The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,137

to call it a palace.

The king leaned against the railing, two guards watching from a distance. Dalinar motioned for Renarin to join them, so that he could speak with the king in private.

The air was cool—spring having come for a time—and it was sweet with the scents of evening: blooming rockbuds and wet stone. Below, the warcamps were starting to come alight, ten sparkling circles filled with watch-fires, cook fires, lamps, and the steady glow of infused gems. Elhokar stared over the camps and toward the Shattered Plains. They were utterly dark, save for the occasional twinkle of a watchpost.

“Do they watch us, from out there?” Elhokar asked as Dalinar joined him.

“We know their raiding bands move at night, Your Majesty,” Dalinar said, resting one hand on the iron railing. “I can’t help but think they watch us.”

The king’s uniform had the traditional long coat with buttons up the sides, but it was loose and relaxed, and ruffled lace poked out of the collar and cuffs. His trousers were solid blue, and were cut in the same baggy fashion as Ruthar’s. It all looked so informal to Dalinar. Increasingly, their soldiers were being led by a slack group who dressed in lace and spent their evenings at feasts.

This is what Gavilar foresaw, Dalinar thought. This is why he grew so insistent that we follow the Codes.

“You look thoughtful, Uncle,” Elhokar said.

“Just considering the past, Your Majesty.”

“The past is irrelevant. I only look forward.”

Dalinar was not certain he agreed with either statement.

“I sometimes think I should be able to see the Parshendi,” Elhokar said. “I feel that if I stare long enough, I will find them, pin them down so I can challenge them. I wish they’d just fight me, like men of honor.”

“If they were men of honor,” Dalinar said, clasping his hands behind his back, “then they would not have killed your father as they did.”

“Why did they do it, do you suppose?”

Dalinar shook his head. “That question has churned in my head, over and over, like a boulder tumbling down a hill. Did we off end their honor? Was it some cultural misunderstanding?”

“A cultural misunderstanding would imply that they have a culture. Primitive brutes. Who knows why a horse kicks or an axehound bites? I shouldn’t have asked.”

Dalinar didn’t reply. He’d felt that same disdain, that same anger, in the months following Gavilar’s assassination. He could understand Elhokar’s desire to dismiss these strange, wildland parshmen as little more than animals.

But he’d seen them during those early days. Interacted with them. They were primitive, yes, but not brutes. Not stupid. We never really understood them, he thought. I guess that’s the crux of the problem.

“Elhokar,” he said softly. “It may be time to ask ourselves some difficult questions.”

“Such as?”

“Such as how long we will continue this war.”

Elhokar started. He turned, looking at Dalinar. “We’ll keep fighting until the Vengeance Pact is satisfied and my father is avenged!”

“Noble words,” Dalinar said. “But we’ve been away from Alethkar for six years now. Maintaining two far-flung centers of government is not healthy for the kingdom.”

“Kings often go to war for extended periods, Uncle.”

“Rarely do they do it for so long,” Dalinar said, “and rarely do they bring every Shardbearer and Highprince in the kingdom with them. Our resources are strained, and word from home is that the Reshi border encroachments grow increasingly bold. We are still fragmented as a people, slow to trust one another, and the nature of this extended war—without a clear path to victory and with a focus on riches rather than capturing ground—is not helping at all.”

Elhokar sniffed, wind blowing at them atop the peaked rock. “You say there’s no clear path to victory? We’ve been winning! The Parshendi raids are coming less frequently, and aren’t striking as far westward as they once did. We’ve killed thousands of them in battle.”

“Not enough,” Dalinar said. “They still come in strength. The siege is straining us as much as, or more than, it is them.”

“Weren’t you the one to suggest this tactic in the first place?”

“I was a different man, then, flush with grief and anger.”

“And you no longer feel those things?” Elhokar was incredulous. “Uncle, I can’t believe I’m hearing this! You aren’t seriously suggesting that I abandon the war, are you? You’d have me slink home, like a scolded axehound?”

“I said they were difficult questions, Your Majesty,” Dalinar said, keeping his anger in check. It was taxing. “But they must be considered.”

Elhokar breathed out, annoyed. “It’s true, what