The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,140

adopt a more aggressive strategy…

He was still lost in thought considering that as they left the king’s palace and made their way down the ramps to where their horses waited. He climbed astride Gallant, nodding his thanks to the groom who had cared for the Ryshadium. The horse had recovered from his fall during the hunt, his leg solid and hale.

It was a short distance back to Dalinar’s warcamp, and they rode in silence. Which of the highprinces should I approach first? Dalinar thought. Sadeas?

No. No, he and Sadeas were already seen working together too often. If the other highprinces began to smell a stronger alliance, it would drive them to turn against him. Best that he approach less powerful highprinces first and see if he could get them to work with him in some way. A joint plateau assault, perhaps?

He’d have to approach Sadeas eventually. He didn’t relish the thought. Things were always so much easier when the two of them could work at a safe distance from one another. He—

“Father,” Renarin said. He sounded dismayed.

Dalinar sat upright, looking around, hand going for his side sword even while he prepared to summon his Shardblade. Renarin pointed. Eastward. Stormward.

The horizon was growing dark.

“Was there supposed to be a highstorm today?” Dalinar asked, alarmed.

“Elthebar said it was unlikely,” Renarin said. “But he’s been wrong before.”

Everyone could be wrong about highstorms. They could be predicted, but it was never an exact science. Dalinar narrowed his eyes, heart thumping. Yes, he could sense the signs now. The dust picking up, the scents changing. It was evening, but there should still be more light left. Instead, it was rapidly growing darker and darker. The very air felt more frantic.

“Should we go to Aladar’s camp?” Renarin said, pointing. They were nearest Highprince Aladar’s warcamp, and perhaps only a quarter-hour ride from the rim of Dalinar’s own.

Aladar’s men would take him in. Nobody would forbid shelter to a highprince during a storm. But Dalinar shuddered, thinking of spending a highstorm trapped in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by another highprince’s attendants. They would see him during an episode. Once that happened, the rumors would spread like arrows above a battlefield.

“We ride!” he called, kicking Gallant into motion. Renarin and the guardsmen fell in behind him, hooves a thunder to precurse the coming highstorm. Dalinar leaned low, tense. The grey sky grew clotted with dust and leaves blown ahead of the stormwall and the air grew dense with humid anticipation. The horizon burgeoned with thickening clouds. Dalinar and the others galloped past Aladar’s perimeter guards, who bustled with activity, holding their coats or cloaks against the wind.

“Father?” Renarin called from behind. “Are you—”

“We have time!” Dalinar shouted.

They eventually reached the jagged wall of the Kholin warcamp. Here, the remaining soldiers wore blue and white and saluted. Most had already retreated to their enclosures. He had to slow Gallant to get through the checkpoint. However, it would just be another short gallop to his quarters. He turned Gallant, preparing to go.

“Father!” Renarin said, pointing eastward.

The stormwall hung like a curtain in the air, speeding toward the camp. The massive sheet of rain was a silvery grey, the clouds above onyx black, lit from within by occasional flashes of lightning. The guards who had saluted him were hurrying to a nearby bunker.

“We can make it,” Dalinar said. “We—”

“Father!” Renarin said, riding up beside him and catching his arm. “I’m sorry.”

The wind whipped at them, and Dalinar gritted his teeth, looking at his son. Renarin’s spectacled eyes were wide with concern.

Dalinar glanced at the stormwall again. It was only moments away.

He’s right.

He handed Gallant’s reins to an anxious soldier, who took the reins of Renarin’s mount as well, and the two of them dismounted. The groom rushed away, towing the horses into a stone stable. Dalinar almost followed—there would be fewer people to watch him in a stable—but a nearby barrack had the door open, and those inside waved anxiously. That would be safer.

Resigned, Dalinar joined Renarin, dashing to the stone-walled barrack. The soldiers made room for them; there was a group of servants packed inside as well. In Dalinar’s camp, no one was forced to weather the tempests in stormtents or flimsy wooden shacks, and nobody had to pay for protection inside stone structures.

The occupants seemed shocked to see their highprince and his son step in; several paled as the door thumped shut. Their only light was from a few garnets mounted on the walls. Someone coughed, and outside a