The Way of Kings

It happened after we set up beside a deep river in a heavily wooded area. It was an ideal location for a long-term camp, as the dense cobwood trees would protect against highstorm winds, and the river’s gorge eliminated the risk of flooding. His Majesty wisely took my advice, sending scouting parties both upriver and down.

Highprince Dalinar’s scouting party was the first to encounter the strange, untamed parshmen. When he returned to camp with his story, I – like many others – refused to believe his claims. Surely Brightlord Dalinar had simply run across the parshman servants of another expedition like our own.

Once they visited our camp the next day, their reality could no longer be denied. There were ten of them – parshmen to be sure, but bigger than the familiar ones. Some had skin marbled black and red, and others were marbled white and red, as is more common in Alethkar. They carried magnificent weapons, the bright steel etched with complex decorations, but wore simple clothing of woven narbin cloth.

Before long, His Majesty became fascinated by these strange parshmen, insisting that I begin a study of their language and society. I’ll admit that my original intent was to expose them as a hoax of some kind. The more we learned, however, the more I came to realize how faulty my original assessment had been.

Shallan tapped the page, thinking. Then she pulled out a thick volume, titled King Gavilar Kholin, a Biography, published by Gavilar’s widow, Navani, two years before. Shallan flipped through pages, scanning for a particular paragraph.

My husband was an excellent king – an inspiring leader, an unparalleled duelist, and a genius of battlefield tactics. But he didn’t have a single scholarly finger on his left hand. He never showed an interest in the accounting of highstorms, was bored by talk of science, and ignored fabrials unless they had an obvious use in battle. He was a man built after the classical masculine ideal.

“Why was he so interested in them?” Shallan said out loud.

“Hmmm?” Jasnah asked.

“King Gavilar,” Shallan said. “Your mother insists in her biography that he wasn’t a scholar.”

“True.”

“But he was interested in the Parshendi,” Shallan said. “Even before he could have known about their Shardblades. According to Matain’s account, he wanted to know about their language, their society, and their music. Was that just embellishment, to make him sound more scholarly to future readers?”

“No,” Jasnah said, lowering her own book. “The longer he remained in the Unclaimed Hills, the more fascinated by the Parshendi he became.”

“So there’s a discrepancy. Why would a man with no prior interest in scholarship suddenly become so obsessed?”

“Yes,” Jasnah said. “I too have wondered about this. But sometimes, people change. When he returned, I was encouraged by his interest; we spent many evenings talking about his discoveries. It was one of the few times when I felt I really connected with my father.”

Shallan bit her lip. “Jasnah,” she finally asked. “Why did you assign me to research this event? You lived through this; you already know everything I’m ‘discovering.’”