War and Its Futility in The Way of Kings

The Hollow Campaign: War’s Futility on the Shattered Plains

Brandon Sanderson’s The Way of Kings presents a devastating critique of war through the War of Reckoning on the Shattered Plains. The thematic claim is clear: war, stripped of noble pretext, devolves into a self-perpetuating cycle of pointless slaughter that erodes humanity, distracts from true dangers, and benefits only the corrupt. This analysis traces that claim across three distinct plot threads, examines character and symbol connections, and explores the moral contradictions that deepen the tragedy.

The Shattered Plains as a Landscape of Futility

From the moment Kaladin arrives at the Shattered Plains in Chapter 4, the setting itself embodies the war’s absurdity. The plains are a “jagged mosaic of uneven plateaus” split by endless chasms—a landscape that makes traditional conquest impossible. Armies don’t seize territory; they race for gemhearts like mercenaries, with the highprinces caring more about wealth than vengeance. Dalinar notes in Chapter 26 that “the war was stalled,” and the very book he treasures—The Way of Kings—is now “considered borderline blasphemous” for its ideals of service and unity. The Vengeance Pact, launched after King Gavilar’s assassination, has mutated into a comfortable routine. Elhokar’s justification that “the Parshendi raids are coming less frequently” rings hollow when Dalinar points out the siege is “straining us as much as, or more than, it is them.”

The chapter outlines reveal the broader historical irony. The Prelude shows the Heralds—divine warriors—abandoning their endless war against the Voidbringers because millennia of torture made victory meaningless. Kalak’s desperation and Taln’s solitary damnation expose the lie that any single battle can end suffering. This cyclical despair mirrors the Alethi stalemate: six years of fighting with no end, just more bodies and gemhearts. The Prologue adds another layer: Szeth’s assassination of Gavilar, compelled by his masters, proves that even the war’s origin is rooted in manipulation, not honor.

Dalinar’s Transformation and the Moral Cost

Dalinar’s arc embodies the internal struggle against war’s intoxicating futility. As the Blackthorn, he once reveled in battle, but the Thrill that once “excited him” now brings nausea and regret. In Chapter 56, while slaughtering Parshendi, he feels “a spike of regret along with displeasure at the Thrill” and wonders if the enemy soldiers “deserved respect, not glee.” His suspicion that the beardless Parshendi fighters might be women fighting alongside husbands humanizes the foe, shattering the Alethi narrative of fighting mindless savages. No one, Dalinar realizes, had “taken the time to investigate the genders of those they fought” in six years—a damning indictment of a war driven by greed, not justice.

His political struggle reinforces the theme. In Chapter 18, Dalinar’s plea to Elhokar to end or reorient the war meets resistance because the highprinces “very much like the present arrangement.” The Vengeance Pact has become a convenient cover for rapacious gemheart harvesting, with Sadeas’s bridges and Aladar’s maneuvering revealing that unity is a pretense. Dalinar’s vision of Nohadon in Chapter 60 deepens the argument: the ancient king, horrified by “nine out of ten people I once rule are dead,” calls war “a symptom of a greater disease.” Nohadon’s desire to give up his throne because leadership failed his people echoes Dalinar’s own crisis. Both men learn that true honor lies not in victory but in striving for unity despite human weakness—a lesson the Alethi have forgotten.

Kaladin’s Bridge Crews: The Human Face of Expendability

While Dalinar experiences the war from the heights of command, Kaladin witnesses its futility from the lowest depths. As a slave in Sadeas’s bridge crews, he sees men “worked to death, replaced as easily as broken axles.” The bridges themselves become a visceral symbol: they enable the highprinces to cross chasms and claim gemhearts, but the bridgemen are treated as disposable tools. Chapter 4 shows Kaladin’s arrival, where slaves naively hope for justice in “the king’s army,” only to find corruption everywhere. Kaladin’s memories of Amaram—a lighteyes who betrayed him for a Shardblade—cement his view that war makes monsters of those in power. The bridge crews’ slaughter mocks the very notion of a “just war”; there is no glory here, only blood, exhaustion, and the fading promise of wages that never buy freedom.

The symbol of Stormlight provides a counterpoint. It gifts Kaladin supernatural resilience and eventually the ability to protect his men, but it also illuminates the contrast between the ideal of the Knights Radiant—who served and protected—and the Alethi’s twisted version of warfare. Shardblades, once holy weapons, are now tools for harvesting gemhearts. The systemic dehumanization reaches a peak in the climax when Sadeas abandons Dalinar’s army to die, proving that even “alliances” are transactional and betrayal is the norm when profit overrides honor.

Complexity and Contradiction: The Thrill and the Song

Sanderson never simplifies the theme. The war is futile, yet characters are trapped by their own natures. The Thrill—a supernatural battle-lust—makes even good men like Dalinar love killing. His struggle to resist it shows that the desire to fight is not merely cultural but almost addictive. His nausea in Chapter 56 is a sign of moral awakening, but the fact that he can “seize the Thrill” and continue fighting suggests how deeply the cycle ensnares its participants.

Even the Parshendi complicate the narrative. They sing as they die—a “quiet, haunting song”—and fight in pairs that may be lovers. Dalinar’s realization that “everyone just wanted them dead” means the Alethi have deliberately avoided understanding their enemy. The Parshendi’s motives remain partially obscured, but the epilogue reveals a greater threat: Taln’s return and the True Desolation. The entire War of Reckoning has been a distraction, a petty squabble while the world’s true enemy gathers. This structural irony condemns the war as not merely futile but catastrophic.

Study Questions

1. How does the setting of the Shattered Plains physically represent the futility of the War of Reckoning?
   The Plains are a broken landscape of isolated plateaus, making territorial conquest impossible. Armies can only skirmish over gemhearts, turning the war into a fractured, repetitive resource grab rather than a campaign for meaningful victory.

2. What evidence suggests that Dalinar’s changing attitude toward war is a rejection of its futility?
   Dalinar goes from embracing the Thrill to feeling nausea and respect for Parshendi fighters. He questions the war’s open-endedness, doubts the highprinces’ commitment, and seeks to unite Alethkar—directly refuting the war’s selfish aimlessness.

3. How do Kaladin’s experiences as a bridgeman illustrate the human cost of the war?
   Kaladin’s crew is treated as expendable, with no regard for their lives. The bridge system literally uses men as tools to claim wealth, showing how the war sacrifices the powerless for the profit of the powerful.

4. In what ways does the novel suggest that the War of Reckoning is a distraction from true danger?
   The epilogue reveals the True Desolation and Taln’s return, while Jasnah’s research uncovers the parshmen threat. The Alethi obsession with gemhearts blinds them to the apocalyptic conflict that could end humanity.

5. What role does the Thrill play in complicating the theme of war’s futility?
   The Thrill makes killing seductive, showing that the urge to fight is not purely rational. Dalinar’s battle with the Thrill suggests that even those who recognize war’s emptiness may be unable to escape its psychological grip without profound transformation.