Sadeas frowned at this. In front of them, the two swordsmen continued their duel; Elhokar watched keenly. He loved duels. Bringing in sand to coat the floor of this arena had been one of his first acts at the Shattered Plains.
“‘Regardless,’” Dalinar said, still quoting from The Way of Kings, “‘I made the trip and-as the astute reader has already concluded-survived it. The stories of its excitements will stain a different page in this narrative, for first I must explain my purpose in walking this strange path. Though I was quite willing to let my family think me insane, I would not leave the same as my cognomen upon the winds of history.
“‘My family traveled to Urithiru via the direct method, and had been awaiting me for weeks when I arrived. I was not recognized at the gate, for my mane had grown quite robust without a razor to tame it. Once I revealed myself, I was carried away, primped, fed, worried over, and scolded in precisely that order. Only after all of this was through was I finally asked the purpose of my excursion. Couldn’t I have just taken the simple, easy, and common route to the holy city?’”
“Exactly,” Sadeas interjected. “He could at the very least have ridden a horse!”
“‘For my answer,’” Dalinar quoted, “‘I removed my sandals and proffered my callused feet. They were comfortable upon the table beside my half-consumed tray of grapes. At this point, the expressions of my companions proclaimed that they thought me daft, and so I explained by relating the stories of my trip. One after another, like stacked sacks of tallew, stored for the winter season. I would make flatbread of them soon, then stuff it between these pages.
“‘Yes, I could have traveled quickly. But all men have the same ultimate destination. Whether we find our end in a hallowed sepulcher or a pauper’s ditch, all save the Heralds themselves must dine with the Nightwatcher.
“‘And so, does the destination matter? Or is it the path we take? I declare that no accomplishment has substance nearly as great as the road used to achieve it. We are not creatures of destinations. It is the journey that shapes us. Our callused feet, our backs strong from carrying the weight of our travels, our eyes open with the fresh delight of experiences lived.
“‘In the end, I must proclaim that no good can be achieved of false means. For the substance of our existence is not in the achievement, but in the method. The Monarch must understand this; he must not become so focused on what he wishes to accomplish that he diverts his gaze from the path he must take to arrive there.’”
Dalinar sat back. The rock beneath them had been cushioned and augmented with wooden armrests and back supports. The duel ended with one of the lighteyes-wearing green, as he was subject to Sadeas-scoring a hit on the breastplate of the other, leaving a long white mark. Elhokar clapped his approval, gauntleted hands clanking, and both duelists bowed. The winner’s victory would be recorded by the women sitting in the judging seats. They also held the books of dueling code, and would adjudicate disputes or infractions.
“That is the end of your story, I presume,” Sadeas said, as the next two duelists walked out onto the sand.
“It is,” Dalinar said.
“And you have that entire passage memorized?”
“I likely got a few of the words wrong.”
“Knowing you, that means you might have forgotten a single ‘an’ or ‘the.’”
Dalinar frowned.
“Oh, don’t be so stiff, old friend,” Sadeas said. “That was a compliment. Of sorts.”
“What did you think of the story?” Dalinar asked as the dueling resumed.
“It was ridiculous,” Sadeas said frankly, waving for a servant to bring him some wine. Yellow, as it was yet morning. “He walked all that distance just to make the point that kings should consider the consequences of their commands?”
“It wasn’t just to prove the point,” Dalinar said. “I thought that myself, but I’ve begun to see. He walked because he wanted to experience the things his people did. He used it as a metaphor, but I think he really wanted to know what it was like to walk that far.”
Sadeas took a sip of his wine, then squinted up at the sun. “Couldn’t we get an awning or something set up out here?”
“I like the sun,” Elhokar said. “I spend too much time locked away in those caves we call buildings.”
Sadeas glanced at Dalinar, rolling his eyes.
“Much of The Way of Kings is organized like that passage I quoted you,” Dalinar said. “A metaphor from Nohadon’s life-a real event turned into an example. He calls them the forty parables.”
“Are they all so ridiculous?”
“I think this one is beautiful,” Dalinar said softly.
“I don’t doubt that you do. You always have loved sentimental stories.” He raised a hand. “That was also intended to be a compliment.”
“Of sorts?”
“Exactly. Dalinar, my friend, you always have been emotional. It makes you genuine. It can also get in the way of levelheaded thinking-but so long as it continues to prompt you to save my life, I think I can live with it.” He scratched his chin. “I suppose, by definition, I would have to, wouldn’t I?”
“I guess.”
“The other highprinces think you are self-righteous. Surely you can see why.”
“I…” What could he say? “I don’t mean to be.”
“Well, you do provoke them. Take, for example, the way you refuse to rise to their arguments or insults.”
“Protesting simply draws attention to the issue,” Dalinar said. “The finest defense of character is correct action. Acquaint yourself with virtue, and you can expect proper treatment from those around you.”
“You see, there,” Sadeas said. “Who talks like that?”
“Dalinar does,” Elhokar said, though he was still watching the dueling. “My father used to.”
“Precisely,” Sadeas said. “Dalinar, friend, the others simply cannot accept that the things you say are serious. They assume it must be an act.”
“And you? What do you think of me?”
“I can see the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That you are a self-righteous prude,” Sadeas said lightly. “But you come by it honestly.”
“I’m certain you mean that to be a compliment too.”
“Actually, this time I’m just trying to annoy you.” Sadeas raised his cup of wine to Dalinar.
To the side, Elhokar grinned. “Sadeas. That was quite nearly clever. Shall I have to name you the new Wit?”
“What happened to the old one?” Sadeas’s voice was curious, even eager, as if hoping to hear that tragedy had befallen Wit.
Elhokar’s grin became a scowl. “He vanished.”
“Is that so? How disappointing.”
“Bah.” Elhokar waved a gauntleted hand. “He does this on occasion. He’ll return eventually. Unreliable as Damnation itself, that one. If he didn’t make me laugh so, I’d have replaced him seasons ago.”
They fell silent, and the dueling continued. A few other lighteyes-both women and men-watched, seated on the benchlike ridges. Dalinar noted with discomfort that Navani had arrived, and was chatting with a group of women, including Adolin’s latest infatuation, the auburn-haired scribe.
Dalinar’s eyes lingered on Navani, drinking in her violet dress, her mature beauty. She’d recorded his most recent visions without complaint, and seemed to have forgiven him for throwing her out of his rooms so sharply. She never mocked him, never acted skeptical. He appreciated that. Should he thank her, or would she see that as an invitation?
He averted his gaze from her, but found that he couldn’t watch the dueling swordsmen without catching sight of her in the corner of his eye. So, instead, he glanced up into the sky, squinting against the afternoon sun. The sounds of metal hitting metal came from below. Behind him, several large snails clung to the rock, waiting for highstorm water.
He had so many questions, so many uncertainties. He listened to The Way of Kings and worked to discover what Gavilar�
�s last words had meant. As if, somehow, they held the key to both his madness and the nature of the visions. But the truth was that he didn’t know anything, and he couldn’t rely on his own decisions. That was unhinging him, bit by bit, point by point.
Clouds seemed less frequent here, in these windswept plains. Just the blazing sun broken by the furious highstorms. The rest of Roshar was influenced by the storms-but here in the East, the feral, untamed highstorms ruled supreme. Could any mortal king hope to claim these lands? There were legends of them being inhabited, of there being more than just unclaimed hills, desolate plains, and overgrown forests. Natanatan, the Granite Kingdom.
“Ah,” Sadeas said, sounding as if he’d tasted something bitter. “Did he have to come?”
Dalinar lowered his head and followed Sadeas’s gaze. Highprince Vamah had arrived to watch the dueling, retinue in tow. Though most of them wore his traditional brown and grey colorings, the highprince himself wore a long grey coat that had slashes cut across it to reveal the bright red and orange silk underneath, matched by the ruffles peeking out of the cuffs and collar.
“I thought you had a fondness for Vamah,” Elhokar said.
“I tolerate him,” Sadeas replied. “But his fashion sense is absolutely repulsive. Red and orange? Not even a burnt orange, but a blatant, eye-breaking orange. And the rent style hasn’t been fashionable for ages. Ah, wonderful, he’s sitting directly across from us. I shall be forced to stare at him for the rest of the session.”
“You shouldn’t judge people so harshly based on how they look,” Dalinar said.
“Dalinar,” Sadeas said flatly, “we are highprinces. We represent Alethkar. Many around the world view us as a center of culture and influence. Should I not, therefore, have the right to encourage a properpresentation to the world?”
“A proper presentation, yes,” Dalinar said. “It is right for us to be fit and neat.” It would be nice if your soldiers, for instance, kept their uniforms clean.
“Fit, neat, and fashionable,” Sadeas corrected.
“And me?” Dalinar asked, looking down at his simple uniform. “Would you have me dress in those ruffles and bright colors?”
“You?” Sadeas asked. “You’re completely hopeless.” He raised a hand to forestall objection. “No, I am unfair. That uniform has a certain… timeless quality to it. The military suit, by virtue of its utility, will never be completely out of fashion. It’s a safe choice-steady. In a way, you avoid the issue of fashion by not playing the game.” He nodded to Vamah. “Vamah tries to play, but does so very poorly. And that is unforgivable.”
“I still say you place too much importance on those silks and scarves,” Dalinar said. “We are soldiers at war, not courtiers at a ball.”
“The Shattered Plains are quickly becoming a destination for foreign dignitaries. It is important to present ourselves properly.” He raised a finger to Dalinar. “If I am to accept your moral superiority, my friend, then perhaps it is time for you to accept my sense of fashion. One might note that you judge people by their clothing even more than I do.”
Dalinar fell silent. That comment stung in its truthfulness. Still, if dignitaries were going to meet with the highprinces on the Shattered Plains, was it too much to ask for them to find an efficient group of warcamps led by men who at least looked like generals?
Dalinar settled back to watch the match end. By his count, it was time for Adolin’s bout. The two lighteyes who had been fighting bowed to the king, then withdrew into a tent on the side of the dueling grounds. A moment later, Adolin stepped out onto the sand, wearing his deep blue Shardplate. He carried his helm under his arm, his blond-and-black hair a stylish mess. He raised a gauntleted hand to Dalinar and bowed his head to the king, then put on his helm.
The man who walked out behind him wore Shardplate painted yellow. Brightlord Resi was the only full Shardbearer in Highprince Thanadal’s army-though their warcamp had three men who carried only the Blade or the Plate. Thanadal himself had neither. It wasn’t uncommon for a highprince to rely on his finest warriors as Shardbearers; it made sound sense, particularly if you were the sort of general who preferred to stay behind the lines and direct tactics. In Thanadal’s own princedom, the tradition for centuries had been to appoint the holder of Resi’s Shards as something known as the Royal Defender.
Thanadal had recently been vocal about Dalinar’s faults, and so Adolin- in a moderately subtle move-had challenged the highprince’s star Shardbearer to a friendly bout. Few duels were for Shards; in this case, losing wouldn’t cost either man anything other than statistics in the rankings. The match drew an unusual amount of attention, and the small arena filled over the next quarter hour while the duelists stretched and prepared. More than one woman set up a board to sketch or write impressions of the bout. Thanadal himself didn’t attend.
The bout began as the highjudge in attendance, Lady Istow, called for the combatants to summon their Blades. Elhokar leaned forward again, intent, as Resi and Adolin circled one another on the sand, Shardblades materializing. Dalinar found himself leaning forward as well, though he did feel a stab of shame. According to the Codes, most duels should be avoided when Alethkar was at war. There was a fine line between sparring for practice and dueling another man for an insult, potentially leaving important officers wounded.
Resi stood in Stonestance, his Shardblade held before him in two hands, point toward the sky, arms all the way extended. Adolin used Windstance, turned sideways slightly, hands before him and elbows bent, Shardblade pointing back over his head. They circled. The winner would be the first one who completely shattered a section of the other’s Plate. That wasn’t too dangerous; weakened Plate could usually still rebuff a blow, even if it shattered in the process.
Resi attacked first, taking a hopping leap forward and striking by whipping his Shardblade back over his head, then down to his right in a powerful blow. Stonestance focused on that type of attack, delivering the most possible momentum and strength behind each strike. Dalinar found it unwieldy-you didn’t need that much power behind a Shardblade on the battlefield, though it was helpful against other Shardbearers.
Adolin jumped back out of the way, Shardplate-enhanced legs giving him a nimbleness that defied the fact that he was wearing over a hundred stoneweights of thick armor. Resi’s attack-though well-executed-left him open, and Adolin made a careful strike at his opponent’s left vambrace, cracking the forearm plate. Resi attacked again, and Adolin again danced out of the way, then scored a hit on his opponent’s left thigh.
Some poets described combat as a dance. Dalinar rarely felt that way about regular combat. Two men fighting with sword and shield would go at one another in a furious rush, slamming their weapons down again and again, tying to get around their opponent’s shield. Less a dance, and more like wrestling with weapons.
Fighting with Shardblades, though, that could be like a dance. The large weapons took a great deal of skill to swing properly, and Plate was resilient, so exchanges were generally drawn out. The fights were filled with grand motions, wide sweeps. There was a fluidity to fighting with a Shardblade. A grace.
“He’s quite good, you know,” Elhokar said. Adolin made a hit on Resi’s helm, prompting a round of applause from those watching. “Better than my father was. Better than even you, Uncle.”
“He works very hard,” Dalinar said. “He truly loves it. Not the war, not the fighting. The dueling.”
“He could be champion, if he wished it.”
Adolin did wish it, Dalinar knew. But he had refused bouts that would put him within reach of the title. Dalinar suspected that Adolin did it to hold, somewhat, to the Codes. Dueling championships and tournaments were things for those rare times between wars. It could be argued that protecting one’s family honor, however, was for all times.
Either way, Adolin didn’t duel for ranking, and that made other Shardbearers underestimate him. They were quick to accept duels with him, and some non-Shardbearers challenged him. By tradi
tion, the king’s own Shardplate and Blade were available for a large fee to those who both had his favor and the wish to duel a Shardbearer.
Dalinar shivered at the thought of someone else wearing his Plate or holding Oathbringer. It was unnatural. And yet, the lending of the king’s Blade and Plate-or before the kingship had been restored, the lending of a highprince’s Blade and Plate-was a strong tradition. Even Gavilar had not broken it, though he had complained about it in private.
Adolin dodged another blow, but he had begun to move into Windstance’s offensive forms. Resi wasn’t ready for this-though he managed to hit Adolin once on the right pauldron, the blow was a glancing one. Adolin advanced, Blade sweeping in a fluid pattern. Resi backed away, falling into a parrying posture-Stonestance was one of the few to rely on those.
Adolin batted his opponent’s Blade away, knocking it out of stance. Resi reset, but Adolin knocked it away again. Resi grew sloppier and sloppier getting back into stance and Adolin began to strike, hitting him on one side, then on the other. Small, quick blows, meant to unnerve.
They worked. Resi bellowed and threw himself into one of Stonestance’s characteristic overhand blows. Adolin handled it perfectly, dropping his Blade to one hand, raising his left arm and taking the blow on his unharmed vambrace. It cracked badly, but the move allowed Adolin to bring his own Blade to the side and strike Resi’s cracked left cuisse.
The thigh plate shattered with the sound of ripping metal, pieces blasting away, trailing smoke, glowing like molten steel. Resi stumbled back; his left leg could no longer bear the weight of the Shardplate. The match was over. More important duels might go for two or three broken plates, but that grew dangerous.
The highjudge stood, calling an end. Resi stumbled away, ripping off his helm. His curses were audible. Adolin saluted his enemy, tapping the blunt edge of his Blade to his forehead, then dismissing the Blade. He bowed to the king. Other men sometimes went into the crowd to brag or accept accolades, but Adolin retreated to the preparation tent.
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