The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive 1)

“Yes, but how many will leave when this is over?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m not certain. The Shattered Plains are now a de facto Alethi province. How will this place appear in a hundred years? Will those rings of barracks become neighborhoods? The outer shops become markets? The hills to the west become fields for planting?” He shook his head. “The gemhearts will always be here, it seems. And so long as they are, there will be people here as well.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? So long as those people are Alethi.” Adolin chuckled.

“Perhaps. And what will happen to the value of gemstones if we continue to capture gemhearts at the rate we have?”

“I…” That was a good question.

“What happens, I wonder, when the scarcest, yet most desirable, substance in the land suddenly becomes commonplace? There’s much going on here, son. Much we haven’t considered. The gemhearts, the Parshendi, the death of Gavilar. You will have to be ready to consider these things.”

“Me?” Adolin said. “What does that mean?”

Dalinar didn’t answer, instead nodding as the commander of the Fifth Battalion hastened up to them and saluted. Adolin sighed and saluted back. The Twenty-first and Twenty-second Companies were doing close order drill here—an essential exercise whose true value few outside the military ever appreciated. The Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth Companies were doing extended order—or combat—drill, practicing the formations and movements used on the battlefield.

Fighting on the Shattered Plains was very different from regular warfare, as the Alethi had learned from some embarrassing early losses. The Parshendi were squat, muscular, and had that strange, skin-grown armor of theirs. It didn’t cover as fully as plate, but it was far more efficient than what most foot soldiers had. Each Parshendi was essentially an extremely mobile heavy infantryman.

The Parshendi always attacked in pairs, eschewing a regular line of battle. That should have made it easy for a disciplined line to defeat them. But each pair of Parshendi had such momentum—and was so well armored—that they could break right through a shield wall. Alternatively, their jumping prowess could suddenly deposit entire ranks of Parshendi behind Alethi lines.

Beyond all that, there was that distinctive way they moved as a group in combat. They maneuvered with an inexplicable coordination. What had seemed at first to be mere barbarian savagery turned out to disguise something more subtle and dangerous.

They’d found only two reliable ways to defeat the Parshendi. The first was to use a Shardblade. Effective, but of limited application. The Kholin army had only two Blades, and while Shards were incredibly powerful, they needed proper support. An isolated, outnumbered Shardbearer could be tripped and toppled by his adversaries. In fact, the one time Adolin had seen a full Shardbearer fall to a regular soldier, it had happened because he had been swarmed by spearmen who broke his breastplate. Then a lighteyed archer had slain him from fifty paces, winning the Shards for himself. Not exactly a heroic end.

The other reliable way to fight Parshendi depended on quick-moving formations. Flexibility mixed with discipline: flexibility to respond to the uncanny way Parshendi fought, discipline to maintain lines and make up for individual Parshendi strength.

Havrom, Fifth Battalionlord, waited for Adolin and Dalinar with his companylords in a line. They saluted, right fists to right shoulders, knuckles outward.

Dalinar nodded to them. “Have my orders been seen to, Brightlord Havrom?”

“Yes, Highprince.” Havrom was built like a tower, and wore a beard with long sides after the Horneater fashion, chin clean-shaven. He had relatives among the Peakfolk. “The men you wanted are waiting in the audience tent.”

“What’s this?” Adolin asked.

“I’ll show you in a moment,” Dalinar said. “First, review the troops.”

Adolin frowned, but the soldiers were waiting. One company at a time, Havrom had the men fall in. Adolin walked before them, inspecting their lines and uniforms. They were neat and orderly, though Adolin knew that some of the soldiers in their army grumbled at the level of polish required of them. He happened to agree with them on that point.

At the end of the inspection, he questioned a few random men, asked their rank and if they had any specific concerns. None had any. Were they satisfied or just intimidated?

When he was done, Adolin returned to his father.

“You did that well,” Dalinar said.

“All I did was walk down a line.”

“Yes, but the presentation was good. The men know you care for their needs, and they respect you.” He nodded, as if to himself. “You’ve learned well.”

“I think you’re reading too much into a simple inspection, Father.”

Dalinar nodded to Havrom, and the battalionlord led the two of them to an audience tent near the side of the practice field. Adolin, puzzled, glanced at his father.

“I had Havrom gather the soldiers that Sadeas spoke to the other day,” Dalinar said. “The ones he interviewed while we were on our way to the plateau assault.”

“Ah,” Adolin said. “We’ll want to know what he asked them.”

“Yes,” Dalinar said. He gestured for Adolin to enter before him, and they walked in—tailed by a few of Dalinar’s ardents. Inside, a group of ten soldiers waited on benches. They rose and saluted.

“At ease,” Dalinar said, clasping plated hands behind his back. “Adolin?” Dalinar nodded toward the men, indicating that Adolin should take the lead in the questioning.

Adolin stifled a sigh. Again? “Men, we need to know what Sadeas asked you and how you responded.”

“Don’t worry, Brightlord,” said one of the men, speaking with a rural northern Alethi accent. “We didn’t tell him nothing.”

The others nodded vigorously.

“He’s an eel, and we know it,” another added.

“He is a highprince,” Dalinar said sternly. “You will treat him with respect.”

The soldier paled, then nodded.

“What, specifically, did he ask you?” Adolin asked.

“He wanted to know our duties in the camp, Brightlord,” the man said. “We’re grooms, you see.”

Each soldier was trained in one or two additional skills beyond those of combat. Having a group of soldiers who could care for horses was useful, as it kept civilians from plateau assaults.

“He asked around,” said one of the men. “Or, well, his people did. Found out we were in charge of the king’s horse during the chasmfiend hunt.”

“But we didn’t say nothing,” the first soldier repeated. “Nothing to get you into trouble, sir. We’re not going to give that ee—er, that highprince, Brightlord sir, the rope to hang you, sir.”

Adolin closed his eyes. If they had acted this way around Sadeas, it would have been more incriminating than the cut girth itself. He couldn’t fault their loyalty, but they acted as if they assumed Dalinar had done something wrong, and needed to defend him.

He opened his eyes. “I spoke to some of you before, I recall. But let me ask again. Did any of you see a cut strap on the king’s saddle?”

The men looked at each other, shaking heads. “No, Brightlord,” one of the men replied. “If we’d seen it, we’d have changed it, right we would.”