The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,367

to bring an end to the argument. “Everyone knows that the Makabaki tribes have odd hatreds of one another.”

“Perhaps,” Au-nak said.

“Does it matter?” Dalinar asked.

The others turned to him.

“It’s just another war. If they weren’t fighting one another, they’d find others to attack. It’s what we do. Vengeance, honor, riches, religion—the reasons all just produce the same result.”

The others fell still, the silence quickly growing awkward.

“Which devotary do you credit, Brightlord Dalinar?” Hatham asked, thoughtful, as if trying to remember something he’d forgotten.

“The Order of Talenelat.”

“Ah,” Hatham said. “Yes, it makes sense. They do hate arguing over religion. You must find this discussion terribly boring.”

A safe out from the conversation. Dalinar smiled, nodding in thanks to Hatham’s politeness.

“The Order of Talenelat?” Au-nak said. “I always considered that a devotary for the lesser people.”

“This from a Natan,” the Ardent said, stuffily.

“My family has always been devoutly Vorin.”

“Yes,” the ardent replied, “conveniently so, since your family has used its Vorin ties to trade favorably in Alethkar. One wonders if you are equally devout when not standing on our soil.”

“I don’t have to be insulted like this,” Au-nak snapped.

He turned and strode way, causing Hatham to raise a hand. “Nak-ali!” Hatham called, rushing after him anxiously. “Please, ignore him!”

“Insufferable bore,” the ardent said softly, taking a sip of his wine—orange, of course, as he was a man of the clergy.

Dalinar frowned at him. “You are bold, ardent,” he said sternly. “Perhaps foolishly so. You insult a man Hatham wants to do business with.”

“Actually, I belong to Brightlord Hatham,” the ardent said. “He asked me to insult his guest—Brightlord Hatham wants Au-nak to think that he is shamed. Now, when Hatham agrees quickly to Au-nak’s demands, the foreigner will assume it was because of this—and won’t delay the contract signing out of suspicion that it is proceeding too easily.”

Ah, of course. Dalinar looked after the fleeing pair. They go to such lengths.

Considering that, what was Dalinar to think of Hatham’s politeness earlier, when he had given Dalinar a reason to explain his apparent distaste for conflict? Was Hatham preparing Dalinar for some covert manipulation?

The ardent cleared his throat. “I would appreciate it if you did not repeat to anyone what I just told you, Brightlord.” Dalinar noticed Adolin returning to the king’s island, accompanied by six of Dalinar’s officers, in uniform and wearing their swords.

“Why did you tell me in the first place, then?” Dalinar asked, turning his attention back to the white-robed man.

“Just as Hatham wishes his partner in negotiations to know of his goodwill, I wish you to know of our goodwill toward you, Brightlord.”

Dalinar frowned. He’d never had much to do with the ardents—his devotary was simple and straightforward. Dalinar got his fill of politics with the court; he had little desire to find more in religion. “Why? What should it matter if I have goodwill toward you?”

The ardent smiled. “We will speak with you again.” He bowed low and withdrew.

Dalinar was about to demand more, but Adolin arrived, looking after Highprince Hatham. “What was that all about?”

Dalinar just shook his head. Ardents weren’t supposed to engage in politics, whatever their devotary. They’d been officially forbidden to do so since the Hierocracy. But, as with most things in life, the ideal and the reality were two separate things. The lighteyes couldn’t help but use the ardents in their schemes, and so—more and more—the devotaries found themselves a part of the court.

“Father?” Adolin asked. “The men are in place.”

“Good,” Dalinar said. He set his jaw and then crossed the small island. He would see this fiasco finished with, once and for all.

He passed the firepit, a wave of dense heat making the left side of his face prickle with sweat while the right side was still chilled by the autumn cold. Adolin hurried up to walk by him, hand on his side sword. “Father? What are we doing?”

“Being provocative,” Dalinar said, striding right up to where Elhokar and Sadeas were chatting. Their crowd of sycophants reluctantly parted for Dalinar.

“…and I think that—” The king cut off, glancing at Dalinar. “Yes, Uncle?”

“Sadeas,” Dalinar said. “What is the status of your investigation of the cut girth strap?”

Sadeas blinked. He held a cup of violet wine in his right hand, his long, red velvet robe open at the front to expose a ruffled white shirt. “Dalinar, are you—”

“Your investigation, Sadeas,” Dalinar said firmly.

Sadeas sighed, looking at Elhokar. “Your Majesty. I was actually planning to make an announcement regarding this very subject tonight. I was going