Was Laral inside the carriage? Someone else moved inside, climbing out, but it turned out to be a lean man with a clean-shaven face and light tan eyes. The dignified man wore a neatly pressed, green formal military uniform and had a sword at his hip. Highmarshal Amaram? He certainly looked impressive, with that strong figure and square face. The difference between him and Roshone was striking.

Finally, Laral did appear, wearing a light yellow dress of an antique fashion, with a flaring skirt and thick bodice. She glanced up at the rain, then waited for a footman to hurry over with an umbrella. Kaladin felt his heart thumping. They hadn't spoken since the day she'd humiliated him in Roshone's mansion. And yet, she was gorgeous. As she had grown through her adolescence, she had gotten prettier and prettier. Some might find that dark hair sprinkled with foreigner blond to be unappealing for its indication of mixed blood, but to Kaladin it was alluring.

Beside Kaladin, his father stiffened, cursing softly.

"What?" Tien asked from beside Kaladin, craning to see.

"Laral," Kaladin's mother said. "She's wearing a bride's prayer on her sleeve."

Kaladin started, seeing the white cloth with its blue glyphpair sewn onto the sleeve of her dress. She'd burn it when the engagement was formally announced.

But…who? Rillir was dead!

"I'd heard rumors of this," Kaladin's father said. "It appears Roshone wasn't willing to part with the connections she offers."

"Him?" Kaladin asked, stunned. Roshone himself was marrying her? Others in the crowd had begun speaking as they noticed the prayer.

"Lighteyes marry much younger women all the time," Kaladin's mother said. "For them, marriages are often about securing house loyalty."

"Him?" Kaladin asked again, incredulous, stepping forward. "We have to stop it. We have to-"

"Kaladin," his father said sharply.

"But-"

"It is their affair, not ours."

Kaladin fell silent, feeling the larger raindrops hit his head, the smaller ones blowing by as mist. The water ran through the square and pooled in depressions. Near Kaladin, a rainspren sprang up, forming as if out of the water. It stared upward, unblinking.

Roshone leaned on his cane and nodded to Natir, his steward. The man was accompanied by his wife, a stern-looking woman named Alaxia. Natir clapped his slender hands to quiet the crowd, and soon the only sound was that of the soft rain.

"Brightlord Amaram," Roshone said, nodding to the lighteyed man in the uniform, "is absendiar highmarshal of our princedom. He is in command of defending our borders while the king and Brightlord Sadeas are away."

Kaladin nodded. Everyone knew of Amaram. He was far more important than most military men who passed through Hearthstone.

Amaram stepped forward to speak.

"You have a fine town here," Amaram said to the gathered darkeyes. He had a strong, deep voice. "Thank you for hosting me."

Kaladin frowned, glancing at the other townspeople. They seemed as confused as he by the statement.

"Normally," Amaram said, "I would leave this task to one of my subordinate officers. But as I was visiting with my cousin, I decided to come down in person. It is not so onerous a task that I need delegate it."

"Excuse me, Brightlord," said Callins, one of the farmers. "But what duty is that?"

"Why, recruitment, good farmer," Amaram said, nodding to Alaxia, who stepped forward with a sheet of paper strapped to a board. "The king took most of our armies with him on his quest to fulfill the Vengeance Pact. My forces are undermanned, and it has become necessary to recruit young men from each town or village we pass. I do this with volunteers whenever possible."

The townspeople fell still. Boys talked of running off to the army, but few of them would actually do it. Hearthstone's duty was to provide food.

"My fighting is not as glorious as the war for vengeance," Amaram said, "but it is our sacred duty to defend our lands. This tour will be for four years, and upon completing your duty, you will receive a war bonus equal to one-tenth your total wages. You may then return, or you may sign up for further duty. Distinguish yourself and rise to a high rank, and it could mean an increase of one nahn for you and your children. Are there any volunteers?"

"I'll go," Jost said, stepping forward.

"Me too," Abry added.

"Jost!" Jost's mother said, grabbing his arm. "The crops-"

"Your crops are important, darkwoman," Amaram said, "but not nearly as important as the defense of our people. The king sends back riches from the plundered Plains, and the gemstones he has captured can provide food for Alethkar in emergency. You two are both welcome. Are there any others?"

Three more boys from the town stepped forward, and one older man-Harl, who had lost his wife to the scarfever. He was the man whose daughter Kaladin hadn't been able to save after her fall.

"Excellent," Amaram said. "Are there any others?"

The townspeople were still. Oddly so. Many of the boys Kaladin had heard talk so often about joining the army looked away. Kaladin felt his heart beating, and his leg twitched, as if itching to propel him forward.

No. He was to be a surgeon. Lirin looked at him, and his dark brown eyes displayed hints of deep concern. But when Kaladin didn't make any moves forward, he relaxed.

"Very well," Amaram said, nodding to Roshone. "We will need your list after all."

"List?" Lirin asked loudly.

Amaram glanced at him. "The need of our army is great, darkborn. I will take volunteers first, but the army must be replenished. As citylord, my cousin has the duty and honor of deciding which men to send."

"Read the first four names, Alaxia," Roshone said, "and the last one."

Alaxia looked down at her list, speaking with a dry voice. "Agil, son of Marf. Caull, son of Taleb."

Kaladin looked up at Lirin with apprehension.

"He can't take you," Lirin said. "We're of the second nahn and provide an essential function to the town-I as surgeon, you as my only apprentice. By the law, we are exempt from conscription. Roshone knows it."

"Habrin, son of Arafik," Alaxia continued. "Jorna, son of Loats." She hesitated, then looked up. "Tien, son of Lirin."

There was a stillness across the square. Even the rain seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, all eyes turned toward Tien. The boy looked dumbfounded. Lirin was immune as town surgeon, Kaladin immune as his apprentice.

But not Tien. He was a carpenter's third apprentice, not vital, not immune.

Hesina gripped Tien tightly. "No!"

Lirin stepped in front of them, defensive. Kaladin stood stunned, looking at Roshone. Smiling, self-satisfied Roshone.

We took his son, Kaladin realized, meeting those beady eyes. This is his revenge.

"I…" Tien said. "The military?" For once, he seemed to lose his confidence, his optimism. His eyes opened wide, and he grew very pale. He fainted when he saw blood. He hated fighting. He was still small and spindly despite his age.

"He's too young," Lirin declared. Their neighbors sidled away, leaving Lirin's family to stand alone in the rain.

Amaram frowned. "In the cities, youths as young as eight and nine are accepted into the military."

"Lighteyed sons!" Lirin said. "To be trained as officers. They aren't sent into battle!"

Amaram frowned more deeply. He stepped out into the rain, walking up to the family. "How old are you, son?" he asked Tien.

"He's thirteen," Lirin said.

Amaram glanced at him. "The surgeon. I've heard of you." He sighed, glancing back at Amaram. "I haven't the time to engage in your petty, small-town politics, cousin. Isn't there another boy that will do?"

"It is my choice!" Roshone insisted. "Given me by the dictates of law. I send those the town can spare-well, that boy is the first one we can spare."