Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

People squeezed into buildings or slipped out onto other streets. The slow ones simply huddled down beside the walls, hands over their heads. The spren arrived as two lines of bright yellow-white, twisting about one another above the plaza. Their inhuman screeches were awful. Like … like the sound of a wounded animal, dying alone in the wilderness.

Those weren’t the spren he’d seen while traveling with Sah and the other parshmen. That one had seemed more akin to a windspren; these looked like vivid yellow spheres crackling with energy. They didn’t seem to be able to pinpoint the rock directly, and spun over the courtyard as if confused, still screaming.

A short time later, a figure descended from the sky. A Voidbringer in loose red and black clothing that rippled and churned in the breeze. He carried a spear and a tall, triangular shield.

That spear, Kaladin thought. Long, with a slender point for puncturing armor, it was like a horseman’s lance. He found himself nodding. That would be an excellent weapon for using in flight, where you’d need extra reach to attack men on the ground, or even enemies soaring around you.

The spren ceased screaming. The Voidbringer looked about, fluttering through the air, then glared at the spren and said something. Again, they seemed confused. They’d sensed Kaladin’s use of Stormlight—likely interpreted it as a fabrial being used—but now couldn’t pinpoint the location. Kaladin had used such a small amount of Stormlight, the rock had lost its charge almost immediately.

The spren dispersed, vanishing as emotion spren often did. The Voidbringer lingered, surrounded by dark energy, until horns nearby announced the Wall Guard approaching. The creature finally shot back into the air. People who had been hiding scuttled away, looking relieved to have escaped with their lives.

“Huh,” Adolin said, standing. He wore an illusion, imitating—as per Elhokar’s instructions—Captainlord Meleran Khal, Teshav’s youngest son, a powerfully built balding man in his thirties.

“I can hold Stormlight as long as I want without drawing attention,” Kaladin said. “The moment I Lash something, they come screaming.”

“And yet,” Adolin said, glancing at Shallan, “the disguises draw no attention.”

“Pattern says we’re quieter than him,” Shallan said, thumbing toward Kaladin. “Come on, let’s get back. Don’t you boys have an appointment tonight?”

*



“A party,” Kaladin said, pacing back and forth in the tailor shop’s showroom. Skar and Drehy leaned by the doorway, each with a spear in the crook of his arm.

“This is what they’re like,” Kaladin said. “Your city is practically burning. What should you do? Throw a party, obviously.”

Elhokar had suggested parties as a way of contacting the city’s lighteyed families. Kaladin had laughed at the idea, assuming that there wouldn’t be such a thing. Yet, with minimal searching, Adolin had scrounged up half a dozen invitations.

“Good darkeyed people slave away, growing and preparing food,” Kaladin said. “But the lighteyes? They have so much storming time they have to make up things to do.”

“Hey Skar,” Drehy said. “You ever go out drinking, even when at war?”

“Sure,” Skar said. “And back in my village, we’d have a dance in the stormshelter twice a month, even while boys were off fighting in border skirmishes.”

“It’s not the same,” Kaladin said. “You taking their side?”

“Are there sides?” Drehy asked.

A few minutes later, Adolin came tromping down the stairs and grinning like a fool. He was wearing a ruffled shirt under a powder-blue suit with a jacket that didn’t close all the way and tails at the back. Its golden embroidery was the finest the shop could provide.

“Please tell me,” Kaladin said, “that you didn’t bring us to live with your tailor because you wanted a new wardrobe.”

“Come on, Kal,” Adolin said, inspecting himself in a showroom mirror. “I need to look the part.” He checked his cuffs and grinned again.

Yokska came out and looked him over, then dusted his shoulders. “I think it pulls too tightly through the chest, Brightlord.”

“It’s wonderful, Yokska.”

“Take a deep breath.”

It was like she was a storming surgeon, the way she lifted his arm and felt at his waist, muttering to herself. Kaladin had seen his father give physicals that were less invasive.

“I thought that straight coats were still the style,” Adolin said. “I have a folio out of Liafor.”

“Those aren’t up to date,” Yokska said. “I was in Liafor last Midpeace, and they’re moving away from military styles. But they made those folios to sell uniforms at the Shattered Plains.”

“Storms! I had no idea how unfashionable I was being.”

Kaladin rolled his eyes. Adolin saw that in the mirror, but just turned around, giving a bow. “Don’t worry, bridgeboy. You can continue to wear clothing to match your scowl.”

“You look like you tripped and fell into a bucket of blue paint,” Kaladin said, “then tried to dry off with a handful of parched grass.”

“And you look like what the storm leaves behind,” Adolin said, passing by and patting Kaladin on the shoulder. “We like you anyway. Every boy has a favorite stick he found out in the yard after the rains.”

Adolin stepped over to Skar and Drehy, clasping hands with each of them in turn. “You two looking forward to tonight?”

“Depends on how the food is in the darkeyed tent, sir,” Skar said.

“Swipe me something from the inner party,” Drehy said. “I hear they’ve got storming good pastries at those fancy lighteyes parties.”

“Sure. You need anything, Skar?”

“The head of my enemy, fashioned into a tankard for drinking,” Skar said. “Barring that, I’ll take a pastry or seven.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Keep your ears open for any good taverns that are still open. We can go out tomorrow.” He strode past Kaladin and tied on a side sword.

Kaladin frowned, looking to him, then to his bridgemen, then back at Adolin. “What?”

“What what?” Adolin asked.

“You’re going to go out drinking with bridgemen?” Kaladin said.

“Sure,” Adolin said. “Skar, Drehy, and I go way back.”

“We spent some time keeping His Highness from falling into chasms,” Skar said. “He repaid us with a bit of wine and good conversation.”

The king entered, wearing a more muted version of the same style of uniform. He bustled past Adolin, heading toward the stairs. “Ready? Excellent. Time for new faces.”

The three stopped by Shallan’s room, where she was sketching and humming to herself, surrounded by creationspren. She gave Adolin a kiss that was more intimate than Kaladin had seen from the two of them before, then changed him back into Meleran Khal. Elhokar became an older man, also bald, with pale yellow eyes. General Khal, one of Dalinar’s highest officers.

“I’m fine,” Kaladin said as she eyed him. “Nobody is going to recognize me.”