Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

The Fused boasted from within the captain’s cabin. They talked about next time, promising what they’d do and how they’d win. They spoke of past victories, and subtly hinted at why they’d failed. Too few of them had awakened so far, and those who had awakened were unaccustomed to having physical bodies.

What a strange way to treat a failure. She attuned Appreciation anyway. An old rhythm. She loved being able to hear those again at will—she could attune either old or new, and could make her eyes red, except when she drew in Stormlight. Timbre had granted this by capturing the Voidspren within her.

This meant she could hide it from the Fused. From Odium. She stepped away from the cabin door and walked along the side of the ship, which surged through the water, heading back toward Marat.

“This bond was supposed to be impossible,” she whispered to Timbre.

Timbre pulsed to Peace.

“I’m happy too,” Venli whispered. “But why me? Why not one of the humans?”

Timbre pulsed to Irritation, then the Lost.

“That many? I had no idea the human betrayal had cost so many of your people’s lives. And your own grandfather?”

Irritation again.

“I’m not sure how much I trust the humans either. Eshonai did though.”

Nearby, sailors worked on the rigging, speaking softly in Thaylen. Parshmen, yes, but also Thaylens. “I don’t know, Vldgen,” one said. “Yeah, some of them weren’t so bad. But what they did to us…”

“Does that mean we have to kill them?” his companion asked. She caught a tossed rope. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“They took our culture, Vldgen,” the malen said. “They blustering took our entire identity. And they’ll never let a bunch of parshmen remain free. Watch. They’ll come for us.”

“I’ll fight if they do,” Vldgen said. “But … I don’t know. Can’t we simply enjoy being able to think? Being able to exist?” She shook her head, lashing a rope tight. “I just wish I knew who we were.”

Timbre pulsed to Praise.

“The listeners?” Venli whispered to the spren. “We didn’t do that good a job of resisting Odium. As soon as we got a hint of power, we came running back to him.” That had been her fault. She had driven them toward new information, new powers. She’d always hungered for it. Something new.

Timbre pulsed to Consolation, but then it blended, changing once again to Resolve.

Venli hummed the same transformation.

Something new.

But also something old.

She walked to the two sailors. They immediately stood at attention, saluting her as the only Regal on the ship, holding a form of power. “I know who you were,” she said to the two of them.

“You … you do?” the femalen asked.

“Yes.” Venli pointed. “Keep working, and let me tell you of the listeners.”



*

I think you did a great job, Szeth, the sword said from Szeth’s hand as they rose above Thaylen City. You didn’t destroy many of them, yes, but you just need some more practice!

“Thank you, sword-nimi,” he said, reaching Nin. The Herald floated with toes pointed downward, hands clasped behind his back, watching the disappearing ships of the parshmen in the distance.

“I am sorry, master,” Szeth finally said. “I have angered you.”

“I am not your master,” Nin said. “And you have not angered me. Why would I be displeased?”

“You have determined that the parshmen are the true owners of this land, and that the Skybreakers should follow their laws.”

“The very reason that we swear to something external is because we acknowledge that our own judgment is flawed. My judgment is flawed.” He narrowed his eyes. “I used to be able to feel, Szeth-son-Neturo. I used to have compassion. I can remember those days, before…”

“The torture?” Szeth asked.

He nodded. “Centuries spent on Braize—the place you call Damnation—stole my ability to feel. We each cope somehow, but only Ishar survived with his mind intact. Regardless, you are certain you wish to follow a man with your oath?”

“It is not as perfect as the law, I know,” Szeth said. “But it feels right.”

“The law is made by men, so it is not perfect either. It is not perfection we seek, for perfection is impossible. It is instead consistency. You have said the Words?”

“Not yet. I swear to follow the will of Dalinar Kholin. This is my oath.” At the Words, snow crystallized around him in the air, then fluttered down. He felt a surge of something. Approval? From the hidden spren who only rarely showed itself to him, even still.

“I believe that your Words have been accepted. Have you chosen your quest for the next Ideal?”

“I will cleanse the Shin of their false leaders, so long as Dalinar Kholin agrees.”

“We shall see. You may find him a harsh master.”

“He is a good man, Nin-son-God.”

“That is precisely why.” Nin saluted him quietly, then began to move away through the air. He shook his head when Szeth followed, and then he pointed. “You must protect the man you once tried to kill, Szeth-son-Neturo.”

“What if we meet on the battlefield?”

“Then we will both fight with confidence, knowing that we obey the precepts of our oaths. Farewell, Szeth-son-Neturo. I will visit you again to oversee your training in our second art, the Surge of Division. You may access that now, but take care. It is dangerous.”

He left Szeth alone in the sky, holding a sword that hummed happily to itself, then confided that it had never really liked Nin in the first place.

*

Shallan had found that no matter how bad things got, someone would be making tea.

Today it was Teshav, and Shallan gratefully took a cup, then peeked through the command post at the top of the city, still looking for Adolin. Now that she was moving, she found she could ignore her fatigue. Momentum could be a powerful thing.

Adolin wasn’t here, though one of the runner girls had seen him a short time ago, so Shallan was on the right track. She walked back to the main thoroughfare, passing men carrying stretchers full of the wounded. Otherwise, the streets were mostly empty. People had been sent to stormshelters or homes as Queen Fen’s soldiers gathered gemstones from the reserve, rounded up Amaram’s troops, and made certain there was no looting.

Shallan idled in the mouth of an alleyway. The tea was bitter, but good. Knowing Teshav, it probably had something in it to keep her on her feet and alert—scribes always knew the best teas for that.

She watched the people for a time, then glanced upward as Kaladin landed on a rooftop nearby. He was next up for working the Oathgate, taking over from Renarin.

The Windrunner stood like a sentinel, surveying the city. Was that going to become a thing for him? Always standing around up high somewhere? She’d seen how envious he’d been as he’d watched those Fused, with their flowing robes, moving like the winds.