The Way of Kings

“And I’m not sorry I did,” Adolin replied. “But I am sorry for how, and where, I said it. That won’t happen again.”

Dalinar nodded, and that was enough. Adolin seemed to relax, a weight coming off his shoulders, and Dalinar turned back to his officers. In moments, he and Adolin were leading a hurried group to the staging area. As they did, Dalinar did note Adolin waving to a young woman who stood beside the way, wearing a red dress, her hair up in a very nice braiding.

“Is that– er–”

“Malasha?” Adolin said. “Yes.”

“She looks nice.”

“Most of the time she is, though she’s somewhat annoyed that I wouldn’t let her come with me today.”

“She wanted to come into battle?”

Adolin shrugged. “Says she’s curious.”

Dalinar said nothing. Battle was a masculine art. A woman wanting to come to the battlefield was like… well, like a man wanting to read. Unnatural.

Ahead, in the staging area, the battalions were forming ranks, and a squat lighteyed officer hurried up to Dalinar. He had patches of red hair on his otherwise dark Alethi head and a long, red mustache. Ilamar, the cavalrylord.

“Brightlord,” he said, “my apologies for the delay. Cavalry is mounted and ready.”

“We march, then,” Dalinar said. “All ranks–”

“Brightlord!” a voice said.

Dalinar turned as one of his messengers approached. The darkeyed man wore leathers marked with blue bands on the arms. He saluted, saying, “Highprince Sadeas has demanded admittance to the warcamp!”

Dalinar glanced at Adolin. His son’s expression darkened.

“He claims the king’s writ of investigation grants him the right,” the messenger said.

“Admit him,” Dalinar said.

“Yes, Brightlord,” the messenger said, turning back. One of the lesser officers, Moratel, went with him so that Sadeas could be welcomed and escorted by a lighteyes as befitted his station. Moratel was least among those in attendance; everyone understood he was the one Dalinar would send.

“What do you think Sadeas wants this time?” Dalinar said quietly to Adolin.

“Our blood. Preferably warm, perhaps sweetened with a shot of tallew brandy.”

Dalinar grimaced, and the two of them hurried past the ranks of soldiers. The men had an air of anticipation, spears held high, darkeyed citizen officers standing at the sides with axes on their shoulders. At the front of the force, a group of chulls snorted and rummaged at the rocks by their feet; harnessed to them were several enormous mobile bridges.

Gallant and Adolin’s white stallion Sureblood were waiting, their reins held at the ready by grooms. Ryshadium hardly needed handlers. Once, Gallant had kicked open his stall and made his way to the staging grounds on his own when a groom had been too slow. Dalinar patted the midnight destrier on the neck, then swung into the saddle.

He scanned the staging field, then raised his arm to give the command to move. However, he noticed a group of mounted men riding up to the staging field, led by a figure in dark red Shardplate. Sadeas.

Dalinar stifled a sigh and gave the command to move out, though he himself waited for the Highprince of Information. Adolin came over on Sureblood, and he gave Dalinar a glance that seemed to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”

As always, Sadeas was a model of fashion, his armor painted, his helm ornamented with a completely different metallic pattern than he had worn last time. This one was shaped like a stylized sunburst. It looked almost like a crown.

“Brightlord Sadeas,” Dalinar said. “This is an inconvenient time for your investigation.”

“Unfortunately,” Sadeas said, reining in. “His Majesty is very eager to have answers, and I cannot stop my investigation, even for a plateau assault. I need to interview some of your soldiers. I’ll do it on the way out.”

“You want to come with us?”

“Why not? I won’t delay you.” He glanced at the chulls, who lurched into motion, pulling the bulky bridges. “I doubt that even were I to decide to crawl, I could slow you any further.”

“Our soldiers need to concentrate on the upcoming battle, Brightlord,” Adolin said. “They should not be distracted.”

“The king’s will must be done,” Sadeas said, shrugging, not even bothering to look at Adolin. “Need I present the writ? Surely you don’t intend to forbid me.”

Dalinar studied his former friend, looking into those eyes, trying to see into the man’s soul. Sadeas lacked his characteristic smirk; he usually wore one of those when he was pleased with how a plot was going. Did he realize that Dalinar knew how to read his expressions, and so masked his emotions? “No need to present anything, Sadeas. My men are at your disposal. If you have need of anything, simply ask. Adolin, with me.”

Dalinar turned Gallant and galloped down the line toward the front of the marching army. Adolin followed reluctantly, and Sadeas remained behind with his attendants.