The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,301

small two-shelled creatures proliferated during the Weeping. They seemed to grow out of nowhere, much like their cousins the tiny snails, scattered all across the stone.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked, walking up and sitting down with them. Hesina rarely acted like the other mothers in town. Sometimes, that bothered Kaladin. Shouldn’t she have sent them into the house or something, complaining that they’d catch a cold? No, she just sat down with them, wearing a brown leather raincoat.

“Kaladin’s worried about Father spending the spheres,” Tien said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” she replied. “We’ll get you to Kharbranth. You’ll be old enough to leave in two more months.”

“You two should come with me,” Kal said. “And Father too.”

“And leave the town?” Tien said, as if he’d never considered that possibility. “But I like it here.”

Hesina smiled.

“What?” Kaladin said.

“Most young men your age are trying everything they can to be rid of their parents.”

“I can’t go off and leave you here. We’re a family.”

“He’s trying to strangle us,” Kaladin said, glancing at Tien. Talking with his brother had made him feel a lot better, but his objections were still there. “Nobody pays for healing, and I know nobody will pay you for work anymore. What kind of value does Father get for those spheres he spends anyway? Vegetables at ten times the regular price, moldy grain at double?”

Hesina smiled. “Observant.”

“Father taught me to notice details. The eyes of a surgeon.”

“Well,” she said, eyes twinkling, “did your surgeon’s eyes notice the first time we spent one of the spheres?”

“Sure,” Kaladin said. “It was the day after the hunting accident. Father had to buy new cloth to make bandages.”

“And did we need new bandages?”

“Well, no. But you know how Father is. He doesn’t like it when we start to run even a little low.”

“And so he spent one of those spheres,” Hesina said. “That he’d hoarded for months and months, butting heads with the citylord over them.”

Not to mention going to such lengths to steal them in the first place, Kaladin thought. But you know all about that. He glanced at Tien, who was watching the sky again. So far as Kal knew, his brother hadn’t discovered the truth yet.

“So your father resisted so long,” Hesina said, “only to finally break and spend a sphere on some cloth bandages we wouldn’t need for months.”

She had a point. Why had his father suddenly decided to…“He’s letting Roshone think he’s winning,” Kaladin said with surprise, looking back at her.

Hesina smiled slyly. “Roshone would have found a way to get retribution eventually. It wouldn’t have been easy. Your father ranks high as a citizen, and has the right of inquest. He did save Roshone’s life, and many could testify to the severity of Rillir’s wounds. But Roshone would have found a way. Unless he felt he’d broken us.”

Kaladin turned toward the mansion. Though it was hidden by the shroud of rain, he could just make out the tents of the army camped on the field below. What would it be like to live as a soldier, often exposed to storms and rain, to winds and tempests? Once Kaladin would have been intrigued, but the life of a spearman had no call for him now. His mind was filled with diagrams of muscles and memorized lists of symptoms and diseases.

“We’ll keep spending the spheres,” Hesina said. “One every few weeks. Partially to live, though my family has offered supplies. More to keep Roshone thinking that we’re bending. And then, we send you away. Unexpectedly. You’ll be gone, the spheres safely in the hands of the ardents to use as a stipend during your years of study.”

Kaladin blinked in realization. They weren’t losing. They were winning.

“Think of it, Kaladin,” Tien said. “You’ll live in one of the grandest cities in the world! It will be so exciting. You’ll be a man of learning, like Father. You’ll have clerks to read to you from any book you want.”

Kaladin pushed wet hair off his forehead. Tien made it sound a lot grander than he’d been thinking. Of course, Tien could make a crem-filled puddle sound grand.

“That’s true,” his mother said, still staring upward. “You could learn mathematics, history, politics, tactics, the sciences…”

“Aren’t those things women learn?” Kaladin said, frowning.

“Lighteyed women study them. But there are male scholars as well. If not as many.”

“All this to become a surgeon.”

“You wouldn’t have to become a surgeon. Your life is your own, son. If you take the path of a