Dalinar’s armorers arrived, and he climbed out of the saddle and stepped into the boots they provided, then held out his arms, letting them quickly strap on his breastplate and other sections of armor.

“Wait here,” he told his men, then climbed back onto his horse and set his helm on his pommel. He walked his horse out onto the killing field, summoning his Shardblade and resting it on his shoulder, reins in the other hand.

Years had passed since his last assault on the Rift. He imagined Gavilar racing ahead of him, Sadeas cursing from behind them and demanding “prudence.” Dalinar picked his way forward until he was about halfway to the gates. Any closer and those archers were likely to start shooting; he was already well within their range. He stilled his horse and waited.

There was some discussion on the walls; he could see the agitation among the soldiers. After about thirty minutes of him sitting there, his horse calmly licking the ground and nibbling at the grass that peeked out, the gates finally creaked open. A company of infantrymen poured out, accompanying two men on horseback. Dalinar dismissed the bald one with the purple birthmark across half his face; he was too old to be the boy Dalinar had spared.

It had to be the younger man riding the white steed, cape streaming behind him. Yes, he had an eagerness to him, his horse threatening to outstrip his guards. And the way he stared daggers at Dalinar … this was Brightlord Tanalan, son of the old Tanalan, whom Dalinar had bested after falling down into the Rift itself. That furious fight across wooden bridges and then in a garden suspended from the side of the chasm.

The group stopped about fifty feet from Dalinar.

“Have you come to parley?” called the man with the birthmark on his face.

Dalinar walked his horse closer so he wouldn’t have to shout. Tanalan’s guards raised shields and spears.

Dalinar inspected them, then the fortifications. “You’ve done well here. Polemen on the walls to push me off, should I come in alone. Netting draped down at the top, which you can cut free to entangle me.”

“What do you want, tyrant?” Tanalan snapped. His voice had the typical nasal accent of the Rifters.

Dalinar dismissed his Blade and swung free of his horse, Plate grinding on stone as he hit the ground. “Walk with me a moment, Brightlord. I promise not to harm you unless I’m attacked first.”

“I’m supposed to take your word?”

“What did I do, the last time we were together?” Dalinar asked. “When I had you in my hand, how did I act?”

“You robbed me.”

“And?” Dalinar asked, meeting the younger man’s violet eyes.

Tanalan measured him, tapping one finger against his saddle. Finally he dismounted. The man with the birthmark put a hand on his shoulder, but the youthful brightlord pulled free.

“I don’t see what you hope to accomplish here, Blackthorn,” Tanalan said, joining Dalinar. “We have nothing to say to one another.”

“What do I want to accomplish?” Dalinar said, musing. “I’m not certain. My brother is normally the talker.” He started walking along the corridor between the two hostile armies. Tanalan lingered, then jogged to catch up.

“Your troops look good,” Dalinar said. “Brave. Arrayed against a stronger force, yet determined.”

“They have strong motivation, Blackthorn. You murdered many of their fathers.”

“It will be a pity to destroy them in turn.”

“Assuming you can.”

Dalinar stopped and turned to regard the shorter man. They stood on a too-quiet field, where even the rockbuds and the grass had the sense to withdraw. “Have I ever lost a battle, Tanalan?” Dalinar asked softly. “You know my reputation. Do you think it exaggerated?”

The younger man shifted, looking over his shoulder toward where he had left his guards and advisors. When he looked back, he was more resolved. “Better to die trying to bring you down than to surrender.”

“You’d better be sure of that,” Dalinar said. “Because if I win here, I’m going to have to make an example. I’ll break you, Tanalan. Your sorry, weeping city will be held up before all who would defy my brother. Be absolutely certain you want to fight me, because once this starts, I will be forced to leave only widows and corpses to populate the Rift.”

The young nobleman’s jaw slowly dropped. “I…”

“My brother attempted words and politics to bring you into line,” Dalinar said. “Well, I’m good at only one thing. He builds. I destroy. But because of the tears of a good woman, I have come—against my better judgment—to offer you an alternative. Let’s find an accommodation that will spare your city.”

“An accommodation? You killed my father.”

“And someday a man will kill me,” Dalinar said. “My sons will curse his name as you curse mine. I hope they don’t throw away thousands of lives in a hopeless battle because of that grudge. You want vengeance. Fine. Let’s duel. Me and you. I’ll lend you a Blade and Plate, and we’ll face each other on equal grounds. I win, and your people surrender.”

“And if I beat you, will your armies leave?”

“Hardly,” Dalinar said. “I suspect they’ll fight harder. But they won’t have me, and you’ll have won your father’s Blade back. Who knows? Maybe you’ll defeat the army. You’ll have a better storming chance, at least.”

Tanalan frowned at Dalinar. “You aren’t the man I thought you were.”

“I’m the same man I’ve always been. But today … today that man doesn’t want to kill anyone.”

A sudden fire inside him raged against those words. Was he really going to such lengths to avoid the conflict he’d been so anticipating?

“One of your own is working against you,” Tanalan suddenly said. “The loyal highprinces? There’s a traitor among them.”

“I’d be surprised if there weren’t several,” Dalinar said. “But yes, we know that one has been working with you.”

“A pity,” Tanalan said. “His men were here not an hour ago. A little earlier and you’d have caught them. Maybe they’d have been forced to join me, and their master would have been pulled into the war.” He shook his head, then turned and walked back toward his advisors.

Dalinar sighed in frustration. A dismissal. Well, there had never been much of a chance that this would work. He walked back to his horse and pulled himself up into the saddle.

Tanalan mounted as well. Before riding back to his city, the man gave Dalinar a salute. “This is unfortunate,” he said. “But I see no other way. I cannot defeat you in a duel, Blackthorn. To try would be foolish. But your offer is … appreciated.”

Dalinar grunted, pulled on his helm, then turned his horse.

“Unless…” Tanalan said.

“Unless?”

“Unless, of course, this was really a ruse all along, a scheme arranged by your brother, you, and me,” Tanalan said. “A … false rebellion. Intended to trick disloyal highprinces into revealing themselves.”

Dalinar raised his faceplate and turned back.

“Perhaps my outrage was feigned,” Tanalan said. “Perhaps we have been in touch since your attack here, all those years ago. You did spare my life, after all.”