Authors: Brandon Sanderson
“My wife would have something to say on that,” Hatham said. “She makes the Dawncities her study.”
“The city’s pattern is central to the Emuli religion,” the ardent said. “They claim it is their ancestral homeland, a gift to them from the Heralds. And the Tukari are led by that god-priest of theirs, Tezim. So the conflict
is
religious in nature.”
“And if the city weren’t such a fantastic port,” Au-nak said, “would they be as persistent about proclaiming the city’s religious significance? I think not. They’re pagans, after all, so we can’t presume their religion has any real importance.”
Talk of the Dawncities had been popular lately among the lighteyes—the idea that certain cities could trace their origins back to the Dawnsingers. Perhaps…
“Have any of you heard of a place known as Feverstone Keep?” Dalinar asked.
The others shook their heads; even Au-nak had nothing to say.
“Why?” Hatham asked.
“Just curious.”
The conversation continued, though Dalinar let his attention wander back toward Elhokar and his circle of attendants. When would Sadeas make his announcement? If he intended to suggest that Dalinar be arrested, he wouldn’t do it at a feast, would he?
Dalinar forced his attention back to the conversation. He really should pay more heed to what was happening in the world. Once, news of which kingdoms were in conflict had fascinated him. So much had changed since the visions began.
“Perhaps it’s not economic or religious in nature,” Hatham said, trying to bring an end to the argument. “Everyone knows that the Makabaki tribes have odd hatreds of one another.”
“Perhaps,” Au-nak said.
“Does it matter?” Dalinar asked.
The others turned to him.
“It’s just another war. If they weren’t fighting one another, they’d find others to attack. It’s what we do. Vengeance, honor, riches, religion—the reasons all just produce the same result.”
The others fell still, the silence quickly growing awkward.
“Which devotary do you credit, Brightlord Dalinar?” Hatham asked, thoughtful, as if trying to remember something he’d forgotten.
“The Order of Talenelat.”
“Ah,” Hatham said. “Yes, it makes sense. They do hate arguing over religion. You must find this discussion terribly boring.”
A safe out from the conversation. Dalinar smiled, nodding in thanks to Hatham’s politeness.
“The Order of Talenelat?” Au-nak said. “I always considered that a devotary for the lesser people.”
“This from a Natan,” the Ardent said, stuffily.
“My family has always been devoutly Vorin.”
“Yes,” the ardent replied, “conveniently so, since your family has used its Vorin ties to trade favorably in Alethkar. One wonders if you are equally devout when not standing on our soil.”
“I don’t have to be insulted like this,” Au-nak snapped.
He turned and strode way, causing Hatham to raise a hand. “Nak-ali!” Hatham called, rushing after him anxiously. “Please, ignore him!”
“Insufferable bore,” the ardent said softly, taking a sip of his wine—orange, of course, as he was a man of the clergy.
Dalinar frowned at him. “You are bold, ardent,” he said sternly. “Perhaps foolishly so. You insult a man Hatham wants to do business with.”
“Actually, I belong to Brightlord Hatham,” the ardent said. “He
asked
me to insult his guest—Brightlord Hatham wants Au-nak to think that he is shamed. Now, when Hatham agrees quickly to Au-nak’s demands, the foreigner will assume it was because of this—and won’t delay the contract signing out of suspicion that it is proceeding too easily.”
Ah, of course.
Dalinar looked after the fleeing pair.
They go to such lengths.
Considering that, what was Dalinar to think of Hatham’s politeness earlier, when he had given Dalinar a reason to explain his apparent distaste for conflict? Was Hatham preparing Dalinar for some covert manipulation?
The ardent cleared his throat. “I would appreciate it if you did not repeat to anyone what I just told you, Brightlord.” Dalinar noticed Adolin returning to the king’s island, accompanied by six of Dalinar’s officers, in uniform and wearing their swords.
“Why did you tell me in the first place, then?” Dalinar asked, turning his attention back to the white-robed man.
“Just as Hatham wishes his partner in negotiations to know of his goodwill, I wish you to know of our goodwill toward you, Brightlord.”
Dalinar frowned. He’d never had much to do with the ardents—his devotary was simple and straightforward. Dalinar got his fill of politics with the court; he had little desire to find more in religion. “Why? What should it matter if I have goodwill toward you?”
The ardent smiled. “We will speak with you again.” He bowed low and withdrew.
Dalinar was about to demand more, but Adolin arrived, looking after Highprince Hatham. “What was that all about?”
Dalinar just shook his head. Ardents weren’t supposed to engage in politics, whatever their devotary. They’d been officially forbidden to do so since the Hierocracy. But, as with most things in life, the ideal and the reality were two separate things. The lighteyes couldn’t help but use the ardents in their schemes, and so—more and more—the devotaries found themselves a part of the court.
“Father?” Adolin asked. “The men are in place.”
“Good,” Dalinar said. He set his jaw and then crossed the small island. He would see this fiasco finished with, once and for all.
He passed the firepit, a wave of dense heat making the left side of his face prickle with sweat while the right side was still chilled by the autumn cold. Adolin hurried up to walk by him, hand on his side sword. “Father? What are we doing?”
“Being provocative,” Dalinar said, striding right up to where Elhokar and Sadeas were chatting. Their crowd of sycophants reluctantly parted for Dalinar.
“…and I think that—” The king cut off, glancing at Dalinar. “Yes, Uncle?”
“Sadeas,” Dalinar said. “What is the status of your investigation of the cut girth strap?”
Sadeas blinked. He held a cup of violet wine in his right hand, his long, red velvet robe open at the front to expose a ruffled white shirt. “Dalinar, are you—”
“Your investigation, Sadeas,” Dalinar said firmly.
Sadeas sighed, looking at Elhokar. “Your Majesty. I was actually planning to make an announcement regarding this very subject tonight. I was going to wait until later, but if Dalinar is going to be so insistent…”
“I am,” Dalinar said.
“Oh, go ahead, Sadeas,” the king said. “You have me curious now.” The king waved to a servant, who rushed to quiet the flutist while another servant tapped the chimes to call for silence. In moments, the people on the island stilled.
Sadeas gave Dalinar a grimace that somehow conveyed the message, “You demanded this, old friend.”
Dalinar folded his arms, keeping his gaze fixed on Sadeas. His six Cobalt Guardsmen stepped up behind him, and Dalinar noticed that a group of similar lighteyed officers from Sadeas’s warcamp were listening nearby.
“Well, I wasn’t planning to have such an audience,” Sadeas said. “Mostly, this was planned for Your Majesty only.”
Unlikely,
Dalinar thought, trying to suppress his anxiety. What would he do if Adolin was right and Sadeas charged him with trying to assassinate Elhokar?
It would, indeed, be the end of Alethkar. Dalinar would not go quietly, and the warcamps would turn against one another. The nervous peace that had held them together for the last decade would come to an end. Elhokar would never be able to hold them together.
Also, if it turned to battle, Dalinar would not fare well. The others were alienated from him; he’d have enough trouble facing Sadeas—if several of the others joined against him, he would fall, horribly outnumbered. He could see now Adolin thought it an incredible act of foolishness to have listened to the visions. And yet, in a powerfully surreal moment, Dalinar felt that he’d done the correct thing. He’d never felt it as strongly as at that moment, preparing to be condemned.
“Sadeas, don’t weary me with your sense of drama,” Elhokar said. “They’re listening. I’m listening. Dalinar looks like he’s ready to burst a vein in his forehead. Speak.”
“Very well,” Sadeas said, giving his wine to a servant. “My very first task as Highprince of Information was to discover the true nature of the attempt on His Majesty’s life during the greatshell hunt.” He waved a hand, motioning to one of his men, who hurried away. Another stepped forward, handing Sadeas the broken leather strap.
“I took this strap to three separate leatherworkers in three different warcamps. Each came to the same conclusion. It was cut. The leather is relatively new, and has been well cared for, as proven by the lack of cracking and flaking in other areas. The tear is too even. Someone slit it.”
Dalinar felt a sense of dread. That was near what he had discovered, but it was presented in the worst possible light. “For what purpose—” Dalinar began.
Sadeas held up a hand. “Please, Highprince. First you demand I report, then you interrupt me?”
Dalinar fell still. Around them, more and more of the important light-eyes were gathering. He could sense their tension.
“But when was it cut?” Sadeas said, turning to address the crowd. He did have a flair for the dramatic. “That was pivotal, you see. I took leave to interview numerous men who were on that hunt. None reported seeing anything specific, though all remembered that there was one odd event. The time when Brightlord Dalinar and His Majesty raced to a rock formation. A time when Dalinar and the king were alone.”
There were whispers from behind.
“There was a problem, however,” Sadeas said. “One Dalinar himself raised. Why cut the strap on a Shardbearer’s saddle? A foolish move. A horseback fall wouldn’t be of much danger to a man wearing Shardplate.” To the side, the servant Sadeas had sent away returned, leading a youth with sandy hair bearing only a few hints of black.
Sadeas fished something out of a pouch at his waist, holding it up. A large sapphire. It wasn’t infused. In fact, looking closely, Dalinar could see that it was cracked—it wouldn’t hold Stormlight now. “The question drove me to investigate the king’s Shardplate,” Sadeas said. “Eight of the ten sapphires used to infuse his Plate were cracked following the battle.”
“It happens,” Adolin said, stepping up beside Dalinar, hand on his side sword. “You lose a few in every battle.”
“But eight?” Sadeas asked. “One or two is normal. But have you ever lost eight in one battle before, young Kholin?”
Adolin’s only reply was a glare.
Sadeas tucked away the gemstone, nodding to the youth his men had brought. “This is one of the grooms in the king’s employ. Fin, isn’t it?”
“Y…Yes, brightlord,” the boy stammered. He couldn’t be older than twelve.
“What is it you told me earlier, Fin? Please, say it again so that all may hear.”
The darkeyed youth cringed, looking sick. “Well, Brightlord sir, it was just this: Everyone spoke of the saddle being checked over in Brightlord Dalinar’s camp. And I suppose it was, right as that. But I’m the one who prepared His Majesty’s horse afore it was turned over to Brightlord Dalinar’s men. And I did it, I promise I did. Put on his favorite saddle and everything. But…”
Dalinar’s heart raced. He had to hold himself back from summoning his Blade.
“But what?” Sadeas said to Fin.
“But when the king’s head grooms took the horse past on its way to the Highprince Dalinar’s camp, it was wearing a different saddle. I swear it.”
Several of those standing around them seemed confused by this admission.
“Aha!” Adolin said, pointing. “But that happened in the king’s palace complex!”
“Indeed,” Sadeas said, raising an eyebrow at Adolin. “How keen-minded of you, young Kholin. This discovery—mixed with the cracked gemstones—means something. I suspect that whoever attempted to kill His Majesty planted in his Shardplate flawed gemstones that would crack when strained, losing their Stormlight. Then they weakened the saddle girth with a careful slit. The hope would be that His Majesty would fall while fighting a great-shell, allowing it to attack him. The gemstones would fail, the Plate would break, and His Majesty would fall to an ‘accident’ while hunting.”
Sadeas raised a finger as the crowd began to whisper again. “However, it is important to realize that these events—the switching of the saddle or the planting of the gemstones—must have happened before His Majesty met up with Dalinar. I feel that Dalinar is a very unlikely suspect. In fact, my present guess is that the culprit is someone that Brightlord Dalinar has offended; that someone wanted us all to think he might be involved. It may not have actually been intended to kill His Majesty, just to cast suspicion upon Dalinar.”
The island fell silent, even the whispers dying.
Dalinar stood, stunned.
I…I was right!
Adolin finally broke the quiet. “
What?
”
“All evidence points to your father being innocent, Adolin,” Sadeas said sufferingly. “You find this surprising?”
“No, but…” Adolin’s brow furrowed.
Around them, the lighteyes began talking, sounding disappointed. They began to disperse. Dalinar’s officers remained standing behind him, as if expecting a surprise strike.
Blood of my fathers…
Dalinar thought.
What does it mean?
Sadeas waved for his men to take the groom away, then nodded to Elhokar and withdrew in the direction of the evening trays, where warmed wine sat in pitchers next to toasted breads. Dalinar caught up to Sadeas as the shorter man was filling a small plate. Dalinar took him by the arm, the fabric of Sadeas’s robe soft beneath his fingers.
Sadeas looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” Dalinar said quietly. “For not going through with it.” Behind them, the flutist resumed her playing.
“For not going through with what?” Sadeas said, setting down his small plate, then prying Dalinar’s fingers free. “I had hoped to make this presentation after I’d discovered more concrete proof that you weren’t involved. Unfortunately, pressed as I was, the best I could do was to indicate that it was unlikely you were involved. There will still be rumors, I’m afraid.”