The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,92

take?”

“Two or three hours is likely,” Bashin said, taking the reins of the king’s horse. Grooms took the two Ryshadium. “We’ve set up over there.”

Bashin pointed toward the hunting plateau, the smaller plateau where the actual fighting would take place away from the attendants and the bulk of the soldiers. A group of hunters led a lumbering chull around its perimeter, towing a rope draped over the side of the cliff. That rope would be dragging the bait.

“We’re using hog carcasses,” Bashin explained. “And we poured hog’s blood over the sides. The chasmfiend has been spotted by patrols here a good dozen times. He’s got his nest nearby, for certain—he’s not here to pupate. He’s too big for that, and he’s remained in the area too long. So it should be a fine hunt! Once he arrives, we’ll loose a group of wild hogs as distractions, and you can begin weakening him with arrows.”

They had brought grandbows: large steel bows with thick strings and such a high draw weight that only a Shardbearer could use them, to fire shafts as thick as three fingers. They were recent creations, devised by Alethi engineers through the use of fabrial science, and each required a small infused gemstone to maintain the strength of its pull without warping the metal. Adolin’s aunt Navani—the widow of King Gavilar, mother of Elhokar and his sister Jasnah—had led the research to develop the bows.

It would be nice if she hadn’t left, Adolin thought idly. Navani was an interesting woman. Things were never boring around her.

Some had started calling the bows Shardbows, but Adolin didn’t like the term. Shardblades and Shardplate were something special. Relics from another time, a time when the Radiants had walked Roshar. No amount of fabrial science had even approached re-creating them.

Bashin led the king and his highprinces toward a pavilion at the center of the viewing plateau. Adolin joined his father, intending to give a report on the crossing. About half of the soldiers were in place, but many of the attendants were still making their way across the large, permanent bridge onto the viewing plateau. The king’s banner flapped above the pavilion, and a small refreshment station had been erected. A soldier at the back was setting up the rack of four grandbows. They were sleek and dangerous-looking, with thick black shafts in four quivers beside them.

“I think you’ll have a fine day for the hunt,” Bashin said to Dalinar. “Judging by reports, the beast is a big one. Larger than you’ve ever slain before, Brightlord.”

“Gavilar always wanted to slay one of these,” Dalinar said wistfully. “He loved greatshell hunts, though he never got a chasmfiend. Odd that I’ve now killed so many.”

The chull pulling the bait bleated in the distance.

“You need to go for the legs on this one, Brightlords,” Bashin said. Pre-hunt advice was one of Bashin’s responsibilities, and he took those seriously. “Chasmfiends, well, you’re used to attacking them in their chrysalises. Don’t forget how mean they are when they’re not pupating. With one this big, use a distraction and come in from…” He trailed off, then groaned, cursing softly. “Storms take that animal. I swear, the man who trained it must have been daft.”

He was looking across at the next plateau. Adolin followed his glance. The crablike chull that had been towing the bait was lumbering away from the chasm with a slow, yet determined gait. Its handlers were yelling, running after it.

“I’m sorry, Brightlord,” Bashin said. “It’s been doing this all day.”

The chull bleated in a gravelly voice. Something seemed wrong to Adolin.

“We can send for another one,” Elhokar said. “It shouldn’t take too long to—”

“Bashin?” Dalinar said, his voice suddenly alarmed. “Shouldn’t there be bait on the end of that beast’s rope?”

The huntmaster froze. The rope the chull was towing was frayed at the end.

Something dark—something mind-numbingly enormous—rose out of the chasm on thick, chitinous legs. It climbed onto the plateau—not the small plateau where the hunt was supposed to take place, but the viewing plateau where Dalinar and Adolin stood. The plateau filled with attendants, unarmed guests, female scribes, and unprepared soldiers.

“Aw, Damnation,” Bashin said.

I realize that you are probably still angry. That is pleasant to know. Much as your perpetual health, I have come to rely upon your dissatisfaction with me. It is one of the cosmere’s great constants, I should think.

Ten heartbeats.

One.

That was how long it took to summon a Shardblade. If Dalinar’s heart was racing, the time was shorter. If he was