The Way of Kings

Metal footsteps ground on the rock behind. Adolin turned, then nodded in respect as the king approached, still wearing his golden Shardplate, though he’d removed the helm. He was several years Adolin’s senior, and had a bold face with a prominent nose. Some said they saw in him a kingly air and a regal bearing, and women Adolin trusted had confided that they found the king quite handsome.

Not as handsome as Adolin, of course. But still handsome.

The king was married, however; his wife the queen managed his affairs back in Alethkar. “Uncle,” Elhokar said. “Can we not be on our way? I’m certain that we Shardbearers could leap the chasm. You and I could be back at the warcamps shortly.”

“I will not leave my men, Your Majesty,” Dalinar said. “And I doubt you want to be running across the plateaus for several hours alone, exposed, without proper guards.”

“I suppose,” the king said. “Either way, I did want to thank you for your bravery today. It appears that I owe you my life yet again.”

“Keeping you alive is something else I try very hard to make a habit, Your Majesty.”

“I am glad for it. Have you looked into the item I asked you about?” He nodded to the girth, which Adolin realized he was still carrying in a gauntleted hand.

“I did,” Dalinar said.

“Well?”

“We couldn’t decide, Your Majesty,” Dalinar said, taking the strap and handing it to the king. “It may have been cut. The tear is smoother along one side. Like it was weakened so that it would rip.”

“I knew it!” Elhokar held the strap up and inspected it.

“We are not leatherworkers, Your Majesty,” Dalinar said. “We need to give both sides of the strap to experts and get their opinions. I have instructed Adolin to look into the matter further.”

“It was cut,” Elhokar said. “I can see it clearly, right here. I keep telling you, Uncle. Someone is trying to kill me. They want me, just like they wanted my father.”

“Surely you don’t think the Parshendi did this,” Dalinar said, sounding shocked.

“I don’t know who did it. Perhaps someone on this very hunt.”

Adolin frowned. What was Elhokar implying? The majority of the people on this hunt were Dalinar’s men.

“Your Majesty,” Dalinar said frankly, “we will look into the matter. But you have to be prepared to accept that this might have just been an accident.”

“You don’t believe me,” Elhokar said flatly. “You never believe me.”

Dalinar took a deep breath, and Adolin could see that his father had to struggle to keep his temper. “I’m not saying that. Even a potential threat to your life worries me very much. But I do suggest that you avoid leaping to conclusions. Adolin has pointed out that this would be a terribly clumsy way to try to kill you. A fall from horseback isn’t a serious threat to a man wearing Plate.”

“Yes, but during a hunt?” Elhokar said. “Perhaps they wanted the chasmfiend to kill me.”

“We weren’t supposed to be in danger from the hunt,” Dalinar said. “We were supposed to pelt the greatshell from a distance, then ride up and butcher it.”

Elhokar narrowed his eyes, looking at Dalinar, then at Adolin. It was almost as if the king were suspicious of them. The look was gone in a second. Had Adolin imagined it? Stormfather! he thought.

From behind, Vamah began calling to the king. Elhokar glanced at him and nodded. “This isn’t over, Uncle,” he said to Dalinar. “Look into that strap.”

“I will.”

The king handed the strap back, then left, armor clinking.

“Father,” Adolin said immediately, “did you see–”

“I’ll speak to him about it,” Dalinar said. “Sometime when he isn’t so worked up.”

“But–”

“I will speak to him, Adolin. You look into that strap. And go gather your men.” He nodded toward something in the distant west. “I think I see that bridge crew coming.”

Finally, Adolin thought, following his gaze. A small group of figures was crossing the plateau in the distance, bearing Dalinar’s banner and leading a bridge crew carrying one of Sadeas’s mobile bridges. They’d sent for one of those, as they were faster than Dalinar’s larger, chull-pulled bridges.

Adolin hurried off to give the orders, though he found himself distracted by his father’s words, Gavilar’s final message, and now the king’s look of distrust. It seemed he would have plenty to preoccupy his mind on the long ride back to the camps.

Dalinar watched Adolin rush away to do as ordered. The lad’s breastplate still bore a web of cracks, though it had stopped leaking Stormlight. With time, the armor would repair itself. It could reform even if it was completely shattered.

The lad liked to complain, but he was as good a son as a man could ask for. Fiercely loyal, with initiative and a strong sense of command. The soldiers liked him. Perhaps he was a little too friendly with them, but that could be forgiven. Even his hotheadedness could be forgiven, assuming he learned to channel it.