Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

Queen Fen found him in the courtyard of the temple of Battah, the one with the large broken statue. Her son—now wearing Dalinar’s bloodied shirt tied around his waist, like some kind of girdle—led a crew of ten men with ropes. They’d just gotten the hips of the statue settled back into place; Dalinar drained Stormlight from borrowed spheres, sealing the stone together.

“I think I found the left arm!” a man called from below, where the bulk of the statue had toppled through the roof of a mansion. Dalinar’s team of soldiers and lighteyes whooped and rushed down the steps.

“I did not expect to find the Blackthorn shirtless,” Queen Fen said, “and … playing sculptor?”

“I can only fix inanimate things,” Dalinar said, wiping his hands on a rag tied at his waist, exhausted. Using this much Stormlight was a new experience for him, and quite draining. “My son does the more important work.”

A small family left the temple above. Judging by the father’s tentative steps, supported by his sons, it seemed the man had broken a leg or two in the most recent storm. The burly man gestured for his sons to step back, took a few steps on his own—and then, his eyes wide, did a short skip.

Dalinar knew that feeling: the lingering effects of Stormlight. “I should have seen it earlier—I should have sent for him the moment I saw those wounded. I’m a fool.” Dalinar shook his head. “Renarin has the ability to heal. He is new to his powers, as I am to mine, and can best heal those who were recently wounded. I wonder if it’s similar to what I’m doing. Once the soul grows accustomed to the wound, it’s much harder to fix.”

A single awespren burst around Fen as the family approached, bowing and speaking in Thaylen, the father grinning like a fool. For a moment, Dalinar felt he could almost understand what they were saying. As if a part of him were stretching to bond to the man. A curious experience, one he didn’t quite know how to interpret.

When they left, Dalinar turned to the queen. “I don’t know how long Renarin will hold out, and I don’t know how many of those wounds will be new enough for him to fix. But it is something we could do.”

Men called below, heaving a stone arm out through the window of the mansion.

“I see you’ve charmed Kdralk as well,” Fen noted.

“He’s a good lad,” Dalinar said.

“He was determined to find a way to duel you. I hear you gave him that. You’re going to roll over this whole city, charming each person in turn, aren’t you?”

“Hopefully not. That sounds like it would take a lot of time.”

A young man came running down from the temple, holding a child with floppy hair who—though his clothing was torn and dusty—was smiling with a broad grin. The youth bowed to the queen, then thanked Dalinar in broken Alethi. Renarin kept blaming the healings on him.

Fen watched them go with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I need your help, Fen,” Dalinar whispered.

“I find it hard to believe you need anything, considering what you’ve done today.”

“Shardbearers can’t hold ground.”

She looked at him, frowning.

“Sorry. That’s a military maxim. It … never mind. Fen, I have Radiants, yes—but they, no matter how powerful, won’t win this war. More importantly, I can’t see what I’m missing. That’s why I need you.

“I think like an Alethi, as do most of my advisors. We consider the war, the conflict, but miss important facts. When I first learned of Renarin’s powers, I thought only of restoring people on the battlefield to continue the fight. I need you; I need the Azish. I need a coalition of leaders who see what I don’t, because we’re facing an enemy that doesn’t think like any we’ve faced before.” He bowed his head to her. “Please. Join me, Fen.”

“I’ve already opened that gate, and I’m talking to the councils about giving aid to your war effort. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not close, Fen. I want you to join me.”

“The difference is?”

“The distinction between referring to it as ‘your’ war, and ‘our’ war.”

“You’re relentless.” She took a deep breath, then cut him off as he tried to object. “I suppose that is what we need right now. All right, Blackthorn. You, me, Taravangian. The first real united Vorin coalition the world has seen since the Hierocracy. It’s unfortunate that two of us lead kingdoms that are in ruin.”

“Three,” Dalinar said with a grunt. “Kholinar is besieged by the enemy. I’ve sent help, but for now, Alethkar is an occupied kingdom.”

“Wonderful. Well, I think I can persuade the factions in my city to let your troops come and help here. If everything goes well with that, I will write to the Prime of Azir. Maybe that will help.”

“I’m certain it will. Now that you’ve joined, the Azish Oathgate is the most essential to our cause.”

“Well, they’re going to be tricky,” Fen said. “The Azish aren’t as desperate as I am—and frankly, they aren’t Vorin. People here, myself included, respond to a good push from a determined monarch. Strength and passion, the Vorin way. But those tactics will just make the Azish dig in and rebuff you harder.”

He rubbed his chin. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“I don’t think you’ll find it very appealing.”

“Try me,” Dalinar said. “I’m starting to appreciate that the way I usually do things has severe limitations.”





I worry about my fellow Truthwatchers.

—From drawer 8-21, second emerald

The storm did not belong to Kaladin.

He claimed the skies, and to an extent the winds. Highstorms were something different, like a country in which he was a visiting dignitary. He retained some measure of respect, but he also lacked real authority.

While fighting the Assassin in White, Kaladin had traveled with the highstorm by flying at the very front of the stormwall, like a leaf caught in a wave. That method—with the full force of the highstorm raging at his feet—seemed far too risky to use when bringing others. Fortunately, during their trip to Thaylenah, he and Shallan had tested other methods. It turned out he could still draw upon the storm’s power while flying above it, so long as he stayed within a hundred feet or so of the stormclouds.

He soared there now, with two bridgemen and Elhokar’s chosen team. The sun shone brightly above, and the eternal storm extended in all directions below. Swirling black and grey, lit by sparks of lightning. Rumbling, as if angry at the small group of stowaways. They couldn’t see the stormwall now; they’d lagged far behind that. Their angle to Kholinar required them to travel more northward than westward as they cut across the Unclaimed Hills toward northern Alethkar.

There was a mesmerizing beauty to the storm’s churning patterns, and Kaladin had to forcibly keep his attention on his charges. There were six of those, which made their team nine in total, counting himself, Skar, and Drehy.