Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

He could feel the temple urging him onward. It wanted so badly to be whole again. Dalinar drew in more Stormlight, as much as he could hold, draining every gemstone he’d brought.

Sweat streaming across his face, he got the block close enough that it felt right again. Power flooded through his arms into it, then seeped across the stones.

The carvings popped back together.

The stone lintel in his hands lifted and settled into place. Light filled the cracks in the stones and knit them back together, and gloryspren burst around Dalinar’s head.

When the glow faded, the front wall of the majestic temple—including the doorway and the cracked reliefs—had been restored. Dalinar faced it, shirtless and coated in sweat, feeling twenty years younger.

No, the man he’d been twenty years ago could never have done this.

Bondsmith.

A hand touched his arm; Navani’s soft fingers. “Dalinar … what did you do?”

“I listened.” The power was good for far, far more than breaking. We’ve been ignoring that. We’ve been ignoring answers right in front of our eyes.

He looked back over his shoulder at the crowd climbing the steps, gathering around. “You,” Dalinar said to a scribe. “You’re the one who wrote to Urithiru and sent for Taravangian’s surgeons?”

“Y … yes, Brightlord,” she said.

“Write again. Send for my son Renarin.”

*

Queen Fen found him in the courtyard of the temple of Battah, the one with the large broken statue. Her son—now wearing Dalinar’s bloodied shirt tied around his waist, like some kind of girdle—led a crew of ten men with ropes. They’d just gotten the hips of the statue settled back into place; Dalinar drained Stormlight from borrowed spheres, sealing the stone together.

“I think I found the left arm!” a man called from below, where the bulk of the statue had toppled through the roof of a mansion. Dalinar’s team of soldiers and lighteyes whooped and rushed down the steps.

“I did not expect to find the Blackthorn shirtless,” Queen Fen said, “and … playing sculptor?”

“I can only fix inanimate things,” Dalinar said, wiping his hands on a rag tied at his waist, exhausted. Using this much Stormlight was a new experience for him, and quite draining. “My son does the more important work.”

A small family left the temple above. Judging by the father’s tentative steps, supported by his sons, it seemed the man had broken a leg or two in the most recent storm. The burly man gestured for his sons to step back, took a few steps on his own—and then, his eyes wide, did a short skip.

Dalinar knew that feeling: the lingering effects of Stormlight. “I should have seen it earlier—I should have sent for him the moment I saw those wounded. I’m a fool.” Dalinar shook his head. “Renarin has the ability to heal. He is new to his powers, as I am to mine, and can best heal those who were recently wounded. I wonder if it’s similar to what I’m doing. Once the soul grows accustomed to the wound, it’s much harder to fix.”

A single awespren burst around Fen as the family approached, bowing and speaking in Thaylen, the father grinning like a fool. For a moment, Dalinar felt he could almost understand what they were saying. As if a part of him were stretching to bond to the man. A curious experience, one he didn’t quite know how to interpret.

When they left, Dalinar turned to the queen. “I don’t know how long Renarin will hold out, and I don’t know how many of those wounds will be new enough for him to fix. But it is something we could do.”

Men called below, heaving a stone arm out through the window of the mansion.

“I see you’ve charmed Kdralk as well,” Fen noted.

“He’s a good lad,” Dalinar said.

“He was determined to find a way to duel you. I hear you gave him that. You’re going to roll over this whole city, charming each person in turn, aren’t you?”

“Hopefully not. That sounds like it would take a lot of time.”

A young man came running down from the temple, holding a child with floppy hair who—though his clothing was torn and dusty—was smiling with a broad grin. The youth bowed to the queen, then thanked Dalinar in broken Alethi. Renarin kept blaming the healings on him.

Fen watched them go with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I need your help, Fen,” Dalinar whispered.

“I find it hard to believe you need anything, considering what you’ve done today.”

“Shardbearers can’t hold ground.”

She looked at him, frowning.

“Sorry. That’s a military maxim. It … never mind. Fen, I have Radiants, yes—but they, no matter how powerful, won’t win this war. More importantly, I can’t see what I’m missing. That’s why I need you.

“I think like an Alethi, as do most of my advisors. We consider the war, the conflict, but miss important facts. When I first learned of Renarin’s powers, I thought only of restoring people on the battlefield to continue the fight. I need you; I need the Azish. I need a coalition of leaders who see what I don’t, because we’re facing an enemy that doesn’t think like any we’ve faced before.” He bowed his head to her. “Please. Join me, Fen.”

“I’ve already opened that gate, and I’m talking to the councils about giving aid to your war effort. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not close, Fen. I want you to join me.”

“The difference is?”

“The distinction between referring to it as ‘your’ war, and ‘our’ war.”

“You’re relentless.” She took a deep breath, then cut him off as he tried to object. “I suppose that is what we need right now. All right, Blackthorn. You, me, Taravangian. The first real united Vorin coalition the world has seen since the Hierocracy. It’s unfortunate that two of us lead kingdoms that are in ruin.”

“Three,” Dalinar said with a grunt. “Kholinar is besieged by the enemy. I’ve sent help, but for now, Alethkar is an occupied kingdom.”

“Wonderful. Well, I think I can persuade the factions in my city to let your troops come and help here. If everything goes well with that, I will write to the Prime of Azir. Maybe that will help.”

“I’m certain it will. Now that you’ve joined, the Azish Oathgate is the most essential to our cause.”

“Well, they’re going to be tricky,” Fen said. “The Azish aren’t as desperate as I am—and frankly, they aren’t Vorin. People here, myself included, respond to a good push from a determined monarch. Strength and passion, the Vorin way. But those tactics will just make the Azish dig in and rebuff you harder.”



He rubbed his chin. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“I don’t think you’ll find it very appealing.”

“Try me,” Dalinar said. “I’m starting to appreciate that the way I usually do things has severe limitations.”





I worry about my fellow Truthwatchers.

—From drawer 8-21, second emerald

The storm did not belong to Kaladin.