Oathbringer

  Adolin picked his way across the rubble and through the broken wall. Jasnah stood right inside, hands on hips, as if she were surveying a mess left by rampaging children. The gap opened into an unremarkable city square dominated by barracks and storehouses. Fallen troops wearing either Thaylen or Sadeas uniforms indicated a recent clash here, but most of the enemy seemed to have moved on. Shouts and clangs sounded from nearby streets.

  Adolin reached for a discarded sword, then paused, and—feeling a fool—summoned his Shardblade. He braced himself for a scream, but none came, and the Blade fell into his hand after ten heartbeats.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, lifting the glistening weapon. “And thank you.”

  He headed toward one of the nearby clashes, where men were shouting for help.

  * * *

  Szeth of the Skybreakers envied Kaladin, the one they called Stormblessed, in the honor of protecting Dalinar Kholin. But of course, he would not complain. He had chosen his oath.

  And he would do as his master demanded.

  Phantoms appeared, created from Stormlight by the woman with the red hair. These were the shadows in the darkness, the ones he heard whispering of his murders. How she brought them to life, he did not know. He landed near the Reshi Surgebinder, Lift.

  “So,” she said to him. “How do we find that ruby?”

  Szeth pointed with his sheathed Shardblade toward the ships docked in the bay. “The creature carrying it ran back that way.” The parshmen still clustered there, deep within the shadow of the Everstorm.

  “Figures,” Lift said, then glanced at him. “You aren’t gonna try to eat me again, right?”

  Don’t be silly, said the sword in Szeth’s hand. You aren’t evil. You’re nice. And I don’t eat people.

  “I will not draw the sword,” Szeth said, “unless you are already dead and I decide to accept death myself.”

  “Greaaaaaaaaaaat,” Lift said.

  You’re supposed to contradict me, Szeth, the sword said, when I say I don’t eat people. Vasher always did. I think he was joking. Anyway, as people who have carried me go, you aren’t very good at this.

  “No,” Szeth said. “I am not good at being a person. It is … a failing of mine.”

  It’s all right! Be happy. Looks like there’s a lot of evil to slay today! That’s greaaaaaaaaaaat, right?

  Then the sword started humming.

  * * *

  The brands on Kaladin’s head seemed a fresh pain as he dove to strike Amaram. But Amaram recovered quickly from his fit, then slammed his faceplate down. He rebuffed Kaladin’s attack with an armored forearm.

  Those red eyes cast a crimson glow through the helm’s slit. “You should thank me, boy.”

  “Thank you?” Kaladin said. “For what? For showing me that a person could be even more loathsome than the petty lighteyes who ruled my hometown?”

  “I created you, spearman. I forged you.” Amaram pointed at Kaladin with the wide, hook-ended Shardblade. Then he extended his left hand, summoning a second Blade. Long and curved, the back edge rippled like flowing waves.

  Kaladin knew that Blade well. He’d won it—saving Amaram’s life—then refused to bear it. For when he looked at his reflection in the silvery metal, all he could see were the friends it had killed. So much death and pain, caused by that rippling Blade.

  It seemed a symbol of all he’d lost, particularly held now in the hand of the man who had lied to him. The man who had taken Tien away.

  Amaram presented a sword stance, holding two Blades. One taken in bloodshed, at the cost of Kaladin’s crew. The other, Oathbringer. A sword given to ransom Bridge Four.

  Don’t be intimidated! Syl whispered in Kaladin’s mind. History notwithstanding, he’s only a man. And you’re a Knight Radiant.

  The vambrace of Amaram’s armor pulsed suddenly on his forearm, as if something were pushing it from beneath. The red glow from the helm deepened, and Kaladin got the distinct impression of something enveloping Amaram.

  A black smoke. The same that Kaladin had seen surrounding Queen Aesudan at the end, as they’d fled the palace. Other sections of Amaram’s armor began to rattle or pulse, and he suddenly moved with a violent burst of speed, swinging with one Shardblade, then the other.

  * * *

  Dalinar slowed as he approached the main core of the Thrill. The red mist churned and boiled here, nearly solid. He saw familiar faces reflected in it. He watched the old highprince Kalanor fall from the heights of a rock formation. He saw himself fight alone on a field of stone after a rockslide. He watched as he caught the claw of a chasmfiend on the Shattered Plains.

  He could hear the Thrill. A thrumming, insistent, warming pulse. Almost like the beating of a drum.

  “Hello, old friend,” Dalinar whispered, then stepped into the red mist.

  * * *

  Shallan stood with arms outstretched. Stormlight expanded from her on the ground, a pool of liquid light, radiant mist swirling above it. It became a gateway. From it, her collection emerged.

  Every person she’d ever sketched—from the maids in her father’s house to the honorspren who had held Syl captive—grew from Stormlight. Men and women, children and grandparents. Soldiers and scribes. Mothers and scouts, kings and slaves.

  Mmm, Pattern said as a sword in her hand. MMMMMMM.

  “I’ve lost these,” Shallan said as Yalb the sailor climbed from the mist and waved to her. He drew a glowing Shardspear from the air. “I lost these pictures!”

  You are close to them, Pattern said. Close to the realm of thought … and beyond. All the people you’ve Connected to, over the years …

  Her brothers emerged. She’d buried worries about them in the back of her mind. Held by the Ghostbloods … No word from any spanreed she tried …

  Her father stepped from the Light. And her mother.

  The illusions immediately started to fail, melting back to Light. Then, someone seized her by the left hand.

  Shallan gasped. Forming from mist was … was Veil? With long straight black hair, white clothing, brown eyes. Wiser than Shallan—and more focused. Capable of working on small pieces when Shallan grew overwhelmed by the large scale of her work.

  Another hand took Shallan’s on the right. Radiant, in glowing garnet Shardplate, tall, with braided hair. Reserved and cautious. She nodded to Shallan with a steady, determined look.

  Others boiled at Shallan’s feet, trying to crawl from the Stormlight, their glowing hands grabbing at her legs.

  “… No,” Shallan whispered.

  This was enough. She had created Veil and Radiant to be strong when she was weak. She squeezed their hands tight, then hissed out slowly. The other versions of Shallan retreated into the Stormlight.

  Then, farther out, figures by the hundred surged from the ground and raised weapons at the enemy.

  * * *

  Adolin, now accompanied by some two dozen soldiers, charged through the streets of the Low Ward.

  “There!” one of his men shouted with a thick Thaylen accent. “Brightlord!” He pointed toward a group of enemy soldiers disappearing down an alley back toward the wall.

  “Damnation,” Adolin said, waving his troops to follow as he gave chase. Jasnah was alone in that direction, trying to hold the gap. He charged down the alleyway to—

  A soldier with red eyes suddenly hurtled through the air overhead. Adolin ducked, worried about Fused, but it was an ordinary soldier. The unfortunate man crashed into a rooftop. What on Roshar?

  As they approached the end of the alleyway, another body smashed into the wall right by the opening. Gripping his Shardblade, Adolin peeked around the corner, expecting to find another stone monster like the one that had climbed into the Ancient Ward.

  Instead, he found only Jasnah Kholin, looking completely nonplussed. A glow faded around her, different from the smoke of her Stormlight. Like geometric shapes outlining her …

  All right then. Jasnah didn’t need help. Adolin instead waved for his men to follow th
e sounds of battle to the right. There they found a small group of beleaguered Thaylen soldiers backed up against the base of the wall, facing a much larger force of men in green uniforms.

  Well. This Adolin could fix.

  He waved his own soldiers back, then charged the enemy in Smokestance, sweeping with his Shardblade. The enemy had packed in close to try to get at their prey, and had a hard time adjusting to the miniature storm that crashed into them from behind.

  Adolin stepped through the sequence of swipes, feeling immense satisfaction at finally being able to do something. The Thaylens let out a cheer as he dropped the last group of enemies, red eyes going black as they burned out. His satisfaction lasted until, glancing down at the corpses, he was struck by how human they looked.

  He’d spent years fighting Parshendi. He didn’t think he’d actually killed another Alethi since … well, he couldn’t remember.

  Sadeas. Don’t forget Sadeas.

  Fifty men dead at his feet, and some three dozen killed while gathering his other troops. Storms … after feeling so useless in Shadesmar, now this. How much of his reputation was him, and how much of it was—and had always been—the sword?

  “Prince Adolin?” a voice called in Alethi. “Your Highness!”

  “Kdralk?” Adolin said as a figure emerged from the Thaylens. The queen’s son had seen better days. His eyebrows were bloodied from a cut across his forehead. His uniform was torn, and there was a bandage on his upper arm.

  “My mother and father,” Kdralk said. “They’re trapped on the wall a little farther down. We were pushing to reach them, but we got cornered.”

  “Right. Let’s move, then.”

  * * *

  Jasnah stepped over a corpse. Her Blade vanished in a puff of Stormlight, and Ivory appeared next to her, his oily black features concerned as he regarded the sky. “This place is three, still,” he said. “Almost three.”

  “Or three places are nearly one,” Jasnah replied. Another batch of gloryspren flocked past, and she could see them as they were in the Cognitive Realm: like strange avians with long wings, and a golden sphere in place of the head. Well, being able to see into the Cognitive Realm without trying was one of the least unnerving things that had happened so far today.

  An incredible amount of Stormlight thrummed inside her—more than she’d ever held before. Another group of soldiers broke through Shallan’s illusions and charged over the rubble through the gap in the wall. Jasnah casually flipped her hand toward them. Once, their souls would have resisted mightily. Soulcasting living things was difficult; it usually required care and concentration—along with proper knowledge and procedure.

  Today, the men puffed away to smoke at her barest thought. It was so easy that a part of her was horrified.

  She felt invincible, which was a danger in itself. The human body wasn’t meant to be stuffed this full of Stormlight. It rose from her like smoke from a bonfire. Dalinar had closed his perpendicularity, however. He had been the storm, and had somehow recharged the spheres—but like a storm, his effects were passing.

  “Three worlds,” Ivory said. “Slowly splitting apart again, but for now, three realms are close.”

  “Then let’s make use of it before it fades, shall we?”

  She stepped up before the rent portion of the wall, a gap as wide as a small city block.

  Then raised her hands.

  * * *

  Szeth of the Skybreakers led the way toward the parshman army, the child Edgedancer following.

  Szeth feared not pain, as no physical agony could rival the pain he already bore. He feared not death. That sweet reward had already been snatched from him. He feared only that he had made the wrong choice.

  Szeth expunged that fear. Nin was correct. Life could not be lived making decisions at each juncture.

  The parshmen standing on the shore of the bay did not have glowing eyes. They looked much like the Parshendi who had used him to assassinate King Gavilar. When he drew close, several of them ran off and boarded one of the ships.

  “There,” he said. “I suspect they are going to warn the one we seek.”

  “I’m after it, crazyface,” Lift said. “Sword, don’t eat anyone unless they try to eat you first.” She zipped off in her silly way—kneeling and slapping her hands on the ground. She slid among the parshmen. When she reached the ship, she somehow scrambled up its side, then squeezed through a tiny porthole.

  The parshmen here didn’t seem aggressive. They shied away from Szeth, murmuring among themselves. Szeth glanced at the sky and picked out Nin—as a speck—still watching. Szeth could not fault the Herald’s decision; the law of these creatures was now the law of the land.

  But … that law was the product of the many. Szeth had been exiled because of the consensus of the many. He had served master after master, most of them using him to attain terrible or at least selfish goals. You could not arrive at excellence by the average of these people. Excellence was an individual quest, not a group effort.

  A flying Parshendi—“Fused” was a term Lift had used for them—shot out of the ship, carrying the large dun ruby that Dalinar sought. Lift followed the Fused out, but couldn’t fly. She clambered up onto the prow of the ship, releasing a loud string of curses.

  Wow, the sword said. That’s impressive vocabulary for a child. Does she even know what that last one means?

  Szeth Lashed himself into the air after the Fused.

  If she does know what it means, the sword added, do you think she’d tell me?

  The enemy swooped down low across the battlefield, and Szeth followed, a mere inch above the rocks. They soon passed among the fighting illusions. Some of these appeared as enemy soldiers, to further add confusion. A clever move. The enemy would be less likely to retreat if they thought most of their companions were still fighting, and it made the battle look far more real. Except that when Szeth’s quarry zipped past, her fluttering robes struck and disturbed illusory shapes.

  Szeth followed close, passing through a pair of fighting men he had seen were illusions. This Fused was talented, better than the Skybreakers had been, though Szeth had not faced their best.

  The chase took him in a long loop, eventually swinging back down near where Dalinar was walking through the edge of the red mist. The whispered voices grew louder, and Szeth put his hands to his ears as he flew.

  The Fused was smooth and graceful, but sped up and slowed less quickly than Szeth did. He took advantage of this, anticipating the enemy’s move, then cutting to the side as they turned. Szeth collided with the enemy, and they twisted in the air. The Fused—gemstone in one hand—stabbed Szeth with a wicked knife.

  Fortunately, with Stormlight, that didn’t do anything but cause pain.

  Szeth Lashed them both downward, holding tight, and sent them crashing to the stone. The gemstone rolled free as the Fused groaned. Szeth Lashed himself gracefully to his feet, then slipped along the stone at a standing glide. He scooped up the ruby with his free hand, the one not carrying his sheathed sword.

  Wow, the sword said.

  “Thank you, sword-nimi,” Szeth said. He restored his Stormlight from nearby fallen spheres and gemstones.

  I meant that. To your right.

  Three more Fused were swooping down toward him. He appeared to have gotten the enemy’s attention.

  * * *

  Adolin and his men reached a covered stairwell leading up onto the wall. Aunt Navani waved from up above, then gestured urgently. Adolin hurried inside the stairwell, and at the top found a jumble of Sadeas troops chopping at the door with hand axes.

  “I can probably get through that a little easier,” Adolin said from behind them.

  A short time later, he stepped onto the wall walk, leaving five more corpses on the steps. These didn’t make him feel quite so melancholy. They’d been minutes from reaching Aunt Navani.

  Navani hugged him. “Elhokar?” she asked, tense.

  Adolin shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

>   She pulled him tight, and he dismissed his Blade, holding her as she shook, letting out quiet tears. Storms … he knew how that felt. He hadn’t really been able to take time to think since Elhokar’s death. He’d felt the oppressive hand of responsibility, but had he grieved for his cousin?

  He pulled his aunt tighter, feeling her pain, mirror to his own. The stone monster crashed through the city, and soldiers shouted from all around—but in that moment, Adolin did what he could to comfort a mother who had lost her son.

  Finally they broke, Navani drying her eyes with a handkerchief. She gasped as she saw his bloodied side.

  “I’m fine,” he explained. “Renarin healed me.”

  “I saw your betrothed and the bridgeman down below,” Navani said. “So everyone … everyone but him?”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt. I just … We failed him. Elhokar and Kholinar both.”

  She blotted her eyes and stiffened with determination. “Come. Our focus now has to be on keeping this city from suffering the same fate.”

  They joined Queen Fen, who was surveying the battle from atop the wall. “Estnatil was on the wall with us when that thing hit,” she was saying to her son. “He got thrown down and likely died, but there’s a Shardblade in that rubble somewhere. I haven’t seen Tshadr. Perhaps at his manor? I wouldn’t be surprised to find him gathering troops at the upper tiers.”

  Counting Shardbearers. Thaylenah had three sets of Plate and five Blades—a solid number of Shards for a kingdom of this size. Eight houses passed them down, father to son, each of whom served the throne as a highguard.

  Adolin glanced over the city, assessing the defense. Fighting in city streets was difficult; your men got divided up, and were easily flanked or surrounded. Fortunately, the Sadeas troops seemed to have forgotten their battle training. They didn’t hold ground well; they had broken into roving bands, like axehound packs, loping through the city and looking for contests.

  “You need to join your troops,” Adolin said to the Thaylens. “Block off a street below, coordinate a resistance. Then—”