Adolin summoned his Blade, then dismissed it, then summoned it again. A nervous habit. The white fog appeared—manifesting as little vines sprouting in the air—before snapping into the form of a Shardblade, which suddenly weighed down his hand.
He stood in the sitting room, those foreboding markings staring up at him, as if in silent challenge. The closed door kept the bridgemen out so only he, Dalinar, and Navani would be privy to the discussion. Adolin wanted to use the Blade to cut those cursed glyphs away. Dalinar had proven that he was sane. Aunt Navani almost had an entire document of the Dawnchant translated, using the words of Father’s visions as a guide!
The visions were from the Almighty. It all made sense.
Now this.
“They were made with a knife,” Navani said, kneeling beside the glyphs. The sitting room was a large open area, used for receiving callers or holding meetings. Doors beyond led to the study and the bedrooms.
“This knife,” Dalinar replied, holding up a side knife of the style most lighteyes wore. “My knife.”
The edge was blunted and still bore flecks of stone from the gouges. The scratches matched the size of the blade. They’d found it just in front of the door to Dalinar’s study, where he’d spent the highstorm. Alone. Navani’s carriage had been delayed, and she’d been forced to return to the palace or risk being caught in the storm.
“Someone else could have taken it and done this,” Adolin snapped. “They could have sneaked into your study, grabbed it while you were consumed by the visions, and come out here . . .”
The other two looked at him.
“Often,” Navani said, “the simplest answer is the right one.”
Adolin sighed, dismissing his Blade and slumping down in a chair beside the offending glyphs. His father stood tall. In fact, Dalinar Kholin never seemed to have stood as tall as he did now, hands clasped behind his back, eyes away from the glyphs, toward the wall—eastward.
Dalinar was a rock, a boulder too big for even storms to move. He seemed so sure. It was something to cling to.
“You don’t remember anything?” Navani asked Dalinar, rising.
“No.” He turned to Adolin. “I think it’s obvious now that I was behind each of these. Why does that bother you so, son?”
“It’s the idea of you scribbling on the ground,” Adolin said, shivering. “Lost in one of those visions, not in control of yourself.”
“The Almighty’s path for me is a strange one,” Dalinar said. “Why do I need to get the information this way? Scratches on the ground or the wall? Why not say it to me plainly in the visions?”
“It’s foretelling, you realize,” Adolin said softly. “Seeing the future. A thing of the Voidbringers.”
“Yes.” Dalinar narrowed his eyes. “Seek the center. What do you think, Navani? The center of the Shattered Plains? What truths hide there?”
“The Parshendi, obviously.”
They talked about the center of the Shattered Plains as if they knew of the place. But no man had been there, only Parshendi. To the Alethi, the word “center” just referred to the vast open expanse of unexplored plateaus beyond the scouted rims.
“Yes,” Adolin’s father said. “But where? Maybe they move around? Maybe there is no Parshendi city in the center.”
“They would only be able to move if they had Soulcasters,” Navani said, “which I personally doubt. They’ll have entrenched somewhere. They aren’t a nomadic people, and there’s no reason for them to move.”
“If we can make peace,” Dalinar mused, “reaching the center would be a lot easier. . . .” He looked to Adolin. “Have the bridgemen fill those scratches with crem, then have them pull the rug over that section of floor.”
“I’ll see it done.”
“Good,” Dalinar said, seeming distant. “After that, get some sleep, son. Tomorrow is a big day.”
Adolin nodded. “Father. Were you aware that there is a parshman among the bridgemen?”
“Yes,” Dalinar said. “There has been one among their numbers from the beginning, but they didn’t arm him until I gave them permission.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“Out of curiosity,” Dalinar said. He turned and nodded toward the glyphs on the floor. “Tell me, Navani. Assuming these numbers are counting toward a date, is it a day when a highstorm will come?”
“Thirty-two days?” Navani asked. “That will be in the middle of the Weeping. Thirty-two days won’t even be the exact end of the year, but two days ahead of it. I can’t fathom the significance.”
“Ah, it was too convenient an answer anyway. Very well. Let’s allow the guards back in and swear them to secrecy. Wouldn’t want to inspire a panic.”
In short, if any presume Kazilah to be innocent, you must look at the facts and deny them in their entirety; to say that the Radiants were destitute of integrity for this execution of one their own, one who had obviously fraternized with the unwholesome elements, indicates the most slothful of reasoning; for the enemy’s baleful influence demanded vigilance on all occasions, of war and of peace.
—From Words of Radiance, chapter 32, page 17
The next day, Adolin stomped his feet into his boots, hair still damp from a morning bath. It was amazing the difference a little hot water and some time to reflect could make. He’d come to two decisions.
He wasn’t going to worry about his father’s disconcerting behavior during the visions. The whole of it—the visions, the command to refound the Knights Radiant, the preparation for a disaster that might or might not come—was a package. Adolin had already decided to believe that his father wasn’t mad. Further worry was pointless.
The other decision might get him into trouble. He left his quarters, entering the sitting room, where Dalinar was already planning with Navani, General Khal, Teshav, and Captain Kaladin. Renarin, frustratingly, guarded the door wearing a Bridge Four uniform. He’d refused to give up on that decision of his, despite Adolin’s insistence.
“We’ll need the bridgemen again,” Dalinar said. “If something goes wrong, we may need a quick retreat.”
“I’ll prepare Bridges Five and Twelve for the day, sir,” Kaladin said. “Those two seem nostalgic for their bridges, and talk about the bridge runs with fondness.”
“Weren’t those bloodbaths?” Navani asked.
“They were,” Kaladin said, “but soldiers are a strange lot, Brightness. A disaster unifies them. These men would never want to go back, but they still identify as bridgemen.”
Nearby, General Khal nodded in understanding, though Navani still seemed baffled.
“I’ll take my position here,” Dalinar said, holding up a map of the Shattered Plains. “We can scout the meeting plateau first, while I wait. It apparently has some odd rock formations.”
“That sounds good,” Brightness Teshav said.
“It does,” Adolin said, joining the group, “except for one thing. You won’t be there, Father.”
“Adolin,” Dalinar said with a suffering tone. “I know you think this is too dangerous, but—”
“It is too dangerous,” Adolin said. “The assassin is still out there—and he attacked us last on the very day the Parshendi messenger came to camp. Now, we have a meeting with the enemy out on the Shattered Plains? Father, you can’t go.”
“I have to,” Dalinar said. “Adolin, this could mean an end to the war. It could mean answers—why they attacked in the first place. I will not give up this opportunity.”
“We’re not going to give it up,” Adolin said. “We’re just going to do things a little differently.”
“How?” Dalinar asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Well for one thing,” Adolin said, “I’m going to go in your place.”
“Impossible,” Dalinar said, “I won’t risk my son on—”
“Father!” Adolin snapped. “This is not subject to discussion!”
The room fell silent. Dalinar lowered his hand from the map. Adolin stuck out his jaw, meeting his father’s eyes. Storms, it was difficult to deny Dalinar Kholin. Did his father realize the presence he had, the way he moved people about by sheer force of expectation?
Nobody contradicted him. Dalinar did what he wanted. Fortunately, these days those motives had a noble purpose. But in many ways he was the same man he had been twenty years ago, when he’d conquered a kingdom. He was the Blackthorn, and he got what he wanted.
Except today.
“You are too important,” Adolin said, pointing. “Deny that. Deny that your visions are vital. Deny that if you die, Alethkar would fall apart. Deny that every single person in this room is less important than you are.”
Dalinar drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “It shouldn’t be so. The kingdom needs to be strong enough to survive the loss of one man, no matter who.”
“Well, it’s not there yet,” Adolin said. “To get it there, we’re going to need you. And that means you need to let us watch out for you. I’m sorry, Father, but once in a while you just have to let someone else do their job. You can’t fix every problem with your own hands.”
“He’s right, sir,” Kaladin said. “You really shouldn’t be risking yourself out on those Plains. Not if there’s another option.”
“I fail to see that there is one,” Dalinar said, his tone cool.
“Oh, there is,” Adolin said. “But I’m going to need to borrow Renarin’s Shardplate.”
* * *
The strangest thing about this experience, in Adolin’s estimation, wasn’t wearing his father’s old armor. Despite the outward stylistic differences, suits of Shardplate all tended to fit similarly. The armor adapted, and within a short time after donning it, the Plate felt exactly like Adolin’s own.
It also wasn’t strange to ride at the front of the force, Dalinar’s banner flapping over his head. Adolin had been leading them to battle on his own for six weeks now.
No, the strangest part was riding his father’s horse.
Gallant was a large black animal, bulkier and squatter than Sureblood, Adolin’s horse. Gallant looked like a warhorse even when compared to other Ryshadium. So far as Adolin knew, no man had ever ridden him but Dalinar. Ryshadium were finicky that way. It had taken a lengthy explanation from Dalinar to even get the horse to allow Adolin to hold the reins, let alone climb into the saddle.
It had eventually worked, but Adolin wouldn’t dare ride Gallant into battle; he was pretty sure the beast would throw him off and run away, looking to protect Dalinar. It did feel odd climbing on a horse that wasn’t Sureblood. He kept expecting Gallant to move differently than he did, turn his head at the wrong times. When Adolin patted his neck, the horse’s mane felt off to him in ways he couldn’t explain. He and his Ryshadium were more than simply rider and horse, and he found himself oddly melancholy to be out on a ride without Sureblood.
Foolishness. He had to stay focused. The procession approached the meeting plateau, which had a large, oddly shaped mound of rock near the center. This plateau was close to the Alethi side of the Plains, but much farther south than Adolin had ever gone. Early patrols had said chasmfiends were more common out in this region, but they never spotted a chrysalis here. Some kind of hunting ground, but not a place for pupating?
The Parshendi weren’t there yet. When the scouts reported that the plateau was secure, Adolin urged Gallant across the mobile bridge. He felt warm in his Plate; the seasons, it seemed, had finally decided to inch through spring and maybe even toward summer.
He approached the rock mound at the center. It really was odd. Adolin circled it, noticing its shape, ridged in places, almost like . . .
“It’s a chasmfiend,” Adolin realized. He passed the face, a hollowed-out piece of stone that evoked the exact feeling of a chasmfiend’s head. A statue? No, it was too natural. A chasmfiend had died here centuries ago, and instead of being blown away, had slowly crusted over with crem.
The result was eerie. The crem had duplicated the creature’s form, clinging to the carapace, entombing it. The hulking rock seemed like a creature born of stone, like the ancient stories of Voidbringers.
Adolin shivered, nudging the horse away from the stone corpse and toward the other side of the plateau. Shortly, he heard alarms from the outrunners. Parshendi coming. He steeled himself, ready to summon his Shardblade. Behind him arrayed a group of bridgemen, ten in number, including that parshman. Captain Kaladin had remained with Dalinar back in the warcamp, just in case.
Adolin was the one more exposed. Part of him wished for the assassin to come today. So Adolin could try himself again. Of all the duels he hoped to fight in the future, this one—against the man who had killed his uncle—would be the most important, even more than taking down Sadeas.
The assassin did not make an appearance as a group of two hundred Parshendi crossed from the next plateau, jumping gracefully and landing on the meeting plateau. Adolin’s soldiers stirred, armor clanking, spears lowering. It had been years since men and Parshendi had met without blood being spilled.
“All right,” Adolin said in his helm. “Fetch my scribe.”
Brightness Inadara was carried up through the ranks in a palanquin. Dalinar wanted Navani with him—ostensibly because he wanted her advice, but probably also to protect her.
“Let’s go,” Adolin said, nudging Gallant forward. They crossed the plateau, just him and Brightness Inadara, who rose from her palanquin to walk. She was a wizened matron, with grey hair she cut short for simplicity. He’d seen sticks with more flesh on them than she had, but she was keen-minded and as trustworthy a scribe as they had.
The Parshendi Shardbearer emerged from the ranks and strode forward on the rocks alone. Uncaring, unworried. This was a confident one.
Adolin dismounted and went the rest of the way on foot, Inadara at his side. They stopped a few feet from the Parshendi, the three of them alone on an expanse of rock, the fossilized chasmfiend staring at them from the left.
“I am Eshonai,” the Parshendi said. “Do you remember me?”
“No,” Adolin said. He pitched his voice down to try and match the voice of his father, and hoped that—with the helm in place—it would be enough to fool this woman, who couldn’t know well what Dalinar sounded like.
“Not surprising,” Eshonai said. “I was young and unimportant when we first met. Barely worth remembering.”
Adolin had originally expected Parshendi conversation to be singsongish, from what he’d heard said of them. That wasn’t the case at all. Eshonai had a rhythm to her words, the way she emphasized them and where she paused. She changed tones, but the result was more of a chant than a song.
Inadara took out a writing board and spanreed, then started writing down what Eshonai said.
“What is this?” Eshonai demanded.
“I came alone, as you asked,” Adolin said, trying to project his father’s air of command. “But I will record what is said and send it back to my generals.”
Eshonai did not raise her faceplate, so Adolin had a good excuse not to raise his. They stared at each other through eye slits. This was not going as well as his father had hoped, but it was about what Adolin had expected.
“We are here,” Adolin said, using the words his father had suggested he begin with, “to discuss the terms of a Parshendi surrender.”
Eshonai laughed. “That is not the point at all.”
“Then what?” Adolin demanded. “You seemed eager to meet with me. Why?”
“Things have changed since I spoke with your son, Blackthorn. Important things.”
“What things?”
“Things you cannot imagine,” Eshonai said.
Adolin waited, as if pondering, but actually giving Inadara time to correspond with the warcamps. Inadara leaned up to him, whispering what Navani and Dalinar had written for him to say.
“We tire of this war, Parshendi,” Adolin said. “Your numbers dwindle. We know this. Let us make a truce, one that would benefit us both.”
“We are not as weak as you believe,” Eshonai said.
Adolin found himself frowning. When she’d spoken to him before, she’d seemed passionate, inviting. Now she was cold and dismissive. Was that right? She was Parshendi. Perhaps human emotions didn’t apply to her.
Inadara whispered more to him.
“What do you want?” Adolin asked, speaking the words his father sent. “How can there be peace?”
“There will be peace, Blackthorn, when one of us is dead. I came here because I wanted to see you with my own eyes, and I wanted to warn you. We have just changed the rules of this conflict. Squabbling over gemstones no longer matters.”
No longer matters? Adolin started to sweat. She makes it sound like they were playing their own game all this time. Not desperate at all. Could the Alethi have misjudged everything so profoundly?
She turned to go.
No. All of this, just to have the meeting puff into smoke? Storm it!
“Wait!” Adolin cried, stepping forward. “Why? Why are you acting like this? What is wrong?”
She looked back at him. “You really want to end this?”
“Yes. Please. I want peace. Regardless of the cost.”
“Then you will have to destroy us.”
“Why?” Adolin repeated. “Why did you kill Gavilar, all those years ago? Why betray our treaty?”
“King Gavilar,” Eshonai said, as if mulling over the name. “He should not have revealed his plans to us that night. Poor fool. He did not know. He bragged, thinking we would welcome the return of our gods.” She shook her head, then turned again and jogged off, armor clinking.
Adolin stepped back, feeling useless. If his father had been there, would he have been able to do more? Inadara still wrote, sending the words to Dalinar.
A reply from him finally came. “Return to the warcamps. There is nothing you, or I myself, could have done. Clearly, her mind is already made up.”
Adolin spent the return ride brooding. When he finally reached the warcamps a few hours later, he found his father in conference with Navani, Khal, Teshav, and the army’s four battalionlords.
Together, they pored over the words that Inadara had sent. A group of parshman servants quietly brought wine and fruit. Teleb—wearing the Plate that Adolin had won from his duel with Eranniv—watched from the side of the room, Shardhammer on his back, faceplate up. His people had once ruled Alethkar. What did he think of all this? The man usually kept his opinions to himself.
Adolin stomped into the room, pulling off his father’s—well, Renarin’s—helm. “I should have let you go,” Adolin said. “It wasn’t a trap. Perhaps you could have talked sense to her.”
“These are the people who murdered my brother on the very night they signed a treaty with him,” Dalinar said, inspecting maps on the table. “It seems they have not changed at all from that day. You did perfectly, son; we know everything we need to.”
“We do?” Adolin said, walking up to the table, helm under arm.
“Yes,” Dalinar said, looking up. “We know that they will not agree to peace, no matter what. My conscience is clear.”
Adolin looked over the outspread maps. “What is this?” he asked, noting troop movement symbols. They were all pointed across the Shattered Plains.
“A plan of assault,” Dalinar said quietly. “The Parshendi will not deal with us, and they are planning something big. Something to change the war. The time has come to bring the fight directly to them and end this war, one way or another.”
“Stormfather,” Adolin said. “And if we’re surrounded while we’re out there?”
“We will take everyone,” Dalinar said, “our whole army, and as many of the highprinces as will join me. Soulcasters for food. The Parshendi won’t be able to surround that large a force, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. We’d be able to stand against them.”
“We can leave right after the final highstorm before the Weeping,” Navani said, writing some numbers on the side of the map. “It is the Light Year, and so we’ll have steady rains, but no highstorms for weeks. We won’t be exposed to one while out on the Plains.”
It would also put them out on the Shattered Plains, alone, within days of the date that had been scratched on the walls and floor. . . . Adolin’s spine crawled.
“We have to beat them to it,” Dalinar said softly, scanning the maps. “Interrupt whatever it is they are planning. Before the countdown ends.” He looked up at Adolin. “I need you to duel more. High-profile matches, as high profile as you can manage. Win Shards for me, son.”
“I’m dueling Elit tomorrow,” Adolin said. “From there, I have a plan for my next target.”
“Good. To succeed out on the Plains, we will need Shardbearers—and we will need the loyalty of as many highprinces as will follow me. Focus your dueling on the Shardbearers of the faction loyal to Sadeas, and beat them with as much fanfare as you can manage. I will go to the neutral highprinces, and will remind them of their oaths to fulfill the Vengeance Pact. If we can take Shards from those who follow Sadeas and use them to end the war, it will go a long way toward proving what I’ve been saying all along. That unity is the path to Alethi greatness.”
Adolin nodded. “I’ll see it done.”