The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,107

just behind his brother. Renarin hesitated, eyes opening wide at the attention. Dalinar grew tense.

“Nothing ridiculous,” Renarin said slowly.

Wit laughed. “Yes, I suppose that will satisfy me. Very clever. If Brightlord Sadeas should lose control of himself and finally kill me, perhaps you can be King’s Wit in my stead. You seem to have the mind for it.”

Renarin perked up, which darkened Sadeas’s mood further. Dalinar eyed the highprince; Sadeas’s hand had gone to his sword. Not a Shardblade, for Sadeas didn’t have one. But he did carry a lighteyes’s side sword. Plenty deadly; Dalinar had fought beside Sadeas on many occasions, and the man was an expert swordsman.

Wit stepped forward. “So what of it, Sadeas?” he asked softly. “You going to do Alethkar a favor and rid it of us both?”

Killing the King’s Wit was legal. But by so doing, Sadeas would forfeit his title and lands. Most men found it a poor enough trade not to do it in the open. Of course, if you could assassinate a Wit without anyone knowing it was you, that was something different.

Sadeas slowly removed his hand from the hilt of his sword, then nodded curtly to the king and strode away.

“Wit,” Elhokar said, “Sadeas has my favor. There’s no need to torment him so.”

“I disagree,” Wit said. “The king’s favor may be torment enough for most men, but not him.”

The king sighed and looked toward Dalinar. “I should go placate Sadeas. I’ve been meaning to ask you, though. Have you looked into the issue I asked you about earlier?”

Dalinar shook his head. “I have been busy with the needs of the army. But I will look into it now, Your Majesty.”

The king nodded, then hastened off after Sadeas.

“What was that, Father?” Adolin asked. “Is it about the people he thinks were spying on him?”

“No,” Dalinar said. “This is something new. I’ll show you shortly.”

Dalinar looked toward Wit. The black-clad man was popping his knuckles one at a time, looking at Sadeas, seeming contemplative. He noticed Dalinar watching and winked, then walked away.

“I like him,” Adolin repeated.

“I might be persuaded to agree,” Dalinar said, rubbing his chin. “Renarin,” Dalinar said, “go and get a report on the wounded. Adolin, come with me. We need to check into the matter the king spoke of.”

Both young men looked confused, but they did as requested. Dalinar started across the plateau toward where the carcass of the chasmfiend lay.

Let us see what your worries have brought us this time, nephew, he thought.

Adolin turned the long leather strap over in his hands. Almost a handspan wide and a finger’s width thick, the strap ended in a ragged tear. It was the girth to the king’s saddle, the strap that wrapped under the horse’s barrel. It had broken suddenly during the fight, throwing the saddle—and the king—from horseback.

“What do you think?” Dalinar asked.

“I don’t know,” Adolin said. “It doesn’t look that worn, but I guess it was, otherwise it wouldn’t have snapped, right?

Dalinar took the strap back, looking contemplative. The soldiers still hadn’t returned with the bridge crew, though the sky was darkening.

“Father,” Adolin said. “Why would Elhokar ask us to look into this? Does he expect us to discipline the grooms for not properly caring for his saddle? Is it…” Adolin trailed off, and he suddenly understood his father’s hesitation. “The king thinks the strap was cut, doesn’t he?”

Dalinar nodded. He turned it over in his gauntleted fingers, and Adolin could see him thinking about it. A girth could get so worn that it would snap, particularly when strained by the weight of a man in Shardplate. This strap had broken off at the point where it had been affixed to the saddle, so it would have been easy for the grooms to miss it. That was the most rational explanation. But when looked at with slightly more irrational eyes, it could seem that something nefarious had happened.

“Father,” Adolin said, “he’s getting increasingly paranoid. You know he is.”

Dalinar didn’t reply.

“He sees assassins in every shadow,” Adolin continued. “Straps break. That doesn’t mean someone tried to kill him.”

“If the king is worried,” Dalinar said, “we should look into it. The break is smoother on one side, as if it were sliced so that it would rip when it was stressed.”

Adolin frowned. “Maybe.” He hadn’t noticed that. “But think about it, Father. Why would someone cut his strap? A fall from horseback wouldn’t harm a Shardbearer. If it was an assassination attempt, then it was an incompetent one.”

“If it