Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

Szeth inspected the battlefield far below.

When are we going to actually fight someone? asked the sword on his back. You sure do like to talk. Even more than Vasher, and he could go on and on and on.…

“Aboshi,” Szeth said. “When I say the Third Ideal, can I choose a person as the thing I obey? Instead of the law?”

“Yes. Some of the Skybreakers have chosen to follow me, and I suspect that will make the transition to obeying the Dawnsingers easier for them. I would not suggest it. I feel that … I am … am getting worse.…”

A man in blue barred the way into the city below. He confronted … something else. A force that Szeth could just barely sense. A hidden fire.

“You followed men before,” Nin continued. “They caused your pain, Szeth-son-Neturo. Your agony is because you did not follow something unchanging and pure. You picked men instead of an ideal.”

“Or,” Szeth said, “perhaps I was simply forced to follow the wrong men.”

*

Kaladin thrashed in the beads, suffocating, coughing. He wasn’t that deep, but which way … which way was out? Which way was out?

Frantic, he tried to swim toward the surface, but the beads didn’t move like water, and he couldn’t propel himself. Beads slipped into his mouth, pushed at his skin. Pulled at him like an invisible hand. Trying to drag him farther and farther into the depths.

Away from the light. Away from the wind.

His fingers brushed something warm and soft among the beads. He thrashed, trying to find it again, and a hand seized his arm. He brought his other arm around and grabbed hold of a thin wrist. Another hand took him by the front of the coat, pulling him away from the darkness, and he stumbled, finding purchase on the bottom of the sea.

Lungs burning, he followed, step by step, eventually bursting from the beads to find Syl pulling him by the front of the coat. She led him up the bank, where he collapsed in a heap, spitting out spheres and wheezing. The Fused he’d been fighting landed on the Oathgate platform near the two they’d left behind.

As Kaladin was recovering his breath, beads nearby pulled back, revealing Shallan, Adolin, and Pattern crossing the seafloor through some kind of passage she’d made. A hallway in the depths? She was growing in her ability to manipulate the beads.

Adolin was wounded. Kaladin gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his feet and stumbling over to help Shallan get the prince up onto the shore. The prince lay on his back, cursing softly, holding his gut with bloodied hands.

“Let me see it,” Kaladin said, prying Adolin’s fingers out of the way.

“The blood—” Shallan started.

“The blood is the least of his worries,” Kaladin said, prodding at the wound. “He’s not going to bleed out from a gut wound anytime soon, but sepsis is another story. And if internal organs got cut…”

“Leave me,” Adolin said, coughing.

“Leave you to go where?” Kaladin said, moving his fingers in the wound. Storms. The intestines were cut. “I’m out of Stormlight.”

Shallan’s glow faded. “That was the last of what I had.”

Syl gripped Kaladin’s shoulder, looking toward the Fused, who launched up and flew toward them, lances held high. Pattern hummed softly. Nervously.

“What do we do then?” Shallan asked.

No … Kaladin thought.

“Give me your knife,” Adolin said, trying to sit up.

It can’t be the end.

“Adolin, no. Rest. Maybe we can surrender.”

I can’t fail him!

Kaladin looked over his shoulder toward Syl, who held him lightly by the arm.

She nodded. “The Words, Kaladin.”

*

Amaram’s soldiers parted around Dalinar, flooding into the city. They ignored him—and unfortunately, he had to ignore them.

“So, child…” Odium nodded toward the city, and took Dalinar by the shoulder. “You did something marvelous in forging that coalition. You should feel proud. I’m certainly proud.”

How could Dalinar fight this thing, who thought of every possibility, who planned for every outcome? How could he face something so vast, so incredible? Touching it, Dalinar could sense it stretching into infinity. Permeating the land, the people, the sky and the stone.

He would break, go insane, if he tried to comprehend this being. And somehow he had to defeat it?

Convince him that he can lose, the Almighty had said in vision. Appoint a champion. He will take that chance.… This is the best advice I can give you.

Honor had been slain resisting this thing.

Dalinar licked his lips. “A test of champions,” he said to Odium. “I demand that we clash over this world.”

“For what purpose?” Odium asked.

“Killing us won’t free you, will it?” Dalinar said. “You could rule us or destroy us, but either way, you’d still be trapped here.”

Nearby, one of the thunderclasts climbed over the wall and entered the city. The other stayed behind, stomping around near the rearguard of the army.

“A contest,” Dalinar said to Odium. “Your freedom if you win, our lives if humans win.”

“Be careful what you request, Dalinar Kholin. As Bondsmith, you can offer this deal. But is this truly what you wish of me?”

“I…”

Was it?

*

Wyndle followed the Voidbringer, and Lift followed him. They slipped back among the men of the human army. The front ranks were pouring into the city, but the opening wasn’t big enough for them to all go at once. Most waited out here for their turn, cursing and grumbling at the delay.

They took swipes at Lift as she tried to follow the trail of vines Wyndle left. Being little helped her avoid them, fortunately. She liked being little. Little people could squeeze into places others couldn’t, and could go unnoticed. She wasn’t supposed to get any older; the Nightwatcher had promised her she wouldn’t.

The Nightwatcher had lied. Just like a starvin’ human would have. Lift shook her head and slipped between the legs of a soldier. Being little was nice, but it was hard not to feel like every man was a mountain towering overhead. They smashed weapons about her, speaking guttural Alethi curses.

I can’t do this on my knees, she thought as a sword chopped close to her shirt. I have to be like her. I have to be free.

Lift zipped over the side of a small rise in the rock, and managed to land on her feet. She ran for a moment, then slicked the bottoms of her feet and went into a slide.

The Voidbringer woman passed ahead. She didn’t slip and fall, but performed this strange walking motion—one that let her control her smooth glide.

Lift tried to do the same. She trusted in her awesomeness—her Stormlight—to sustain her as she held her breath. Men cursed around her, but sounds slid off Lift as she coated herself in Light.