Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

Helaran had not yet proved himself worthy of a spren bond. Nale is exacting with his recruits. Likely, Helaran was sent to kill Amaram as a test—either that or he took it upon himself as a way of proving his worthiness for knighthood.

It is also possible that the Skybreakers knew someone in Amaram’s army was close to bonding a spren, but I believe it likelier that the attack on Amaram was simply a strike against the Sons of Honor. From our spying upon the Skybreakers, we have records showing the only member of Amaram’s army to have bonded a spren was long since eliminated.

The bridgeman was not, so far as we understand, known to them. If he had been, he would certainly have been killed during his months as a slave.

It ended there. Shallan sat in her room, lit only by the faintest sphere. Helaran, a Skybreaker? And King Gavilar, working with Amaram to bring back the Desolations?

Pattern buzzed with concern on her skirts and moved up onto the page, reading the letter. She whispered the words again to herself, to memorize them, for she knew she couldn’t keep this letter. It was too dangerous.

“Secrets,” Pattern said. “There are lies in this letter.”

So many questions. Who else had been there on the night Gavilar had died, as the letter hinted? And what about this reference to another Surgebinder in Amaram’s army? “He’s dangling tidbits in front of me,” Shallan said. “Like a man on the docks who has a trained kurl that will dance and wave its arms for fish.”

“But … we want those tidbits, don’t we?”

“That’s why it works.” Storm it.

She couldn’t deal with this at the moment. She took a Memory of the page. It wasn’t a particularly efficient method in regards to text, but it would work in a pinch. Then she stuffed the letter in a basin of water and washed off the ink, before shredding it and wadding it into a ball.

From there, she changed into her coat, trousers, and hat, and snuck from the rooms as Veil.

*

Veil found Vathah and some of his men playing at pieces in their barracks common room. Though this was for Sebarial’s soldiers, she saw men in blue uniforms as well—Dalinar had ordered his men to spend time with the soldiers of his allies, to help foster a sense of comradery.

Veil’s entrance drew glances, but not stares. Women were allowed in such common rooms, though few came. Little sounded less appealing to a woman being courted than, “Hey, let’s go sit in the barracks common room and watch men grunt and scratch themselves.”

She sauntered over to where Vathah and his men had set up at a round wooden table. Furniture was finally trickling down to the ordinary men; Shallan even had a bed now. Veil settled down in a seat and leaned back, tipping the chair so it clicked against the stone wall. This large common room reminded her of a wine cellar. Dark, unadorned, and filled with a variety of unusual stenches.

“Veil,” Vathah said, nodding to her. Four of them were playing at this table: Vathah, one-eyed Gaz, lanky Red, and Shob. The latter wore a glyphward wrapped around one arm and sniffled periodically.

Veil leaned her head back. “I seriously need something to drink.”

“I’ve got an extra mug or two on my ration,” Red said cheerfully.

Veil eyed him to see if he was hitting on her again. He was smiling, but otherwise didn’t seem to be making a pass. “Right kind of you, Red,” Veil said, digging out a few chips and tossing them to him. He tossed over his requisition chit, a little piece of metal with his number stamped on it.

A short time later she was back in her place, nursing some lavis beer.

“Tough day?” Vathah said, lining up his pieces. The small stone bricks were about the size of a thumb, and the men each had ten of them that they arranged facedown. The betting started soon after. Apparently, Vathah was the mink for this round.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Shallan’s been an even bigger pain than usual.”

The men grunted.

“It’s like she can’t decide who she is, you know?” Veil continued. “One moment she’s cracking jokes like she’s sitting in a knitting circle with old ladies—the next she’s staring at you with that hollow gaze. The one that makes you think her soul has gone vacant…”

“She’s a strange one, our mistress,” Vathah agreed.

“Makes you want to do things,” Gaz said with a grunt. “Things you never thought you’d do.”

“Yeah,” Glurv said from the next table over. “I got a medal. Me. For helping find that mess hiding in the basement. Old Kholin himself sent it down for me.” The overweight soldier shook his head, bemused—but he was wearing the medal. Pinned right to his collar.

“It was fun,” Gaz admitted. “Going out carousing, but feeling like we were doing something. That’s what she promised us, you know? Making a difference again.”

“The difference I want to make,” Vathah said, “is filling my pouch with your spheres. You men betting or not?”

The four players all tossed in some spheres. Pieces was one of those games that the Vorin church grudgingly allowed, as it involved no randomization. Dice, drawing from a deck of cards, even shuffling up the pieces—betting on such things was like trying to guess the future. And that was so deeply wrong, thinking of it made Veil’s skin crawl. She wasn’t even particularly religious, not like Shallan was.

People wouldn’t play games like those in the official barracks. Here, they played guessing games. Vathah had arranged nine of his pieces in a triangle shape; the tenth one he set to the side and flipped over as the seed. It, like the hidden nine, was marked with the symbol of one of the Alethi princedoms. In this case, the seed was Aladar’s symbol, in the form of a chull.

The goal was to arrange your ten pieces in a pattern identical to his, even though they were facedown. You’d guess which were which through a series of questions, peeks, and inferences. You could force the mink to reveal pieces just to you, or to everyone, based on certain other rules.

In the end, someone called and everyone flipped over their pieces. The one with the most matches to the mink’s pattern was declared winner, and claimed the pot. The mink got a percentage, based on certain factors, such as the number of turns it took before someone called.

“What do you think?” Gaz asked, as he tossed a few chips into the bowl at the center, buying the right to peek at one of Vathah’s tiles. “How long will Shallan go this time before she remembers we’re here?”

“Long time, I hope,” Shob said. “Oi think Oi might be comin’ down with somethin’.”

“So all is normal, Shob,” Red said.

“It’s big this time,” Shob said. “Oi think Oi might be turnin’ into a Voidbringer.”

“A Voidbringer,” Veil said flatly.

“Yeah, look at this rash.” He pulled back the glyphward, exposing his upper arm. Which looked perfectly normal.

Vathah snorted.

“Eh!” Shob said. “Oi’m likely to die, Sarge. You mark me, Oi’m likely to die.” He moved around a few of his tiles. “If Oi do, give my winnings to dem orphans.”

“Them orphans?” Red asked.