The Way of Kings (128 page)

Kaladin took the hand, hesitant. “Thank you.”

“You’re a fool and an instigator. But you’re an honest one.” Moash chuckled to himself. “If you get us killed, it won’t be on purpose. Can’t say that for some I’ve served under. Anyway, let’s get these men ready for moving.”

“The burdens of nine become mine. Why must I carry the madness of them all? Oh, Almighty, release me.”

—Dated Palaheses, 1173, unknown seconds pre-death. Subject: a wealthy lighteyes. Sample collected secondhand.

The cold night air threatened that a stretch of winter might soon be coming. Dalinar wore a long, thick uniform coat over trousers and shirt. It buttoned stiffly up the chest and to the collar, and was long in the back and on the sides, coming down to his ankles, flowing at the waist like a cloak. In earlier years, it might have been worn with a takama, though Dalinar had never liked the skirtlike garments.

The purpose of the uniform was not fashion or tradition, but to distinguish him easily for those who followed him. He wouldn’t have nearly the problem with the other lighteyes if they would at least wear their colors.

He stepped onto the king’s feasting island. Stands had been set up at the sides where the braziers normally stood, each one bearing one of those new fabrials that gave off heat. The stream between the islands had slowed to a trickle; ice had stopped melting in the highlands.

Attendance at the feast tonight was small, though that was mostly manifest on the four islands that were not the king’s. Where there was access to Elhokar and the highprinces, people would attend even if the feast were held in the middle of a highstorm. Dalinar walked down the central pathway, and Navani—sitting at a women’s dining table—caught his eyes. She turned away, perhaps still remembering his abrupt words to her at their last meeting.

Wit wasn’t at his customary place insulting those who walked onto the king’s island; in fact, he wasn’t to be seen at all.
Not surprising,
Dalinar thought. Wit didn’t like to grow predictable; he’d spent several recent feasts on his pedestal doling out insults. Likely he felt he’d played out that tactic.

All nine other highprinces were in attendance. Their treatment of Dalinar had grown stiff and cold since refusing his requests to fight together. As if they were offended by the mere offer. Lesser lighteyes made alliances, but the highprinces were like kings themselves. Other highprinces were rivals, to be kept at arm’s length.

Dalinar sent a servant to fetch him food and sat down at the table. His arrival had been delayed while he took reports from the companies he’d called back, so he was one of the last to eat. Most of the others had turned to mingling. To the right, an officer’s daughter was playing a serene flute melody to a group of onlookers. To the left, three women had set up sketchpads and were each drawing the same man. Women were known to challenge each other to duels in the way of men with Shardblades, though they rarely used the word. These were always “friendly competitions” or “games of talent.”

His food arrived, steamed stagm—a brownish tuber that grew in deep puddles—atop a bed of boiled tallew. The grain was puffed with water, and the entire meal was drenched in a thick, peppery, brown gravy. He slid out his knife and sliced a disk off the end of the stagm. Using his knife to spread tallew over the top, he grasped the vegetable disk between two fingers and began eat. It had been prepared both spicy and hot this night, probably because of the chill, and tasted good as he chewed, the steam from his plate fogging the air in front of him.

So far, Jasnah had not replied regarding his vision, though Navani claimed she might be able to find something on her own. She was a renowned scholar herself, though her interests had always been more in fabrials. He glanced at her. Was he a fool to off end her as he had? Would it make her use the knowledge of his visions against him?

No,
he thought.
She wouldn’t be that petty.
Navani
did
seem to care for him, though her affection was inappropriate.

The chairs around him were left empty. He was becoming a pariah, first because of his talk of the Codes, then because of his attempts to get the highprinces to work with him, and finally because of Sadeas’s investigation. No wonder Adolin was worried.

Suddenly, someone slid right into the seat beside Dalinar, wearing a black cloak against the chill. It wasn’t one of the highprinces. Who would dare—

The figure lowered his hood, revealing Wit’s hawklike face. All lines and peaks, with a sharp nose and jaw, delicate eyebrows, and keen eyes. Dalinar sighed, waiting for the inevitable stream of too-clever quips.

Wit, however, didn’t speak. He inspected the crowd, his expression intense.

Yes,
Dalinar thought.
Adolin is right about this one too.
Dalinar himself had judged the man too harshly in the past. He was not the fool some of his predecessors had been. Wit continued in silence, and Dalinar decided that—perhaps—the man’s prank this night was to sit down beside people and unnerve them. It wasn’t much of a prank, but Dalinar often missed the point of what Wit did. Perhaps it was terribly clever if one had the mind for it. Dalinar returned to his meal.

“Winds are changing,” Wit whispered.

Dalinar glanced at him.

Wit’s eyes narrowed, and he scanned the night sky. “It’s been happening for months now. A whirlwind. Shifting and churning, blowing us round and around. Like a world spinning, but we can’t see it because we’re too much a part of it.”

“World spinning. What foolishness is this?”

“The foolishness of men who care, Dalinar,” Wit said. “And the brilliance of those who do not. The second depend on the first—but also exploit the first—while the first misunderstand the second, hoping that the second are more like the first. And all of their games steal our time. Second by second.”

“Wit,” Dalinar said with a sigh. “I haven’t the mind for this tonight. I’m sorry if I’m missing your intent, but I have no idea what you mean.”

“I know,” Wit said, then looked directly at him. “Adonalsium.”

Dalinar frowned more deeply. “What?”

Wit searched his face. “Have you ever heard the term, Dalinar?”

“Ado…what?”

“Nothing,” Wit said. He seemed preoccupied, unlike his usual self. “Nonsense. Balderdash. Figgldygrak. Isn’t it odd that gibberish words are often the sounds of other words, cut up and dismembered, then stitched into something like them—yet wholly unlike them at the same time?”

Dalinar frowned.

“I wonder if you could do that to a man. Pull him apart, emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk. Then combine them back together into something else, like a Dysian Aimian. If you do put a man together like that, Dalinar, be sure to name him Gibberish, after me. Or perhaps Gibletish.”

“Is that your name, then? Your real name?”

“No, my friend,” Wit said, standing up. “I’ve abandoned my real name. But when next we meet, I’ll think of a clever one for you to call me. Until then, Wit will suffice—or if you must, you may call me Hoid. Watch yourself; Sadeas is planning a revelation at the feast tonight, though I know not what it is. Farewell. I’m sorry I didn’t insult you more.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

“I must. I hope to return. I’ll do so if I’m not killed. Probably will anyway. Apologize to your nephew for me.”

“He won’t be happy,” Dalinar said. “He’s fond of you.”

“Yes, it’s one of his more admirable traits,” Wit said. “Alongside that of paying me, letting me eat his expensive food, and giving me opportunity to make sport of his friends. The cosmere, unfortunately, takes precedence over free food. Watch yourself, Dalinar. Life becomes dangerous, and you’re at the center of it.”

Wit nodded once, then ducked into the night. He put his hood up, and soon Dalinar couldn’t separate him from the darkness.

Dalinar turned back to his meal.
Sadeas is planning a revelation at the feast tonight, though I know not what it is.
Wit was rarely wrong—though he was almost always odd. Was he really leaving, or would he still be in camp the next morning, laughing at the prank he had played on Dalinar?

No,
Dalinar thought.
That wasn’t a prank.
He waved over a master-servant in black and white. “Fetch my elder son for me.”

The servant bowed and withdrew. Dalinar ate the rest of his food in silence, glancing occasionally at Sadeas and Elhokar. They weren’t at the dining table any longer, and so Sadeas’s wife had joined them. Ialai was a curvaceous woman who reportedly dyed her hair. That indicated foreign blood in her family’s past—Alethi hair always bred true, proportionate to how much Alethi blood you had. Foreign blood would mean stray hairs of another color. Ironically, mixed blood was far more common in lighteyes than darkeyes. Darkeyes rarely married foreigners, but the Alethi houses often needed alliances or money from outside.

Food finished, Dalinar stepped down from the king’s table onto the island proper. The woman was still playing her melancholy song. She was quite good. A few moments later, Adolin strode onto the king’s island. He hurried over to Dalinar. “Father? You sent for me?”

“Stay close. Wit told me that Sadeas plans to make a storm of something tonight.”

Adolin’s expression darkened. “Time to go, then.”

“No. We need to let this play out.”

“Father—”

“But you
may
prepare,” Dalinar said softly. “Just in case. You invited officers of our guard to the feast tonight?”

“Yes,” Adolin said. “Six of them.”

“They have my further invitation to the king’s island. Pass the word. What of the King’s Guard?”

“I’ve made sure that some of the ones guarding the island tonight are among those most loyal to you.” Adolin nodded toward a space in the darkness to the side of the feasting basin. “I think we should position them over there. It’ll make a good line of retreat in case the king tries to have you arrested.”

“I still don’t think it will come to that.”

“You can’t be sure. Elhokar allowed this investigation in the first place, after all. He’s growing more and more paranoid.”

Dalinar glanced over at the king. The younger man almost always wore his Shardplate these days, though he didn’t have it on now. He seemed continually on edge, glancing over his shoulder, eyes darting from side to side.

“Let me know when the men are in position,” Dalinar said.

Adolin nodded, walking away quickly.

The situation gave Dalinar little stomach for mingling. Still, standing alone and looking awkward was no better, so he made his way to where Highprince Hatham was speaking with a small group of lighteyes beside the main firepit. They nodded to Dalinar as he joined them; regardless of the way they were treating him in general, they would never turn him away at a feast like this. That simply wasn’t done to one of his rank.

“Ah, Brightlord Dalinar,” Hatham said in his smooth, overly polite way. The long-necked, slender man wore a ruffled green shirt underneath a robelike coat, with a darker green silk scarf around the neck. A faintly glowing ruby sat on each of his fingers; they’d each had some of their Stormlight drained away by a fabrial made for the purpose.

Of Hatham’s four companions, two were lesser lighteyes and one was a short white-robed ardent Dalinar didn’t know. The last was a red-gloved Natan man with bluish skin and stark white hair, two locks dyed a deep red and braided down to hang alongside his cheeks. He was a visiting dignitary; Dalinar had seen him at the feasts. What was his name again?

“Tell me, Brightlord Dalinar,” Hatham said. “Have you been paying much attention to the conflict between the Tukari and the Emuli?”

“It’s a religious conflict, isn’t it?” Dalinar asked. Both were Makabaki kingdoms, on the southern coast where trade was plentiful and profitable.

“Religious?” the Natan man said. “No, I wouldn’t say that. All conflicts are essentially economic in nature.”

Au-nak,
Dalinar recalled.
That’s his name
. He spoke with an airy accent, overextending all of his “ah” and “oh” sounds.

“Money is behind every war,” Au-nak continued. “Religion is but an excuse. Or perhaps a justification.”

“There’s a difference?” the ardent said, obviously taking offense at Au-nak’s tone.

“Of course,” Au-nak said. “An excuse is what you make after the deed is done, while a justification is what you offer before.”

“I would say an excuse is something you claim, but do not believe, Nak-ali.” Hatham was using the high form of Au-nak’s name. “While a justification is something you actually believe.” Why such respect? The Natan must have something that Hatham wanted.

“Regardless,” Au-nak said. “This particular war is over the city of Sesemalex Dar, which the Emuli have made their capital. It’s an excellent trade city, and the Tukari want it.”

“I’ve heard of Sesemalex Dar,” Dalinar said, rubbing his chin. “The city is quite spectacular, filling rifts cut into the stone.”

“Indeed,” Au-nak said. “There’s a particular composition of the stone there that lets water drain. The design is amazing. It’s obviously one of the Dawncities.”