Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive 2)

79. Toward the Center

Q: For what essential must we strive?

A: The essential of preservation, to shelter a seed of humanity through the coming storm.

Q: What cost must we bear?

A: The cost is irrelevant. Mankind must survive. Our burden is that of the species, and all other considerations are but dust by comparison.

From the Diagram, Catechism of the Back of the Flowered Painting: paragraph 1

Dalinar stood with hands behind his back, waiting in his command tent and listening to the patter of rain on the cloth. The floor of the tent was wet. You couldn’t avoid that, in the Weeping. He knew that from miserable experience—he’d been out on more than one military excursion during this time of year.

It was the day after they’d discovered the Parshendi on the Plains—both the dead one and the one the bridgemen called Shen, or Rlain, as he had said his name was. Dalinar himself had allowed the man to be armed.

Shallan claimed that all parshmen were Voidbringers in embryo. He had ample reason to believe her word, considering what she’d shown him. But what was he to do? The Radiants had returned, the Parshendi had manifested red eyes. Dalinar felt as if he were trying to stop a dam from breaking, all the while not knowing where the leaks were actually coming from.

The tent flaps parted and Adolin ducked in, escorting Navani. She hung her stormcoat on the rack beside the flap, and Adolin grabbed a towel and began drying his hair and face.

Adolin was betrothed to a member of the Knights Radiant. She says she’s not one yet, Dalinar reminded himself. That made sense. One could be a trained spearman without being a soldier. One implied skill, the other a position.

“They are bringing the Parshendi man?” Dalinar asked.

“Yes,” Navani said, sitting down in one of the room’s chairs. Adolin didn’t take his seat, but found a pitcher of filtered rainwater and poured himself a cup. He tapped the side of the tin cup as he drank.

They were restless, all of them, following the discovery of red-eyed Parshendi. After no attack had come that night, Dalinar had pushed the three armies into another day of marching.

Slowly, they approached the middle of the Plains, at least as Shallan’s projections indicated. They were already well beyond the regions that scouts had explored. Now, they had to rely on the young woman’s maps.

The flaps opened again, and Teleb marched in with the prisoner. Dalinar had put the highlord and his personal guard in charge of this “Rlain,” as he didn’t like how defensive the bridgemen were about him. He did invite their lieutenants—Skar and the Horneater cook they called Rock—to come to the interrogation, and those two entered after Teleb and his men. General Khal and Renarin were in another tent with Aladar and Roion, going over tactics for when they approached the Parshendi encampment.

Navani sat up, leaning forward, narrowing her eyes at the prisoner. Shallan had wanted to attend, but Dalinar had promised to have everything written down for her. The Stormfather had given her some sense, fortunately, and she hadn’t insisted. Having too many of them near this spy felt dangerous to Dalinar.

He had a vague recollection of the parshman guard who had occasionally joined the men of Bridge Four. Parshmen were practically invisible, but once this one had started carrying a spear, he had become instantly noticeable. Not that there had been anything else distinctive about him—same squat parshman body, marbled skin, dull eyes.

This creature before him was nothing like that. He was a full Parshendi warrior, complete with orange-red skullplate and armored carapace at the chest, thighs, and outer arms. He was as tall as an Alethi, and more muscular.

Though he carried no weapon, the guards still treated him as if he were the most dangerous thing on this plateau—and perhaps he was just that. As he stepped up, he saluted Dalinar, hand to chest. Like the other bridgemen. He bore their tattoo on his forehead, reaching up and blending into his skullplate.

“Sit,” Dalinar ordered, nodding toward a stool at the center of the room.

Rlain obeyed.

“I’m told,” Dalinar said, “that you refuse to tell us anything about the Parshendi plans.”

“I don’t know them,” Rlain said. He had the rhythmic intonations common to the Parshendi, but he spoke Alethi very well. Better than any parshman Dalinar had heard.

“You were a spy,” Dalinar said, hands clasped behind his back, trying to loom over the Parshendi—but staying far enough away that the man could not grab him without Adolin getting in the way first.

“Yes, sir.”

“For how long?”

“About three years,” Rlain said. “In various warcamps.”

Nearby, Teleb—faceplate up—turned and raised an eyebrow at Dalinar.

“You answer me when I ask,” Dalinar said. “But not the others. Why?”

“You’re my commanding officer,” Rlain said.

“You’re Parshendi.”

“I…” The man looked down at the ground, shoulders bowing. He raised a hand to his head, feeling at the ridge of skin just where his skullplate ended. “Something is very wrong, sir. Eshonai’s voice… on the plateau that day, when she came to meet with Prince Adolin…”

“Eshonai,” Dalinar prompted. “The Parshendi Shardbearer?” Nearby, Navani scribbled on a pad of paper, writing down each word spoken.

“Yes. She was my commander. But now…” He looked up, and despite the alien skin and the strange way of speaking, Dalinar recognized grief in this man’s face. Terrible grief. “Sir, I have reason to believe that everyone I know… everyone I loved… has been destroyed, monsters left in their place. The listeners, the Parshendi, may be no more. I have nothing left…”

“Yes you do,” Skar said from outside the ring of guards. “You’re Bridge Four.”

Rlain looked at him. “I’m a traitor.”

“Ha!” Rock said. “Is little problem. Can be fixed.”

Dalinar gestured to quiet the bridgemen. He glanced at Navani, who nodded for him to continue.

“Tell me,” Dalinar said, “how you hid among the parshmen.”

“I…”

“Soldier,” Dalinar barked. “That was an order.”

Rlain sat up. Amazingly, he seemed to want to obey—as if he needed something to lend him strength. “Sir,” Rlain said, “it’s just something my people can do. We choose a form based on what we need, the job required of us. Dullform, one of those forms, looks a lot like a parshman. Hiding among them is easy.”

“We account our parshmen with precision,” Navani said.

“Yes,” Rlain replied, “and we are noticed—but rarely questioned. Who questions when you find an extra sphere lying on the ground? It’s not something suspicious. It’s merely fortune.”

Dangerous territory, Dalinar thought, noticing the change in Rlain’s voice—the beat to which he was speaking. This man did not like how the parshmen were treated.

“You spoke of the Parshendi,” Dalinar said. “This has to do with the red eyes?”

Rlain nodded.

“What does it mean, soldier?” Dalinar asked.

“It means our gods have returned,” Rlain whispered.