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The leader of the bridge crew was seeing to a man’s wound, and his fingers worked with expertise. A man trained in field medicine, among bridgemen?
Well, why not? Dalinar thought. It’s no odder than their being able to fight so well. Sadeas had been holding out on him.
The young man looked up. And, for the first time, Dalinar noticed the slave brands on the youth’s forehead, hidden by the long hair. The youth stood, posture hostile, folding his arms.
“You are to be commended,” Dalinar said. “All of you. Why did your highprince retreat, only to send you back for us?”
Several of the bridgemen chuckled.
“He didn’t send us back,” their leader said. “We came on our own. Against his wishes.”
Dalinar found himself nodding, and he realized that this was the only answer that made sense. “Why?” Dalinar asked. “Why come for us?”
The youth shrugged. “You allowed yourself to get trapped in there quite spectacularly.”
Dalinar nodded tiredly. Perhaps he should have been annoyed at the young man’s tone, but it was only the truth. “Yes, but why did you come? And how did you learn to fight so well?”
“By accident,” the young man said. He turned back to his wounded.
“What can I do to repay you?” Dalinar asked.
The bridgeman looked back at him. “I don’t know. We were going to flee from Sadeas, disappear in the confusion. We might still, but he’ll certainly hunt us down and kill us.”
“I could take your men to my camp, make Sadeas free you from your bondage.”
“I worry that he wouldn’t let us go,” the bridgeman said, eyes haunted. “And I worry that your camp would offer no safety at all. This move today by Sadeas. It will mean war between you two, will it not?”
Would it? Dalinar had avoided thinking of Sadeas—survival had taken his focus—but his anger at the man was a seething pit deep within. He would exact revenge on Sadeas for this. But could he allow war between the princedoms? It would shatter Alethkar. More than that, it would destroy the Kholin house. Dalinar didn’t have the troops or the allies to stand against Sadeas, not after this disaster.
How would Sadeas respond when Dalinar returned? Would he try to finish the job, attacking? No, Dalinar thought. No, he did it this way for a purpose. Sadeas had not engaged him personally. He had abandoned Dalinar, but by Alethi standards, that was another thing entirely. He didn’t want to risk the kingdom either.
Sadeas wouldn’t want outright war, and Dalinar couldn’t afford outright war, despite his seething anger. He formed a fist, turning to look at the spearman. “It will not turn to war,” Dalinar said. “Not yet, at least.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” the spearman said, “then by taking us into your camp, you commit robbery. The king’s law, the Codes my men always claim you uphold, would demand that you return us to Sadeas. He won’t let us go easily.”
“I will take care of Sadeas,” Dalinar said. “Return with me. I vow that you will be safe. I promise it with every shred of honor I have.”
The young bridgeman met his eyes, searching for something. Such a hard man he was for one so young.
“All right,” the spearman said. “We’ll return. I can’t leave my men back at camp and—with so many men now wounded—we don’t have the proper supplies to run.”
The young man turned back to his work, and Dalinar rode Gallant in search of a casualty report. He forced himself to contain his rage at Sadeas. It was difficult. No, Dalinar could not let this turn to war—but neither could he let things go back to the way they had been.
Sadeas had upset the balance, and it could never be regained. Not in the same way.
“All is withdrawn for me. I stand against the one who saved my life. I protect the one who killed my promises. I raise my hand. The storm responds.”
—Tanatanev 1173, 18 seconds pre-death. A darkeyed mother of four in her sixty-second year.
Navani pushed her way past the guards, ignoring their protests and the calls of her attending ladies. She forced herself to remain calm. She would remain calm! What she had heard was just rumor. It had to be.
Unfortunately, the older she grew, the worse she became at maintaining a brightlady’s proper tranquility. She hastened her step through Sadeas’s warcamp. Soldiers raised hands toward her as she passed, either to offer her aid or to demand she halt. She ignored both; they’d never dare lay a finger on her. Being the king’s mother gained one a few privileges.
The camp was messy and poorly laid out. Pockets of merchants, whores, and workers made their homes in shanties built on the leeward sides of barracks. Drippings of hardened crem hung from most leeward eaves, like trails of wax left to pour over the side of a table. It was a distinct contrast to the neat lines and scrubbed buildings of Dalinar’s warcamp.
He will be fine, she told herself. He’d better be fine!
It was a testament to her disordered state that she barely considered constructing a new street pattern for Sadeas in her head. She made her way directly to the staging area, and arrived to find an army that hardly looked as if it had been to battle. Soldiers without any blood on their uniforms, men chatting and laughing, officers walking down lines and dismissing the men squad by squad.
That should have relieved her. This didn’t look like a force that had just suffered a disaster. Instead, it made her even more anxious.
Sadeas, in unmarred red Shardplate, was speaking with a group of officers in the shade of a nearby canopy. She stalked up to the canopy, but here a group of guards managed to bar her way, forming up shoulder to shoulder while one went to inform Sadeas of her arrival.
Navani folded her arms impatiently. Perhaps she should have taken a palanquin, as her attending ladies had suggested. Several of them, looking beleaguered, were just arriving at the staging area. A palanquin would be faster in the long run, they had explained, as it would leave time for messengers to be sent so Sadeas could receive her.
Once, she had obeyed such proprieties. She could remember being a young woman, playing the games expertly, delighting in ways to manipulate the system. What had that gotten her? A dead husband whom she’d never loved and a “privileged” position in court that amounted to being put out to pasture.
What would Sadeas do if she just started screaming? The king’s own mother, bellowing like an axehound whose antenna had been twisted? She considered it as the soldier waited for a chance to announce her to Sadeas.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a youth in a blue uniform arriving in the staging area, accompanied by a small honor guard of three men. It was Renarin, for once bearing an expression other than calm curiosity. Wide-eyed and frantic, he hurried up to Navani.
“Mashala,” he pled in his quiet voice. “Please. What have you heard?”
“Sadeas’s army returned without your father’s army,” Navani said. “There is talk of a rout, though it doesn’t look as if these men have been through one.” She glared at Sadeas, giving serious contemplation to throwing a fit. Fortunately, he finally spoke with the soldier and then sent him back.
“You may approach, Brightness,” the man said, bowing to her.
