“The Parshendi, obviously.”
They talked about the center of the Shattered Plains as if they knew of the place. But no man had been there, only Parshendi. To the Alethi, the word “center” just referred to the vast open expanse of unexplored plateaus beyond the scouted rims.
“Yes,” Adolin’s father said. “But where? Maybe they move around? Maybe there is no Parshendi city in the center.”
“They would only be able to move if they had Soulcasters,” Navani said, “which I personally doubt. They’ll have entrenched somewhere. They aren’t a nomadic people, and there’s no reason for them to move.”
“If we can make peace,” Dalinar mused, “reaching the center would be a lot easier…” He looked to Adolin. “Have the bridgemen fill those scratches with crem, then have them pull the rug over that section of floor.”
“I’ll see it done.”
“Good,” Dalinar said, seeming distant. “After that, get some sleep, son. Tomorrow is a big day.”
Adolin nodded. “Father. Were you aware that there is a parshman among the bridgemen?”
“Yes,” Dalinar said. “There has been one among their numbers from the beginning, but they didn’t arm him until I gave them permission.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“Out of curiosity,” Dalinar said. He turned and nodded toward the glyphs on the floor. “Tell me, Navani. Assuming these numbers are counting toward a date, is it a day when a highstorm will come?”
“Thirty-two days?” Navani asked. “That will be in the middle of the Weeping. Thirty-two days won’t even be the exact end of the year, but two days ahead of it. I can’t fathom the significance.”
“Ah, it was too convenient an answer anyway. Very well. Let’s allow the guards back in and swear them to secrecy. Wouldn’t want to inspire a panic.”
51. Heirs
In short, if any presume Kazilah to be innocent, you must look at the facts and deny them in their entirety; to say that the Radiants were destitute of integrity for this execution of one their own, one who had obviously fraternized with the unwholesome elements, indicates the most slothful of reasoning; for the enemy’s baleful influence demanded vigilance on all occasions, of war and of peace.
From Words of Radiance, chapter 32, page 17
The next day, Adolin stomped his feet into his boots, hair still damp from a morning bath. It was amazing the difference a little hot water and some time to reflect could make. He’d come to two decisions.
He wasn’t going to worry about his father’s disconcerting behavior during the visions. The whole of it—the visions, the command to refound the Knights Radiant, the preparation for a disaster that might or might not come—was a package. Adolin had already decided to believe that his father wasn’t mad. Further worry was pointless.
The other decision might get him into trouble. He left his quarters, entering the sitting room, where Dalinar was already planning with Navani, General Khal, Teshav, and Captain Kaladin. Renarin, frustratingly, guarded the door wearing a Bridge Four uniform. He’d refused to give up on that decision of his, despite Adolin’s insistence.
“We’ll need the bridgemen again,” Dalinar said. “If something goes wrong, we may need a quick retreat.”
“I’ll prepare Bridges Five and Twelve for the day, sir,” Kaladin said. “Those two seem nostalgic for their bridges, and talk about the bridge runs with fondness.”
“Weren’t those bloodbaths?” Navani asked.
“They were,” Kaladin said, “but soldiers are a strange lot, Brightness. A disaster unifies them. These men would never want to go back, but they still identify as bridgemen.”
Nearby, General Khal nodded in understanding, though Navani still seemed baffled.
“I’ll take my position here,” Dalinar said, holding up a map of the Shattered Plains. “We can scout the meeting plateau first, while I wait. It apparently has some odd rock formations.”
“That sounds good,” Brightness Teshav said.
“It does,” Adolin said, joining the group, “except for one thing. You won’t be there, Father.”
“Adolin,” Dalinar said with a suffering tone. “I know you think this is too dangerous, but—”
“It is too dangerous,” Adolin said. “The assassin is still out there—and he attacked us last on the very day the Parshendi messenger came to camp. Now, we have a meeting with the enemy out on the Shattered Plains? Father, you can’t go.”
“I have to,” Dalinar said. “Adolin, this could mean an end to the war. It could mean answers—why they attacked in the first place. I will not give up this opportunity.”
“We’re not going to give it up,” Adolin said. “We’re just going to do things a little differently.”
“How?” Dalinar asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Well for one thing,” Adolin said, “I’m going to go in your place.”
“Impossible,” Dalinar said, “I won’t risk my son on—”
“Father!” Adolin snapped. “This is not subject to discussion!”
The room fell silent. Dalinar lowered his hand from the map. Adolin stuck out his jaw, meeting his father’s eyes. Storms, it was difficult to deny Dalinar Kholin. Did his father realize the presence he had, the way he moved people about by sheer force of expectation?
Nobody contradicted him. Dalinar did what he wanted. Fortunately, these days those motives had a noble purpose. But in many ways he was the same man he had been twenty years ago, when he’d conquered a kingdom. He was the Blackthorn, and he got what he wanted.
Except today.
“You are too important,” Adolin said, pointing. “Deny that. Deny that your visions are vital. Deny that if you die, Alethkar would fall apart. Deny that every single person in this room is less important than you are.”
Dalinar drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “It shouldn’t be so. The kingdom needs to be strong enough to survive the loss of one man, no matter who.”
“Well, it’s not there yet,” Adolin said. “To get it there, we’re going to need you. And that means you need to let us watch out for you. I’m sorry, Father, but once in a while you just have to let someone else do their job. You can’t fix every problem with your own hands.”
“He’s right, sir,” Kaladin said. “You really shouldn’t be risking yourself out on those Plains. Not if there’s another option.”
“I fail to see that there is one,” Dalinar said, his tone cool.
“Oh, there is,” Adolin said. “But I’m going to need to borrow Renarin’s Shardplate.”
* * *
The strangest thing about this experience, in Adolin’s estimation, wasn’t wearing his father’s old armor. Despite the outward stylistic differences, suits of Shardplate all tended to fit similarly. The armor adapted, and within a short time after donning it, the Plate felt exactly like Adolin’s own.
It also wasn’t strange to ride at the front of the force, Dalinar’s banner flapping over his head. Adolin had been leading them to battle on his own for six weeks now.