Words of Radiance

A series of horns interrupted him, blaring above through the camp. They seemed more urgent than usual. A chrysalis had been spotted. Dalinar counted the rhythms, placing the plateau location.

“Too far,” he said, pointing to one of his scribes, a tall, lanky woman that often helped Navani with her experiments. “Who is on the schedule for today’s runs?”

“Highprinces Sebarial and Roion, sir,” the scribe said, consulting her ledger.

Dalinar grimaced. Sebarial never sent troops, even when commanded. Roion was slow. “Send the signal flags to tell those two the gemheart is too far out to try for. We’ll be marching for the Parshendi camp later today, and I can’t have some of our troops splitting off and running for a gemheart.”

He made the order as if either man would commit any troops to his march. He had hopes for Roion. Almighty send that the man didn’t get frightened at the last minute and refuse to go on the expedition.

The attendant rushed away to call off the plateau run. Navani pointed to a group of scribes who were tabulating supply lists, and he nodded, stopping while she walked over to talk to the women and get an estimate on readiness.

“Sadeas won’t like a gemheart being left unharvested,” Amaram said as the two of them waited. “When he hears you called off the run, he’ll send his own troops for it.”

“Sadeas will do as he wishes, regardless of my intervention.”

“Each time you allow him to disobey openly,” Amaram said, “it drives a wedge between him and the Throne.” Amaram took Dalinar by the arm. “We have bigger problems than you and Sadeas, my friend. Yes, he betrayed you. Yes, he likely will again. But we can’t afford to let the two of you go to war. The Voidbringers are coming.”

“How can you be certain of that, Amaram?” Dalinar asked.

“Instinct. You gave me this title, this position, Dalinar. I can feel something from the Stormfather himself. I know that a disaster is coming. Alethkar needs to be strong. That means you and Sadeas working together.”

Dalinar shook his head slowly. “No. The opportunity for Sadeas to work with me has long since passed. The road to unity in Alethkar is not at the table of negotiation, it’s out there.”

Across the plateaus, to the Parshendi camp, wherever it was. An end to this war. Closure for both him and his brother.

Unite them.

“Sadeas wants

you to try this expedition,” Amaram said. “He’s certain you will fail.”

“And when I do not,” Dalinar said, “he will lose all credibility.”

“You don’t even know where you’ll find the Parshendi!” Amaram said, throwing his hands into the air. “What are you going to do, just wander out there until you run across them?”

“Yes.”

“Madness. Dalinar, you appointed me to this position—an impossible position, mind you—with the charge to be a light to all nations. I’m finding it hard to even get you to listen to me. Why should anyone else?”

Dalinar shook his head, looking eastward, over those broken plains. “I have to go, Amaram. The answers are out there, not here. It’s like we walked all the way to the shore, then huddled there for years, peering out at the waters but afraid to get wet.”

“But—”

“Enough.”

“Eventually, you’re going to have to give away authority and let it stay given, Dalinar,” Amaram said softly. “You can’t hold it all, pretending you aren’t in charge, but then ignore orders and advice as if you were.”

The words, problematically truthful, slapped him hard. He did not react, not outwardly.

“What of the matter I assigned you?” Dalinar asked him.

“Bordin?” Amaram said. “So far as I can tell, his story checks out. I really think that the madman is only raving about having had a Shardblade. It’s patently ridiculous that he might have actually had one. I—”

“Brightlord!” A breathless young woman in a messenger uniform—narrow skirt slit up the sides, with silk leggings beneath—scrambled up to him. “The plateau!”

“Yes,” Dalinar said, sighing. “Sadeas is sending out troops?”

“No, sir,” the woman said, flush in the cheeks from her run. “Not… I mean… He came out of the chasms.”

Dalinar frowned, looking sharply toward her. “Who?”

“Stormblessed.”

* * *

Dalinar ran the entire way.

When he drew close to the triage pavilion at the edge of camp—normally reserved for tending to the wounded who came back from plateau runs—he had trouble seeing because of the crowd of men in cobalt blue uniforms blocking the path. A surgeon was yelling for them to back up and give him room.

Some of the men saw Dalinar and saluted, hastily pulling out of the way. The blue parted like waters blown in a storm.

And there he was. Ragged, hair matted in snarls, face scratched and leg wrapped in an improvised bandage. He sat on a triage table and had removed his uniform coat, which sat on the table beside him, tied into a round bundle with what looked like a vine wrapping it.

Kaladin looked up as Dalinar approached, and then moved to pull himself to his feet.