“They would only be able to move if they had Soulcasters,” Navani said, “which I personally doubt. They’ll have entrenched somewhere. They aren’t a nomadic people, and there’s no reason for them to move.”

“If we can make peace,” Dalinar mused, “reaching the center would be a lot easier. . . .” He looked to Adolin. “Have the bridgemen fill those scratches with crem, then have them pull the rug over that section of floor.”

“I’ll see it done.”

“Good,” Dalinar said, seeming distant. “After that, get some sleep, son. Tomorrow is a big day.”

Adolin nodded. “Father. Were you aware that there is a parshman among the bridgemen?”

“Yes,” Dalinar said. “There has been one among their numbers from the beginning, but they didn’t arm him until I gave them permission.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Out of curiosity,” Dalinar said. He turned and nodded toward the glyphs on the floor. “Tell me, Navani. Assuming these numbers are counting toward a date, is it a day when a highstorm will come?”

“Thirty-two days?” Navani asked. “That will be in the middle of the Weeping. Thirty-two days won’t even be the exact end of the year, but two days ahead of it. I can’t fathom the significance.”

“Ah, it was too convenient an answer anyway. Very well. Let’s allow the guards back in and swear them to secrecy. Wouldn’t want to inspire a panic.”

In short, if any presume Kazilah to be innocent, you must look at the facts and deny them in their entirety; to say that the Radiants were destitute of integrity for this execution of one their own, one who had obviously fraternized with the unwholesome elements, indicates the most slothful of reasoning; for the enemy’s baleful influence demanded vigilance on all occasions, of war and of peace.

—From Words of Radiance, chapter 32, page 17

The next day, Adolin stomped his feet into his boots, hair still damp from a morning bath. It was amazing the difference a little hot water and some time to reflect could make. He’d come to two decisions.

He wasn’t going to worry about his father’s disconcerting behavior during the visions. The whole of it—the visions, the command to refound the Knights Radiant, the preparation for a disaster that might or might not come—was a package. Adolin had already decided to believe that his father wasn’t mad. Further worry was pointless.

The other decision might get him into trouble. He left his quarters, entering the sitting room, where Dalinar was already planning with Navani, General Khal, Teshav, and Captain Kaladin. Renarin, frustratingly, guarded the door wearing a Bridge Four uniform. He’d refused to give up on that decision of his, despite Adolin’s insistence.

“We’ll need the bridgemen again,” Dalinar said. “If something goes wrong, we may need a quick retreat.”

“I’ll prepare Bridges Five and Twelve for the day, sir,” Kaladin said. “Those two seem nostalgic for their bridges, and talk about the bridge runs with fondness.”

“Weren’t those bloodbaths?” Navani asked.

“They were,” Kaladin said, “but soldiers are a strange lot, Brightness. A disaster unifies them. These men would never want to go back, but they still identify as bridgemen.”

Nearby, General Khal nodded in understanding, though Navani still seemed baffled.

“I’ll take my position here,” Dalinar said, holding up a map of the Shattered Plains. “We can scout the meeting plateau first, while I wait. It apparently has some odd rock formations.”

“That sounds good,” Brightness Teshav said.

“It does,” Adolin said, joining the group, “except for one thing. You won’t be there, Father.”

“Adolin,” Dalinar said with a suffering tone. “I know you think this is too dangerous, but—”

“It is too dangerous,” Adolin said. “The assassin is still out there—and he attacked us last on the very day the Parshendi messenger came to camp. Now, we have a meeting with the enemy out on the Shattered Plains? Father, you can’t go.”

“I have to,” Dalinar said. “Adolin, this could mean an end to the war. It could mean answers—why they attacked in the first place. I will not give up this opportunity.”

“We’re not going to give it up,” Adolin said. “We’re just going to do things a little differently.”

“How?” Dalinar asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Well for one thing,” Adolin said, “I’m going to go in your place.”

“Impossible,” Dalinar said, “I won’t risk my son on—”

“Father!” Adolin snapped. “This is not subject to discussion!”

The room fell silent. Dalinar lowered his hand from the map. Adolin stuck out his jaw, meeting his father’s eyes. Storms, it was difficult to deny Dalinar Kholin. Did his father realize the presence he had, the way he moved people about by sheer force of expectation?

Nobody contradicted him. Dalinar did what he wanted. Fortunately, these days those motives had a noble purpose. But in many ways he was the same man he had been twenty years ago, when he’d conquered a kingdom. He was the Blackthorn, and he got what he wanted.

Except today.

“You are too important,” Adolin said, pointing. “Deny that. Deny that your visions are vital. Deny that if you die, Alethkar would fall apart. Deny that every single person in this room is less important than you are.”

Dalinar drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “It shouldn’t be so. The kingdom needs to be strong enough to survive the loss of one man, no matter who.”

“Well, it’s not there yet,” Adolin said. “To get it there, we’re going to need you. And that means you need to let us watch out for you. I’m sorry, Father, but once in a while you just have to let someone else do their job. You can’t fix every problem with your own hands.”

“He’s right, sir,” Kaladin said. “You really shouldn’t be risking yourself out on those Plains. Not if there’s another option.”

“I fail to see that there is one,” Dalinar said, his tone cool.

“Oh, there is,” Adolin said. “But I’m going to need to borrow Renarin’s Shardplate.”

* * *

The strangest thing about this experience, in Adolin’s estimation, wasn’t wearing his father’s old armor. Despite the outward stylistic differences, suits of Shardplate all tended to fit similarly. The armor adapted, and within a short time after donning it, the Plate felt exactly like Adolin’s own.

It also wasn’t strange to ride at the front of the force, Dalinar’s banner flapping over his head. Adolin had been leading them to battle on his own for six weeks now.

No, the strangest part was riding his father’s horse.

Gallant was a large black animal, bulkier and squatter than Sureblood, Adolin’s horse. Gallant looked like a warhorse even when compared to other Ryshadium. So far as Adolin knew, no man had ever ridden him but Dalinar. Ryshadium were finicky that way. It had taken a lengthy explanation from Dalinar to even get the horse to allow Adolin to hold the reins, let alone climb into the saddle.

It had eventually worked, but Adolin wouldn’t dare ride Gallant into battle; he was pretty sure the beast would throw him off and run away, looking to protect Dalinar. It did feel odd climbing on a horse that wasn’t Sureblood. He kept expecting Gallant to move differently than he did, turn his head at the wrong times. When Adolin patted his neck, the horse’s mane felt off to him in ways he couldn’t explain. He and his Ryshadium were more than simply rider and horse, and he found himself oddly melancholy to be out on a ride without Sureblood.

Foolishness. He had to stay focused. The procession approached the meeting plateau, which had a large, oddly shaped mound of rock near the center. This plateau was close to the Alethi side of the Plains, but much farther south than Adolin had ever gone. Early patrols had said chasmfiends were more common out in this region, but they never spotted a chrysalis here. Some kind of hunting ground, but not a place for pupating?

The Parshendi weren’t there yet. When the scouts reported that the plateau was secure, Adolin urged Gallant across the mobile bridge. He felt warm in his Plate; the seasons, it seemed, had finally decided to inch through spring and maybe even toward summer.

He approached the rock mound at the center. It really was odd. Adolin circled it, noticing its shape, ridged in places, almost like . . .

“It’s a chasmfiend,” Adolin realized. He passed the face, a hollowed-out piece of stone that evoked the exact feeling of a chasmfiend’s head. A statue? No, it was too natural. A chasmfiend had died here centuries ago, and instead of being blown away, had slowly crusted over with crem.

The result was eerie. The crem had duplicated the creature’s form, clinging to the carapace, entombing it. The hulking rock seemed like a creature born of stone, like the ancient stories of Voidbringers.

Adolin shivered, nudging the horse away from the stone corpse and toward the other side of the plateau. Shortly, he heard alarms from the outrunners. Parshendi coming. He steeled himself, ready to summon his Shardblade. Behind him arrayed a group of bridgemen, ten in number, including that parshman. Captain Kaladin had remained with Dalinar back in the warcamp, just in case.

Adolin was the one more exposed. Part of him wished for the assassin to come today. So Adolin could try himself again. Of all the duels he hoped to fight in the future, this one—against the man who had killed his uncle—would be the most important, even more than taking down Sadeas.

The assassin did not make an appearance as a group of two hundred Parshendi crossed from the next plateau, jumping gracefully and landing on the meeting plateau. Adolin’s soldiers stirred, armor clanking, spears lowering. It had been years since men and Parshendi had met without blood being spilled.

“All right,” Adolin said in his helm. “Fetch my scribe.”

Brightness Inadara was carried up through the ranks in a palanquin. Dalinar wanted Navani with him—ostensibly because he wanted her advice, but probably also to protect her.

“Let’s go,” Adolin said, nudging Gallant forward. They crossed the plateau, just him and Brightness Inadara, who rose from her palanquin to walk. She was a wizened matron, with grey hair she cut short for simplicity. He’d seen sticks with more flesh on them than she had, but she was keen-minded and as trustworthy a scribe as they had.

The Parshendi Shardbearer emerged from the ranks and strode forward on the rocks alone. Uncaring, unworried. This was a confident one.

Adolin dismounted and went the rest of the way on foot, Inadara at his side. They stopped a few feet from the Parshendi, the three of them alone on an expanse of rock, the fossilized chasmfiend staring at them from the left.

“I am Eshonai,” the Parshendi said. “Do you remember me?”