The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,360

want.”

He closed his eyes. I can’t take this right now. The vision, the confrontation with Adolin, his own uncertain emotions…He didn’t know what to make of things any longer.

Testing the visions was a good decision, but he couldn’t shake the disorientation he felt from being unable to decide what to do next. He liked to make decisions and stick to them. He couldn’t do that.

It grated on him.

“I thank you for your scribing and for your willingness to keep this quiet,” he said, opening his eyes. “But I really must ask you to leave now, Navani.”

“Oh, Dalinar,” she said softly. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume. Stormfather, but she was beautiful. Seeing her brought to his mind thoughts of days long past, when he’d desired her so strongly that he’d nearly grown to hate Gavilar for winning her affection.

“Can’t you just relax,” she asked him, “just for a little while?”

“The rules—”

“Everyone else—”

“I cannot be everyone else!” Dalinar said, more sharply than he intended. “If I ignore our code and ethics, what am I, Navani? The other highprinces and lighteyes deserve recrimination for what they do, and I have let them know it. If I abandon my principles, then I become something far worse than they. A hypocrite!”

She froze.

“Please,” he said, tense with emotion. “Just go. Do not taunt me today.”

She hesitated, then walked away without a word.

She would never know how much he wished her to have made one more objection. In his state, he likely would have been unable to argue further. Once the door shut, he let himself sit down in his chair, exhaling. He closed his eyes.

Almighty above, he thought. Please. Just let me know what I am to do.

“He must pick it up, the fallen title! The tower, the crown, and the spear!”

—Dated Vevahach, 1173, 8 seconds pre-death. Subject: a prostitute. Back ground unknown.

A razor-edged arrow snapped into the wood next to Kaladin’s face. He could feel warm blood seep from a gash on his cheek, creeping down his face, mixing with the sweat dripping from his chin.

“Stay firm!” he bellowed, charging over the uneven ground, the bridge’s familiar weight on his shoulders. Nearby—just ahead and to the left—Bridge Twenty floundered, four men at the front falling to arrows, their corpses tripping up those behind.

The Parshendi archers knelt on the other side of the chasm, singing calmly despite the hail of arrows from Sadeas’s side. Their black eyes were like shards of obsidian. No whites. Just that emotionless black. In those moments—listening to men scream, cry, yell, howl—Kaladin hated the Parshendi as much as he hated Sadeas and Amaram. How could they sing while they killed?

The Parshendi in front of Kaladin’s crew pulled and aimed. Kaladin screamed at them, feeling a strange surge of strength as the arrows were loosed.

The shafts zipped through the air in a focused wave. Ten shafts struck the wood near Kaladin’s head, their force throwing a shudder through it, chips of wood splintering free. But not a one struck flesh.

Across the chasm, several of the Parshendi lowered their bows, breaking off their chanting. Their demonic faces bore looks of stupefaction.

“Down!” Kaladin yelled as the bridge crew reached the chasm. The ground was rough here, covered in bulbous rockbuds. Kaladin stepped on the vine from one of them, causing the plant to retract. The bridgemen heaved the bridge up and off their shoulders, then expertly stepped aside, lowering it to the ground. Sixteen other bridge crews lined up with them, setting their bridges down. Behind, Sadeas’s heavy cavalry thundered across the plateau toward them.

The Parshendi drew again.

Kaladin gritted his teeth, throwing his weight against one of the wooden bars on the side, helping shove the massive construction across the chasm. He hated this part; the bridgemen were so exposed.

Sadeas’s archers kept firing, moving to a focused, disruptive attack intended to force back the Parshendi. As always, the archers didn’t seem to mind if they hit bridgemen, and several of those shafts flew dangerously close to Kaladin. He continued to push—sweating, bleeding—and felt a stab of pride for Bridge Four. They were already beginning to move like warriors, light on their feet, moving erratically, making it more difficult for the archers to draw a bead on them. Would Gaz or Sadeas’s men notice?

The bridge thumped into place, and Kaladin bellowed the retreat. Bridgemen ducked out of the way, dodging between thick-shafted black Parshendi arrows and lighter green-fletched ones from Sadeas’s archers. Moash and Rock hoisted themselves up onto the