“Proceed,” Adolin said.

“Advance runners have met with the lead huntmaster and have returned. There are no sightings of Parshendi on any nearby plateaus. Companies Eighteen and Twenty-one are in position, though there are still eight companies to go.”

Adolin nodded. “Have Company Twenty-one send some outriders to watch from plateaus fourteen and sixteen. And two each on plateaus six and eight.”

“Six and eight? Behind us?”

“If I were going to ambush the party,” Adolin said, “I’d round back this way and cut us off from fleeing. Do it.”

Tarilar saluted. “Yes, Brightlord.” He hurried away to pass the orders.

“You really think that’s necessary?” Renarin asked, riding up beside Adolin.

“No. But Father will want it done anyway. You know he will.”

There was motion up above. Adolin looked up just in time to see the king leap off the rock formation, cape streaming behind him as he fell some forty feet to the rock floor. Adolin’s father stood at the lip above, and Adolin could imagine him cursing to himself at what he saw as a foolhardy move. Shardplate could withstand a fall that far, but it was high enough to be dangerous.

Elhokar landed with an audible crack, throwing up chips of stone and a large puff of Stormlight. He managed to stay upright. Adolin’s father took a safer way down, descending to a lower ledge before jumping.

He seems to take the safer pathway more and more often lately, Adolin thought idly. And he often seems to find reasons to give me command as well. Thoughtful, Adolin trotted his horse out of the shadow of the rock formation. He needed to get a report from the rear guard—his father would want to hear it.

His path took him past a group of lighteyes from Sadeas’s party. The king, Sadeas, and Vamah each had a collection of attendants, aides, and sycophants accompanying them. Looking at them riding in their comfortable silks, open-fronted jackets, and shade-covered palanquins made Adolin aware of his sweaty, bulky armor. Shardplate was wonderful and empowering, but beneath a hot sun, it could still leave a man wishing for something less confining.

But, of course, he couldn’t have worn casual clothing like the others. Adolin was to be in uniform, even on a hunt. The Alethi War Codes commanded it. Never mind that nobody had followed those Codes in centuries. Or at least nobody but Dalinar Kholin—and, by extension, his sons.

Adolin passed a pair of lounging lighteyes, Vartian and Lomard, two of Sadeas’s recent hangers-on. They were talking loudly enough that Adolin could hear. Probably on purpose. “Chasing after the king again,” Vartian said, shaking his head. “Like pet axehounds nipping at their master’s heels.”

“Shameful,” Lomard said. “How long has it been since Dalinar won a gemheart? The only time he can get one is when the king lets them hunt it without competition.”

Adolin set his jaw and rode on. His father’s interpretation of the Codes wouldn’t let Adolin challenge a man to a duel while he was on duty or in command. He chafed at the needless restrictions, but Dalinar had spoken as Adolin’s commanding officer. That meant there was no room for argument. He’d have to find a way to duel the two idiot sycophants in another setting, put them in their places. Unfortunately, he couldn’t duel everyone who spoke out against his father.

The biggest problem was, the things they said had some real truth to them. The Alethi princedoms were like kingdoms unto themselves, still mostly autonomous despite having accepted Gavilar as king. Elhokar had inherited the throne, and Dalinar, by right, had taken the Kholin Princedom as his own.

However, most of the highprinces gave only token nods to the paramount rule of the king. That left Elhokar without land that was specifically his own. He tended to act like a highprince of the Kholin Princedom, taking great interest in its day-to-day management. So, while Dalinar should have been a ruler unto himself, he instead bent to Elhokar’s whims and dedicated his resources to protecting his nephew. That made him weak in the eyes of the others—nothing more than a glorified bodyguard.

Once, when Dalinar had been feared, men had not dared whisper about these things. But now? Dalinar went on fewer and fewer plateau assaults, and his forces lagged behind in capturing precious gemhearts. While the others fought and won, Dalinar and his sons spent their time in bureaucratic administration.

Adolin wanted to be out there fighting, killing Parshendi. What was the good of following the Codes of War when he rarely got to go to war? It’s the fault of those delusions. Dalinar wasn’t weak, and he certainly wasn’t a coward, no matter what people said. He was just troubled.

The rearguard captains weren’t formed up yet, so Adolin decided to give the king a report instead. He trotted up toward the king—joining Sadeas, who was doing the same. Not unexpectedly, Sadeas frowned at him. The highprince hated that Adolin had a Blade while Sadeas had none; he had coveted one for years now.

Adolin met the highprince’s eyes, smiling. Anytime you want to duel me for my Blade, Sadeas, go ahead and try. What Adolin wouldn’t do to get that eel of a man in the dueling ring.

When Dalinar and the king rode up, and Adolin spoke quickly, before Sadeas could speak. “Your Majesty, I have scout reports.”

The king sighed. “More of nothing, I expect. Honestly, Uncle, must we have a report on every little detail of the army?”

“We are at war, Your Majesty,” Dalinar said.

Elhokar sighed sufferingly.

You’re a strange man, cousin, Adolin thought. Elhokar saw murderers in every shadow, yet often dismissed the Parshendi threat. He’d go charging off like he had today, with no honor guard, and would leap off a forty-foot-tall rock formation. Yet he’d stay up nights, terrified of assassination.

“Give your report, son,” Dalinar said.

Adolin hesitated, now feeling foolish at the lack of substance to what he had to say. “The scouts have seen no sign of the Parshendi. They’ve met with the huntmaster. Two companies have secured the next plateau, and the other eight will need some time to cross. We’re close, though.”

“Yes, we saw from above,” Elhokar said. “Perhaps a few of us could ride ahead….”

“Your Majesty,” Dalinar said. “The point of bringing my troops along would be somewhat undermined if you left them behind.”

Elhokar rolled his eyes. Dalinar did not yield, his expression as immobile as the rocks around them. Seeing him like that—firm, unyielding before a challenge—made Adolin smile with pride. Why couldn’t he be like this all of the time? Why did he back down so often before insults or challenges?

“Very well,” the king said. “We’ll take a break and wait while the army crosses.”

The king’s attendants responded immediately, men climbing off horses, women having their palanquin bearers set them down. Adolin moved off to get that rearguard report. By the time he returned, Elhokar was practically holding court. His servants had set up a small awning to give him shade, and others served wine. Chilled, using one of the new fabrials that could make things cold.

Adolin removed his helm and wiped his brow with his saddle rag, again wishing he could join the others and enjoy a little wine. Instead, he climbed down from his horse and went looking for his father. Dalinar stood outside the awning, gauntleted hands clasped behind his back, looking eastward, toward the Origin—the distant, the unseen place where highstorms began. Renarin stood at his side, looking out as well, as if trying to see what it was that his father found so interesting.