Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

The soldier cocked his head.

“Well, sure. Technically it might be. But for the end of the world, it’s not so bad, right? I figured that when everything ended, we’d sink into a noxious bath of pus and doom, breathing in agony as the air around us—sure—became molten, and we screamed a final burning scream, relishing the memories of the last time a woman loved us.” Lopen tapped the man’s cot. “Don’t know about you, moolie, but my lungs aren’t burning. The air doesn’t seem very molten. Considering how bad this could have gone, you’ve got a lot to be thankful for. Remember that.”

“I…” The man blinked.

“I meant, remember those exact words. That’s the phrase to tell the woman you’re seeing. Helps a ton.” He fished in his pack and pulled out a bottle of Thaylen lavis beer he’d salvaged. Rua stopped zipping around the top of the tent long enough to float down and inspect it.

“Want to see a trick?” Lopen asked.

“A … another?” the man asked.

“Normally, I’d pop the cap off with one of my fingernails. I have great Herdazian ones, extra hard. You have weaker ones like most people. So here’s the trick.”

Lopen rolled up his trouser leg with one hand. He pressed the bottle—top first—to his leg and then, with a quick flick, twisted off the cap. He raised the bottle toward the man.

The man reached for it with the bandaged stump of his right arm, which ended above the elbow. He looked at it, grimaced, then reached with the left hand instead.

“If you need any jokes,” Lopen said, “I’ve got a few I can’t use anymore.”

The soldier drank quietly, eyes flicking to the front of the tent, where Kaladin had entered, glowing softly, speaking with some of the surgeons. Knowing Kaladin, he was probably telling them how to do their jobs.

“You’re one of them,” the soldier said. “Radiant.”

“Sure,” Lopen said. “But not really one of them. I’m trying to figure out the next step.”

“Next step?”

“I’ve got the flying,” Lopen said, “and the spren. But I don’t know if I’m good at saving people yet.”

The man looked at his drink. “I … think you might be doing just fine.”

“That’s a beer, not a person. Don’t get those mixed up. Very embarrassing, but I won’t tell.”

“How…” the man said. “How does one join up? They say … they say it heals you.…”

“Sure, it heals everything except what’s in the rockbud on the end of your neck. Which is great for me. I’m the only sane one in this group. That might be a problem.”

“Why?”

“They say you have to be broken,” Lopen said, glancing toward his spren, who made a few loops of excitement, then shot off to hide again. Lopen would need to go looking for the little guy—he did enjoy the game. “You know that tall woman, the king’s sister? The chortana with the glare that could break a Shardblade? She says that the power has to get into your soul somehow. So I’ve been trying to cry a lot, and moan about my life being so terrible, but I think the Stormfather knows I’m lying. Hard to act sad when you’re the Lopen.”

“I might be broken,” the man said softly.

“Good, good! We don’t have a Thaylen yet, and lately it looks like we’re trying to collect one of everything. We even have a parshman!”

“I just ask?” the man said, then took a drink.

“Sure. Ask. Follow us around. Worked for Lyn. But you have to say the Words.”

“Words?”

“ ‘Life before death, strength before weakness, journey before pancakes.’ That’s the easy one. The hard one is, ‘I will protect those who cannot protect themselves,’ and—”

A sudden flash of coldness struck Lopen, and the gemstones in the room flickered, then went out. A symbol crystallized in frost on the stones around Lopen, vanishing under the cots. The ancient symbol of the Windrunners.

“What?” Lopen stood up. “What? Now?”

He heard a far-off rumbling, like thunder.



“NOW?” Lopen said, shaking a fist at the sky. “I was saving that for a dramatic moment, you penhito! Why didn’t you listen earlier? We were, sure, all about to die and things!”

He got a distinct, very distant impression.

YOU WEREN’T QUITE READY.

“Storm you!” Lopen made a double obscene gesture toward the sky—something he’d been waiting a long time to use properly for the first time. Rua joined him, making the same gesture, then grew two extra arms to give it more weight.

“Nice,” Lopen said. “Hey gancho! I’m a full Knight Radiant now, so you can start complimenting me.” Kaladin didn’t seem to have even noticed. “Just a moment,” Lopen said to the one-armed soldier, then stalked over to where Kaladin was speaking with a runner.

“You’re sure?” Kaladin said to the scribe. “Does Dalinar know about this?”

“He sent me, sir,” the woman said. “Here’s a map with the location the spanreed listed.”

“Gancho,” Lopen said. “Hey, did you—”

“Congratulations, Lopen, good job. You’re second-in-command after Teft until I return.”

Kaladin burst from the tent and Lashed himself to the sky, streaking away, the tent’s front flaps rustling in the wind of his passing.

Lopen put his hands on his hips. Rua landed on his head, then made a little squeal of angry delight while proffering toward Kaladin a double rude gesture.

“Don’t wear it out, naco,” Lopen said.

*

“Come on,” Ash said, holding Taln’s hand, pulling him up the last few steps.

He stared at her dully.

“Taln,” she whispered. “Please.”

The last glimmers of his lucidity had faded. Once, nothing would have kept him from the battlefield when other men died. Today, he had hidden and whimpered during the fighting. Now he followed her like a simpleton.

Talenel’Elin had broken like the rest of them.

Ishar, she thought. Ishar will know what to do. She fought down the tears—watching him fade had been like watching the sun go out. All these years, she’d hoped that maybe … maybe …

What? That he’d be able to redeem them?

Someone nearby cursed by her name, and she wanted to slap him. Don’t swear by us. Don’t paint pictures of us. Don’t worship at our statues. She’d stamp it all out. She would ruin every depiction. She …

Ash breathed in and out, then pulled Taln by the hand again, getting him into line with the other refugees fleeing the city. Only foreigners were allowed out right now, to prevent the Oathgate from being overworked. She’d get back to Azir, where their skin tones wouldn’t stand out.

What a gift you gave them! he’d said. Time to recover, for once, between Desolations. Time to progress …

Oh, Taln. Couldn’t he have just hated her? Couldn’t he have let her—

Ash stopped in place as something ripped inside of her.

Oh God. Oh, Adonalsium!

What was that? What was that?