Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

He was able to move with the flow of people. Near the top tier, he ducked into a building and walked to the back, past some huddled merchants. Most of the buildings here were a single story, so he used Glys to cut a hole in the roof. He then hollowed out some handholds in the rock wall and climbed up on top.

Beyond, he was able to get onto the street leading to the Oathgate platform. He was … unaccustomed to being able to do things like this. Not only using the Shardblade, but being physical. He’d always been afraid of his fits, always worried that a moment of strength would instantly become a moment of invalidity.

Living like that, you learned to stay back. Just in case. He hadn’t suffered a fit in a while. He didn’t know if that was just a coincidence—they could be irregular—or if they had been healed, like his bad eyesight. Indeed, he still saw the world differently from everyone else. He was still nervous talking to people, and didn’t like being touched. Everyone else saw in each other things he never could understand. So much noise and destruction and people talking and cries for help and sniffles and muttering and whispering all like buzzing, buzzings.

At least here, on this street near the Oathgate, the crowds had diminished. Why was that? Wouldn’t they have pressed up here, hoping for escape? Why …

Oh.

A dozen Fused hovered in the sky above the Oathgate, lances held formally before themselves, clothing draping beneath them and fluttering.

Twelve. Twelve.

This, Glys said, would be bad.

Motion caught his attention: a young girl standing in a doorway and waving at him. He walked over, worried the Fused would attack him. Hopefully his Stormlight—which he’d mostly used up fighting the thunderclast—wasn’t bright enough to draw their ire.

He entered the building, another single-story structure with a large open room at the front. It was occupied by dozens of scribes and ardents, many of whom huddled around a spanreed. Children that he couldn’t see crowded the back rooms, but he could hear their whimpers. And he heard the scratching, scratching, scratching of reeds on paper.

“Oh, bless the Almighty,” Brightness Teshav said, appearing from the mass of people. She pulled Renarin deeper into the room. “Have you any news?”

“My father sent me up here to help,” Renarin said. “Brightness, where are General Khal and your son?”

“In Urithiru,” she said. “They transferred back to gather forces, but then … Brightlord, there’s been an attack at Urithiru. We’ve been trying to get information via spanreed. It appears that a strike force of some kind arrived at the advent of the Everstorm.”

“Brightness!” Kadash called. “Spanreed to Sebarial’s scribes is responding again. They apologize for the long delay. Sebarial pulled back, following Aladar’s command, to the upper levels. He confirms that the attackers are parshmen.”

“The Oathgates?” Renarin asked, hopeful. “Can they reach those, and open the way here?”

“Not likely. The enemy is holding the plateau.”

“Our armies have the advantage at Urithiru, Prince Renarin,” Teshav said. “Reports agree that the enemy strike force isn’t nearly large enough to defeat us there. This is obviously a delaying tactic to keep us from activating the Oathgate and bringing help to Thaylen City.”

Kadash nodded. “Those Fused above the Oathgate held even when the stone monster outside was falling. They know their orders—keep that device from being activated.”

“Radiant Malata is the only way for our armies to reach us through the Oathgate,” Teshav said. “But we can’t contact her, or any of the Kharbranth contingent. The enemy struck them first. They knew exactly what they had to do to cripple us.”

Renarin took a deep breath, drawing in Stormlight that Teshav was carrying. His glow lit the room, and eyes all through the chamber looked up from spanreeds, turning toward him.

“The portal has to be opened,” Renarin said.

“Your Highness…” Teshav said. “You can’t fight them all.”

“There’s nobody else.” He turned to go.

Shockingly, nobody called for him to stop.

All his life they’d done that. No, Renarin. That’s not for you. You can’t do that. You’re not well, Renarin. Be reasonable, Renarin.

He’d always been reasonable. He’d always listened. It felt wonderful and terrifying at once to know that nobody did that today. The spanreeds continued their scratching, moving on their own, oblivious to the moment.

Renarin stepped outside.

Terrified, he strode down the street, summoning Glys as a Shardblade. As he approached the ramp up to the Oathgate, the Fused descended. Four landed on the ramp before him, then gave him a gesture not unlike a salute, humming to a frantic tune he did not know.

Renarin was so frightened, he worried he’d wet himself. Not very noble or brave, now was he?

Ah … what will come now? Glys said, voice thrumming through Renarin. What emerges?

One of his fits struck him.

Not the old fits, where he grew weak. He had new ones now, that neither he nor Glys could control. To his eyes, glass grew across the ground. It spread out like crystals, forming lattices, images, meanings and pathways. Stained-glass pictures, panel after panel.

These had always been right. Until today—until they had proclaimed that Jasnah Kholin’s love would fail.

He read this latest set of stained-glass images, then felt his fear drain away. He smiled. This seemed to confuse the Fused as they lowered their salutes.

“You’re wondering why I’m smiling,” Renarin said.

They didn’t respond.

“Don’t worry,” Renarin said. “You didn’t miss something funny. I … well, I doubt you’ll find it amusing.”

Light exploded from the Oathgate platform in a wave. The Fused cried out in a strange tongue, zipping into the air. A luminous wall expanded from the Oathgate platform in a ring, trailing a glowing afterimage.

It faded to reveal an entire division of Alethi troops in Kholin blue standing upon the Oathgate platform.

Then, like a Herald from lore, a man rose into the air above them. Glowing white with Stormlight, the bearded man carried a long silver Shardspear with a strange crossguard shape behind the tip.

Teft.

Knight Radiant.

*

Shallan sat with her back against the battlement, listening to soldiers shout orders. Navani had given her Stormlight and water, but was currently distracted by reports from Urithiru.

Pattern hummed from the side of Veil’s jacket. “Shallan? You did well, Shallan. Very well.”

“An honorable stand,” Radiant agreed. “One against many, and we held our ground.”

“Longer than we should have,” Veil said. “We were already exhausted.”

“We’re still ignoring too much,” Shallan said. “We’re getting too good at pretending.” She had decided to stay with Jasnah in the first place to learn. But when the woman returned from the dead, Shallan had—instead of accepting training—immediately fled. What had she been thinking?

Nothing. She’d been trying to hide away things she didn’t want to face. Like always.

“Mmm…” Pattern said, a concerned hum.