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

The warcamp’s temple had started as a large Soulcast dome, then Dalinar had granted money and stonemasons to transform it into a more suitable house of worship. Carvings of the Heralds now lined the inside walls, and broad windows carved on the leeward side had been set with glass to let in the light. Diamond spheres blazed in bunches hung from the high ceiling, and stands had been set up for the instruction, practice, and testing of the various arts.

Many women were in at the moment, receiving instruction from the ardents. There were fewer men. Being at war, it was easy to practice the masculine arts in the field.

Janala folding her arms, scanning the temple with obvious dissatisfaction as she stood beside Adolin. “First a stinky leatherworker’s shop, now the temple? I had assumed we would walk someplace at least faintly romantic.”

“Religion’s romantic,” Adolin said, scratching his head. “Eternal love and all that, right?”

She eyed him. “I’m going to go wait outside.” She turned and walked out with her handmaiden. “And someone get me a storming palanquin.”

Adolin frowned, watching her go. “I’ll have to buy her something quite expensive to make up for this, I suspect.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Kadash said. “I think religion is romantic.”

“You’re an ardent,” Adolin said flatly. “Besides, that scar makes you a little too unsightly for my tastes.” He sighed. “It’s not so much the temple that has set her off, but my lack of attention. I haven’t been a very good companion today.”

“You have matters pressing upon your mind, bright one?” Kadash asked. “Is this about your Calling? You haven’t made much progress lately.”

Adolin grimaced. His chosen Calling was dueling. By working with the ardents to make personal goals and fulfill them, he could prove himself to the Almighty. Unfortunately, during war, the Codes said Adolin was supposed to limit his duels, as frivolous dueling could wound officers who might be needed in battle.

But Adolin’s father avoided battle more and more. So what was the point of not dueling? “Holy one,” Adolin said, “we need to speak somewhere we can’t be overheard.”

Kadash raised an eyebrow and led Adolin around the central apex. Vorin temples were always circular with a gently sloping mound at the center, by custom rising ten feet high. The building was dedicated to the Almighty, maintained by Dalinar and the ardents he owned. All devotaries were welcome to use it, though most would have their own chapter houses in one of the warcamps.

“What is it you wish to ask of me, bright one?” the ardent asked once they reached a more secluded section of the vast chamber. Kadash was deferential, though he had tutored and trained Adolin during his childhood.

“Is my father going mad?” Adolin asked. “Or could he really be seeing visions sent by the Almighty, as I think he believes?”

“That’s a rather blunt question.”

“You’ve known him longer than most, Kadash, and I know you to be loyal. I also know you to be one who keeps his ears open and notices things, so I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.” Adolin shrugged. “Seems like a time for bluntness if there ever was one.”

“I take it, then, the rumors are not unfounded.”

“Unfortunately, no. It happens during every highstorm. He raves and thrashes about, and afterward claims to have seen things.”

“What sorts of things?”

“I’m not certain, precisely.” Adolin grimaced. “Things about the Radiants. And perhaps … about what is to come.”

Kadash looked disturbed. “This is dangerous territory, bright one. What you are asking me about risks tempting me to violate my oaths. I am an ardent, owned by and loyal to your father.”

“But he is not your religious superior.”

“No. But he is the Almighty’s guardian of this people, set to watch me and make certain I don’t rise above my station.” Kadash pursed his lips. “It is a delicate balance we walk, bright one. Do you know much of the Hierocracy, the War of Loss?”

“The church tried to seize control,” Adolin said, shrugging. “The priests tried to conquer the world—for its own good, they claimed.”

“That was part of it,” Kadash said. “The part we speak of most often. But the problem goes much deeper. The church back then, it clung to knowledge. Men were not in command of their own religious paths; the priests controlled the doctrine, and few members of the Church were allowed to know theology. They were taught to follow the priests. Not the Almighty or the Heralds, but the priests.”

He began walking, leading Adolin around the back rim of the temple chamber. They passed statues of the Heralds, five male, five female. In truth, Adolin knew very little of what Kadash was saying. He’d never had much of a mind for history that didn’t relate directly to the command of armies.

“The problem, bright one,” Kadash said, “was mysticism. The priests claimed that common men could not understand religion or the Almighty. Where there should have been openness, there was smoke and whispers. The priests began to claim visions and prophecies, though such things had been denounced by the Heralds themselves. Voidbinding is a dark and evil thing, and the soul of it was to try to divine the future.”

Adolin froze. “Wait, you’re saying—”

“Don’t get ahead of me please, bright one,” Kadash assured, turning back toward him. “When the priests of the Hierocracy were cast down, the Sunmaker made a point of interrogating them and going through their correspondences with one another. It was discovered that there had been no prophecies. No mystical promises from the Almighty. That had all been an excuse, fabricated by the priests to placate and control the people.”

Adolin frowned. “Where are you going with this, Kadash?”

“As close as I dare to the truth, bright one,” the ardent said. “As I cannot be as blunt as you.”

“You think my father’s visions are fabrications, then.”

“I would never accuse my highprince of lying,” Kadash said. “Or even of feebleness. But neither can I condone mysticism or prophecy in any form. To do so would be to deny Vorinism. The days of the priests are gone. The days of lying to the people, of keeping them in darkness, are gone. Now, each man chooses his own path, and the ardents help him achieve closeness to the Almighty through it. Instead of shadowed prophecies and pretend powers held by a few, we have a population who understand their beliefs and their relationship with their God.”

He stepped closer, speaking very softly. “Your father is not to be mocked or diminished. If his visions are true, then it is between him and the Almighty. All I can say is this: I know something of what it is to be haunted by the death and destruction of war. I see in your father’s eyes much of what I have felt, but worse. My personal opinion is that the things he sees are likely more a reflection of his past than any mystical experience.”

“So he is going mad,” Adolin whispered.

“I did not say that.”

“You implied that the Almighty probably wouldn’t send visions like these.”

“I did.”

“And that his visions are a product of his own mind.”

“Likely so,” the ardent said, raising his finger. “A delicate balance, you see. One that is particularly difficult to keep when speaking to my highprince’s own son.” He reached out, taking Adolin’s arm. “If any are to help him, it must be you. It would not be the place of any other, even myself.”