The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,444

all along. And whatever the visions were, they had misled Dalinar in at least one respect. Trusting Sadeas had brought them to doom.

Men died just a short distance away, screaming and cursing. Dalinar longed to fight, but he needed to rest himself. Losing a Shardbearer because of fatigue would not serve his men.

“Well?” Dalinar demanded of Adolin. “Say it. I have led us to destruction.”

“I—”

“This is my fault,” Dalinar said. “I should never have risked our house for those foolish dreams.”

“No,” Adolin said. He sounded surprised at himself for saying it. “No, Father. It’s not your fault.”

Dalinar stared at his son. That was not what he’d expected to hear.

“What would you have done differently?” Adolin asked. “Would you stop trying to make something better of Alethkar? Would you become like Sadeas and the others? No. I wouldn’t have you become that man, Father, regardless of what it would gain us. I wish to the Heralds that we hadn’t let Sadeas trick us into this, but I will not blame you for his deceit.”

Adolin reached over, gripping Dalinar’s Plate-covered arm. “You are right to follow the Codes. You were right to try to unite Alethkar. And I was a fool for fighting you on it every step along the path. Perhaps if I hadn’t spent so much time distracting you, we would have seen this day coming.”

Dalinar blinked, dumbfounded. This was Adolin speaking those words? What had changed in the boy? And why did he speak these words now, at the dawn of Dalinar’s greatest failure?

And yet, as the words hung in the air, Dalinar felt his guilt evaporating, blown away by the screams of the dying. It was a selfish emotion.

Would he have had himself change? Yes, he could have been more cautious. He could have been warier of Sadeas. But would he have given up on the Codes? Would he have become the same pitiless killer he’d been as a youth?

No.

Did it matter that the visions had been wrong about Sadeas? Was he ashamed of the man that they, and the readings from the book, had made him become? The final piece fell into place inside of him, the final cornerstone, and he found that he was no longer worried. The confusion was gone. He knew what to do, at long last. No more questions. No more uncertainty.

He reached up, gripping Adolin’s arm. “Thank you.”

Adolin nodded curtly. He was still angry, Dalinar could see, but he chose to follow Dalinar—and part of following a leader was supporting him even when the battle turned against him.

Then they released one another and Dalinar turned to the soldiers around them. “It is time for us to fight,” he said, voice growing louder. “And we do so not because we seek the glory of men, but because the other options are worse. We follow the Codes not because they bring gain, but because we loathe the people we would otherwise become. We stand here on this battlefield alone because of who we are.”

The members of the Cobalt Guard standing in a ring began to turn, one at a time, looking toward him. Beyond them, reserve soldiers—lighteyed and dark—gathered closer, eyes terrified, but faces resolute.

“Death is the end of all men!” Dalinar bellowed. “What is the measure of him once he is gone? The wealth he accumulated and left for his heirs to squabble over? The glory he obtained, only to be passed on to those who slew him? The lofty positions he held through happenstance?

“No. We fight here because we understand. The end is the same. It is the path that separates men. When we taste that end, we will do so with our heads held high, eyes to the sun.”

He held out a hand, summoning Oathbringer. “I am not ashamed of what I have become,” he shouted, and found it to be true. It felt so strange to be free of guilt. “Other men may debase themselves to destroy me. Let them have their glory. For I will retain mine!”

The Shardblade formed, dropping into his hand.

The men did not cheer, but they did stand taller, straight-backed. A little of the terror retreated. Adolin shoved his helm on, his own Blade appearing in his hand, coated in condensation. He nodded.

Together they charged back into the battle.

And so I die, Dalinar thought, crashing into the Parshendi ranks. There he found peace. An unexpected emotion on the field of battle, but all the more welcome for that.

He did, however, discover one regret: He was leaving