Dalinar lowered his head and followed Sadeas’s gaze. Highprince Vamah had arrived to watch the dueling, retinue in tow. Though most of them wore his traditional brown and grey colorings, the highprince himself wore a long grey coat that had slashes cut across it to reveal the bright red and orange silk underneath, matched by the ruffles peeking out of the cuffs and collar.

“I thought you had a fondness for Vamah,” Elhokar said.

“I tolerate him,” Sadeas replied. “But his fashion sense is absolutely repulsive. Red and orange? Not even a burnt orange, but a blatant, eye-breaking orange. And the rent style hasn’t been fashionable for ages. Ah, wonderful, he’s sitting directly across from us. I shall be forced to stare at him for the rest of the session.”

“You shouldn’t judge people so harshly based on how they look,” Dalinar said.

“Dalinar,” Sadeas said flatly, “we are highprinces. We represent Alethkar. Many around the world view us as a center of culture and influence. Should I not, therefore, have the right to encourage a properpresentation to the world?”

“A proper presentation, yes,” Dalinar said. “It is right for us to be fit and neat.” It would be nice if your soldiers, for instance, kept their uniforms clean.

“Fit, neat, and fashionable,” Sadeas corrected.

“And me?” Dalinar asked, looking down at his simple uniform. “Would you have me dress in those ruffles and bright colors?”

“You?” Sadeas asked. “You’re completely hopeless.” He raised a hand to forestall objection. “No, I am unfair. That uniform has a certain… timeless quality to it. The military suit, by virtue of its utility, will never be completely out of fashion. It’s a safe choice—steady. In a way, you avoid the issue of fashion by not playing the game.” He nodded to Vamah. “Vamah tries to play, but does so very poorly. And that is unforgivable.”

“I still say you place too much importance on those silks and scarves,” Dalinar said. “We are soldiers at war, not courtiers at a ball.”

“The Shattered Plains are quickly becoming a destination for foreign dignitaries. It is important to present ourselves properly.” He raised a finger to Dalinar. “If I am to accept your moral superiority, my friend, then perhaps it is time for you to accept my sense of fashion. One might note that you judge people by their clothing even more than I do.”

Dalinar fell silent. That comment stung in its truthfulness. Still, if dignitaries were going to meet with the highprinces on the Shattered Plains, was it too much to ask for them to find an efficient group of warcamps led by men who at least looked like generals?

Dalinar settled back to watch the match end. By his count, it was time for Adolin’s bout. The two lighteyes who had been fighting bowed to the king, then withdrew into a tent on the side of the dueling grounds. A moment later, Adolin stepped out onto the sand, wearing his deep blue Shardplate. He carried his helm under his arm, his blond-and-black hair a stylish mess. He raised a gauntleted hand to Dalinar and bowed his head to the king, then put on his helm.

The man who walked out behind him wore Shardplate painted yellow. Brightlord Resi was the only full Shardbearer in Highprince Thanadal’s army—though their warcamp had three men who carried only the Blade or the Plate. Thanadal himself had neither. It wasn’t uncommon for a highprince to rely on his finest warriors as Shardbearers; it made sound sense, particularly if you were the sort of general who preferred to stay behind the lines and direct tactics. In Thanadal’s own princedom, the tradition for centuries had been to appoint the holder of Resi’s Shards as something known as the Royal Defender.

Thanadal had recently been vocal about Dalinar’s faults, and so Adolin— in a moderately subtle move—had challenged the highprince’s star Shardbearer to a friendly bout. Few duels were for Shards; in this case, losing wouldn’t cost either man anything other than statistics in the rankings. The match drew an unusual amount of attention, and the small arena filled over the next quarter hour while the duelists stretched and prepared. More than one woman set up a board to sketch or write impressions of the bout. Thanadal himself didn’t attend.

The bout began as the highjudge in attendance, Lady Istow, called for the combatants to summon their Blades. Elhokar leaned forward again, intent, as Resi and Adolin circled one another on the sand, Shardblades materializing. Dalinar found himself leaning forward as well, though he did feel a stab of shame. According to the Codes, most duels should be avoided when Alethkar was at war. There was a fine line between sparring for practice and dueling another man for an insult, potentially leaving important officers wounded.

Resi stood in Stonestance, his Shardblade held before him in two hands, point toward the sky, arms all the way extended. Adolin used Windstance, turned sideways slightly, hands before him and elbows bent, Shardblade pointing back over his head. They circled. The winner would be the first one who completely shattered a section of the other’s Plate. That wasn’t too dangerous; weakened Plate could usually still rebuff a blow, even if it shattered in the process.

Resi attacked first, taking a hopping leap forward and striking by whipping his Shardblade back over his head, then down to his right in a powerful blow. Stonestance focused on that type of attack, delivering the most possible momentum and strength behind each strike. Dalinar found it unwieldy—you didn’t need that much power behind a Shardblade on the battlefield, though it was helpful against other Shardbearers.

Adolin jumped back out of the way, Shardplate-enhanced legs giving him a nimbleness that defied the fact that he was wearing over a hundred stoneweights of thick armor. Resi’s attack—though well-executed—left him open, and Adolin made a careful strike at his opponent’s left vambrace, cracking the forearm plate. Resi attacked again, and Adolin again danced out of the way, then scored a hit on his opponent’s left thigh.

Some poets described combat as a dance. Dalinar rarely felt that way about regular combat. Two men fighting with sword and shield would go at one another in a furious rush, slamming their weapons down again and again, tying to get around their opponent’s shield. Less a dance, and more like wrestling with weapons.

Fighting with Shardblades, though, that could be like a dance. The large weapons took a great deal of skill to swing properly, and Plate was resilient, so exchanges were generally drawn out. The fights were filled with grand motions, wide sweeps. There was a fluidity to fighting with a Shardblade. A grace.

“He’s quite good, you know,” Elhokar said. Adolin made a hit on Resi’s helm, prompting a round of applause from those watching. “Better than my father was. Better than even you, Uncle.”

“He works very hard,” Dalinar said. “He truly loves it. Not the war, not the fighting. The dueling.”

“He could be champion, if he wished it.”

Adolin did wish it, Dalinar knew. But he had refused bouts that would put him within reach of the title. Dalinar suspected that Adolin did it to hold, somewhat, to the Codes. Dueling championships and tournaments were things for those rare times between wars. It could be argued that protecting one’s family honor, however, was for all times.

Either way, Adolin didn’t duel for ranking, and that made other Shardbearers underestimate him. They were quick to accept duels with him, and some non-Shardbearers challenged him. By tradition, the king’s own Shardplate and Blade were available for a large fee to those who both had his favor and the wish to duel a Shardbearer.