“I told you,” Syl said, landing on his shoulder. She sounded triumphant.
“Lopen,” Kaladin said. “You think you can get that bundle of armor during the next bridge run?”
“Sure,” Lopen said. “Nobody will see. They ignore us Herdies, they ignore bridgemen, and they especially ignore cripples. To them, I’m so invisible I should be walking through walls.”
Kaladin nodded. “Get it. Hide it. Give it to me right before the final plateau assault.”
“They aren’t going to like you going into a bridge run armored, gancho,” Lopen said. “I don’t think this will be any different from what you tried before.”
“We’ll see,” Kaladin said. “Just do it.”
“The death is my life, the strength becomes my weakness, the journey has ended.”
—Dated Betabanes, 1173, 95 seconds pre-death. Subject: a scholar of some minor renown. Sample collected secondhand. Considered questionable.
“That is why, Father,” Adolin said, “you absolutely cannot abdicate to me, no matter what we discover with the visions.”
“Is that so?” Dalinar asked, smiling to himself.
“Yes.”
“Very well, you’ve convinced me.”
Adolin stopped dead in the hallway. The two of them were on their way to Dalinar’s chambers. Dalinar turned and looked back at the younger man. “Really?” Adolin asked. “I mean, I actually won an argument with you?”
“Yes,” Dalinar said. “Your points are valid.” He didn’t add that he’d come to the decision on his own. “No matter what, I will stay. I can’t leave this fight now.”
Adolin smiled broadly.
“But,” Dalinar said, raising a finger. “I have a requirement. I will draft an order—notarized by the highest of my scribes and witnessed by Elhokar— that gives you the right to depose me, should I grow too mentally unstable. We won’t let the other camps know of it, but I will not risk letting myself grow so crazy that it’s impossible to remove me.”
“All right,” Adolin said, walking up to Dalinar. They were alone in the hallway. “I can accept that. Assuming you don’t tell Sadeas about it. I still don’t trust him.”
“I’m not asking you to trust him,” Dalinar said pushing the door open to his chambers. “You just need to believe that he is capable of changing. Sadeas was once a friend, and I think he can be again.”
The cool stones of the Soulcast chamber seemed to hold the chill of the spring weather. It continued to refuse to slip into summer, but at least it hadn’t slid into winter either. Elthebar promised that it would not do so—but, then, the stormwarden’s promises were always filled with caveats. The Almighty’s will was mysterious, and the signs couldn’t always be trusted.
He accepted stormwardens now, though when they’d first grown popular, he’d rejected their aid. No man should try to know the future, nor lay claim to it, for it belonged only to the Almighty himself. And Dalinar wondered how stormwardens could do their research without reading. They claimed they didn’t, but he’d seen their books filled with glyphs. Glyphs. They weren’t meant to be used in books; they were pictures. A man who had never seen one before could still understand what one meant, based on its shape. That made interpreting glyphs different from reading.
Stormwardens did a lot of things that made people uncomfortable. Unfortunately, they were just so useful. Knowing when a highstorm might strike, well, that was just too tempting an advantage. Even though stormwardens were frequently wrong, they were more often right.
Renarin knelt beside the hearth, inspecting the fabrial that had been installed there to warm the room. Navani had already arrived. She sat at Dalinar’s elevated writing desk, scribbling a letter; she waved a distracted greeting with her reed as Dalinar entered. She wore the fabrial he had seen her displaying at the feast a few weeks back; the multilegged contraption was attached to her shoulder, gripping the cloth of her violet dress.
“I don’t know, Father,” Adolin said, closing the door. Apparently he was still thinking about Sadeas. “I don’t care if he’s listening to The Way of Kings. He’s just doing it to make you look less closely at the plateau assaults so that his clerks can arrange his cut of the gemhearts more favorably. He’s manipulating you.”
Dalinar shrugged. “Gemhearts are secondary, son. If I can reforge an alliance with him, then it’s worth nearly any cost. In a way, I’m the one manipulating him.”
Adolin sighed. “Very well. But I’m still going to keep a hand on my money pouch when he’s near.”
“Just try not to insult him,” Dalinar said. “Oh, and something else. I would like you to take extra care with the King’s Guard. If there are soldiers we know for certain are loyal to me, put those in charge of guarding Elhokar’s rooms. His words about a conspiracy have me worried.”
“Surely you don’t give them credence,” Adolin said.
“Something odd did happen with his armor. This whole mess stinks like cremslime. Perhaps it will turn out to be nothing. For now, humor me.”
“I have to note,” Navani said, “that I didn’t much care for Sadeas back when you, he, and Gavilar were friends.” She finished her letter with a flourish.
“He’s not behind the attacks on the king,” Dalinar said.
“How can you be certain?” Navani asked.
“Because it’s not his way,” Dalinar said. “Sadeas never wanted the title of king. Being highprince gives him plenty of power, but leaves him with someone to take the blame for large-scale mistakes.” Dalinar shook his head. “He never tried to seize the throne from Gavilar, and he’s even better positioned with Elhokar.”
“Because my son’s a weakling,” Navani said. It wasn’t an accusation.
“He’s not weak,” Dalinar said, “He’s inexperienced. But yes, that does make the situation ideal for Sadeas. He’s telling the truth—he asked to be Highprince of Information because he wants very badly to find out who is trying to kill Elhokar.”
“Mashala,” Renarin said, using the formal term for aunt. “That fabrial on your shoulder, what does it do?”
Navani looked down at the device with a sly smile. Dalinar could see she’d been hoping one of them would ask. Dalinar sat down; the highstorm would be coming soon.
“Oh, this? It’s a type of painrial. Here, let me show you.” She reached up with her safehand, pushing a clip that released the clawlike legs. She held it up. “Do you have any aches, dear? A stubbed toe, perhaps, or a scrape?”
Renarin shook his head.
“I pulled a muscle in my hand during dueling practice earlier,” Adolin said. “It’s not bad, but it does ache.”
“Come over here,” Navani said. Dalinar smiled fondly—Navani was always at her most genuine when playing with new fabrials. It was one of the few times when one got to see her without any pretense. This wasn’t Navani the king’s mother or Navani the political schemer. This was Navani the excited engineer.
“The artifabrian community is doing some amazing things,” Navani said as Adolin proffered his hand. “I’m particularly proud of this little device, as I had a hand in its construction.” She clipped it onto Adolin’s hand, wrapping the clawlike legs around the palm and locking them into place.
Adolin raised his hand, turning it around. “The pain is gone.”
“But you can still feel, correct?” Navani said in a self-satisfied way.
Adolin prodded his palm with the fingers of his other hand. “The hand isn’t numb at all.”
Renarin watched with keen interest, bespectacled eyes curious, intense. If only the lad could be persuaded to become an ardent. He could be an engineer then, if he wanted. And yet he refused. His reasons always seemed like poor excuses to Dalinar.
“It’s kind of bulky,” Dalinar noted.
“Well, it’s just an early model,” Navani said defensively. “I was working backward from one of those dreadful creations of Longshadow’s, and I didn’t have the luxury of refining the shape. I think it has a lot of potential. Imagine a few of these on a battlefield to dull the pain of wounded soldiers. Imagine it in the hands of a surgeon, who wouldn’t have to worry about his patients’ pain while working on them.”
Adolin nodded. Dalinar had to admit, it did sound like a useful device.
Navani smiled. “This is a special time to be alive; we’re learning all kinds of things about fabrials. This, for instance, is a diminishing fabrial— it decreases something, in this case pain. It doesn’t actually make the wound any better, but it might be a step in that direction. Either way, it’s a completely different type from paired fabrials like the spanreeds. If you could see the plans we have for the future…”
“Like what?” Adolin asked.
“You’ll find out eventually,” Navani said, smiling mysteriously. She removed the fabrial from Adolin’s hand.
“Shardblades?” Adolin sounded excited.
“Well, no,” Navani said. “The design and workings of Shardblades and Plate are completely different from everything we’ve discovered. The closest anyone has are those shields in Jah Keved. But as far as I can tell, they use a completely different design principle from regular Shardplate. The ancients must have had a wondrous grasp of engineering.”
“No,” Dalinar said. “I’ve seen them, Navani. They’re… well, they’re ancient. Their technology is primitive.”
“And the Dawncities?” Navani asked skeptically. “The fabrials?”
Dalinar shook his head. “I’ve seen neither. There are Shardblades in the visions, but they seem so out of place. Perhaps they were given directly by the Heralds, as the legends say.”
“Perhaps,” Navani said. “Why don’t—”
She vanished.
Dalinar blinked. He hadn’t heard the highstorm approaching.
He was now in a large, open room with pillars running along the sides. The enormous pillars looked sculpted of soft sandstone, with unornamented, granular sides. The ceiling was far above, carved from the rock in geometric patterns that looked faintly familiar. Circles connected by lines, spreading outward from one another…
“I don’t know what to do, old friend,” a voice said from the side. Dalinar turned to see a youthful man in regal white and gold robes, walking with his hands clasped before him, hidden by voluminous sleeves. He had dark hair pulled back in a braid and a short beard that came to a point. Gold threads were woven into his hair and came together on his forehead to form a golden symbol. The symbol of the Knights Radiant.
“They say that each time it is the same,” the man said. “We are never ready for the Desolations. We should be getting better at resisting, but each time we step closer to destruction instead.” He turned to Dalinar, as if expecting a response.