The Way of Kings sa-1

by Brandon Sanderson

  Adolin fought nearby. They were two tired men in Plate facing an entire army. Their armor had accumulated a frightening number of cracks. None were critical yet, but they did leak precious Stormlight. Wisps of it rose like the songs of dying Parshendi.

  “I warned you not to trust him!” Adolin bellowed as he fought, cutting down a pair of Parshendi, then taking a wave of arrows from a team of archers who had set up nearby. The arrows sprayed against Adolin’s armor, scratching the paint. One caught in a crack, widening it.

  “I told you,” Adolin continued to yell, lowering his arm from his face and slicing into the next pair of Parshendi just before they landed their hammers on him. “I said he was an eel!”

  “I know!” Dalinar yelled back.

  “We walked right into this,” Adolin continued, shouting as if he hadn’t heard Dalinar. “We let him take away our bridges. We let him get us onto the plateau before the second wave of Parshendi arrived. We let him control the scouts. We even suggested the attack pattern that would leave us surrounded if he didn’t support us!”

  “I know.” Dalinar’s heart twisted inside of him.

  Sadeas was carrying out a premeditated, carefully planned, and very thorough betrayal. Sadeas hadn’t been overwhelmed, hadn’t retreated for safety-though that was undoubtedly what he would claim when he got back to camp. A disaster, he’d say. Parshendi everywhere. Attacking together had upset the balance, and-unfortunately-he’d been forced to pull out and leave his friend. Oh, perhaps some of Sadeas’s men would talk, tell the truth, and other highprinces would undoubtedly know what really happened. But nobody would challenge Sadeas openly. Not after such a decisive and powerful maneuver.

  The people in the warcamps would go along with it. The other highprinces were too displeased with Dalinar to raise a fuss. The only one who might speak up was Elhokar, and Sadeas had his ear. It wrenched Dalinar’s heart. Had it all been an act? Could he really have misjudged Sadeas so completely? What of the investigation clearing Dalinar? What of their plans and reminiscences? All lies?

  I saved your life, Sadeas. Dalinar watched Sadeas’s banner retreat across the staging plateau. Among that distant group, a rider who wore crimson Shardplate turned and looked back. Sadeas, watching Dalinar fighting for his life. That figure paused for a moment, then turned around and rode on.

  The Parshendi were surrounding the forward position where Dalinar and Adolin fought just ahead of the army. They were overwhelming his guard. He jumped down and slew another pair of enemies, but earned another blow to his forearm in the process. The Parshendi swarmed around him, and Dalinar’s guard began to buckle.

  “Pull away!” he yelled at Adolin, then began to back toward the army proper.

  The youth cursed, but did as ordered. Dalinar and Adolin retreated back behind the front line of defense. Dalinar pulled off his cracked helm, panting. He’d been fighting nonstop long enough to get winded, despite his Shardplate. He let one of the guardsmen hand him a waterskin, and Adolin did the same. Dalinar squirted the warm water into his mouth and across his face. It had the metallic taste of stormwater.

  Adolin lowered his waterskin, swishing the water in his mouth. He met Dalinar’s eyes, his face haunted and grim. He knew. Just as Dalinar did. Just as the men likely did. There would be no surviving this battle. The Parshendi left no survivors. Dalinar braced himself, waiting for further accusations from Adolin. The boy had been right all along. And whatever the visions were, they had misled Dalinar in at least one respect. Trusting Sadeas had brought them to doom.

  Men died just a short distance away, screaming and cursing. Dalinar longed to fight, but he needed to rest himself. Losing a Shardbearer because of fatigue would not serve his men.

  “Well?” Dalinar demanded of Adolin. “Say it. I have led us to destruction.”

  “I-”

  “This is my fault,” Dalinar said. “I should never have risked our house for those foolish dreams.”

  “No,” Adolin said. He sounded surprised at himself for saying it. “No, Father. It’s not your fault.”

  Dalinar stared at his son. That was not what he’d expected to hear.

  “What would you have done differently?” Adolin asked. “Would you stop trying to make something better of Alethkar? Would you become like Sadeas and the others? No. I wouldn’t have you become that man, Father, regardless of what it would gain us. I wish to the Heralds that we hadn’t let Sadeas trick us into this, but I will not blame you for his deceit.”

  Adolin reached over, gripping Dalinar’s Plate-covered arm. “You are right to follow the Codes. You were right to try to unite Alethkar. And I was a fool for fighting you on it every step along the path. Perhaps if I hadn’t spent so much time distracting you, we would have seen this day coming.”

  Dalinar blinked, dumbfounded. This was Adolin speaking those words? What had changed in the boy? And why did he speak these words now, at the dawn of Dalinar’s greatest failure?

  And yet, as the words hung in the air, Dalinar felt his guilt evaporating, blown away by the screams of the dying. It was a selfish emotion.

  Would he have had himself change? Yes, he could have been more cautious. He could have been warier of Sadeas. But would he have given up on the Codes? Would he have become the same pitiless killer he’d been as a youth?

  No.

  Did it matter that the visions had been wrong about Sadeas? Was he ashamed of the man that they, and the readings from the book, had made him become? The final piece fell into place inside of him, the final cornerstone, and he found that he was no longer worried. The confusion was gone. He knew what to do, at long last. No more questions. No more uncertainty.

  He reached up, gripping Adolin’s arm. “Thank you.”

  Adolin nodded curtly. He was still angry, Dalinar could see, but he chose to follow Dalinar-and part of following a leader was supporting him even when the battle turned against him.

  Then they released one another and Dalinar turned to the soldiers around them. “It is time for us to fight,” he said, voice growing louder. “And we do so not because we seek the glory of men, but because the other options are worse. We follow the Codes not because they bring gain, but because we loathe the people we would otherwise become. We stand here on this battlefield alone because of who we are.”

  The members of the Cobalt Guard standing in a ring began to turn, one at a time, looking toward him. Beyond them, reserve soldiers-lighteyed and dark-gathered closer, eyes terrified, but faces resolute.

  “Death is the end of all men!” Dalinar bellowed. “What is the measure of him once he is gone? The wealth he accumulated and left for his heirs to squabble over? The glory he obtained, only to be passed on to those who slew him? The lofty positions he held through happenstance?

  “No. We fight here because we understand. The end is the same. It is the path that separates men. When we taste that end, we will do so with our heads held high, eyes to the sun.”

  He held out a hand, summoning Oathbringer. “I am not ashamed of what I have become,” he shouted, and found it to be true. It felt so strange to be free of guilt. “Other men may debase themselves to destroy me. Let them have their glory. For I will retain mine!”

  The Shardblade formed, dropping into his hand.

  The men did not cheer, but they did stand taller, straight-backed. A little of the terror retreated. Adolin shoved his helm on, his own Blade appearing in his hand, coated in condensation. He nodded.

  Together they charged back into the battle.

  And so I die, Dalinar thought, crashing into the Parshendi ranks. There he found peace. An unexpected emotion on the field of battle, but all the more welcome for that.

  He did, however, discover one regret: He was leaving poor Renarin as Kholin highprince, in over his head and surrounded by enemies grown fat on the flesh of his father and brother.

  I never did deliver that Shardplate I promised him, Dalinar thought. He will have to make his way without it. Honor of our ancestors protect you
, son.

  Stay strong-and learn wisdom more quickly than your father did.

  Farewell.

  67

  Words

  “Let me no longer hurt! Let me no longer weep! Daigonarthis! The Black Fisher holds my sorrow and consumes it!”

  — Tanatesach 1173, 28 seconds pre-death. A darkeyed female street juggler. Note similarity to sample 1172-89.

  Bridge Four lagged behind the rest of the army. With two wounded and four men needed to carry them, the bridge weighed them down. Fortunately, Sadeas had brought nearly every bridge crew on this run, including eight to lend to Dalinar. That meant the army didn’t need to wait for Kaladin’s team in order to cross.

  Exhaustion saturated Kaladin, and the bridge on his shoulders seemed made of stone. He hadn’t felt so tired since his first days as a bridgeman. Syl hovered in front of him, watching with concern as he marched at the head of his men, sweat drenching the sides of his face, struggling over the uneven ground of the plateau.

  Ahead, the last of Sadeas’s army was bunched along the chasm, crossing. The staging plateau was nearly empty. The sheer awful audacity of what Sadeas had done twisted at Kaladin’s insides. He thought what had been done to him had been horrible. But here, Sadeas callously condemned thousands of men, lighteyed and dark. Supposed allies. That betrayal seemed to weigh as heavy on Kaladin as the bridge itself. It pressed on him, made him gasp for breath.

  Was there no hope for men? They killed those they should have loved. What good was it to fight, what good was it to win, if there was no difference between ally and enemy? What was victory? Meaningless. What did the deaths of Kaladin’s friends and colleagues mean? Nothing. The entire world was a pustule, sickeningly green and infested with corruption.

  Numb, Kaladin and the others reached the chasm, though they were too late to help with the transfer. The men he’d sent ahead were there, Teft looking grim, Skar leaning on a spear to support his wounded leg. A small group of dead spearmen lay nearby. Sadeas’s soldiers retrieved their wounded, when possible, but some died as they were helped along. They’d abandoned some of those here; Sadeas was obviously in a hurry to leave the scene.

  The dead had been left with their equipment. Skar had probably gotten his crutch there. Some poor bridge crew would have to cross all the way back here at a later date to salvage from these, and from Dalinar’s fallen.

  They set their bridge down, and Kaladin wiped his brow. “Don’t place the bridge across the chasm,” he told the men. “We’ll wait until the last of the soldiers have crossed, then carry it over on one of the other bridges.” Matal eyed Kaladin and his team, but didn’t order them to set their bridge. He realized that by the time they got it into position, they’d have to pull it up again.

  “Isn’t that a sight?” Moash said, stepping up beside Kaladin, looking back.

  Kaladin turned. The Tower rose behind them, sloped in their direction. Kholin’s army was a circle of blue, trapped in the middle of the slope after trying to push down and get to Sadeas before he left. The Parshendi were a dark swarm with specks of red from their marbled skins. They pressed at the Alethi ring, compressing it.

  “Such a shame,” Drehy said from beside their bridge, sitting on its lip. “Makes me sick.”

  Other bridgemen nodded, and Kaladin was surprised to see the concern in their faces. Rock and Teft joined Kaladin and Moash, all wearing their Parshendi-carapace armor. He was glad they’d left Shen back in the camp. He’d have been catatonic at the sight of it all.

  Teft cradled his wounded arm. Rock raised a hand to shade his eyes and shook his head, looking eastward. “Is a shame. A shame to Sadeas. A shame to us.”

  “Bridge Four,” Matal called. “Come on!”

  Matal was waving for them to cross Bridge Six’s bridge and leave the staging plateau. An idea came to Kaladin suddenly. A fantastic idea, like a blooming rockbud in his mind.

  “We’ll follow with our own bridge, Matal,” Kaladin called. “We only just got to the chasm. We need to sit for a few minutes.”

  “Cross now!” Matal yelled.

  “We’ll just fall further behind!” Kaladin retorted. “You want to explain to Sadeas why he has to hold the entire army for one miserable bridge crew? We’ve got our bridge. Let my men rest. We’ll catch up to you later.”

  “And if those savages come after you?” Matal demanded.

  Kaladin shrugged.

  Matal blinked, then seemed to realize how badly he wanted that to happen. “Suit yourself,” he called, rushing across bridge six as the other bridges were pulled up. In seconds, Kaladin’s team was alone beside the chasm, the army retreating westward.

  Kaladin smiled broadly. “I can’t believe it, after all that worrying… Men, we’re free!”

  The others turned to him, confused.

  “We’ll follow in a short while,” Kaladin said eagerly, “and Matal will assume we’re coming. We fall farther and farther behind the army, until we’re out of sight. Then we’ll turn north, use the bridge to cross the Plains. We can escape northward, and everyone will just assume the Parshendi caught us and slaughtered us!”

  The other bridgemen regarded him with wide eyes.

  “Supplies,” Teft said.

  “We have these spheres,” Kaladin said, pulling out his pouch. “A wealth of them, right here. We can take the armor and weapons from the dead over there and use those to defend ourselves from bandits. It will be hard, but we won’t be chased!”

  The men were starting to grow excited. However, something gave Kaladin pause. What of the wounded bridgemen back in the camp?

  “I’ll have to stay behind,” Kaladin said.

  “What?” Moash demanded.

  “Someone will need to,” Kaladin said. “For the good of our wounded in camp. We can’t abandon them. And if I stay behind, I can support the story. Wound me and leave me on one of the plateaus. Sadeas is sure to send scavengers back. I’ll tell them my crew was hunted down in retribution for desecrating the Parshendi corpses, our bridge tossed into the chasm. They’ll believe it; they’ve seen how the Parshendi hate us.”

  The crew was all standing now, shooting glances at one another. Uncomfortable glances.

  “We’re not leaving without you,” Sigzil said. Many of the others nodded.

  “I’ll follow,” Kaladin said. “We can’t leave those men behind.”

  “Kaladin, lad-” Teft began.

  “We can talk about me later,” Kaladin interrupted. “Maybe I’ll go with you, then sneak back into camp later to rescue the wounded. For now, go salvage from those bodies.”

  They hesitated.

  “It’s an order, men!”

  They moved, offering no further complaint, rushing to pilfer from the corpses Sadeas had abandoned. That left Kaladin alone beside the bridge.

  He was still unsettled. It wasn’t just the wounded back in camp. What was it, then? This was a fantastic opportunity. The type he’d have practically killed to get during his years as a slave. The chance to vanish, presumed dead? The bridgemen wouldn’t have to fight. They were free. Why, then, was he so anxious?

  Kaladin turned to survey his men, and was shocked to see someone standing beside him. A woman of translucent white light.

  It was Syl, as he’d never seen her before, the size of a regular person, hands clasped in front of her, hair and dress streaming to the side in the wind. He’d had no idea she could make herself so large. She stared eastward, her expression horrified, eyes wide and sorrowful. It was the face of a child watching a brutal murder that stole her innocence.

  Kaladin turned and slowly looked in the direction she was staring. Toward the Tower.

  Toward Dalinar Kholin’s desperate army.

  The sight of them twisted his heart. They fought so hopelessly. Surrounded. Abandoned. Left alone to die.

  We have a bridge, Kaladin realized. If we could get it set… Most of the Parshendi were focused on the Alethi army, with only a token reserve force down at the base near the chasm. I
t was a small enough group that perhaps the bridgemen could contain them.

  But no. That was idiocy. There were thousands of Parshendi soldiers blocking Kholin’s path to the chasm. And how would the bridgemen set their bridge, with no archers to support them?

  Several of the bridgemen returned from their quick scavenge. Rock joined Kaladin, staring eastward, expression becoming grim. “This thing is terrible,” he said. “Can we not do something to help?”

  Kaladin shook his head. “It would be suicide, Rock. We’d have to run a full assault without an army to support us.”

  “Couldn’t we just go back a little of the way?” Skar asked. “Wait to see if Kholin can cut his way down to us? If he does, then we could set our bridge.”

  “No,” Kaladin said. “If we stayed out of range, Kholin would assume us to be scouts left by Sadeas. We’ll have to charge the chasm. Otherwise he’d never come down to meet us.”

  That made the bridgemen pale.

  “Besides,” Kaladin added. “If we did somehow save some of those men, they’d talk, and Sadeas would know we still live. He’d hunt us down and kill us. By going back, we’d throw away our chance at freedom.”

  The other bridgemen nodded at that. The rest had gathered, carrying weapons. It was time to go. Kaladin tried to squelch the feeling of despair inside him. This Dalinar Kholin was probably just like the others. Like Roshone, like Sadeas, like any number of other lighteyes. Pretending virtue but corrupted inside.

  But he has thousands of darkeyed soldiers with him, a part of him thought. Men who don’t deserve this terrible fate. Men like my old spear crew.

  “We owe them nothing,” Kaladin whispered. He thought could see Dalinar Kholin’s banner, flying blue at the front of his army. “You got them into this, Kholin. I won’t let my men die for you.” He turned his back on the Tower.

  Syl still stood beside him, facing eastward. It made his very soul twist in knots to see that look of despair on her face. “Are windspren attracted to wind,” she asked softly, “or do they make it?”