Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

Shallan and Azure shared a look as the sailor retreated onto her ship, to which mandras were being harnessed. The spren of Adolin’s sword lingered nearby, seeming content to stay where told. Passersby looked away from her, as if embarrassed to see her there.

“Well, the dock registrar was right,” Azure said, folding her arms. “No ships sailing toward the peaks or toward Thaylen City. Those destinations are too close to enemy holdings.”

“Maybe we should try for the Shattered Plains instead,” Shallan said. That meant going east—a direction ships were more likely to travel, these days. It would mean going away from both what Kaladin and Azure wanted, but at least it would be something.

If they got there, she’d still need to find a way to engage the Oathgate on this side. What if she failed? She imagined them trapped in some far-off location, surrounded by beads, slowly starving.…

“Let’s keep asking the ships on our list,” she said, leading the way. The next ship in line was a long, stately vessel made of white wood with golden trim. Its entire presentation seemed to say, Good luck affording me. Even the mandras being led toward it from one of the warehouses wore gold harnesses.

According to the list from the dock registrar, this was heading someplace called Lasting Integrity—which was to the southwest. That was kind of the direction Kaladin wanted to go, so Shallan had Pattern stop one of the grooms and ask if the captain of the ship would be likely to take human passengers.

The groom, a spren that looked like she was made of fog or mist, merely laughed and walked off as if she’d heard a grand joke.

“I suppose,” Azure said, “we should take that for a no.”

The next ship in line was a sleek vessel that looked fast to Shallan’s untrained eyes. A good choice, the registrar had noted, and likely to be welcoming toward humans. Indeed, a spren working on the deck waved as they approached. He put one booted foot up on the side of his ship and looked down with a grin.

What kind of spren, Shallan thought, has skin like cracked rock? He glowed deep within, as if molten on the inside. “Humans?” he called in Veden, reading Shallan’s hair as a sign of her heritage. “You’re far from home. Or close, I suppose, just in the wrong realm!”

“We’re looking for passage,” Shallan called up. “Where are you sailing?”

“East!” he said. “Toward Freelight!”

“Could we potentially negotiate passage?”

“Sure!” he called down. “Always interesting to have humans aboard. Just don’t eat my pet chicken. Ha! But negotiations will have to wait. We’ve got an inspection soon. Come back in a half hour.”

The dock registrar had mentioned this; an official inspection of the ships happened at first hour every day. Shallan and the team backed off, and she suggested returning to their meeting place near the dock registrar. As they approached, Shallan could see that Ico’s ship was already under inspection by a dock official—another spren made of vines and crystal.

Maybe we could convince Ico to take us, if we just tried harder. Perhaps—

Azure’s breath caught and she grabbed Shallan by the shoulder, yanking her into an alley between two warehouses, out of sight of the ship. “Damnation!”

“What?” Shallan demanded as Pattern and, lethargically, Adolin’s spren joined them.

“Look up there,” Azure said. “Talking with Ico, on the poop deck.”

Shallan frowned, then peeked out, spotting what she’d missed earlier: A figure stood up there, with the marbled skin of a parshman. He floated a foot or two off the deck next to Ico, looming like a stern tutor over a foolish student.

The spren with the vines and crystal body walked up, reporting to this one.

“Perhaps,” Azure said, “we should have asked who runs the inspections.”

*

Kaladin’s harpoon drew nervous glances as he crossed the pathway between stalls, to get a closer look at the painting.

Can spren even be hurt in this realm? a part of him wondered. The sailors wouldn’t carry harpoons if things couldn’t be killed on this side, right? He’d have to ask Syl, once she was done interpreting for Adolin.

Kaladin stepped up to the painting. The ones beside it showed far more technical prowess—they were capable portraits, perfectly capturing their human subjects. This one was sloppy by comparison. It looked like the painter had simply taken a knife covered in paint and slopped it onto the canvas, making general shapes.

Haunting, beautiful shapes. Mostly reds and whites, but with a figure at the center, throwing out nine shadows …

Dalinar, he thought. I failed Elhokar. After all we went through, after the rains and confronting Moash, I’ve failed. And I lost your city.

He reached up his fingers to touch the painting.

“Marvelous, isn’t it!” a spren said.

Kaladin jumped, sheepishly lowering his fingers. The proprietor of this stall was a Reacher woman, short, with a bronze ponytail.

“It’s a unique piece, human,” she said. “From the far-off Court of Gods, a painting intended only for a divinity to see. It is exceptionally rare that one escapes being burned at the court, and makes its way onto the market.”

“Nine shadows,” Kaladin said. “The Unmade?”

“This is a piece by Nenefra. It is said that each person who sees one of his masterworks sees something different. And to think, I charge such a minuscule price. Only three hundred broams’ worth of Stormlight! Truly, times are difficult in the art market.”

“I…”

Haunting images from Kaladin’s vision overlapped the stark wedges of paint on the canvas. He needed to reach Thaylen City. He had to be there on time—

What was that disturbance behind him?

Kaladin shook out of his reverie and glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see Adolin jogging toward him.

“We have a problem,” the prince said.

*

“How could you not mention this!” Shallan said to the little spren at the registrar office. “How could you neglect to point out that Voidspren ruled the city?”

“I thought everyone knew!” he said, vines curling and moving at the corners of his face. “Oh dear. Oh my! Anger is not helpful, human. I am a professional. It is not my job to explain things you should already know!”

“He’s still on Ico’s ship,” Azure said, looking out the office window. “Why is he still on Ico’s ship?”

“That is odd,” the spren said. “Each inspection usually takes only thirteen minutes!”

Damnation. Shallan breathed out, trying to calm herself. Coming back to the registrar had been a calculated risk. He was probably working with the Fused, but they hoped to intimidate him into talking.

“When did it happen?” Shallan asked. “My spren friend told us this was a free city.”

“It’s been months now,” the vine spren said. “Oh, they don’t have firm control here, mind you. Just a few officials, and promises from our leaders to follow. Two Fused check in on us now and then. I think the other is quite insane. Kyril—who is running the inspections—well, he might be mad too, actually. You see, when he gets angry—”

“Damnation!” Azure cursed.

“What?”

“He just set Ico’s ship on fire.”