Dalinar nodded absently. Adolin suspected that he was the only one who could see that his father was distressed. Dalinar maintained his usual confident front, his head high, his voice firm when he spoke.
Yet, those eyes. They were too red, too strained. And when Adolin’s father felt strained, he grew cold and businesslike. When he spoke to Teleb, his tone was too controlled.
Dalinar Kholin was suddenly a man laboring beneath great weight. And Adolin had helped put him there.
The chulls advanced. Their boulderlike shells were painted blue and yellow, the colors and pattern indicating the island of their Reshi handlers. The bridge beneath them groaned ominously as the larger siege bridge rolled onto it. All around the staging area, soldiers turned to look. Even the workmen cutting a latrine into the stony ground on the eastern side stopped to watch.
The groans from the bridge grew louder. Then they became sharp cracks. The handlers halted the chulls, glancing toward Teleb.
“It’s not going to hold, is it?” Adolin asked.
Teleb sighed. “Storm it, I was hoping…Bah, we made the smaller bridge too thin when we widened it. But if we make it thicker, it will get too heavy to carry.” He glanced at Dalinar. “I apologize for wasting your time, Brightlord. You are correct; this is akin to the ten fools.”
“Adolin, what do you think?” Dalinar asked.
Adolin frowned. “Well…I think perhaps we should keep working with it. This is only the first attempt, Teleb. Perhaps there’s still a way. Design the siege bridges to be narrower, maybe?”
“That could be very costly, Brightlord,” Teleb said.
“If it helps us win one extra gemheart, the effort would be paid for several times over.”
“Yes,” Teleb said, nodding. “I will speak with Lady Kalana. Perhaps she can devise a new design.”
“Good,” Dalinar said. He stared at the bridge for an extended moment. Then, oddly, he turned to look toward the other side of the staging area, where the workers had been cutting the latrine ditch.
“Father?” Adolin asked.
“Why do you suppose,” Dalinar said, “there are no Shardplate-like suits for workmen?”
“What?”
“Shardplate gives awesome strength, but we rarely use it for anything other than war and slaughter. Why did the Radiants fashion only weapons? Why didn’t they make productive tools for use by ordinary men?”
“I don’t know,” Adolin said. “Perhaps because war was the most important thing around.”
“Perhaps,” Dalinar said, voice growing softer. “And perhaps that’s a final condemnation of them and their ideals. For all of their lofty claims, they never gave their Plate or its secrets to the common people.”
“I…I don’t understand why that’s important, Father.”
Dalinar shook himself slightly. “We should get on with our inspections. Where’s Ladent?”
“Here, Brightlord.” A short man stepped up to Dalinar. Bald and bearded, the ardent wore thick, blue-grey layered robes from which his hands barely extended. The effect was of a crab who was too small for his shell. It looked terribly hot, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Send a messenger to the Fifth Battalion,” Dalinar told him. “We’ll be visiting them next.”
“Yes, Brightlord.”
Adolin and Dalinar began to walk. They’d chosen to wear their Shardplate for this day’s inspections. That wasn’t uncommon; many Shardbearers found any excuse they could to wear Plate. Plus, it was good for the men to see their highprince and his heir in their strength.
They drew attention as they left the staging area and entered the warcamp proper. Like Adolin, Dalinar went about unhelmed, though the gorget of his armor was tall and thick, rising like a metal collar up to his chin. He nodded to soldiers who saluted.
“Adolin,” Dalinar said. “In combat, do you feel the Thrill?”
Adolin started. He knew immediately what his father meant, but he was shocked to hear the words. This wasn’t often discussed. “I…Well, of course. Who doesn’t?”
Dalinar didn’t reply. He had been so reserved lately. Was that pain in his eyes? The way he was before, Adolin thought, deluded but confident. That was actually better.
Dalinar said nothing more, and the two of them continued through the camp. Six years had let the soldiers settle in thoroughly. Barracks were painted with company and squad symbols, and the space between them was outfitted with firepits, stools, and canvas-shaded dining areas. Adolin’s father had forbidden none of this, though he had set guidelines to discourage sloppiness.
Dalinar had also approved most requests for families to be brought to the Shattered Plains. The officers already had their wives, of course—a good lighteyes officer was really a team, the man to command and fight, the woman to read, write, engineer, and manage camp. Adolin smiled, thinking of Malasha. Would she prove to be the one for him? She’d been a little cold to him lately. Of course, there was Danlan. He’d only just met her, but he was intrigued.
Regardless, Dalinar had also approved requests by darkeyed common soldiers to bring their families. He even paid half of the cost. When Adolin had asked why, Dalinar had replied that he didn’t feel right forbidding them. The warcamps were never attacked anymore, so there was no danger. Adolin suspected his father felt that since he was living in a luxurious near-palace, his men might as well have the comfort of their families.
And so it was that children played and ran through the camp. Women hung wash and painted glyphwards as men sharpened spears and polished breastplates. Barrack interiors had been partitioned to create rooms.
“I think you were right,” Adolin said as they walked, trying to draw his father out of his contemplations. “To let so many bring their families here, I mean.”
“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 a
ll 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.”
“But, Brightlord,” one of the men added, “there was a lot of confusion that day, and a lot of people. Wasn’t a right regular plateau assault or nothing like that. And, well, to be honest, sir, who’d have thought that we’d need to protect the king’s saddle, of all things under the Halls?”
Dalinar nodded to Adolin, and they stepped out of the tent. “Well?”
“They probably didn’t do much to help our cause,” Adolin said with a grimace. “Despite their ardor. Or, rather, because of it.”
“Agreed, unfortunately.” Dalinar let out a sigh. He waved to Tadet; the short ardent was standing to the side of the tent. “Interview them separately,” Dalinar told him softly. “See if you can tease specifics from them. Try to find out the exact words Sadeas used, and what their exact responses were.”
“Yes, Brightlord.”
“Come, Adolin,” Dalinar said. “We’ve still got a few inspections to do.”
“Father,” Adolin said, taking Dalinar’s arm. Their armor clinked softly.
Dalinar turned to him, frowning, and Adolin made a quick gesture toward the Cobalt Guard. A request for space to speak. The guards moved efficiently and quickly, clearing a private space around the two men.
“What is this about, Father?” Adolin demanded softly.
“What? We’re doing inspections and seeing to camp business.”
“And in each case, you shove me out into the lead,” Adolin said. “Awkwardly, in a few cases, I might add. What’s wrong? What’s going on inside that head of yours?”
“I thought you had a distinct problem with the things going on inside my head.”
Adolin winced. “Father, I—”
“No, it’s all right, Adolin. I’m just trying to make a difficult decision. It helps me to move about while I do it.” Dalinar grimaced. “Another man might find a place to sit and brood, but that never seems to help me. I’ve got too much to do.”
“What is it you’re trying to decide?” Adolin asked. “Perhaps I can help.”
“You already have. I—” Dalinar cut off, frowning. A small force of soldiers was walking up to the Fifth Battalion’s practice yards. They were escorting a man in red and brown. Those were Thanadal’s colors.
“Don’t you have a meeting with him this evening?” Adolin asked.
“Yes,” Dalinar said.
Niter—head of the Cobalt Guard—ran to intercept the newcomers. He could be overly suspicious at times, but that wasn’t a terrible trait for a bodyguard to have. He returned to Dalinar and Adolin shortly. Tanfaced, Niter bore a black beard, cut short. He was a lighteyes of very low rank, and had been with the guard for years. “He says that Highprince Thanadal will be unable to meet with you today as planned.”
Dalinar’s expression grew dark. “I will speak to the runner myself.”
Reluctantly, Niter waved the spindly fellow forward. He approached and dropped to one knee before Dalinar. “Brightlord.”
This time, Dalinar didn’t ask for Adolin to take the lead. “Deliver your message.”
“Brightlord Thanadal regrets that he is unable to attend you this day.”
“And did he offer another time to meet?”
“He regrets to say that he has grown too busy. But he would be happy to speak with you at the king’s feast one evening.”
In public, Adolin thought, where half the men nearby will be eavesdropping while the other half—likely including Thanadal himself—will probably be drunk.
“I see,” Dalinar said. “And did he give any indication of when he’d no longer be so busy?”
“Brightlord,” the messenger said, growing uncomfortable. “He said that if you pressed, I should explain that he has spoken with several of the other highprinces, and feels he knows the nature of your inquiry. He said to tell you he does not wish to form an alliance, nor does he have any intention of going on a joint plateau assault with you.”
Dalinar’s expression grew darker. He dismissed the messenger with a wave, then turned to Adolin. The Cobalt Guard still kept a space open around them so they could talk.
“Thanadal was the last of them,” Dalinar said. Each highprince had turned him down in his own way. Hatham with exceeding politeness, Bethab by letting his wife give the explanation, Thanadal with hostile civility. “All of them but Sadeas, at least.”
“I doubt it would be wise to approach him with this, Father.”
“You’re probably right.” Dalinar’s voice was cold. He was angry. Furious, even. “They’re sending me a message. They’ve never liked the influence I have over the king, and they’re eager to see me fall. They don’t want to do something I ask them to, just in case it might help me regain my footing.”
“Father, I’m sorry.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best. The important point is that I have failed. I can’t get them to work together. Elhokar was right.” He looked to Adolin. “I would like you to continue inspections for me, son. There’s something I want to do.”
“What?”
“Just some work I see needs to be done.”
Adolin wanted to object, but he couldn’t think of the words to say. Finally, he sighed and gave a nod. “You’ll tell me what this is about, though?”
The Way of Kings (Stormlight Archive, The) Page 51