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Dalinar climbs back down from the formation and faces what he has known for thirty seconds: that there is no fighting their way back across an unbridged chasm in Plate under arrow fire, and that the Parshendi formation closing on three sides means his army's only choice is the time and shape of its death. He orders the Kholin force to a defensible ring on the highest part of the Tower and gives the wounded what triage the surgeons can manage with what they have. He sends word for the bannermen to keep the king's colours raised. He tells Adolin that he is to take command if the Blackthorn falls.

When the ring is set Dalinar takes a quiet moment by himself. He thinks of Renarin, whom he leaves a highprince in over his head, surrounded by enemies who will grow fat on his father's flesh — and whom he never did manage to deliver the Plate he promised. He thinks of his brother Gavilar and wonders briefly whether they will speak of this on the other side. He finds an unexpected peace there, in the quiet between heartbeats. He does not curse Sadeas. There is no time, and the man is already what he is.

He puts his helm back on. He summons Oathbringer and walks back to the formation line with Adolin beside him, his son's Blade beside his. The Parshendi are closing in chant — the deep, rolling rhythm they sing only when they expect a slaughter. *And so I die*, Dalinar thinks, and steps forward into the closing line. *Honor of our ancestors protect you, son. Stay strong. Farewell.* He and Adolin charge.