The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive 1)

Kaladin spent the next hour helping the men, one by one. Most of them were overeager, throwing themselves into their attacks. Kaladin explained the importance of control and precision, which won more fights than chaotic enthusiasm. They took it in, listening. More and more, they reminded him of his old spear squad.

That set him thinking. He remembered how he had felt when originally proposing the escape plan to the men. He’d been looking for something to do—a way to fight, no matter how risky. A chance. Things had changed. He now had a team he was proud of, friends he had come to love, and a possibility—perhaps—for stability.

If they could get the dodging and armor right, they might be reasonably safe. Maybe even as safe as his old spear squad had been. Was running still the best option?

“That is a worried face,” a rumbling voice noted. Kaladin turned as Rock walked up and leaned against the wall near him, folding powerful forearms. “Is the face of a leader, say I. Always troubled.” Rock raised a bushy red eyebrow.

“Sadeas will never let us go, particularly not now that we’re so prominent.” Alethi lighteyes considered it reprehensible for a man to let slaves escape; it made him seem impotent. Capturing those who ran away was essential to save face.

“You said this thing before,” Rock said. “We will fight the men he sends after us, will seek Kharbranth, where there are no slaves. From there, the Peaks, to my people who will welcome us as heroes!”

“We might beat the first group, if he’s foolish and sends only a few dozen men. But after that he’ll send more. And what of our wounded? Do we leave them here to die? Or do we take them with us and go that much more slowly?”

Rock nodded slowly. “You are saying that we need a plan.”

“Yes,” Kaladin said. “I guess that’s what I’m saying. Either that, or we stay here… as bridgemen.”

“Ha!” Rock seemed to take it as a joke. “Despite new armor, we would die soon. We make ourselves targets!”

Kaladin hesitated. Rock was right. The bridgemen would be used, day in and day out. Even if Kaladin slowed the death toll to two or three men a month—once, he would have considered that impossible, but now it seemed within reach—Bridge Four as it was currently composed would be gone within a year.

“I will talk with Sigzil about this thing,” Rock said, rubbing his chin between the sides of his beard. “We will think. There must be a way to escape this trap, a way to disappear. A false trail? A distraction? Perhaps we can convince Sadeas that we have died during bridge run.”

“How would we do that?”

“Don’t know,” Rock said. “But we will think.” He nodded to Kaladin and sauntered off toward Sigzil. The Azish man was practicing with the others. Kaladin had tried speaking to him about Hoid, but Sigzil—typically closemouthed—hadn’t wanted to discuss it.

“Hey, Kaladin!” Skar called. He was part of an advanced group that was going through Teft’s very carefully supervised sparring. “Come spar with us. Show these rock-brained fools how it’s really done.” The others began calling for him as well.

Kaladin waved them down, shaking his head.

Teft trotted over, a heavy spear on one shoulder. “Lad,” he said quietly, “I think it would be good for their morale if you showed them a thing or two yourself.”

“I’ve already given them instruction.”

“With a spear you knocked the head off of. Going very slowly, with lots of talk. They need to see it, lad. See you.”

“We’ve been through this, Teft.”

“Well, so we have.”

Kaladin smiled. Teft was careful not to look angry or belligerent—he looked as if he were having a normal conversation with Kaladin. “You’ve been a sergeant before, haven’t you?”

“Never mind that. Come on, just show them a few simple routines.”

“No, Teft,” Kaladin said, more seriously.

Teft eyed him. “You going to refuse to fight on the battlefield, just like that Horneater?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Well what is it like?”

Kaladin reached for an explanation. “I’ll fight when the time comes. But if I let myself get back into it now, I’ll be too eager. I’ll push to attack now. I’ll have trouble waiting until the men are ready. Trust me, Teft.”

Teft studied him. “You’re scared of it, lad.”

“What? No. I—”

“I can see it,” Teft said. “And I’ve seen it before. Last time you fought for someone, you failed, eh? So now you hesitate to take it up again.”

Kaladin paused. “Yes,” he admitted. But it was more than that. When he fought again, he would have to become that man from long ago, the man who had been called Stormblessed. The man with confidence and strength. He wasn’t certain he could be that man any longer. That was what scared him.

Once he held that spear again, there would be no turning back.

“Well.” Teft rubbed his chin. “When the time comes, I hope you’re ready. Because this lot will need you.”

Kaladin nodded and Teft hurried back to the others, giving some kind of explanation to mollify them.

Map of the Battle of the Tower, drawn and labeled by Navani Kholin, circa 1173.

“They come from the pit, two dead men, a heart in their hands, and I know that I have seen true glory.”

—Kakashah 1173, 13 seconds pre-death. A rickshaw puller.

“I couldn’t decide if you were interested or not,” Navani said softly to Dalinar as they slowly walked around the grounds of Elhokar’s raised field palace. “Half the time, you seemed like a flirt—offering hints at courtship, then backing away. The other half of the time, I was certain I had misread you. And Gavilar was so forthcoming. He always did prefer to seize what he wished.”

Dalinar nodded thoughtfully. He wore his blue uniform, while Navani was in a subdued maroon dress with a thick hem. Elhokar’s gardeners had begun to cultivate the plant life here. To their right, a twisting length of yellow shalebark rose to waist height, like a railing. The stonelike plant was overgrown by small bunches of haspers with pearly shells slowly opening and closing as they breathed. They looked like tiny mouths, silently speaking in rhythm with one another.

Dalinar and Navani’s pathway took a leisurely course up the hillside. Dalinar strolled with hands clasped behind his back. His honor guard and Navani’s clerks followed behind. A few of them looked perplexed at the amount of time Dalinar and Navani were spending with one another. How many of them suspected the truth? All? Part? None? Did it matter? “I didn’t mean to confuse you, all those years ago,” he said, voice soft to keep it from prying ears. “I had intended to court you, but Gavilar expressed a preference for you. So I eventually felt I had to step aside.”

“Just like that?” Navani asked. She sounded offended.

“He didn’t realize that I was interested. He thought that by introducing you to him, I was indicating that he should court you. That was often how our relationship worked; I would discover people Gavilar should know, then bring them to him. I didn’t realize until too late what I had done in giving you to him.”