Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

“No,” Taravangian said. “That is not what it meant.”

They looked to him. “Vargo?” Adrotagia asked.

He tried to find the argument to explain himself, but it was like trying to hold a cupful of oil in his fist.

“We’re in a dangerous position,” Dukar said. “His Majesty revealed too much to Dalinar. We will be watched now.”

… the … window …

“Dalinar doesn’t know of the Diagram,” Adrotagia countered. “Or that we brought the singers to Urithiru. He only knows that Kharbranth controlled the assassin—and thinks that the Herald’s insanity prompted us. We’re still well positioned.”

Open … the … window.… None of the others heard the voice.

“The Diagram is growing too flawed,” Mrall insisted. Though he was no scholar, he was a full participant in their scheme. “We’ve deviated too much from its promises. Our plans need to change.”

“It’s too late,” Adrotagia said. “The confrontation will happen soon.”

OPEN IT.

Taravangian rose from his seat, trembling. Adrotagia was right. The confrontation predicted by the Diagram would happen soon.

Sooner, even, than she thought.

“We must trust in the Diagram,” Taravangian whispered, as he passed by them. “We must trust the version of myself that knew what to do. We must have faith.”

Adrotagia shook her head. She didn’t like it when any of them used words like “faith.” He tried to remember that, and did remember it when he was smart.

Storms take you, Nightwatcher, he thought. Odium’s victory will kill you too. Couldn’t you have just gifted me, and not cursed me?

He’d asked for the capacity to save his people. He’d begged for compassion and acumen—and he’d gotten them. Just never at the same time.

He touched the window shutters.

“Vargo?” Adrotagia asked. “Letting in fresh air?”

“No, unfortunately. Something else.”

He opened the shutters.

And was suddenly in a place of infinite light.

The ground beneath him glowed, and nearby, rivers flowed past, made of something molten colored gold and orange. Odium appeared to Taravangian as a twenty-foot-tall human with Shin eyes and a scepter. His beard was not wispy, like Taravangian’s had been, but neither was it bushy. It almost looked like an ardent’s beard.

“Now,” Odium said. “Taravangian, is it?” He squinted, as if seeing Taravangian for the first time. “Little man. Why did you write to us? Why did you have your Surgebinder unlock the Oathgate, and allow our armies to attack Urithiru?”

“I wish only to serve you, Great God,” Taravangian said, getting down onto his knees.

“Do not prostrate yourself,” the god said, laughing. “I can see that you are no sycophant, and I will not be fooled by your attempts to seem one.”

Taravangian drew in a deep breath, but remained on his knees. Today of all days, Odium finally contacted him in person? “I am not well today, Great God. I … um … am frail and of ill health. Might I meet with you again, when I am well?”

“Poor man!” Odium said.

A chair sprouted from the golden ground behind Taravangian, and Odium stepped over to him, suddenly smaller, more human sized. He gently pushed Taravangian up and into the chair. “There. Isn’t that better?”

“Yes … thank you.” Taravangian scrunched up his brow. This was not how he’d imagined this conversation.

“Now,” Odium said, lightly resting his scepter on Taravangian’s shoulder. “Do you think I will ever meet with you when you are feeling well?”

“I…”

“Do you not realize that I chose this day specifically because of your ailment, Taravangian? Do you really think you will ever be able to negotiate with me from a position of power?”

Taravangian licked his lips. “No.”

“Good, good. We understand one another. Now, what is it you have been doing.…” He stepped to the side, and a golden pedestal appeared with a book on top of it. The Diagram. Odium began leafing through it, and the golden landscape changed, shifting to a bedroom with fine wooden furniture. Taravangian recognized it from the scribbled writing on every surface—from floor to ceiling, to the headboard of the bed.

“Taravangian!” Odium said. “This is remarkable.” The walls and furniture faded, leaving behind the words, which hung in the air and started glowing with a golden light. “You did this without access to Fortune, or the Spiritual Realm? Truly incredible.”

“Th-thank you?”

“Allow me to show you how far I see.”

Golden words exploded outward from the ones Taravangian had written in the Diagram. Millions upon millions of golden letters burned into the air, extending into infinity. Each took one small element that Taravangian had written, and expanded upon it in volumes and volumes’ worth of information.

Taravangian gasped as, for a moment, he saw into eternity.

Odium inspected words that Taravangian had once written on the side of a dresser. “I see. Take over Alethkar? Bold plan, bold plan. But why invite me to attack Urithiru?”

“We—”

“No need! I see. Give up Thaylen City to ensure that the Blackthorn fell, removing your opposition. An overture toward me, which worked, obviously.” Odium turned to him and smiled. A knowing, confident smile.

Do you really think you will ever be able to negotiate with me from a position of power?

All that writing loomed over Taravangian, blocking off the landscape with millions of words. A smarter him would have tried to read it, but this dumber version was simply intimidated. And … could that be for his … his good? Reading that would consume him. Lose him.

My grandchildren, he thought. The people of Kharbranth. The good people of the world. He trembled to think of what might happen to them all.

Somebody had to make the difficult decisions. He slipped off his golden seat as Odium studied another portion of the Diagram. There. Behind where the bed had stood. A section of words that had faded from golden to black. What was that? As he drew near, Taravangian saw that the words were blacked out into eternity starting from this point on his wall. As if something had happened here. A ripple in what Odium could see …

At its root, a name. Renarin Kholin.

“Dalinar was not supposed to Ascend,” Odium said, stepping up behind Taravangian.

“You need me,” Taravangian whispered.

“I need nobody.”

Taravangian looked up and there, glowing in front of him, was a set of words. A message from himself, in the past. Incredible! Had he somehow seen even this?

Thank you.

He read them out loud. “You have agreed to a battle of champions. You must withdraw to prevent this contest from occurring, and so must not meet with Dalinar Kholin again. Otherwise, he can force you to fight. This means you must let your agents do your work. You need me.”

Odium stepped up, noting the words that Taravangian had read. Then he frowned at the tears on Taravangian’s cheeks.

“Your Passion,” Odium said, “does you credit. What is it you ask in barter?”