The Way of Kings, Part 1 (The Stormlight Archive #1.1)

“So you still intend to approach the others?”

“I do. I only need one to say yes in order to start. Who do you think we should go to next?”

“I’m not sure,” Adolin said. “But for now, I think you should know something. Sadeas has sent to us, asking permission to enter our warcamp. He wants to interview the grooms who cared for His Majesty’s horse during the hunt.”

“His new position gives him the right to make those kinds of demands.”

“Father,” Adolin said, stepping closer, speaking softly. “I think he’s going to move against us.”

Dalinar looked at him. “I know you trust him,” Adolin said quickly. “And I understand your reasons now. But listen to me. This move puts him in an ideal position to undermine us. The king has grown paranoid enough that he’s suspicious even of you and me—I know you’ve seen it. All Sadeas needs to do is find imaginary ‘evidence’ linking us to an attempt to kill the king, and he’ll be able be able to turn Elhokar against us.”

“We may have to risk that.”

Adolin frowned. “But—”

“I trust Sadeas, son,” Dalinar said. “But even if I didn’t, we couldn’t forbid him entry or block his investigation. We’d not only look guilty in the king’s eyes, but we’d be denying his authority as well.” He shook his head. “If I ever want the other highprinces to accept me as their leader in war, I have to be willing to allow Sadeas his authority as Highprince of Information. I can’t rely upon the old traditions for my authority yet deny Sadeas the same right.”

“I suppose,” Adolin admitted. “But we could still prepare. You can’t tell me you’re not a little worried.”

Dalinar hesitated. “Perhaps. This maneuver of Sadeas’s is aggressive. But I’ve been told what to do. ‘Trust Sadeas. Be strong. Act with honor, and honor will aid you.’ That is the advice I’ve been given.”

“From where?”

Dalinar looked to him, and it became obvious to Adolin. “So we’re betting the future of our house on these visions now,” Adolin said flatly.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dalinar replied. “If Sadeas did move against us, I wouldn’t simply let him shove us over. But I’m also not going to make the first move against him.”

“Because of what you’ve seen,” Adolin said, growing frustrated. “Father, you said you’d listen to what I had to say about the visions. Well, please listen now.”

“This isn’t the proper place.”

“You always have an excuse,” Adolin said. “I’ve tried to approach you about it five times now, and you always rebuff me!”

“Perhaps it’s because I know what you’ll say,” Dalinar said. “And I know it won’t do any good.”

“Or perhaps it’s because you don’t want to be confronted by the truth.”

“That’s enough, Adolin.”

“No, no it’s not! We’re mocked in every one of the warcamps, our authority and reputation diminishes by the day, and you refuse to do anything substantial about it!”

“Adolin. I will not take this from my son.”

“But you’ll take it from everyone else? Why is that, Father? When others say things about us, you let them. But when Renarin or I take the smallest step toward what you view as being inappropriate, we’re immediately chastised! Everyone else can speak lies, but I can’t speak the truth? Do your sons mean so little to you?”

Dalinar froze, looking as if he’d been slapped.

“You aren’t well, Father,” Adolin continued. Part of him realized that he had gone too far, that he was speaking too loudly, but it boiled out anyway. “We need to stop tiptoeing around it! You need to stop making up increasingly irrational explanations to reason away your lapses! I know it’s hard to accept, but sometimes, people get old. Sometimes, the mind stops working right.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe it’s your guilt over Gavilar’s death. That book, the Codes, the visions—maybe they’re all attempts to find escape, find redemption, something. What you see is not real. Your life now is a rationalization, a way of trying to pretend that what’s happening isn’t happening. But I’ll go to Damnation itself before I’ll let you drag the entire house down without speaking my mind on it!”

He practically shouted those last words. They echoed in the large chamber, and Adolin realized he was shaking. He had never, in all his years of life, spoken to his father in such a way.

“You think I haven’t wondered these things?” Dalinar said, his voice cold, his eyes hard. “I’ve gone through each point you’ve made a dozen times over.”

“Then maybe you should go over them a few more.”

“I must trust myself. The visions are trying to show me something important. I cannot prove it or explain how I know. But it’s true.”

“Of course you think that,” Adolin said, exasperated. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly what you would feel. Men are very good at seeing what they want to! Look at the king. He sees a killer in every shadow, and a worn strap becomes a convoluted plot to take his life.”

Dalinar fell silent again.

“Sometimes, the simple answers are the right ones, Father!” Adolin said. “The king’s strap just wore out. And you … you’re seeing things that aren’t there. I’m sorry.”

They locked expressions. Adolin didn’t look away. He wouldn’t look away.

Dalinar finally turned from him. “Leave me, please.”

“All right. Fine. But I want you to think about this. I want you to—”

“Adolin. Go.”

Adolin gritted his teeth, but turned and stalked away. It needed to be said, he told himself as he left the gallery.

That didn’t make him feel any less sick about having to be the one who said it.





SEVEN YEARS AGO


It ain’t right, what they do,” the woman’s voice said. “You ain’t supposed to cut into folks, peering in to see what the Almighty placed hidden for good reason.”

Kal froze, standing in an alleyway between two houses in Hearthstone. The sky was wan overhead; winter had come for a time. The Weeping was near, and highstorms were infrequent. For now, it was too cold for plants to enjoy the respite; rockbuds spent winter weeks curled up inside their shells. Most creatures hibernated, waiting for warmth to return. Fortunately, seasons generally lasted only a few weeks. Unpredictability. That was the way of the world. Only after death was there stability. So the ardents taught, at least.

Kal wore a thick, padded coat of breach tree cotton. The material was scratchy but warm, and had been dyed a deep brown. He kept the hood up, his hands in his pockets. To his right sat the baker’s place—the family slept in the triangular crawlspace in back, and the front was their store. To Kal’s left was one of Hearthstone’s taverns, where lavis ale and mudbeer flowed in abundance during winter weeks.

He could hear two women, unseen but chatting a short distance way.

“You know that he stole from the old citylord,” one woman’s voice said, keeping her voice down. “An entire goblet full of spheres. The surgeon says they were a gift, but he was the only one there when the citylord died.”