The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,417

into wide shoulders. The faces were lean, narrow. Arrowlike.

“What happened here?” Dalinar asked despite himself. “It’s terrible!”

“I ask myself this same thing. How could we let this occur? The Desolations are well named. I’ve heard initial counts. Eleven years of war, and nine out of ten people I once ruled are dead. Do we even have kingdoms to lead any longer? Sur is gone, I’m sure of it. Tarma, Eiliz, they won’t likely survive. Too many of their people have fallen.”

Dalinar had never heard of those places.

The man made a fist, pounding it softly against the railing. Burning stations had been set up in the distance; they had begun cremating the corpses. “The others want to blame Alakavish. And true, if he hadn’t brought us to war before the Desolation, we might not have been broken this badly. But Alakavish was a symptom of a greater disease. When the Heralds next return, what will they find? A people who have forgotten them yet again? A world torn by war and squabbling? If we continue as we have, then perhaps we deserve to lose.”

Dalinar felt a chill. He had thought that this vision must come after his previous one, but prior visions hadn’t been chronological. He hadn’t seen any Knights Radiant yet, but that might not be because they had disbanded. Perhaps they didn’t exist yet. And perhaps there was a reason this man’s words sounded so familiar.

Could it be? Could he really be standing beside the very man whose words Dalinar had listened to time and time again? “There is honor in loss,” Dalinar said carefully, using words repeated several times in The Way of Kings.

“If that loss brings learning.” The man smiled. “Using my own sayings against me again, Karm?”

Dalinar felt himself grow short of breath. The man himself. Nohadon. The great king. He was real. Or he had been real. This man was younger than Dalinar had imagined him, but that humble, yet regal bearing… yes, it was right.

“I’m thinking of giving up my throne,” Nohadon said softly.

“No!” Dalinar stepped toward him. “You mustn’t.”

“I cannot lead them,” the man said. “Not if this is what my leadership brings them to.”

“Nohadon.”

The man turned to him, frowning. “What?”

Dalinar paused. Could he be wrong about this man’s identity? But no. The name Nohadon was more of a title. Many famous people in history had been given holy names by the Church, before it was disbanded. Even Bajerden wasn’t likely to be his real name; that was lost in time.

“It is nothing,” Dalinar said. “You cannot give up your throne. The people need a leader.”

“They have leaders,” Nohadon said. “There are princes, kings, Soulcasters, Surgebinders. We never lack men and women who wish to lead.”

“True,” Dalinar said, “but we do lack ones who are good at it.”

Nohadon leaned over the railing. He stared at the fallen, an expression of deep grief—and trouble—on his face. It was so strange to see the man like this. He was so young. Dalinar had never imagined such insecurity, such torment, in him.

“I know that feeling,” Dalinar said softly. “The uncertainty, the shame, the confusion.”

“You can read me too well, old friend.”

“I know those emotions because I’ve felt them. I… I never assumed that you would feel them too.”

“Then I correct myself. Perhaps you don’t know me well enough.”

Dalinar fell silent.

“So what do I do?” Nohadon asked.

“You’re asking me?”

“You’re my advisor, aren’t you? Well, I should like some advice.”

“I… You can’t give up your throne.”

“And what should I do with it?” Nohadon turned and walked along the long balcony. It seemed to run around this entire level. Dalinar joined him, passing places where the stone was ripped, the railing broken away.

“I haven’t faith in people any longer, old friend,” Nohadon said. “Put two men together, and they will find something to argue about. Gather them into groups, and one group will find reason to oppress or attack another. Now this. How do I protect them? How do I stop this from happening again?”

“You dictate a book,” Dalinar said eagerly. “A grand book to give people hope, to explain your philosophy on leadership and how lives should be lived!”

“A book? Me. Write a book?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a fantastically stupid idea.”

Dalinar’s jaw dropped.

“The world as we know it has quite nearly been destroyed,” Nohadon said. “Barely a family exists that hasn’t lost half its members! Our best men are corpses on that field, and we haven’t food to last more than two or three months at best. And I’m