Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

Shallan had trouble with follow-through. She had good intentions and grand plans, but she got diverted too easily by new problems, new adventures. Fortunately, Veil could pick up a few of those loose threads.

These men had proven that they were loyal, and they wanted to be useful. A woman could be given much less than that to work with.

“The disguise was well done,” she said to Ishnah. “Next time, rough up your freehand some more. The fingers gave you away; they aren’t the fingers of a laborer.”

Ishnah blushed, balling her freehand into a fist.

“Tell me what you can do, and why I should care,” Veil said. “You have two minutes.”

“I…” Ishnah took a deep breath. “I was trained as a spy for House Hamaradin. In Vamah’s court? I know information gathering, message coding, observation techniques, and how to search a room without revealing what I’ve done.”

“So? If you’re so useful, what happened?”

“Your people happened. The Ghostbloods. I’d heard of them, whispered of by Brightlady Hamaradin. She crossed them somehow, and then…” She shrugged. “She ended up dead, and everyone thought it might have been one of us who did it. I fled and ended up in the underground, working for a petty gang of thieves. But I could be so much more. Let me prove it to you.”

Veil crossed her arms. A spy. That could be useful. Truth was, Veil herself didn’t have much actual training—only what Tyn had showed her and what she’d learned on her own. If she was going to dance with the Ghostbloods, she’d need to be better. Right now, she didn’t even know what it was she didn’t know.

Could she get some of that from Ishnah? Somehow get some training without revealing that Veil wasn’t as skilled as she pretended to be?

An idea began to take form. She didn’t trust this woman, but then she didn’t need to. And if her former brightlady really had been killed by the Ghostbloods, perhaps there was a secret to learn there.

“I have some important infiltrations planned,” Veil said. “Missions where I need to gather information of a sensitive nature.”

“I can help!” Ishnah said.

“What I really need is a support team, so I don’t have to go in alone.”

“I can find people for you! Experts.”

“I wouldn’t be able to trust them,” Veil said, shaking her head. “I need someone I know is loyal.”

“Who?”

Veil pointed at Vathah and his men.

Ishnah’s expression fell. “You want to turn those men into spies?”

“That, and I want you to prove to me what you can do by showing it to those men.” And hopefully I can pick up something too. “Don’t look so daunted. They don’t need to be true spies. They just need to know enough about my work to support me and keep watch.”

Ishnah raised her eyebrows skeptically, watching the men. Shob was, obligingly, picking his nose.

“That’s a little like saying you want me to teach hogs to talk—with promises it will be easy, as they only need to speak Alethi, not Veden or Herdazian.”

“This is the chance I’m offering, Ishnah. Take it, or agree to stay away from me.”

Ishnah sighed. “All right. We’ll see. Just don’t blame me if the pigs don’t end up talking.”





Regardless, this is not your concern. You turned your back on divinity. If Rayse becomes an issue, he will be dealt with.

And so will you.

Teft woke up. Unfortunately.

His first sensation was pain. Old, familiar pain. The throbbing behind his eyes, the raw biting needles of his burned fingers, the stiffness of a body that had outlived its usefulness. Kelek’s breath … had he ever been useful?



He rolled over, groaning. No coat, only a tight undershirt soiled from lying on the ground. He was in an alleyway between tents in the Breakaway market. The high ceiling vanished into the darkness. From just beyond the alleyway came the bright sounds of people chatting and haggling.

Teft stumbled to his feet, and was halfway through relieving himself against some empty boxes before he realized what he was doing. There were no highstorms in here to wash the place out. Besides, he wasn’t some drunkard who wallowed in filth and pissed in alleys. Was he?

That thought immediately reminded him of the deeper pain. A pain beyond the pounding in his head or the ache of his bones. The pain that was with him always, like a persistent ringing, cutting deep to his core. This pain had awakened him. The pain of need.

No, he wasn’t just some drunkard. He was far, far worse.

He stumbled out of the alleyway, trying to smooth his hair and beard. Women he passed held safehands to mouths and noses, looking away as if embarrassed for him. Perhaps it was a good thing he’d lost his coat—storms help him if anyone recognized who he was. He’d shame the entire crew.

You’re already a shame to the crew, Teft, and you know it, he thought. You’re a godless waste of spit.

He eventually found his way to the well, where he slouched in a line behind some others. Once at the water, he fell down on his knees, then used a trembling hand to fish out a drink with his tin cup. Once he tasted the cool water, his stomach immediately cramped, rejecting it even though he was parched. This always happened after a night on the moss, so he knew to ride the nausea and the cramps, hoping he could keep the water down.

He slumped, holding his stomach, frightening the people in line behind him. Out in the crowd—there was always at least a small crowd near the well—some men in uniforms shoved through. Forest green. Sadeas’s men.

They ignored the lines, then filled their buckets. When a man in Kholin blue objected, Sadeas’s soldiers got right up in his face. The Kholin soldier finally backed down. Good lad. They didn’t need another brawl starting between Sadeas’s men and other soldiers.

Teft dipped his cup again, the pain from his previous sip fading. This well seemed deep. Rippling water on top, and a deep blackness below.

He almost threw himself in. If he woke up in Damnation tomorrow, would he still feel that itching need inside? That would be a fitting torment. Voidbringers wouldn’t even have to flay his soul—all they’d need to do was tell him he’d never feel sated again, and then they could watch him squirm.

Reflected in the waters of the well, a face appeared over his shoulder. A woman with pale white skin, glowing faintly, and hair that hovered around her head like clouds.

“You leave me alone,” he said, slapping his hand into the water. “You just … you just go find someone who cares.”

He stumbled back to his feet, finally getting out of the way so someone else could take a spot. Storms, what hour was it? Those women with buckets were ready to draw water for the day. The drunken nighttime crowds had been replaced by the enterprising and industrious.

He’d been out all night again. Kelek!

Returning to the barracks would be the smart thing to do. But could he face them like this? He wandered through the market instead, eyes down.