The Way of Kings
“I still say you place too much importance on those silks and scarves,” Dalinar said. “We are soldiers at war, not courtiers at a ball.”
“The Shattered Plains are quickly becoming a destination for foreign dignitaries. It is important to present ourselves properly.” He raised a finger to Dalinar. “If I am to accept your moral superiority, my friend, then perhaps it is time for you to accept my sense of fashion. One might note that you judge people by their clothing even more than I do.”
Dalinar fell silent. That comment stung in its truthfulness. Still, if dignitaries were going to meet with the highprinces on the Shattered Plains, was it too much to ask for them to find an efficient group of warcamps led by men who at least looked like generals?
Dalinar settled back to watch the match end. By his count, it was time for Adolin’s bout. The two lighteyes who had been fighting bowed to the king, then withdrew into a tent on the side of the dueling grounds. A moment later, Adolin stepped out onto the sand, wearing his deep blue Shardplate. He carried his helm under his arm, his blond-and-black hair a stylish mess. He raised a gauntleted hand to Dalinar and bowed his head to the king, then put on his helm.
The man who walked out behind him wore Shardplate painted yellow. Brightlord Resi was the only full Shardbearer in Highprince Thanadal’s army—though their warcamp had three men who carried only the Blade or the Plate. Thanadal himself had neither. It wasn’t uncommon for a highprince to rely on his finest warriors as Shardbearers; it made sound sense, particularly if you were the sort of general who preferred to stay behind the lines and direct tactics. In Thanadal’s own princedom, the tradition for centuries had been to appoint the holder of Resi’s Shards as something known as the Royal Defender.
Thanadal had recently been vocal about Dalinar’s faults, and so Adolin— in a moderately subtle move—had challenged the highprince’s star Shardbearer to a friendly bout. Few duels were for Shards; in this case, losing wouldn’t cost either man anything other than statistics in the rankings. The match drew an unusual amount of attention, and the small arena filled over the next quarter hour while the duelists stretched and prepared. More than one woman set up a board to sketch or write impressions of the bout. Thanadal himself didn’t attend.
The bout began as the highjudge in attendance, Lady Istow, called for the combatants to summon their Blades. Elhokar leaned forward again, intent, as Resi and Adolin circled one another on the sand, Shardblades materializing. Dalinar found himself leaning forward as well, though he did feel a stab of shame. According to the Codes, most duels should be avoided when Alethkar was at war. There was a fine line between sparring for practice and dueling another man for an insult, potentially leaving important officers wounded.
Resi stood in Stonestance, his Shardblade held before him in two hands, point toward the sky, arms all the way extended. Adolin used Windstance, turned sideways slightly, hands before him and elbows bent, Shardblade pointing back over his head. They circled. The winner would be the first one who completely shattered a section of the other’s Plate. That wasn’t too dangerous; weakened Plate could usually still rebuff a blow, even if it shattered in the process.
Resi attacked first, taking a hopping leap forward and striking by whipping his Shardblade back over his head, then down to his right in a powerful blow. Stonestance focused on that type of attack, delivering the most possible momentum and strength behind each strike. Dalinar found it unwieldy—you didn’t need that much power behind a Shardblade on the battlefield, though it was helpful against other Shardbearers.
Adolin jumped back out of the way, Shardplate-enhanced legs giving him a nimbleness that defied the fact that he was wearing over a hundred stoneweights of thick armor. Resi’s attack—though well-executed—left him open, and Adolin made a careful strike at his opponent’s left vambrace, cracking the forearm plate. Resi attacked again, and Adolin again danced out of the way, then scored a hit on his opponent’s left thigh.
Some poets described combat as a dance. Dalinar rarely felt that way about regular combat. Two men fighting with sword and shield would go at one another in a furious rush, slamming their weapons down again and again, tying to get around their opponent’s shield. Less a dance, and more like wrestling with weapons.
Fighting with Shardblades, though, that could be like a dance. The large weapons took a great deal of skill to swing properly, and Plate was resilient, so exchanges were generally drawn out. The fights were filled with grand motions, wide sweeps. There was a fluidity to fighting with a Shardblade. A grace.
“He’s quite good, you know,” Elhokar said. Adolin made a hit on Resi’s helm, prompting a round of applause from those watching. “Better than my father was. Better than even you, Uncle.”
“He works very hard,” Dalinar said. “He truly loves it. Not the war, not the fighting. The dueling.”
“He could be champion, if he wished it.”
Adolin did wish it, Dalinar knew. But he had refused bouts that would put him within reach of the title. Dalinar suspected that Adolin did it to hold, somewhat, to the Codes. Dueling championships and tournaments were things for those rare times between wars. It could be argued that protecting one’s family honor, however, was for all times.
Either way, Adolin didn’t duel for ranking, and that made other Shardbearers underestimate him. They were quick to accept duels with him, and some non-Shardbearers challenged him. By tradition, the king’s own Shardplate and Blade were available for a large fee to those who both had his favor and the wish to duel a Shardbearer.
Dalinar shivered at the thought of someone else wearing his Plate or holding Oathbringer. It was unnatural. And yet, the lending of the king’s Blade and Plate—or before the kingship had been restored, the lending of a highprince’s Blade and Plate—was a strong tradition. Even Gavilar had not broken it, though he had complained about it in private.
Adolin dodged another blow, but he had begun to move into Windstance’s offensive forms. Resi wasn’t ready for this—though he managed to hit Adolin once on the right pauldron, the blow was a glancing one. Adolin advanced, Blade sweeping in a fluid pattern. Resi backed away, falling into a parrying posture—Stonestance was one of the few to rely on those.
Adolin batted his opponent’s Blade away, knocking it out of stance. Resi reset, but Adolin knocked it away again. Resi grew sloppier and sloppier getting back into stance and Adolin began to strike, hitting him on one side, then on the other. Small, quick blows, meant to unnerve.
They worked. Resi bellowed and threw himself into one of Stonestance’s characteristic overhand blows. Adolin handled it perfectly, dropping his Blade to one hand, raising his left arm and taking the blow on his unharmed vambrace. It cracked badly, but the move allowed Adolin to bring his own Blade to the side and strike Resi’s cracked left cuisse.
The thigh plate shattered with the sound of ripping metal, pieces blasting away, trailing smoke, glowing like molten steel. Resi stumbled back; his left leg could no longer bear the weight of the Shardplate. The match was over. More important duels might go for two or three broken plates, but that grew dangerous.
The highjudge stood, calling an end. Resi stumbled away, ripping off his helm. His curses were audible. Adolin saluted his enemy, tapping the blunt edge of his Blade to his forehead, then dismissing the Blade. He bowed to the king. Other men sometimes went into the crowd to brag or accept accolades, but Adolin retreated to the preparation tent.
“Talented indeed,” Elhokar said.
“And such a… proper lad,” Sadeas said, sipping his drink.
“Yes,” Dalinar said. “At times, I wish there were peace, simply so that Adolin could dedicate himself to his dueling.”
Sadeas sighed. “More talk of abandoning the war, Dalinar?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You keep complaining that you’ve given up that argument, Uncle,” Elhokar said, turning to regard him. “Yet you continue to dance around it, speaking longingly of peace. People in the
camps call you coward.”
Sadeas snorted. “He’s no coward, Your Majesty. I can attest to that.”
“Why, then?” Elhokar asked.
“These rumors have grown far beyond what is reasonable,” Dalinar said.
“And yet, you do not answer my questions,” Elhokar said. “If you could make the decision, Uncle, would you have us leave the Shattered Plains? Are you a coward?”
Dalinar hesitated.
Unite them, that voice had told him. It is your task, and I give it to you.
Am I a coward? he wondered. Nohadon challenged him, in the book, to examine himself. To never become so certain or high that he wasn’t willing to seek truth.
Elhokar’s question hadn’t been about his visions. And yet, Dalinar had the distinct impression that he was being a coward, at least in relation to his desire to abdicate. If he left because of what was happening to him, that would be taking the easy path.
I can’t leave, he realized. No matter what happens. I have to see this through. Even if he was mad. Or, an increasingly worrisome thought, even if the visions were real, but their origins suspect. I have to stay. But I also have to plan, to make sure I don’t tow my house down.
Such a careful line to walk. Nothing clear, everything clouded. He’d been ready to run because he liked to make clear decisions. Well, nothing was clear about what was happening to him. It seemed that in making the decision to remain highprince, he placed one important cornerstone into rebuilding the foundation of who he was.
He would not abdicate. And that was that.
“Dalinar?” Elhokar asked. “Are you… well?”
Dalinar blinked, realizing that he had stopped paying attention to the king and Sadeas. Staring off into space like that wouldn’t help his reputation. He turned to the king. “You want to know the truth,” he said. “Yes, if I could make the order, I would bring all ten warcamps and return to Alethkar.”
Despite what others said, that was not cowardly. No, he’d just confronted cowardice inside of him, and he knew what it was. This was something different.
The king looked shocked.
“I would leave,” Dalinar said firmly. “But not because I wish to flee or because I fear battle. It would be because I fear for Alethkar’s stability; leaving this war would help secure our homeland and the loyalty of the highprinces. I would send more envoys and scholars to find out why the Parshendi killed Gavilar. We gave up on that too easily. I still wonder if the assassination was initiated by miscreants or rebels among their own people.
“I’d discover what their culture is—and yes, they do have one. If rebels weren’t the cause of the assassination, I’d keep asking until I learned why they did it. I’d demand repayment—perhaps their own king, delivered to us for execution in turn—in exchange for granting them peace. As for the gemhearts, I’d speak with my scientists and discover a better method of holding this territory. Perhaps with mass homesteading of the area, securing all of the Unclaimed Hills, we could truly expand our borders and claim the Shattered Plains. I wouldn’t abandon vengeance, Your Majesty, but I would approach it—and our war here—more thoughtfully. Right now, we know too little to be effective.”
Elhokar looked surprised. He nodded. “I… Uncle, that actually makes sense. Why didn’t you explain it before?”
Dalinar blinked. Just several weeks ago, Elhokar had been indignant when Dalinar had merely mentioned the idea of turning back. What had changed?
I don’t give the boy enough credit, he realized. “I have had trouble explaining my own thoughts recently, Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty!” Sadeas said. “Surely you wouldn’t actually consider—”
“This latest attempt on my life has me unsettled, Sadeas. Tell me. Have you made any progress in determining who put the weakened gems in my Plate?”
“Not yet, Your Majesty.”
“They’re trying to kill me,” Elhokar said softly, huddling down in his armor. “They’ll see me dead, like my father. Sometimes I do wonder if we’re chasing after the ten fools here. The assassin in white—he was Shin.”
“The Parshendi took responsibility for sending him,” Sadeas said.
“Yes,” Elhokar replied. “And yet they are savages, and easily manipulated. It would be a perfect distraction, pinning the blame on a group of parshmen. We go to war for years and years, never noticing the real villains, working quietly in my own camp. They watch me. Always. Waiting. I see their faces in mirrors. Symbols, twisted, inhuman…”
Dalinar glanced at Sadeas, and the two shared a disturbed look. Was Elhokar’s paranoia growing worse, or had it always been hidden? He saw phantom cabals in every shadow, and now—with the attempt on his life— he had proof to feed those worries.
“Retreating from the Shattered Plains could be a good idea,” Dalinar said carefully. “But not if it is to begin another war with someone else. We must stabilize and unify our people.”
Elhokar sighed. “Chasing the assassin is only an idle thought right now. Perhaps we won’t need it. I hear that your eff orts with Sadeas have been fruitful.”
“They have indeed, Your Majesty,” Sadeas said, sounding proud—perhaps a little smug. “Though Dalinar still insists on using his own, slow bridges. Sometimes, my forces are nearly wiped out before he arrives. This would work better if Dalinar would use modern bridge tactics.”
“The waste of life…” Dalinar said.
“Is acceptable,” Sadeas said. “They’re mostly slaves, Dalinar. It’s an honor for them to have a chance to participate in some small way.”
I doubt they see it in that light.
“I wish you’d at least try my way,” Sadeas continued. “What we’ve been doing so far has worked, but I worry that the Parshendi will continue to send two armies against us. I don’t relish the idea of fighting both on my own before you arrive.”
Dalinar hesitated. That would be a problem. But to give up the siege bridges?
“Well, why not a compromise?” Elhokar said. “Next plateau assault, Uncle, you let Sadeas’s bridgemen help you for the initial march to the contested plateau. Sadeas has plenty of extra bridge crews he could lend you. He could still rush on ahead with a smaller army, but you’d follow more quickly than you have been, using his bridge crews.”
“That would be the same as using my own bridge crews,” Dalinar said.
“Not necessarily,” Elhokar said. “You’ve said that the Parshendi can rarely set up and fire on you once Sadeas engages them. Sadeas’s men can start the assault as usual, and you can join once he’s secured a foothold for you.”
“Yes…” Sadeas said, thoughtful. “The bridgemen you use will be safe, and you won’t be costing any additional lives. But you’ll arrive at the plateau to help me twice as quickly.”
“What if you can’t distract the Parshendi well enough?” Dalinar asked. “What if they still set up archers to fire on my bridgemen when I cross?”
“Then we’ll retreat,” Sadeas said with a sigh. “And we’ll call it a failed experiment. But at least we’ll have tried. This is how you get ahead, old friend. You try new things.”
Dalinar scratched his chin in thought.
“Oh, go on, Dalinar,” Elhokar said. “He took your suggestion to attack together. Try it once his way.”
“Very well,” Dalinar said. “We will see how it works.”
“Excellent,” Elhokar said, standing. “And now, I believe I’ll go congratulate your son. That bout was exciting!”
Dalinar hadn’t found it particularly exciting—Adolin’s opponent hadn’t ever held the upper hand. But that was the best kind of battle. Dalinar didn’t buy the arguments about a ‘good’ fight being a close one. When you won, it was always better to win quickly and with extreme advantage.
Dalinar and Sadeas stood in respect as the king descended the stairlike stone outcroppings toward the sandy floor below. Dalinar then turned to Sadeas. “I should be leaving. Send me a clerk to detail the plateaus you feel we could try t
his maneuver on. Next time one of them is up for assault, I’ll march my army to your staging area and we’ll leave together. You and the smaller, quicker group can go on ahead, and we’ll catch up once you’re in position.”
Sadeas nodded.
Dalinar turned to climb up the steps toward the ramp out.
“Dalinar,” Sadeas called after him.
Dalinar looked back at the other highprince. Sadeas’s scarf fluttered in a gust of wind, his arms folded, the metallic golden embroidery glistening. “Send me one of your clerks as well. With a copy of that book of Gavilar’s. It may amuse me to hear its other stories.”
Dalinar smiled. “I will do so, Sadeas.”
“Above the final void I hang, friends behind, friends before. The feast I must drink clings to their faces, and the words I must speak spark in my mind. The old oaths will be spoken anew.”
—Dated Betabanan, 1173, 45 seconds pre-death. Subject: a lighteyed child of five years. Diction improved remarkably when giving sample.
Kaladin glared at the three glowing topaz spheres on the ground in front of him. The barrack was dark, empty save for Teft and himself. Lopen leaned in the sunlit doorway, watching with a casual air. Outside, Rock called out commands to the other bridgemen. Kaladin had them working on battle formations. Nothing overt. It would be construed as practice for bridge carrying, but he was actually training them to obey orders and rearrange themselves efficiently.
The three little spheres—only chips—lit the stone ground around themselves in little tan rings. Kaladin focused on them, holding his breath, willing the light into him.
Nothing happened.
He tried harder, staring into their depths.