Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

Huio smiled. “Bridge Four!” he said in thickly accented Alethi.

“You are lucky man,” Lunamor said, pointing. “I will not kill you today.” He took another sip, then gestured with the spoon. “Go do this thing to other bins of shiki.”

Now, where was Hobber? The lanky, gap-toothed man couldn’t be too far away. That was one advantage of having an assistant chef who could not walk; he usually stayed where you put him.

“Watch me now, carefully!” Lopen said to his group, Stormlight puffing from his mouth as he spoke. “All right. Here it is. I, the Lopen, will now fly. You may applaud as you feel is appropriate.”

He jumped up, then crashed back to the plateau.

“Lopen!” Kaladin called. “You’re supposed to be helping the others, not showing off!”

“Sorry, gon!” Lopen said. He quivered on the ground, his face pressed to the stone, and didn’t rise.

“Did you … did you stick yourself to the ground?” Kaladin asked.

“Just part of the plan, gon!” Lopen called back. “If I am to become a delicate cloud upon the sky, I must first convince the ground that I am not abandoning her. Like a worried lover, sure, she must be comforted and reassured that I will return following my dramatic and regal ascent to the sky.”

“You’re not a king, Lopen,” Drehy said. “We’ve been over this.”

“Of course I am not. I am a former king. You are obviously one of the stupid ones I mentioned earlier.”

Lunamor grunted in amusement and rounded his little cooking station toward Hobber, who he now remembered was peeling tubers by the side of the plateau. Lunamor slowed. Why was Kaladin kneeling before Hobber’s stool, holding out … a gemstone?

Ahhh … Lunamor thought.

“I had to breathe to draw it in,” Kaladin explained softly. “I’d been doing it unconsciously for weeks, maybe months, before Teft explained the truth to me.”

“Sir,” Hobber said, “I don’t know if … I mean, sir, I’m no Radiant. I was never that good with the spear. I’m barely a passable cook.”

Passable was a stretch. But he was earnest and helpful, so Lunamor was happy to have him. Besides, he needed a job he could do sitting. A month back, the Assassin in White had swept through the king’s palace at the warcamps, trying to kill Elhokar—and the attack had left Hobber with dead legs.

Kaladin folded the gemstone in Hobber’s fingers. “Just try,” the captain said softly. “Being a Radiant isn’t so much about your strength or skill, but about your heart. And yours is the best of all of us.”

The captain seemed intimidating to many outsiders. A perpetual storm for an expression, an intensity that made men wilt when it turned on them. But there was also an astonishing tenderness to this man. Kaladin gripped Hobber on the arm, and almost seemed to be tearing up.

Some days, it seemed you couldn’t break Kaladin Stormblessed with all the stones on Roshar. Then one of his men would get wounded, and you’d see him crack.

Kaladin headed back toward the scouts he’d been helping, and Lunamor jogged to catch up. He bowed to the little god who rode on the bridge captain’s shoulder, then asked, “You think Hobber can do this thing, Kaladin?”

“I’m sure he can. I’m sure all of Bridge Four can, and perhaps some of these others.”

“Ha!” Lunamor said. “Finding a smile on your face, Kaladin Stormblessed, is like finding lost sphere in your soup. Surprising, yes, but very nice too. Come, I have drink you must try.”

“I need to get back to—”

“Come! Drink you must try!” Lunamor guided him to the big pot of shiki and poured him a cup.

Kaladin slurped it down. “Hey, that’s pretty good, Rock!”

“Is not my recipe,” Lunamor said. “Huio has changed this thing. I now have to either promote him or push him off side of plateau.”

“Promote him to what?” Kaladin asked, getting himself another cup.

“To airsick lowlander,” Lunamor said, “second class.”

“You might be too fond of that term, Rock.”

Nearby, Lopen talked to the ground, against which he was still pressed. “Don’t worry, dear one. The Lopen is vast enough to be possessed by many, many forces, both terrestrial and celestial! I must soar to the air, for if I were to remain only on the ground, surely my growing magnitude would cause the land to crack and break.”

Lunamor looked to Kaladin. “I am fond of term, yes. But only because this thing has astounding number of applications among you.”

Kaladin grinned, sipping his shiki and watching the men. Farther along the plateau, Drehy suddenly raised his long arms and called out, “Ha!” He was glowing with Stormlight. Bisig soon followed. That should fix his hand—he too had been injured by the Assassin in White.

“This will work, Rock,” Kaladin said. “The men have been close to the power for months now. And once they have it, they’ll be able to heal. I won’t have to go into battle worrying which of you I’ll lose.”

“Kaladin,” Lunamor said softly. “This thing we have begun, it is still war. Men will die.”

“Bridge Four will be protected by their power.”

“And the enemy? They will not have power?” He stepped closer. “Surely I do not wish to dampen Kaladin Stormblessed when he is optimistic, but nobody is ever perfectly safe. This is sad truth, my friend.”

“Maybe,” Kaladin admitted. He got a distant look on his face. “Your people only let younger sons go to war, right?”

“Only tuanalikina, fourth son and younger, can be wasted in war. First, second, and third sons are too valuable.”

“Fourth son and younger. So hardly ever.”

“Ha! You do not know the size of Horneater families.”

“Still, it has to mean fewer men dying in battle.”

“Peaks are different place,” Lunamor said, smiling at Sylphrena as she rose off Kaladin’s shoulder and started dancing on the nearby winds. “And not just because we have right amount of air for brains to work. To attack another peak is costly and difficult, requiring much preparation and time. We speak of this thing more than we do him.”

“It sounds nice.”

“You will visit with me someday!” Lunamor said. “You and all Bridge Four, as you are family now.”

“Ground,” Lopen insisted, “I will still love you. I’m not attracted to anyone the way I am to you. Whenever I leave, I’ll come right back!”

Kaladin glanced at Lunamor.

“Perhaps,” Lunamor noted, “when that one is away from too much toxic air, he will be less…”

“Lopen?”

“Though upon consideration, this thing would be sad.”

Kaladin chuckled, handing Lunamor his cup. Then he leaned in. “What happened to your brother, Rock?”

“My two brothers are well, so far as I know.”

“And the third brother?” Kaladin said. “The one who died, moving you from fourth to third, and making you a cook instead of a soldier? Don’t deny it.”

“Is sad story,” Lunamor said. “And today is not day for sad stories. Today is day for laughter, stew, flight. These things.”

And hopefully … hopefully something even grander.