No, the strangest part was riding his father’s horse.
Gallant was a large black animal, bulkier and squatter than Sureblood, Adolin’s horse. Gallant looked like a warhorse even when compared to other Ryshadium. So far as Adolin knew, no man had ever ridden him but Dalinar. Ryshadium were finicky that way. It had taken a lengthy explanation from Dalinar to even get the horse to allow Adolin to hold the reins, let alone climb into the saddle.
It had eventually worked, but Adolin wouldn’t dare ride Gallant into battle; he was pretty sure the beast would throw him off and run away, looking to protect Dalinar. It did feel odd climbing on a horse that wasn’t Sureblood. He kept expecting Gallant to move differently than he did, turn his head at the wrong times. When Adolin patted his neck, the horse’s mane felt off to him in ways he couldn’t explain. He and his Ryshadium were more than simply rider and horse, and he found himself oddly melancholy to be out on a ride without Sureblood.
Foolishness. He had to stay focused. The procession approached the meeting plateau, which had a large, oddly shaped mound of rock near the center. This plateau was close to the Alethi side of the Plains, but much farther south than Adolin had ever gone. Early patrols had said chasmfiends were more common out in this region, but they never spotted a chrysalis here. Some kind of hunting ground, but not a place for pupating?
The Parshendi weren’t there yet. When the scouts reported that the plateau was secure, Adolin urged Gallant across the mobile bridge. He felt warm in his Plate; the seasons, it seemed, had finally decided to inch through spring and maybe even toward summer.
He approached the rock mound at the center. It really was odd. Adolin circled it, noticing its shape, ridged in places, almost like…
“It’s a chasmfiend,” Adolin realized. He passed the face, a hollowed-out piece of stone that evoked the exact feeling of a chasmfiend’s head. A statue? No, it was too natural. A chasmfiend had died here centuries ago, and instead of being blown away, had slowly crusted over with crem.
The result was eerie. The crem had duplicated the creature’s form, clinging to the carapace, entombing it. The hulking rock seemed like a creature born of stone, like the ancient stories of Voidbringers.
Adolin shivered, nudging the horse away from the stone corpse and toward the other side of the plateau. Shortly, he heard alarms from the outrunners. Parshendi coming. He steeled himself, ready to summon his Shardblade. Behind him arrayed a group of bridgemen, ten in number, including that parshman. Captain Kaladin had remained with Dalinar back in the warcamp, just in case.
Adolin was the one more exposed. Part of him wished for the assassin to come today. So Adolin could try himself again. Of all the duels he hoped to fight in the future, this one—against the man who had killed his uncle—would be the most important, even more than taking down Sadeas.
The assassin did not make an appearance as a group of two hundred Parshendi crossed from the next plateau, jumping gracefully and landing on the meeting plateau. Adolin’s soldiers stirred, armor clanking, spears lowering. It had been years since men and Parshendi had met without blood being spilled.
“All right,” Adolin said in his helm. “Fetch my scribe.”
Brightness Inadara was carried up through the ranks in a palanquin. Dalinar wanted Navani with him—ostensibly because he wanted her advice, but probably also to protect her.
“Let’s go,” Adolin said, nudging Gallant forward. They crossed the plateau, just him and Brightness Inadara, who rose from her palanquin to walk. She was a wizened matron, with grey hair she cut short for simplicity. He’d seen sticks with more flesh on them than she had, but she was keen-minded and as trustworthy a scribe as they had.
The Parshendi Shardbearer emerged from the ranks and strode forward on the rocks alone. Uncaring, unworried. This was a confident one.
Adolin dismounted and went the rest of the way on foot, Inadara at his side. They stopped a few feet from the Parshendi, the three of them alone on an expanse of rock, the fossilized chasmfiend staring at them from the left.
“I am Eshonai,” the Parshendi said. “Do you remember me?”
“No,” Adolin said. He pitched his voice down to try and match the voice of his father, and hoped that—with the helm in place—it would be enough to fool this woman, who couldn’t know well what Dalinar sounded like.
“Not surprising,” Eshonai said. “I was young and unimportant when we first met. Barely worth remembering.”
Adolin had originally expected Parshendi conversation to be singsongish, from what he’d heard said of them. That wasn’t the case at all. Eshonai had a rhythm to her words, the way she emphasized them and where she paused. She changed tones, but the result was more of a chant than a song.
Inadara took out a writing board and spanreed, then started writing down what Eshonai said.
“What is this?” Eshonai demanded.
“I came alone, as you asked,” Adolin said, trying to project his father’s air of command. “But I will record what is said and send it back to my generals.”
Eshonai did not raise her faceplate, so Adolin had a good excuse not to raise his. They stared at each other through eye slits. This was not going as well as his father had hoped, but it was about what Adolin had expected.
“We are here,” Adolin said, using the words his father had suggested he begin with, “to discuss the terms of a Parshendi surrender.”
Eshonai laughed. “That is not the point at all.”
“Then what?” Adolin demanded. “You seemed eager to meet with me. Why?”
“Things have changed since I spoke with your son, Blackthorn. Important things.”
“What things?”
“Things you cannot imagine,” Eshonai said.
Adolin waited, as if pondering, but actually giving Inadara time to correspond with the warcamps. Inadara leaned up to him, whispering what Navani and Dalinar had written for him to say.
“We tire of this war, Parshendi,” Adolin said. “Your numbers dwindle. We know this. Let us make a truce, one that would benefit us both.”
“We are not as weak as you believe,” Eshonai said.
Adolin found himself frowning. When she’d spoken to him before, she’d seemed passionate, inviting. Now she was cold and dismissive. Was that right? She was Parshendi. Perhaps human emotions didn’t apply to her.
Inadara whispered more to him.
“What do you want?” Adolin asked, speaking the words his father sent. “How can there be peace?”
“There will be peace, Blackthorn, when one of us is dead. I came here because I wanted to see you with my own eyes, and I wanted to warn you. We have just changed the rules of this conflict. Squabbling over gemstones no longer matters.”
No longer matters? Adolin started to sweat. She makes it sound like they were playing their own game all this time. Not desperate at all. Could the Alethi have misjudged everything so profoundly?
She turned to go.
No. All of this, just to have the meeting puff into smoke? Storm it!
“Wait!” Adolin cried, stepping forward. “Why? Why are you acting like this? What is wrong?”
She looked back at him. “You really want to end this?”
“Yes. Please. I want peace. Regardless of the cost.”
“Then you will have to destroy us.”