The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,403

dueling.”

“He could be champion, if he wished it.”

Adolin did wish it, Dalinar knew. But he had refused bouts that would put him within reach of the title. Dalinar suspected that Adolin did it to hold, somewhat, to the Codes. Dueling championships and tournaments were things for those rare times between wars. It could be argued that protecting one’s family honor, however, was for all times.

Either way, Adolin didn’t duel for ranking, and that made other Shardbearers underestimate him. They were quick to accept duels with him, and some non-Shardbearers challenged him. By tradition, the king’s own Shardplate and Blade were available for a large fee to those who both had his favor and the wish to duel a Shardbearer.

Dalinar shivered at the thought of someone else wearing his Plate or holding Oathbringer. It was unnatural. And yet, the lending of the king’s Blade and Plate—or before the kingship had been restored, the lending of a highprince’s Blade and Plate—was a strong tradition. Even Gavilar had not broken it, though he had complained about it in private.

Adolin dodged another blow, but he had begun to move into Windstance’s offensive forms. Resi wasn’t ready for this—though he managed to hit Adolin once on the right pauldron, the blow was a glancing one. Adolin advanced, Blade sweeping in a fluid pattern. Resi backed away, falling into a parrying posture—Stonestance was one of the few to rely on those.

Adolin batted his opponent’s Blade away, knocking it out of stance. Resi reset, but Adolin knocked it away again. Resi grew sloppier and sloppier getting back into stance and Adolin began to strike, hitting him on one side, then on the other. Small, quick blows, meant to unnerve.

They worked. Resi bellowed and threw himself into one of Stonestance’s characteristic overhand blows. Adolin handled it perfectly, dropping his Blade to one hand, raising his left arm and taking the blow on his unharmed vambrace. It cracked badly, but the move allowed Adolin to bring his own Blade to the side and strike Resi’s cracked left cuisse.

The thigh plate shattered with the sound of ripping metal, pieces blasting away, trailing smoke, glowing like molten steel. Resi stumbled back; his left leg could no longer bear the weight of the Shardplate. The match was over. More important duels might go for two or three broken plates, but that grew dangerous.

The highjudge stood, calling an end. Resi stumbled away, ripping off his helm. His curses were audible. Adolin saluted his enemy, tapping the blunt edge of his Blade to his forehead, then dismissing the Blade. He bowed to the king. Other men sometimes went into the crowd to brag or accept accolades, but Adolin retreated to the preparation tent.

“Talented indeed,” Elhokar said.

“And such a… proper lad,” Sadeas said, sipping his drink.

“Yes,” Dalinar said. “At times, I wish there were peace, simply so that Adolin could dedicate himself to his dueling.”

Sadeas sighed. “More talk of abandoning the war, Dalinar?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You keep complaining that you’ve given up that argument, Uncle,” Elhokar said, turning to regard him. “Yet you continue to dance around it, speaking longingly of peace. People in the camps call you coward.”

Sadeas snorted. “He’s no coward, Your Majesty. I can attest to that.”

“Why, then?” Elhokar asked.

“These rumors have grown far beyond what is reasonable,” Dalinar said.

“And yet, you do not answer my questions,” Elhokar said. “If you could make the decision, Uncle, would you have us leave the Shattered Plains? Are you a coward?”

Dalinar hesitated.

Unite them, that voice had told him. It is your task, and I give it to you.

Am I a coward? he wondered. Nohadon challenged him, in the book, to examine himself. To never become so certain or high that he wasn’t willing to seek truth.

Elhokar’s question hadn’t been about his visions. And yet, Dalinar had the distinct impression that he was being a coward, at least in relation to his desire to abdicate. If he left because of what was happening to him, that would be taking the easy path.

I can’t leave, he realized. No matter what happens. I have to see this through. Even if he was mad. Or, an increasingly worrisome thought, even if the visions were real, but their origins suspect. I have to stay. But I also have to plan, to make sure I don’t tow my house down.

Such a careful line to walk. Nothing clear, everything clouded. He’d been ready to run because he liked to make clear decisions. Well, nothing was clear about what was happening to