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“Pardon, Brightlord,” Teshav said as they turned around a switchback. Her attendant scribe walked behind, several ledgers clipped to boards carried in a satchel. “But do we really wish to discourage that? A second stream of supplies could be valuable as a redundancy.”
“The merchants already provide redundancy,” Dalinar said. “Which is one of the reasons I haven’t chased them off. I wouldn’t mind another, but the Soulcasters are the only hold we have on the highprinces. They owed Gavilar loyalty, but they feel little of that for his son.” Dalinar narrowed his eyes. “This is a vital point, Teshav. Have you read the histories I suggested?”
“Yes, Brightlord.”
“Then you know. The most fragile period in a kingdom’s existence comes during the lifetime of its founder’s heir. During the reign of a man like Gavilar, men stay loyal because of their respect for him. During subsequent generations, men begin to see themselves as part of a kingdom, a united force that holds together because of tradition.
“But the son’s reign…that’s the dangerous point. Gavilar isn’t here to hold everyone together, but there isn’t yet a tradition of Alethkar being a kingdom. We’ve got to carry on long enough for the highprinces to begin seeing themselves as part of a greater whole.”
“Yes, Brightlord.”
She didn’t question. Teshav was deeply loyal to him, as were most of his officers. They didn’t question why it was so important to him that the ten princedoms regard themselves as one nation. Perhaps they assumed it was because of Gavilar. Indeed, his brother’s dream of a united Alethkar was part of it. There was something else, though.
The Everstorm comes. The True Desolation. The Night of Sorrows.
He suppressed a shiver. The visions certainly didn’t make it sound like he had a great deal of time to prepare.
“Draft a missive in the king’s name,” Dalinar said, “decreasing Soulcasting costs for those who have made their payments on time. That should wake up the others. Give it to Elhokar’s scribes and have them explain it to him. Hopefully he will agree with the need.”
“Yes, Brightlord,” Teshav said. “If I might note, I was quite surprised that you suggested I read those histories. In the past, such things haven’t been particular to your interests.”
“I do a lot of things lately that aren’t particular to my interests or my talents,” Dalinar said with a grimace. “My lack of capacity doesn’t change the kingdom’s needs. Have you gathered reports of banditry in the area?”
“Yes, Brightlord.” She hesitated. “The rates are quite alarming.”
“Tell your husband I give him command of the Fourth Battalion,” Dalinar said. “I want the two of you to work out a better pattern of patrol in the Unclaimed Hills. So long as the Alethi monarchy has a presence here, I do not want it to be a land of lawlessness.”
“Yes, Brightlord,” Teshav said, sounding hesitant. “You realize that means you’ve committed two entire battalions to patrolling?”
“Yes,” Dalinar said. He had asked for help from the other highprinces. Their reactions had ranged from shock to mirth. None had given him any soldiers.
“That is added to the battalion you assigned to peacekeeping in the areas between warcamps and the exterior merchant markets,” Teshav added. “In total, that’s over a quarter of your forces here, Brightlord.”
“The orders stand, Teshav.” he said. “See to it. But first, I have more to discuss with you regarding the ledgers. Go on ahead to the ledger room and wait for us there.”
She nodded respect. “Of course, Brightlord.” She withdrew with her ward.
Renarin stepped up to Dalinar. “She wasn’t pleased about that, Father.”
“She wishes her husband to be fighting,” Dalinar said. “They all hope that I’ll win another Shardblade out there, then give it to them.” The Parshendi had Shards. Not many, but even a single one was surprising. Nobody had an explanation for where they’d gotten them. Dalinar had won a Parshendi Shardblade and Plate during his first year here. He’d given both to Elhokar to award to a warrior he felt would be the most useful to Alethkar and the war effort.
Dalinar turned and entered the palace proper. The guards at the doorway saluted him and Renarin. The young man kept his eyes forward, staring at nothing. Some people thought him emotionless, but Dalinar knew he was just preoccupied.
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you, son,” Dalinar said. “About the hunt last week.”
Renarin’s eyes flickered downward in shame, the edges of his mouth pulling back in a grimace. Yes, he did have emotions. He just didn’t show them as often as others.
“You realize that you shouldn’t have rushed into battle as you did,” Dalinar said sternly. “That chasmfiend could have killed you.”
“What would you have done, Father, if it had been me in danger?”
“I don’t fault your bravery; I fault your wisdom. What if you’d had one of your fits?”
“Then perhaps the monster would have swept me off the plateau,” Renarin said bitterly, “and I would no longer be such a useless drain on everyone’s time.”
“Don’t say such things! Not even in jest.”
“Was it jest? Father, I can’t fight.”
“Fighting is not the only thing of value a man can do.” The ardents were very specific about that. Yes, the highest Calling of men was to join the battle in the afterlife to reclaim the Tranquiline Halls, but the Almighty accepted the excellence of any man or woman, regardless of what they did.
You just did your best, picking a profession and an attribute of the Almighty to emulate. A Calling and a Glory, it was said. You worked hard at your profession, and you spent your life trying to live according to a single ideal. The Almighty would accept that, particularly if you were lighteyed—the better your blood as a lighteyes, the more innate Glory you had already.
Dalinar’s Calling was to be a leader, and his chosen Glory was determination. He’d chosen both in his youth, though he now viewed them very differently than he once had.
“You are right, of course, Father,” Renarin said. “I am not the first hero’s son to be born without any talent for warfare. The others all got along. So shall I. Likely I will end up as citylord of a small town. Assuming I don’t tuck myself away in the devotaries.” The boy’s eyes turned forward.
I still think of him as “the boy,” Dalinar thought. Even though he’s now in his twentieth year. Wit had been right. Dalinar underestimated Renarin. How would I react, if I were forbidden to fight? Kept back with the women and the merchants?
Dalinar would have been bitter, particularly against Adolin. In fact, Dalinar had often been envious of Gavilar during their boyhood. Renarin, however, was Adolin’s greatest supporter. He all but worshipped his elder brother. And he was brave enough to dash heedless into the middle of a battlefield where a nightmare creature was smashing spearmen and tossing aside Shardbearers.
Dalinar cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is time to again try training you in the sword.”
“My blood weakness—”
“Won’t matter a bit if we get you into a set of Plate and give you a Blade,” Dalinar said. “The armor makes any man strong, and a Shardblade is nearly as light as air itself.”
