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

Dalinar breathed in and out. It was hard not to let his anger, his indignation, consume him. “Then tell me one thing. Why not pin the assassination attempt on me? Why clear me, if you were only looking to betray me later on?”

Sadeas snorted softly. “Bah. Nobody would really believe that you tried to kill the king. They’d gossip, but they wouldn’t believe it. Blaming you too quickly would have risked implicating myself.” He shook his head. “I think Elhokar knows who tried to kill him. He’s admitted as much to me, though he won’t give me the name.”

What? Dalinar thought. He knows? But … how? Why not tell us who? Dalinar adjusted his plans. He wasn’t certain if Sadeas was telling the truth, but if he was, he could use this.

“He knows it wasn’t you,” Sadeas continued. “I can read that much in him, though he doesn’t realize how transparent he is. Blaming you would have been pointless. Elhokar would have defended you, and I might very well have lost the position of Highprince of Information. But it did give me a wonderful opportunity to make you trust me again.”

Unite them… . The visions. But the man who spoke to Dalinar in them had been dead wrong. Acting with honor hadn’t won Sadeas’s loyalty. It had just opened Dalinar up to betrayal.

“If it means anything,” Sadeas said idly, “I’m fond of you. I really am. But you are a boulder in my path, and a force working—against its own knowledge—to destroy Gavilar’s kingdom. When the chance came along, I took it.”

“It wasn’t simply a convenient opportunity,” Dalinar said. “You set this up, Sadeas.”

“I planned, but I’m often planning. I don’t always act on my options. Today I did.”

Dalinar snorted. “Well, you’ve shown me something today, Sadeas—shown it to me by the very act of trying to remove me.”

“And what was that?” Sadeas asked, amused.

“You’ve shown me that I’m still a threat.”




The highprinces continued their low-pitched conversation. Kaladin stood to the side of Dalinar’s soldiers, exhausted, with the members of Bridge Four.

Sadeas spared a glance for them. Matal stood in the crowd, and had been watching Kaladin’s team the entire time, red-faced. Matal probably knew that he would be punished as Lamaril had been. They should have learned. They should have killed Kaladin at the start.

They tried, he thought. They failed.

He didn’t know what had happened to him, what had gone on with Syl and the words in his head. It seemed that Stormlight worked better for him now. It had been more potent, more powerful. But now it was gone, and he was so tired. Drained. He’d pushed himself, and Bridge Four, too far. Too hard.

Perhaps he and the others should have gone to Kholin’s camp. But Teft was right; they needed to see this through.

He promised, Kaladin thought. He promised he would free us from Sadeas.

And yet, where had the promises of lighteyes gotten him in the past? The highprinces broke off their conference, separating, stepping back from one another.

“Well,” Sadeas said loudly, “your men are obviously tired, Dalinar. We can speak later about what went wrong, though I think it is safe to assume that our alliance has proven unfeasible.”

“Unfeasible,” Dalinar said. “A kind way of putting it.” He nodded toward the bridgemen. “I will take these bridgemen with me to my camp.”

“I’m afraid I cannot part with them.”

Kaladin’s heart sank.

“Surely they aren’t worth much to you,” Dalinar said. “Name your price.”

“I’m not looking to sell.”

“I will pay sixty emerald broams per man,” Dalinar said. That drew gasps from the watching soldiers on both sides. It was easily twenty times the price of a good slave.

“Not for a thousand each, Dalinar,” Sadeas said. Kaladin could see the deaths of his bridgemen in those eyes. “Take your soldiers and go. Leave my property here.”

“Do not press me on this, Sadeas,” Dalinar said.

Suddenly, the tension was back. Dalinar’s officers lowered hands to swords, and his spearmen perked up, gripping the hafts of their weapons.

“Do not press you?” Sadeas asked. “What kind of threat is that? Leave my camp. It’s obvious that there is nothing more between us. If you try to steal my property, I will have every justification in attacking you.”

Dalinar stood in place. He looked confident, though Kaladin saw no reason why. And another promise dies, Kaladin thought, turning away. In the end, for all his good intentions, this Dalinar Kholin was the same as the others.

Behind Kaladin, men gasped in surprise.

Kaladin froze, then spun around. Dalinar Kholin had summoned his massive Shardblade; it dripped beads of water from having just been summoned. His armor steamed faintly, Stormlight rising from the cracks.

Sadeas stumbled back, eyes wide. His honor guard drew their swords. Adolin Kholin reached his hand to the side, apparently beginning to summon his own weapon.

Dalinar took one step forward, then drove his Blade point-first into the middle of the blackened glyph on the stone. He took a step back. “For the bridgemen,” he said.

Sadeas blinked. Muttering voices fell silent, and the people on the field seemed too stunned, even, to breathe.

“What?” Sadeas asked.

“The Blade,” Dalinar said, firm voice carrying in the air. “In exchange for your bridgemen. All of them. Every one you have in camp. They become mine, to do with as I please, never to be touched by you again. In exchange, you get the sword.”

Sadeas looked down at the Blade, incredulous. “This weapon is worth fortunes. Cities, palaces, kingdoms.”

“Do we have a deal?” Dalinar asked.

“Father, no!” Adolin Kholin said, his own Blade appearing in his hand. “You—”

Dalinar raised a hand, silencing the younger man. He kept his eyes on Sadeas. “Do we have a deal?” he asked, each word sharp.

Kaladin stared, unable to move, unable to think.

Sadeas looked at the Shardblade, eyes full of lust. He glanced at Kaladin, hesitated just briefly, then reached and grabbed the Blade by the hilt. “Take the storming creatures.”

Dalinar nodded curtly, turning away from Sadeas. “Let’s go,” he said to his entourage.

“They’re worthless, you know,” Sadeas said. “You’re of the ten fools, Dalinar Kholin! Don’t you see how mad you are? This will be remembered as the most ridiculous decision ever made by an Alethi highprince!”

Dalinar didn’t look back. He walked up to Kaladin and the other members of Bridge Four. “Go,” Dalinar said to them, voice kindly. “Gather your things and the men you left behind. I will send troops with you to act as guards. Leave the bridges and come swiftly to my camp. You will be safe there. You have my word of honor on it.”

He began to walk away.

Kaladin shook off his numbness. He scrambled after the highprince, grabbing his armored arm. “Wait. You—That—What just happened?”

Dalinar turned to him. Then, the highprince laid a hand on Kaladin’s shoulder, the gauntlet gleaming blue, mismatched with the rest of his slate-grey armor. “I don’t know what has been done to you. I can only guess what your life has been like. But know this. You will not be bridgemen in my camp, nor will you be slaves.”