The Way of Kings

by Brandon Sanderson

  The strap had been cut, but the leatherworkers had both assumed that it was the result of an accident. That implied they’d seen cuts like this before. A loose buckle or other mishap slicing the leather.

  Except this time, that cut had thrown the king in the middle of a fight. Could there be something to it?

  “…wouldn’t you say, Adolin?” Janala asked.

  “Undoubtedly,” he said, listening with half an ear.

  “So you’ll talk to him?”

  “Hum?”

  “Your father. You’ll ask him about letting the men abandon that dreadfully unfashionable uniform once in a while?”

  “Well, he’s rather set on the idea,” Adolin said. “Besides, it’s really not that unfashionable.”

  Janala gave him a flat stare.

  “All right,” he admitted. “It is a little drab.” Like every other high-ranked lighteyed officer in Dalinar’s army, Adolin wore a simple blue out-fit of militaristic cut. A long coat of solid blue—no embroidery—and stiff trousers in a time when vests, silk accents, and scarves were the fashion. His father’s Kholin glyphpair was emblazoned quite obtrusively on the back and breast, and the front fastened with silver buttons up both sides. It was simple, distinctly recognizable, but awfully plain.

  “Your father’s men love him, Adolin,” Janala said. “But his requirements are growing tiresome.”

  “I know. Trust me. But I don’t think I can change his mind.” How to explain? Despite six years at war, Dalinar wasn’t weakening in his resolve to hold to the Codes. If anything, his dedication to them was strengthening.

  At least now Adolin understood somewhat. Dalinar’s beloved brother had made one last request: Follow the Codes. True, that request had been in reference to a single event, but Adolin’s father was known to take things to extremes.

  Adolin just wished he wouldn’t make the same requirement of everyone else. Individually, the Codes were only minor inconveniences—always be in uniform when in public, never be drunken, avoid dueling. In aggregate, however, they were burdensome.

  His response to Janala was cut off as a set of horns blared through the camp. Adolin perked up, spinning, looking eastward toward the Shattered Plains. He counted off the next series of horns. A chrysalis had been spotted on plateau one-forty-seven. That was within striking distance!

  He held his breath, waiting for a third series of horns to blare, calling Dalinar’s armies to battle. That would only happen if his father ordered it.

  Part of him knew those horns wouldn’t come. One-forty-seven was close enough to Sadeas’s warcamp that the other highprince would certainly try for it.

  Come on, Father, Adolin thought. We can race him for it!

  No horns came.

  Adolin glanced at Janala. She’d chosen music as her Calling and paid little attention to the war, though her father was one of Dalinar’s cavalry officers. From her expression, Adolin could tell that even she understood what the lack of a third horn meant.

  Once again, Dalinar Kholin had chosen not to fight.

  “Come on,” Adolin said, turning and moving in another direction, practically towing Janala along by her elbow. “There’s something else I want to check into.”

  Dalinar stood with hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the Shattered Plains. He was on one of the lower terraces outside Elhokar’s elevated palace—the king didn’t reside in one of the ten warcamps, but in a small compound elevated along a hillside nearby. Dalinar’s climb to the palace had been interrupted by the horns.

  He stood long enough see Sadeas’s army gathering inside his camp. Dalinar could have sent a soldier to prepare his own men. He was close enough.

  “Brightlord?” a voice asked from the side. “Do you wish to continue?”

  You protect him your way, Sadeas, Dalinar thought. I’ll protect him my way.

  “Yes, Teshav,” he said, turning to continue walking up the switchbacks.

  Teshav joined him. She had streaks of blond in her otherwise black Alethi hair, which she wore up in an intricate crossing weave. She had violet eyes, and her pinched face bore a concerned expression. That was normal; she always seemed to need something to worry about.

  Teshav and her attendant scribe were both wives of his officers. Dalinar trusted them. Mostly. It was hard to trust anyone completely. Stop it, he thought. You’re starting to sound as paranoid as the king.

  Regardless, he’d be very glad for Jasnah’s return. If she ever decided to return. Some of his higher officers hinted to him that he should marry again, if only to have a woman who could be his primary scribe. They thought he rejected their suggestions because of love for his first wife. They didn’t know that she was gone, vanished from his mind, a blank patch of fog in his memory. Though, in a way, his officers were right. He hesitated to remarry because he hated the idea of replacing her. He’d had everything of his wife taken from him. All that remained was the hole, and filling it to gain a scribe seemed callous.

  Dalinar continued on his way. Other than the two women, he was attended by Renarin and three members of the Cobalt Guard. The latter wore deep blue felt caps and cloaks over silvery breastplates and deep blue trousers. They were lighteyes of low rank, able to carry swords for close fighting.

  “Well, Brightlord,” Teshav said, “Brightlord Adolin asked me to report the progress of the saddle girth investigation. He’s speaking with leatherworkers at this very moment, but so far, there is very little to say. Nobody witnessed anyone interfering with the saddle or His Majesty’s horse. Our spies say there are no whispers of anyone in the other warcamps bragging, and nobody in our camp has suddenly received large sums of money, so far as we’ve discovered.”

  “The grooms?”

  “Say they checked over the saddle,” she said, “but when pressed, they admit that they can’t specifically remember checking the girth.” She shook her head. “Carrying a Shardbearer places great strain on both horse and saddle. If there were only some way to tame more Ryshadium….”

  “I think you’ll sooner tame the highstorms, Brightness. Well, this is good news, I suppose. Better for us all that this strap business turns out to be nothing. Now, there is another item I wish you to look into.”

  “It is my pleasure to serve, Brightlord.”

  “Highprince Aladar has begun to talk of taking a short vacation back to Alethkar. I want to know if he’s serious.”

  “Yes, Brightlord.” Teshav nodded. “Would that be a problem?”

  “I’m honestly not sure.” He didn’t trust the highprinces, but at least with them all here, he could watch them. If one of them returned to Alethkar, the man could scheme unchecked. Of course, even brief visits might help stabilize their homeland.

  Which was more important? Stability or the ability to watch over the others? Blood of my fathers, he thought. I wasn’t made for this politicking and scheming. I was made to wield a sword and ride down enemies.

  He’d do what needed to be done anyway. “I believe you said you had information on the king’s accounts, Teshav?”

  “Indeed,” she said as they continued the short hike. “You were correct to have me look into the ledgers, as it appears that three of the highprinces—Thanadal, Hatham, and Vamah—are well behind in their payments. Other than yourself, only Highprince Sadeas has actually paid ahead on what is owed, as the tenets of war require.”

  Dalinar nodded. “The longer this war stretches, the more comfortable the highprinces are getting. They’re starting to question. Why pay high war time rates for Soulcasting? Why not move farmers out here and start growing their own food?”

  “Pardon, Brightlord,” Teshav said as they turned around a switchback. Her attendant scribe walked behind, several ledgers clipped to boards carried in a satchel. “But do we really wish to discourage that? A second stream of supplies could be valuable as a redundancy.”

  “The merchants already provide redundancy,” Dalinar said. “Which is one of the reasons I haven’t chased them off. I wouldn�
�t mind another, but the Soulcasters are the only hold we have on the highprinces. They owed Gavilar loyalty, but they feel little of that for his son.” Dalinar narrowed his eyes. “This is a vital point, Teshav. Have you read the histories I suggested?”

  “Yes, Brightlord.”

  “Then you know. The most fragile period in a kingdom’s existence comes during the lifetime of its founder’s heir. During the reign of a man like Gavilar, men stay loyal because of their respect for him. During subsequent generations, men begin to see themselves as part of a kingdom, a united force that holds together because of tradition.

  “But the son’s reign…that’s the dangerous point. Gavilar isn’t here to hold everyone together, but there isn’t yet a tradition of Alethkar being a kingdom. We’ve got to carry on long enough for the highprinces to begin seeing themselves as part of a greater whole.”

  “Yes, Brightlord.”

  She didn’t question. Teshav was deeply loyal to him, as were most of his officers. They didn’t question why it was so important to him that the ten princedoms regard themselves as one nation. Perhaps they assumed it was because of Gavilar. Indeed, his brother’s dream of a united Alethkar was part of it. There was something else, though.

  The Everstorm comes. The True Desolation. The Night of Sorrows.

  He suppressed a shiver. The visions certainly didn’t make it sound like he had a great deal of time to prepare.

  “Draft a missive in the king’s name,” Dalinar said, “decreasing Soulcasting costs for those who have made their payments on time. That should wake up the others. Give it to Elhokar’s scribes and have them explain it to him. Hopefully he will agree with the need.”

  “Yes, Brightlord,” Teshav said. “If I might note, I was quite surprised that you suggested I read those histories. In the past, such things haven’t been particular to your interests.”

  “I do a lot of things lately that aren’t particular to my interests or my talents,” Dalinar said with a grimace. “My lack of capacity doesn’t change the kingdom’s needs. Have you gathered reports of banditry in the area?”

  “Yes, Brightlord.” She hesitated. “The rates are quite alarming.”

  “Tell your husband I give him command of the Fourth Battalion,” Dalinar said. “I want the two of you to work out a better pattern of patrol in the Unclaimed Hills. So long as the Alethi monarchy has a presence here, I do not want it to be a land of lawlessness.”

  “Yes, Brightlord,” Teshav said, sounding hesitant. “You realize that means you’ve committed two entire battalions to patrolling?”

  “Yes,” Dalinar said. He had asked for help from the other highprinces. Their reactions had ranged from shock to mirth. None had given him any soldiers.

  “That is added to the battalion you assigned to peacekeeping in the areas between warcamps and the exterior merchant markets,” Teshav added. “In total, that’s over a quarter of your forces here, Brightlord.”

  “The orders stand, Teshav.” he said. “See to it. But first, I have more to discuss with you regarding the ledgers. Go on ahead to the ledger room and wait for us there.”

  She nodded respect. “Of course, Brightlord.” She withdrew with her ward.

  Renarin stepped up to Dalinar. “She wasn’t pleased about that, Father.”

  “She wishes her husband to be fighting,” Dalinar said. “They all hope that I’ll win another Shardblade out there, then give it to them.” The Parshendi had Shards. Not many, but even a single one was surprising. Nobody had an explanation for where they’d gotten them. Dalinar had won a Parshendi Shardblade and Plate during his first year here. He’d given both to Elhokar to award to a warrior he felt would be the most useful to Alethkar and the war effort.

  Dalinar turned and entered the palace proper. The guards at the doorway saluted him and Renarin. The young man kept his eyes forward, staring at nothing. Some people thought him emotionless, but Dalinar knew he was just preoccupied.

  “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, son,” Dalinar said. “About the hunt last week.”

  Renarin’s eyes flickered downward in shame, the edges of his mouth pulling back in a grimace. Yes, he did have emotions. He just didn’t show them as often as others.

  “You realize that you shouldn’t have rushed into battle as you did,” Dalinar said sternly. “That chasmfiend could have killed you.”

  “What would you have done, Father, if it had been me in danger?”

  “I don’t fault your bravery; I fault your wisdom. What if you’d had one of your fits?”

  “Then perhaps the monster would have swept me off the plateau,” Renarin said bitterly, “and I would no longer be such a useless drain on everyone’s time.”

  “Don’t say such things! Not even in jest.”

  “Was it jest? Father, I can’t fight.”

  “Fighting is not the only thing of value a man can do.” The ardents were very specific about that. Yes, the highest Calling of men was to join the battle in the afterlife to reclaim the Tranquiline Halls, but the Almighty accepted the excellence of any man or woman, regardless of what they did.

  You just did your best, picking a profession and an attribute of the Almighty to emulate. A Calling and a Glory, it was said. You worked hard at your profession, and you spent your life trying to live according to a single ideal. The Almighty would accept that, particularly if you were lighteyed—the better your blood as a lighteyes, the more innate Glory you had already.

  Dalinar’s Calling was to be a leader, and his chosen Glory was determination. He’d chosen both in his youth, though he now viewed them very differently than he once had.

  “You are right, of course, Father,” Renarin said. “I am not the first hero’s son to be born without any talent for warfare. The others all got along. So shall I. Likely I will end up as citylord of a small town. Assuming I don’t tuck myself away in the devotaries.” The boy’s eyes turned forward.

  I still think of him as “the boy,” Dalinar thought. Even though he’s now in his twentieth year. Wit had been right. Dalinar underestimated Renarin. How would I react, if I were forbidden to fight? Kept back with the women and the merchants?

  Dalinar would have been bitter, particularly against Adolin. In fact, Dalinar had often been envious of Gavilar during their boyhood. Renarin, however, was Adolin’s greatest supporter. He all but worshipped his elder brother. And he was brave enough to dash heedless into the middle of a battlefield where a nightmare creature was smashing spearmen and tossing aside Shardbearers.

  Dalinar cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is time to again try training you in the sword.”

  “My blood weakness—”

  “Won’t matter a bit if we get you into a set of Plate and give you a Blade,” Dalinar said. “The armor makes any man strong, and a Shardblade is nearly as light as air itself.”

  “Father,” Renarin said flatly, “I’ll never be a Shardbearer. You yourself have said that the Blades and Plate we win from the Parshendi must go to the most skilled warriors.”

  “None of the other highprinces give up their spoils to the king,” Dalinar said. “And who would fault me if, for once, I made a gift to my son?”

  Renarin stopped in the hallway, displaying an unusual level of emotion, eyes opening wider, face eager. “You are serious?”

  “I give you my oath, son. If I can capture another Blade and Plate, they will go to you.” He smiled. “To be honest, I’d do it simply for the joy of seeing Sadeas’s face when you become a full Shardbearer. Beyond that, if your strength is made equal to others, I expect that your natural skill will make you shine.”

  Renarin smiled. Shardplate wouldn’t solve everything, but Renarin would have his chance. Dalinar would see to it. I know what it’s like to be a second son, he thought as they continued walking toward the king’s chambers, overshadowed by an older brother you love yet envy at the same time. Stormfather, but I do.

  I still feel that way.

  “Ah, good Brightlord Adolin,” the arden
t said, walking forward with open arms. Kadash was a tall man in his later years, and wore the shaved head and square beard of his Calling. He also had a twisting scar that ran around the top of his head, a memento from his earlier days as an army officer.

  It was uncommon to find a man such as him—a lighteyes who had once been a soldier—in the ardentia. In fact, it was odd for any man to change his Calling. But it wasn’t forbidden, and Kadash had risen far in the ardentia considering his late start. Dalinar said it was a sign of either faith or perseverance. Perhaps both.

  The warcamp’s temple had started as a large Soulcast dome, then Dalinar had granted money and stonemasons to transform it into a more suitable house of worship. Carvings of the Heralds now lined the inside walls, and broad windows carved on the leeward side had been set with glass to let in the light. Diamond spheres blazed in bunches hung from the high ceiling, and stands had been set up for the instruction, practice, and testing of the various arts.

  Many women were in at the moment, receiving instruction from the ardents. There were fewer men. Being at war, it was easy to practice the masculine arts in the field.

  Janala folded her arms, scanning the temple with obvious dissatisfaction as she stood beside Adolin. “First a stinky leatherworker’s shop, now the temple? I had assumed we would walk someplace at least faintly romantic.”

  “Religion’s romantic,” Adolin said, scratching his head. “Eternal love and all that, right?”

  She eyed him. “I’m going to go wait outside.” She turned and walked out with her handmaiden. “And someone get me a storming palanquin.”

  Adolin frowned, watching her go. “I’ll have to buy her something quite expensive to make up for this, I suspect.”

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” Kadash said. “I think religion is romantic.”

  “You’re an ardent,” Adolin said flatly. “Besides, that scar makes you a little too unsightly for my tastes.” He sighed. “It’s not so much the temple that has set her off, but my lack of attention. I haven’t been a very good companion today.”