I'm here on these Plains. It isn't wealth or glory. I care nothing for those things, not any longer. I came for the brother I loved, and for the nephew I love in his own right. And, in a way, this is what divides Sadeas and me even as it unites us. Sadeas thinks that the best way to protect Elhokar is to kill the Parshendi. He drives himself, and his men, brutally, to get to those plateaus and fight. I believe a part of him thinks I'm breaking my vow by not doing the same.
"But that's not the way to protect Elhokar. He needs a stable throne, allies that support him, not highprinces that bicker. Making a strong Alethkar will protect him better than killing our enemies will. This was Gavilar's life's work, uniting the highprinces…"
He trailed off. Adolin waited for more, but it did not come.
"Sadeas," Adolin finally said. "I'm…surprised to hear you call him brave."
"He is brave. And cunning. Sometimes, I make the mistake of letting his extravagant dress and mannerisms lead me to underestimate him. But there's a good man inside of him, son. He is not our enemy. We can be petty sometimes, the two of us. But he works to protect Elhokar, so I ask you to respect that."
How did one respond to that? You hate him, but you ask me not to? "All right," Adolin said. "I'll watch myself around him. But, Father, I still don't trust him. Please. At least consider the possibility that he's not as committed as you are, that he's playing you."
"Very well," Dalinar said. "I'll consider it."
Adolin nodded. It was something. "What of what he said at the end? Something about writing?"
Dalinar hesitated. "It is a secret he and I share. Other than us, only Jasnah and Elhokar know of it. I've contemplated for a time whether I should tell you, as you will take my place should I fall. I spoke to you of the last words my brother said to me."
"Asking you to follow the Codes."
"Yes. But there is more. Something else he said to me, but not with spoken words. Instead, these are words that…he wrote."
"Gavilar could write?"
"When Sadeas discovered the king's body, he found words written on the fragment of a board, using Gavilar's own blood. 'Brother,' they said. 'You must find the most important words a man can say.' Sadeas hid the fragment away, and we later had Jasnah read the words. If it is true that he could write-and other possibilities seem implausible-it was a shameful secret he hide. As I said, his actions grew very odd near the end of his life."
"And what does it mean? Those words?"
"It's a quote," Dalinar said. "From an ancient book called The Way of Kings. Gavilar favored readings from the volume near the end of his life-he spoke to me of it often. I didn't realize the quote was from it until recently; Jasnah discovered it for me. I've now had the text of the book read to me a few times, but so far, I find nothing to explain why he wrote what he did." He paused. "The book was used by the Radiants as a kind of guidebook, a book of counsel on how to live their lives."
The Radiants? Stormfather! Adolin thought. The delusions his father had…they often seemed to have something to do with the Radiants. This was further proof that the delusions were related to Dalinar's guilt over his brother's death.
But what could Adolin do to help?
Metal footsteps ground on the rock behind. Adolin turned, then nodded in respect as the king approached, still wearing his golden Shardplate, though he'd removed the helm. He was several years Adolin's senior, and had a bold face with a prominent nose. Some said they saw in him a kingly air and a regal bearing, and women Adolin trusted had confided that they found the king quite handsome.
Not as handsome as Adolin, of course. But still handsome.
The king was married, however; his wife the queen managed his affairs back in Alethkar. "Uncle," Elhokar said. "Can we not be on our way? I'm certain that we Shardbearers could leap the chasm. You and I could be back at the warcamps shortly."
"I will not leave my men, Your Majesty," Dalinar said. "And I doubt you want to be running across the plateaus for several hours alone, exposed, without proper guards."
"I suppose," the king said. "Either way, I did want to thank you for your bravery today. It appears that I owe you my life yet again."
"Keeping you alive is something else I try very hard to make a habit, Your Majesty."
"I am glad for it. Have you looked into the item I asked you about?" He nodded to the girth, which Adolin realized he was still carrying in a gauntleted hand.
"I did," Dalinar said.
"Well?"
"We couldn't decide, Your Majesty," Dalinar said, taking the strap and handing it to the king. "It may have been cut. The tear is smoother along one side. Like it was weakened so that it would rip."
"I knew it!" Elhokar held the strap up and inspected it.
"We are not leatherworkers, Your Majesty," Dalinar said. "We need to give both sides of the strap to experts and get their opinions. I have instructed Adolin to look into the matter further."
"It was cut," Elhokar said. "I can see it clearly, right here. I keep telling you, Uncle. Someone is trying to kill me. They want me, just like they wanted my father."
"Surely you don't think the Parshendi did this," Dalinar said, sounding shocked.
"I don't know who did it. Perhaps someone on this very hunt."
Adolin frowned. What was Elhokar implying? The majority of the people on this hunt were Dalinar's men.
"Your Majesty," Dalinar said frankly, "we will look into the matter. But you have to be prepared to accept that this might have just been an accident."
"You don't believe me," Elhokar said flatly. "You never believe me."
Dalinar took a deep breath, and Adolin could see that his father had to struggle to keep his temper. "I'm not saying that. Even a potential threat to your life worries me very much. But I do suggest that you avoid leaping to conclusions. Adolin has pointed out that this would be a terribly clumsy way to try to kill you. A fall from horseback isn't a serious threat to a man wearing Plate."
"Yes, but during a hunt?" Elhokar said. "Perhaps they wanted the chasmfiend to kill me."
"We weren't supposed to be in danger from the hunt," Dalinar said. "We were supposed to pelt the greatshell from a distance, then ride up and butcher it."
Elhokar narrowed his eyes, looking at Dalinar, then at Adolin. It was almost as if the king were suspicious of them. The look was gone in a second. Had Adolin imagined it? Stormfather! he thought.
From behind, Vamah began calling to the king. Elhokar glanced at him and nodded. "This isn't over, Uncle," he said to Dalinar. "Look into that strap."
"I will."
The king handed the strap back, then left, armor clinking.
"Father," Adolin said immediately, "did you see-"
"I'll speak to him about it," Dalinar said. "Sometime when he isn't so worked up."
"But-"
"I will speak to him, Adolin. You look into that strap. And go gather your men." He nodded toward something in the distant west. "I think I see that bridge crew coming."
Finally, Adolin thought, following his gaze. A small group of figures was crossing the plateau in the distance, bearing Dalinar's banner and leading a bridge crew carrying one of Sadeas's mobile bridges. They'd sent for one of those, as they were faster than Dalinar's larger, chull-pulled bridges.
Adolin hurried off to give the orders, though he found himself distracted by his father's words, Gavilar's final message, and now the king's look of distrust. It seemed he would have plenty to preoccupy his mind on the long ride back to the camps. Dalinar watched Adolin rush away to do as ordered. The lad's breastplate still bore a web of cracks, though it had stopped leaking Stormlight. With time, the armor would repair itself. It could reform even if it was completely shattered.
The lad liked to complain, but he was as good a son as a man could ask for. Fiercely loyal, with initiative and a strong sense of command. The soldiers liked him. Perhaps he was a little too friendly with them, but that could be forgiven. Even his hotheadedness could be forgiven, assuming he learned to channel it.
Dalinar left the young man to his work and went to check on Gallant. He found the Ryshadium with the grooms, who had set up a horse picket on the southern side of the plateau. They had bandaged the horse's scrapes, and he was no longer favoring his leg.
Dalinar patted the large stallion on the neck, looking into those deep black eyes. The horse seemed ashamed. "It wasn't your fault you threw me, Gallant," Dalinar said in a soothing voice. "I'm just glad you weren't harmed too badly." He turned to a nearby groom. "Give him extra feed this evening, and two crispmelons."
"Yes sir, Brightlord. But he won't eat extra food. He never does if we try to give it to him."
"He'll eat it tonight," Dalinar said, patting the Ryshadium's neck again. "He only eats it when he feels he deserves it, son."
The lad seemed confused. Like most of them, he thought of Ryshadium as just another breed of horse. A man couldn't really understand until he'd had one accept him as rider. It was like wearing Shardplate, an experience that was completely indescribable.
"You'll eat both of those crispmelons," Dalinar said, pointing at the horse. "You deserve them."
Gallant blustered.
"You do," Dalinar said. The horse nickered, seeming content. Dalinar checked the leg, then nodded to the groom. "Take good care of him, son. I'll ride another horseback."
"Yes, Brightlord."
They got him a mount-a sturdy, dust-colored mare. He was extra careful when he swung into the saddle. Ordinary horses always seemed so fragile to him.
The king rode out after the first squad of troops, Wit at his side. Sadeas, Dalinar noted, rode behind, where Wit couldn't get at him.
The bridge crew waited silently, resting as the king and his procession crossed. Like most of Sadeas's bridge crews, this one was constructed from a jumble of human refuse. Foreigners, deserters, thieves, murderers, and slaves. Many probably deserved their punishment, but the frightful way Sadeas chewed through them put Dalinar on edge. How long would it be before he could no longer fill the bridge crews with the suitably expendable? Did any man, even a murderer, deserve such a fate?
A passage from The Way of Kings came to Dalinar's head unbidden. He'd been listening to readings from the book more often than he'd represented to Adolin.
I once saw a spindly man carrying a stone larger than his head upon his back, the passage went. He stumbled beneath the weight, shirtless under the sun, wearing only a loincloth. He tottered down a busy thoroughfare. People made way for him. Not because they sympathized with him, but because they feared the momentum of his steps. You dare not impede one such as this.
The monarch is like this man, stumbling along, the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. Many give way before him, but so few are willing to step in and help carry the stone. They do not wish to attach themselves to the work, lest they condemn themselves to a life full of extra burdens.
I left my carriage that day and took up the stone, lifting it for the man. I believe my guards were embarrassed. One can ignore a poor shirtless wretch doing such labor, but none ignore a king sharing the load. Perhaps we should switch places more often. If a king is seen to assume the burden of the poorest of men, perhaps there will be those who will help him with his own load, so invisible, yet so daunting.
Dalinar was shocked that he could remember the story word for word, though he probably shouldn't have been. In searching for the meaning behind Gavilar's last message, he'd listened to readings from the book almost every day of the last few months.
He'd been disappointed to find that there was no clear meaning behind the quote Gavilar had left. He'd continued to listen anyway, though he tried to keep his interest quiet. The book did not have a good reputation, and not just because it was associated with the Lost Radiants. Stories of a king doing the work of a menial laborer were the least of its discomforting passages. In other places, it outright said that lighteyes were beneath darkeyes. That contradicted Vorin teachings.
Yes, best to keep this quiet. Dalinar had spoken truly when he'd told Adolin he didn't care what people said about him. But when the rumors impeded his ability to protect Elhokar, they could become dangerous. He had to be careful.
He turned his mount and clopped up onto the bridge, then nodded his thanks to the bridgemen. They were the lowest in the army, and yet they bore the weight of kings.