“Yeah? And what would that do to Syl? She told me that losing a bonded Radiant was hard on their spren.”
“True. But she would recover, and it might be for the best. Your relationship with the Ancient Daughter is … inappropriate.”
“It’s not like we eloped.”
“It is worse, as the Nahel bond is far more intimate a relationship. The linking of spirits. This is not a thing that should be done lightly, unsupervised. Besides, the Ancient Daughter is too young.”
“Young?” Kaladin said. “Didn’t you just call her ancient?”
“It would be difficult to explain to a human.”
“Try anyway.”
The captain sighed. “The honorspren were created by Honor himself, many thousands of years ago. You call him the Almighty, and … I’m afraid he’s dead.”
“Which makes sense, as it’s pretty much the only excuse I would have accepted.”
“That wasn’t levity, human,” Notum said. “Your god is dead.”
“Not my god. But please continue.”
“Well…” Notum frowned; he’d obviously thought the concept of Honor’s death would have been more difficult for Kaladin to accept. “Well, sometime before his death, Honor stopped creating honorspren. We don’t know why, but he asked the Stormfather to do it instead.”
“He was setting up an heir. I’ve heard that the Stormfather is a kind of image of the Almighty.”
“More like a weak shadow,” Notum said. “You … actually understand this?”
“Understand, no. Follow? Mostly.”
“The Stormfather created only a handful of children. All of these, save Sylphrena, were destroyed in the Recreance, becoming deadeyes. This loss stung the Stormfather, who didn’t create again for centuries. When he was finally moved to remake the honorspren, he created only ten more. My great-grandmother was among them; she created my grandfather, who created my father, who eventually created me.
“It was only recently, even by your reckoning, that the Ancient Daughter was rediscovered. Asleep. So, in answer to your question, yes, Sylphrena is both old and young. Old of form, but young of mind. She is not ready to deal with humans, and certainly not ready for a bond. I wouldn’t trust myself with one of those.”
“You think we’re too changeable, don’t you? That we can’t keep our oaths.”
“I’m no highspren,” the captain spat. “I can see that the variety of humankind is what gives you strength. Your ability to change your minds, to go against what you once thought, can be a great advantage. But your bond is dangerous, without Honor. There will not be enough checks upon your power—you risk disaster.”
“How?”
Notum shook his head, then looked away, off into the distance. “I cannot answer. You should not have bonded Sylphrena, either way. She is too precious to the Stormfather.”
“Regardless,” Kaladin said, “you’re about half a year too late. So you might as well accept it.”
“Not too late. Killing you would free her—though it would be painful for her. There are other ways, at least until the Final Ideal is sworn.”
“I can’t imagine you’d be willing to kill a man for this,” Kaladin said. “Tell me truthfully. Is there honor in that, Notum?”
He looked away, as if ashamed.
“You know Syl shouldn’t be locked away like this,” Kaladin said softly. “You’re an honorspren too, Notum. You must know how she feels.”
The captain didn’t speak.
Finally, Kaladin gritted his teeth and strode off. The captain didn’t demand that Kaladin go down below, so he took up a position at the very front of the high deck, hanging out over the bow.
With one hand on the flagpole, Kaladin rested a boot on the low railing, overlooking the sea of beads. He wore his uniform today, since he’d been able to wash it the previous night. Honor’s Path had good accommodations for humans, including a device that made a great deal of water. The design—if not the vessel itself—probably stretched back centuries to when Radiants traveled Shadesmar with their spren.
Beneath him, the ship creaked as sailors shifted her heading. To the left, he could see land. Longbrow’s Straits—on the other side of which they’d find Thaylen City. Tantalizingly close.
Technically, he was no longer Dalinar’s bodyguard. But storms, during the Weeping, Kaladin had nearly abandoned his duty. The thought of Dalinar needing him now—while Kaladin was trapped and unable to help—brought a pain that was almost physical. He’d failed so many people in his life.…
Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination. Together, these Words formed the First Ideal of the Windrunners. He’d said them, but he wasn’t certain he understood them.
The Second Ideal made more direct sense. I will protect those who cannot protect themselves. Straightforward, yes … but overwhelming. The world was a place of suffering. Was he really supposed to try to prevent it all?
I will protect even those I hate, so long as it is right. The Third Ideal meant standing up for anyone, if needed. But who decided what was “right”? Which side was he supposed to protect?
The Fourth Ideal was unknown to him, but the closer he drew to it, the more frightened he became. What would it demand of him?
Something crystallized in the air beside him, a line of light like a pinprick in the air that trailed a long, soft luminescence. A mistspren sailor near him gasped, then nudged his companion. She whispered something in awe, then both scrambled away.
What have I done now?
A second pinprick of light appeared near him, spinning, coordinated with the other. They made spiral trails in the air. He’d have called them spren, but they weren’t any he’d seen before. Besides, spren on this side didn’t seem to vanish and appear—they were always here, weren’t they?
K-Kaladin? a voice whispered in his head.
“Syl?” he whispered.
What are you doing? It was rare that he heard her directly in his mind.
“Standing on the deck. What’s happened?”
Nothing. I can just … feel your mind right now. Stronger than usual. They let you out?
“Yes. I’ve tried to get them to set you free.”
They’re stubborn. It’s an honorspren trait which I, fortunately, escaped.
“Syl. What is the Fourth Ideal?”
You know you have to figure that out on your own, silly.
“It’s going to be hard, isn’t it?”
Yes. You’re close.
He leaned forward, watching the mandras float beneath them. A small flock of gloryspren zipped past. They took a moment to fly up and spin about him before heading to the south, faster than the ship.
The strange pinpricks of light continued to whirl around him. Sailors gathered behind, making a ruckus until the captain pushed through and gaped.
“What are they?” Kaladin asked, nodding toward the pinpricks of light.
“Windspren.”
“Oh.” They did remind him a little of the way windspren would fly on gusts of wind. “They’re common. Why is everyone so upset?”
“They’re not common on this side,” the captain said. “They live on your side, almost completely. I … I’ve never seen them before. They’re beautiful.”
Perhaps I haven’t been giving Notum enough credit, Kaladin thought. Perhaps he would listen to a different kind of plea.
“Captain,” Kaladin said. “I have taken an oath, as a Windrunner, to protect. And the Bondsmith who leads us is in danger.”
“Bondsmith?” the captain asked. “Which one?”
“Dalinar Kholin.”
“No. Which Bondsmith, of the three?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kaladin said. “But his spren is the Stormfather. I told you I’d spoken to him.”
It seemed, from the captain’s aghast expression, that perhaps Kaladin should have mentioned this fact earlier.
“I must keep my oath,” Kaladin said. “I need you to let Syl go, then take us to a plac
e where we can transfer between realms.”
“I’ve sworn an oath myself,” the captain said. “To Honor, and to the truths we follow.”
“Honor is dead,” Kaladin said. “But the Bondsmith is not. You say that you can see how human variety gives us strength—well, I challenge you to do the same. See beyond the letter of your rules. You must understand that my need to defend the Bondsmith is more important than your need to deliver Syl—especially considering that the Stormfather is well aware of her location.”
The captain glanced at the windspren, which were still spinning about Kaladin, leaving trails that drifted the entire length of the ship before fading.
“I will consider,” the captain said.
* * *
Adolin stopped at the top of the steps, just behind Shallan.
Kaladin, the storming bridgeman, stood at the bow of the ship, surrounded by glowing lines of light. They illuminated his heroic figure—determined, undaunted, one hand on the prow’s flagpole, wearing his crisp Wall Guard uniform. The ship’s spren gazed upon him as if he were a storming Herald come to announce the reclamation of the Tranquiline Halls.
Just ahead of him, Shallan seemed to change. It was in her bearing, the way she stopped resting lightly on one foot, and stood solidly on two feet instead. The way her posture shifted.
And the way that she seemed to melt upon seeing Kaladin, lips rising to a grin. Blushing, she adopted a fond—even eager—expression.
Adolin breathed out slowly. He’d caught those glimpses from her before—and seen the sketches of Kaladin in her book—but looking at her now, he couldn’t deny what he was seeing. She was practically leering.
“I need to draw that,” she said. But she just stood there instead, staring at him.
Adolin sighed and made his way up onto the high deck. Seemed they weren’t forbidden here any longer. He joined Pattern, who had come up another set of steps, and was humming happily to himself.
“Kind of hard to compete with that,” Adolin noted.
“Mmm,” Pattern said.
“You know, I’ve never really felt like this before? It’s not just Kaladin, it’s all of this. And what’s happening to us.” He shook his head. “We certainly are an odd bunch.”
“Yes. Seven people. Odd.”
“It’s not like I can blame him. It’s not as if he’s trying to be like he is.”
Nearby, a sailor spren—one of the few who hadn’t gathered around Stormblessed and his halo of glowing lights—lowered a spyglass. She frowned, then raised it again. Then she began to call out in the spren language.
People tore themselves away from Kaladin and crowded around. Adolin stepped back, watching until Kaladin and Shallan joined him. Azure crested the steps nearby, looking concerned.
“What is it?” Kaladin asked.
“No idea,” Adolin said.
The captain waved for the mistspren and honorspren to make space, then took the spyglass. He finally lowered it and looked back at Kaladin. “You were right, human, when you said you might be followed.” He waved Kaladin and Adolin forward. “Look low on the horizon, at two hundred ten degrees.”
Kaladin looked through the spyglass, then breathed out. He extended it toward Adolin, but Shallan snatched it first.
“Storms!” she said. “There’s at least six of them.”
“Eight, my scout says,” the captain replied.
Adolin finally got his turn. Because of the black sky, it took him forever to spot the distant specks flying toward the ship. The Fused.
Re-Shephir, the Midnight Mother, is another Unmade who appears to have been destroyed at Aharietiam.
—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 250
Dalinar ran his fingers along a line of red crystal embedded in the stone wall. The little vein started at the ceiling and wound all the way down the wall—within the pattern of the light green and grey strata—to the floor. It was smooth to the touch, distinct in texture from the rock around it.
He rubbed his thumb across the crystal. It’s like the other strata lines ripple out from this one, getting wider as they move away from it.
“What does it mean?” he asked Navani. The two of them stood in a storage room near the top of the tower.
“I don’t know,” Navani said, “but we’re finding more and more of them. What do you know of Essential Theology?”
“A thing for ardents and scribes,” he said.
“And Soulcasters. That is a garnet.”
Garnet? Let’s see … Emeralds for grain, that was the most important, and heliodors for flesh. They raised animals for their gemhearts to provide those two. He was pretty sure diamonds made quartz, and … storms, he didn’t know much about the others. Topaz made stone. They’d needed those for the bunkers on the Shattered Plains.
“Garnets make blood,” Navani said. “We don’t have any Soulcasters that use them.”
“Blood? That sounds useless.”
“Well, scientifically, we think Soulcasters were able to use garnets to make any liquid that was soluble in water, as opposed to oil-based … Your eyes are crossing.”
“Sorry.” He felt at the crystals. “Another mystery. When will we find answers?”
“The records below,” Navani said, “speak of this tower like a living thing. With a heart of emerald and ruby, and now these veins of garnet.”
He stood up, looking around the darkened room, which held the monarchs’ chairs between meetings. It was lit by a sphere he’d set on a stone ledge by the door.
“If this tower was alive,” Dalinar said, “then it’s dead now.”
“Or sleeping. But if that’s the case, I have no idea how to wake it. We’ve tried infusing the heart like a fabrial, even had Renarin try to push Stormlight into it. Nothing’s worked.”
Dalinar picked up a chair, then pushed the door open. He held the door with his foot—shooing away a guard who tried to do it for him—while Navani collected the sphere and joined him in the conference room, in front of the glass wall looking toward the Origin.
He set down the chair and checked his forearm clock. Stupid thing. He was growing far too dependent upon it. The arm device had a painrial in it too: a kind of fabrial with a spren that feasted upon pain. He’d never yet remembered to use the thing.
Twelve minutes left. Assuming Elthebar’s calculations were correct. With spanreeds confirming the storm’s arrival hours before in the east, the calculations were down to judging the speed of the storm.
A runner arrived at the door. Creer—the duty sergeant for guards today—accepted it. He was a bridgeman from … Bridge Twenty, was it? He and his brother were both guards, though Creer wore spectacles, unlike his twin.
“Message from Brightness Khal, sir,” Creer said, handing the note to Navani. It looked like it had come from a spanreed. It had marks on the sides from the clips that had held it to the board, and the tight letters covered only the center of the page.
“From Fen,” Navani said. “A merchant ship vanished in the Southern Depths this morning, just off Marat. They went ashore at what they hoped was a safe distance—to use the spanreed—and reported a large number of ships at dock along the coast. Glowing figures rose from a nearby city and descended upon them, and the communication cut off.”
“Confirmation,” Dalinar said, “that the enemy is building up a navy.” If that fleet launched from Marat before his own ships were ready, or if the winds were wrong when his armada did launch …
“Have Teshav write back to the Thaylens,” Dalinar said. “Suggest to Queen Fen and our other allies that we hold the next meeting in Thaylen City. We’ll want to inspect fortifications and shore up the ground defenses.”
He sent the guards to wait outside, then approached the window and checked his wrist clock. Just a few minutes left. He thought he could see the stormwall below, but it was difficult to be sure from this height. He wasn’t accustomed to looking down on a highstorm.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Navani asked.
>
“The Stormfather asked me something similar this morning. I asked him if he knew the first rule of warfare.”
“Is that the one about terrain, or the one about attacking where the enemy is weak?”
He could pick it out now, a dark ripple surging through the sky below.
“Neither,” Dalinar said.
“Ah, right,” Navani said. “I should have guessed.” She was nervous, with good cause. It was the first time he’d stepped back into the visions since meeting Odium.
But Dalinar felt blind in this war. He didn’t know what the enemy wanted, or how they intended to exploit their conquests.
The first rule of war. Know your enemy.
He raised his chin as the storm slammed into Urithiru, roughly at the height of its third tier.
All went white. Then Dalinar appeared in the ancient palace—the large open room with sandstone pillars and a balcony that looked out on an antiquated version of Kholinar. Nohadon strode through the center of the pillared chamber. This was the youthful Nohadon, not the elderly version from his recent dream.
Dalinar had taken the place of a guardsman, near the doors. A slender Parshendi woman appeared beside the king, in the spot Dalinar had occupied so long ago. Her skin was marbled red and white in a complex pattern, and she had long orange-red hair. She looked down with red eyes, surprised by her sudden appearance and the robes she wore, those of an advisor to the king.
Nohadon began speaking to her as if she were his friend Karm. “I don’t know what to do, old friend.”
Odium sees that a vision has begun, the Stormfather warned Dalinar. The enemy is focusing on us. He comes.
“Can you hold him back?”
I am but a shadow of a god. His power vastly outstrips my own. He sounded smaller than Dalinar was accustomed to. Like the quintessential bully, the Stormfather didn’t know how to face someone stronger than himself.
“Can you hold him back? I need time to talk to her.”
I will … try.
Good enough. Unfortunately, it meant that Dalinar didn’t have time to let this Parshendi woman experience the vision in full. He strode toward her and Nohadon.
* * *
Venli turned around. Where was she? This wasn’t Marat. Had Odium summoned her again?