The Way of Kings

Dalinar nodded to them. “Have my orders been seen to, Brightlord Havrom?”

“Yes, Highprince.” Havrom was built like a tower, and wore a beard with long sides after the Horneater fashion, chin clean-shaven. He had relatives among the Peakfolk. “The men you wanted are waiting in the audience tent.”

“What’s this?” Adolin asked.

“I’ll show you in a moment,” Dalinar said. “First, review the troops.”

Adolin frowned, but the soldiers were waiting. One company at a time, Havrom had the men fall in. Adolin walked before them, inspecting their lines and uniforms. They were neat and orderly, though Adolin knew that some of the soldiers in their army grumbled at the level of polish required of them. He happened to agree with them on that point.

At the end of the inspection, he questioned a few random men, asked their rank and if they had any specific concerns. None had any. Were they satisfied or just intimidated?

When he was done, Adolin returned to his father.

“You did that well,” Dalinar said.

“All I did was walk down a line.”

“Yes, but the presentation was good. The men know you care for their needs, and they respect you.” He nodded, as if to himself. “You’ve learned well.”

“I think you’re reading too much into a simple inspection, Father.”

Dalinar nodded to Havrom, and the battalionlord led the two of them to an audience tent near the side of the practice field. Adolin, puzzled, glanced at his father.

“I had Havrom gather the soldiers that Sadeas spoke to the other day,” Dalinar said. “The ones he interviewed while we were on our way to the plateau assault.”

“Ah,” Adolin said. “We’ll want to know what he asked them.”

“Yes,” Dalinar said. He gestured for Adolin to enter before him, and they walked in-tailed by a few of Dalinar’s ardents. Inside, a group of ten soldiers waited on benches. They rose and saluted.

“At ease,” Dalinar said, clasping plated hands behind his back. “Adolin?” Dalinar nodded toward the men, indicating that Adolin should take the lead in the questioning.

Adolin stifled a sigh. Again? “Men, we need to know what Sadeas asked you and how you responded.”

“Don’t worry, Brightlord,” said one of the men, speaking with a rural northern Alethi accent. “We didn’t tell him nothing.”

The others nodded vigorously.

“He’s an eel, and we know it,” another added.

“He is a highprince,” Dalinar said sternly. “You will treat him with respect.”

The soldier paled, then nodded.

“What, specifically, did he ask you?” Adolin asked.

“He wanted to know our duties in the camp, Brightlord,” the man said. “We’re grooms, you see.”

Each soldier was trained in one or two additional skills beyond those of combat. Having a group of soldiers who could care for horses was useful, as it kept civilians from plateau assaults.

“He asked around,” said one of the men. “Or, well, his people did. Found out we were in charge of the king’s horse during the chasmfiend hunt.”

“But we didn’t say nothing,” the first soldier repeated. “Nothing to get you into trouble, sir. We’re not going to give that ee-er, that highprince, Brightlord sir, the rope to hang you, sir.”

Adolin closed his eyes. If they had acted this way around Sadeas, it would have been more incriminating than the cut girth itself. He couldn’t fault their loyalty, but they acted as if they assumed Dalinar had done something wrong, and needed to defend him.

He opened his eyes. “I spoke to some of you before, I recall. But let me ask again. Did any of you see a cut strap on the king’s saddle?”

The men looked at each other, shaking heads. “No, Brightlord,” one of the men replied. “If we’d seen it, we’d have changed it, right we would.”

“But, Brightlord,” one of the men added, “there was a lot of confusion that day, and a lot of people. Wasn’t a right regular plateau assault or nothing like that. And, well, to be honest, sir, who’d have thought that we’d need to protect the king’s saddle, of all things under the Halls?”

Dalinar nodded to Adolin, and they stepped out of the tent. “Well?”

“They probably didn’t do much to help our cause,” Adolin said with a grimace. “Despite their ardor. Or, rather, because of it.”

“Agreed, unfortunately.” Dalinar let out a sigh. He waved to Tadet; the short ardent was standing to the side of the tent. “Interview them separately,” Dalinar told him softly. “See if you can tease specifics from them. Try to find out the exact words Sadeas used, and what their exact responses were.”

“Yes, Brightlord.”

“Come, Adolin,” Dalinar said. “We’ve still got a few inspections to do.”

“Father,” Adolin said, taking Dalinar’s arm. Their armor clinked softly.

Dalinar turned to him, frowning, and Adolin made a quick gesture toward the Cobalt Guard. A request for space to speak. The guards moved efficiently and quickly, clearing a private space around the two men.

“What is this about, Father?” Adolin demanded softly.

“What? We’re doing inspections and seeing to camp business.”

“And in each case, you shove me out into the lead,” Adolin said. “Awkwardly, in a few cases, I might add. What’s wrong? What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

“I thought you had a distinct problem with the things going on inside my head.”

Adolin winced. “Father, I-”

“No, it’s all right, Adolin. I’m just trying to make a difficult decision. It helps me to move about while I do it.” Dalinar grimaced. “Another man might find a place to sit and brood, but that never seems to help me. I’ve got too much to do.”

“What is it you’re trying to decide?” Adolin asked. “Perhaps I can help.”

“You already have. I-” Dalinar cut off, frowning. A small force of soldiers was walking up to the Fifth Battalion’s practice yards. They were escorting a man in red and brown. Those were Thanadal’s colors.

“Don’t you have a meeting with him this evening?” Adolin asked.

“Yes,” Dalinar said.

Niter-head of the Cobalt Guard-ran to intercept the newcomers. He could be overly suspicious at times, but that wasn’t a terrible trait for a bodyguard to have. He returned to Dalinar and Adolin shortly. Tanfaced, Niter bore a black beard, cut short. He was a lighteyes of very low rank, and had been with the guard for years. “He says that Highprince Thanadal will be unable to meet with you today as planned.”

Dalinar’s expression grew dark. “I will speak to the runner myself.”

Reluctantly, Niter waved the spindly fellow forward. He approached and dropped to one knee before Dalinar. “Brightlord.”

This time, Dalinar didn’t ask for Adolin to take the lead. “Deliver your message.”

“Brightlord Thanadal regrets that he is unable to attend you this day.”

“And did he offer another time to meet?”

“He regrets to say that he has grown too busy. But he would be happy to speak with you at the king’s feast one evening.”

In public, Adolin thought, where half the men nearby will be eavesdropping while the other half-likely including Thanadal himself-will probably be drunk.

“I see,” Dalinar said. “And did he give any indication of when he’d no longer be so busy?”

“Brightlord,” the messenger said, growing uncomfortable. “He said that if you pressed, I should explain that he has spoken with several of the other highprinces, and feels he knows the nature of your inquiry. He said to tell you he does not wish to form an alliance, nor does he have any intention of going on a joint plateau assault with you.”

Dalinar’s expression grew darker. He dismissed the messenger with a wave, then turned to Adolin. The Cobalt Guard still kept a space open around them so they could talk.

“Thanadal was the last of them,” Dalinar said. Each highprince had turned him down in his own way. Hatham