Words of Radiance
“And what is it,” Amaram said, “when you send thousands of men to their deaths so that you may secure gemhearts, Dalinar? Is that different somehow? We all know that sometimes lives must be spent for the greater good.”
“Take off that cloak,” Dalinar growled. “You are no Radiant.”
Amaram reached up and undid it, then dropped it to the rock. He turned and started to walk away.
“No!” Kaladin said, stumbling after him.
“Let him go, son,” Dalinar said, sighing. “His reputation is broken.”
“He is still a murderer.”
“And we will try him fairly,” Dalinar said, “once I return. I can’t imprison him—Shardbearers are above that, and he’d cut his way out anyway. Either you execute a Shardbearer or you leave him free.”
Kaladin sagged, and Lopen appeared on one side, holding him up while Teft got under his other arm. He felt drained.
Sometimes lives must be spent for the greater good. . . .
“Thank you,” Kaladin said to Dalinar, “for believing me.”
“I do listen sometimes, soldier,” Dalinar said. “Now go back to camp and get some rest.”
Kaladin nodded. “Sir? Stay safe out there.”
Dalinar smiled grimly. “If possible. At least now I’ve got a way to fight that assassin, if he arrives. With all of these Shardblades flying around lately, I figured having one myself made too much sense to ignore.” He narrowed his eyes, turning eastward. “Even if it feels . . . wrong somehow to hold one. Strange, that. Why should it feel wrong? Perhaps I just miss my old Blade.”
Dalinar dismissed the Blade. “Go,” he said, walking back toward his horse, where Highprince Roion—looking stunned—was watching Amaram stalk away, his personal guard of fifty joining him.
* * *
Yes, that was Aladar’s banner, joining Dalinar’s. Sadeas could make it out through the spyglass.
He lowered it, and sat quietly for a long, long time. So long that his guards, and even his wife, started to fidget and looked nervous. But there was no reason.
He quelled his annoyance.
“Let them die out there,” he said. “All four. Ialai, make a report for me. I would like to know . . . Ialai?”
His wife started, looking toward him.
“Is all well?”
“I was merely thinking,” she said, seeming distant. “About the future. And what it is going to bring. For us.”
“It is going to bring Alethkar new highprinces,” Sadeas said. “Make a report of which among our sworn highlords would be appropriate to take the place of those who will fall on Dalinar’s trip.” He tossed the spyglass back to the messenger. “We do nothing until they’re dead. This will end, it appears, with Dalinar killed by the Parshendi after all. Aladar can go with him, and to Damnation with the lot of them.”
He turned his horse and continued the day’s ride, his back pointedly toward the Shattered Plains.
One danger in deploying such a potent weapon will be the potential encouragement of those exploring the Nahel bond. Care must be taken to avoid placing these subjects in situations of powerful stress unless you accept the consequences of their potential Investiture.
—From the Diagram, Floorboard 27: paragraph 6
Like a river suddenly undammed, the four armies flooded out onto the plateaus. Shallan watched from horseback, excited, anxious. Her little part of the convoy included Vathah and her soldiers, along with Marri, her lady’s maid. Gaz, notably, hadn’t arrived yet, and Vathah claimed to not know where he was. Perhaps she should have looked more into the nature of his debts. She’d been so busy with other things . . . storms, if the man vanished, how would she feel about that?
She would have to deal with that later. Today, she was part of something extremely important—a story that had begun with Gavilar and Dalinar’s first hunting expedition into the Unclaimed Hills years ago. Now came the final chapter, the mission that would unearth the truth and determine the future of the Shattered Plains, the Parshendi, and perhaps Alethkar itself.
Shallan kicked her horse forward, eager. The gelding started to walk, placid despite Shallan’s prodding.
Storming animal.
Adolin trotted up beside her on Sureblood. The beautiful animal was pure white—not dusty grey, like some horses she’d seen, but actually white. That Adolin should have the larger horse was patently unfair. She was shorter than he was, so she should be on the taller horse.
“You purposely gave me a slow one,” Shallan complained, “didn’t you?”
“Sure did.”
“I’d smack you. If I could reach you up there.”
He chuckled. “You said you don’t have a lot of experience riding, so I picked a horse that had a lot of experience being ridden. Trust me, you’ll be thankful.”
“I want to ride in a majestic charge as we begin our expedition!”
“And you can do so.”
“Slowly.”
“Technically, slow speeds can be very majestic.”
“Technically,” she said, “a man doesn’t need all of his toes. Shall we remove a few of yours and prove it?”
He laughed. “As long as you don’t hurt my face, I suppose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I like your face.”
He grinned, Shardplate helm hanging from his saddle so as to not mess up his hair. She waited for him to add a quip to hers, but he didn’t.
That was all right. She liked Adolin as he was. He was kind, noble, and genuine. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t brilliant or . . . or whatever else Kaladin was. She couldn’t even define it. So there.
Passionate, with an intense, smoldering resolve. A leashed anger that he used, because he had dominated it. And a certain tempting arrogance. Not the haughty pride of a highlord. Instead, the secure, stable sense of determination that whispered that no matter who you were—or what you did—you could not hurt him. Could not change him.
He was. Like the wind and rocks were.
Shallan completely missed what Adolin said next. She blushed. “What was that?”
“I said that Sebarial has a carriage. You might want to travel with him.”
“Because I’m too delicate for riding?” Shallan said. “Did you miss that I walked back through the chasms in the middle of a highstorm?”
“Um, no. But walking and riding are different. I mean, the soreness . . .”
“Soreness?” Shallan asked. “Why would I be sore? Doesn’t the horse do all of the work?”
Adolin looked at her, eyes widening.
“Um,” she said. “Dumb question?”
“You said you’d ridden before.”
“Ponies,” she said, “on my father’s estates. Around in circles . . . All right, from that expression, I’m led to believe I’m being an idiot. When I get sore, I’ll go ride with Sebarial.”
“Before you get sore,” Adolin said. “We’ll give it an hour.”
As annoyed as she was at this turn, she couldn’t deny his expertise. Jasnah had once defined a fool as a person who ignored information because it disagreed with desired results.
She determined to not be bothered, and instead enjoy the ride. The army as a whole moved slowly, considering that each piece seemed to be so efficient. Spearmen in blocks, scribes on horseback, scouts roving outward. Dalinar had six of the massive mechanical bridges, but he had also brought all of the former bridgemen and their simpler, man-carried bridges, designed as copies of the ones they’d left in Sadeas’s camp. That was good, since Sebarial only had a couple of bridge crews.
She allowed herself a moment of personal satisfaction at the fact that he’d come on the expedition. As she was thinking on that, she noticed someone running up the line of troops behind her. A short man, with an eye patch, who drew glares from Adolin’s bridgeman guards for the day.
“Gaz?” Shallan said with relief as he hustled up, carrying a package under his arm. Her fears that he’d been knifed in an alley somewhere were unfounded.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “It came. You owe the merchant two sapphire broams, Brightness.”
“It?” Shallan asked, accepting the package.
“Yeah. You asked me to find one for you. I storming did.” He seemed proud of himself.
She unwrapped the cloth around the rectangular object, and found inside a book. Words of Radiance, the cover said. The sides were worn, and the pages faded—one patch across the top was even stained from spilled ink sometime in the past.
Rarely had she been as pleased to receive something so damaged. “Gaz!” she said. “You’re wonderful!”
He grinned, shooting Vathah a triumphant smile. The taller man rolled his eyes, muttering something Shallan didn’t hear.
“Thank you,” Shallan said. “Thank you truly, Gaz.”
* * *
As the time passed and one day led into another, Shallan found the distraction of the book extremely welcome. The armies moved about as fast as a herd of sleepy chulls, and the scenery was actually quite boring, though she’d never admit that to Kaladin or Adolin, considering what she’d told them last time she was out here.
The book, though. The book was wonderful. And frustrating.