The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive 1)

Adolin rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Renarin smiled at him. Adolin knew that his brother—now nineteen years old—felt out of place. Though he wore a side sword, he barely knew how to use it. His blood weakness made it difficult for him to spend any reasonable amount of time practicing.

“Father,” Adolin said. “Maybe the king was right. Perhaps we should have moved on quickly. I’d rather have this entire hunt over with.”

Dalinar looked at him. “When I was your age, I looked forward to a hunt like this. Taking down a greatshell was the highlight of a young man’s year.”

Not this again, Adolin thought. Why was everyone so offended that he didn’t find hunts exciting? “It’s just an oversized chull, Father.”

“These ‘oversized chulls’ grow to fifty feet tall and are capable of crushing even a man in Shardplate.”

“Yes,” Adolin said, “and so we’ll bait it for hours while baking in the hot sun. If it decides to show up, we’ll pelt it with arrows, only closing in once it’s so weak it can barely resist as we hack it to death with Shardblades. Very honorable.”

“It’s not a duel,” Dalinar said, “it’s a hunt. A grand tradition.”

Adolin raised an eyebrow at him.

“And yes,” Dalinar added. “It can be tedious. But the king was insistent.”

“You’re just still smarting over the problems with Rilla, Adolin,” Renarin said. “You were eager a week ago. You really should have invited Janala.”

“Janala hates hunts. Thinks they’re barbarous.”

Dalinar frowned. “Janala? Who’s Janala?”

“Daughter of Brightlord Lustow,” Adolin said.

“And you’re courting her?”

“Not yet, but I’ve sure been trying.”

“What happened to that other girl? The short one, with the fondness for silver hair ribbons?”

“Deeli?” Adolin said. “Father, I stopped courting her over two months back!”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

Dalinar rubbed his chin.

“There have been two between her and Janala, Father,” Adolin noted. “You really need to pay more attention.”

“Almighty help any man who tries to keep track of your tangled courtships, son.”

“The most recent was Rilla,” Renarin said.

Dalinar frowned. “And you two…”

“Had some problems yesterday,” Adolin said. He coughed, determined to change the subject. “Anyway, don’t you find it odd that the king would insist on coming to hunt the chasmfiend himself?”

“Not particularly. It isn’t often that a full-sized one makes its way out here, and the king rarely gets to go on plateau runs. This is a way for him to fight.”

“But he’s so paranoid! Why does he now want to go and hunt, exposing himself on the Plains?”

Dalinar looked toward the king’s awning. “I know he seems odd, son. But the king is more complex a man than many give him credit for being. He worries that his subjects see him as a coward because of how much he fears assassins, and so he finds ways to prove his courage. Foolish ways, sometimes—but he’s not the first man I’ve known who will face battle without fear, yet cower in terror about knives in the shadows. The hallmark of insecurity is bravado.

“The king is learning to lead. He needs this hunt. He needs to prove to himself, and to others, that he’s still strong and worthy to command a kingdom at war. That’s why I encouraged him. A successful hunt, under controlled circumstances, could bolster his reputation and his confidence.”

Adolin slowly closed his mouth, his father’s words cutting down his complaints. Strange, how much the king’s actions made sense when explained that way. Adolin looked up at his father. How can the others whisper that he’s a coward? Can’t they see his wisdom?

“Yes,” Dalinar said, eyes growing distant. “Your nephew is a better man than many think him, and a stronger king. At least he could be. I just have to figure out how to persuade him to leave the Shattered Plains.”

Adolin started. “What?”

“I didn’t understand at first,” Dalinar continued. “Unite them. I’m supposed to unite them. But aren’t they already united? We fight together here on the Shattered Plains. We have a common enemy in the Parshendi. I’m beginning to see that we’re united only in name. The highprinces give lip service to Elhokar, but this war—this siege—is a game to them. A competition against one another.

“We can’t unite them here. We need to return to Alethkar and stabilize our homeland, learn how to work together as one nation. The Shattered Plains divide us. The others worry too much about winning wealth and prestige.”

“Wealth and prestige are what being Alethi is about, Father!” Adolin said. Was he really hearing this? “What of the Vengeance Pact? The highprinces vowed to seek retribution upon the Parshendi!”

“And we have sought it.” Dalinar looked to Adolin. “I realize that it sounds terrible, son, but some things are more important than vengeance. I loved Gavilar. I miss him fiercely, and I hate the Parshendi for what they did. But Gavilar’s life work was to unite Alethkar, and I’ll go to Damnation before I let it break apart.”

“Father,” Adolin said, feeling pained, “if there’s something wrong here, it’s that we’re not trying hard enough. You think the highprinces are playing games? Well, show them the way it should be done! Instead of talking of retreat, we should be talking of advancing, striking at the Parshendi instead of besieging them.”

“Perhaps.”

“Either way, we cannot speak of withdrawing,” Adolin said. The men already talked of Dalinar losing his spine. What would they say if they got hold of this? “You haven’t brought this up with the king, have you?”

“Not yet. I haven’t found the right way.”

“Please. Don’t talk to him about it.”

“We shall see.” Dalinar turned back toward the Shattered Plains, his eyes growing distant again.

“Father…”

“You’ve made your point, son, and I’ve replied to it. Do not press the issue. Have you gotten the report from the rear guard?”

“Yes.”

“What of the vanguard?”

“I just checked with them and…” He trailed off. Blast. It had been long enough that it was probably time to move the king’s party onward. The last of the army couldn’t leave this plateau until the king was safely on the other side.

Adolin sighed and went off to collect the report. Before long, they were all across the chasm and riding over the next plateau. Renarin trotted up to Adolin and tried to engage him in conversation, but Adolin gave only halfhearted replies.

He was beginning to feel an odd longing. Most of the older men in the army—even those only a few years older than Adolin—had fought alongside his father during the glory days. Adolin found himself jealous of all of those men who had known his father and had seen him fight when he hadn’t been so wrapped up in the Codes.

The changes in Dalinar had begun with the death of his brother. That terrible day was when everything had started to go wrong. The loss of Gavilar had nearly crushed Dalinar, and Adolin would never forgive the Parshendi for bringing his father such pain. Never. Men fought on the Plains for different reasons, but this was why Adolin had come. Perhaps if they beat the Parshendi, his father would go back to the man he had been. Perhaps those ghostly delusions that haunted him would vanish.