“I think she saw something in me that—”
Silence.
Kaladin blinked. Shallan was gone. He panicked for a moment, searching about himself, until he realized that his leg no longer hurt and the fuzziness in his head—from blood loss, shock, and possible hypothermia—was gone too.
Ah, he thought. This again.
He took a deep breath and stood up, stepping out of the blackness to the lip of the opening. The stream below had stopped, as if frozen solid, and the opening of the alcove—which Shallan had made far too low to stand up in—could now hold him standing at full height.
He looked out and met the gaze of a face as wide as eternity itself.
“Stormfather,” Kaladin said. Some named him Jezerezeh, Herald. This didn’t fit what Kaladin had heard of any Herald, however. Was the Stormfather a spren, perhaps? A god? It seemed to stretch forever, yet he could see it, make out the face in its infinite expanse.
The winds had stopped. Kaladin could hear his own heartbeat.
CHILD OF HONOR. It spoke to him this time. Last time, in the middle of the storm, it had not—though it had done so in dreams.
Kaladin looked to the side, again checking to see if Shallan was there, but he couldn’t see her any longer. She wasn’t part of this vision, whatever it was.
“She’s one of them, isn’t she?” he asked. “Of the Knights Radiant, or at least a Surgebinder. That’s what happened when fighting the chasmfiend, that’s how she survived the fall. It wasn’t me either time. It was her.”
The Stormfather rumbled.
“Syl,” Kaladin said, looking back to the face. The plateaus in front of him had vanished. It was just him and the face. He had to ask. It hurt him, but he had to. “What have I done to her?”
YOU HAVE KILLED HER. The voice shook everything. It was as if . . . as if the shaking of the plateau and his own body made the sounds for the voice.
“No,” Kaladin whispered. “No!”
IT HAPPENED AS IT ONCE DID, the Stormfather said, angry. A human emotion. Kaladin recognized it. MEN CANNOT BE TRUSTED, CHILD OF TANAVAST. YOU HAVE TAKEN HER FROM ME. MY BELOVED ONE.
The face seemed to withdraw, fading.
“Please!” Kaladin screamed. “How can I fix it? What can I do?”
IT CANNOT BE FIXED. SHE IS BROKEN. YOU ARE LIKE THE ONES WHO CAME BEFORE, THE ONES WHO KILLED SO MANY OF THOSE I LOVE. FAREWELL, SON OF HONOR. YOU WILL NOT RIDE MY WINDS AGAIN.
“No, I—”
The storm returned. Kaladin collapsed back into the alcove, gasping at the sudden restoration of pain and cold.
“Kelek’s breath!” Shallan said. “What was that?”
“You saw the face?” Kaladin asked.
“Yes. So vast . . . I could see stars in it, stars upon stars, infinity . . .”
“The Stormfather,” Kaladin said, tired. He reached around beneath him for something that was suddenly glowing. A sphere, the one Shallan had dropped earlier. It had gone dun, but was now renewed.
“That was amazing,” she whispered. “I need to draw it.”
“Good luck,” Kaladin said, “in this rain.” As if to punctuate his point, another wave of it washed over them. It would swirl in between the chasms, twisting about and sometimes blowing back at them. They sat in water a few inches deep, but it didn’t threaten to pull them away again.
“My poor drawings,” Shallan said, pulling her satchel to her breast with her safehand as she held to him—the only thing to hold to—with her other. “The satchel is waterproof, but . . . I don’t know that it’s highstorm-proof.”
Kaladin grunted, staring out at the rushing water. There was a mesmerizing pattern to it, surging with broken plants and leaves. No corpses, not anymore. The flowing water rose in a large bump before them, as if rushing over something large beneath. The chasmfiend’s carcass, he realized, was still wedged down there. It was too heavy for even the flood to budge.
They fell silent. With light, the need to speak had passed, and though he considered confronting her about what he was increasingly sure she was, he said nothing. Once they were free, there would be time.
For now, he wanted to think—though he was still glad for her presence. And aware of it in more ways than one, pushed against him and wearing the wet, increasingly tattered dress.
His conversation with the Stormfather, however, drew his attention away from that sort of thought.
Syl. Had he really . . . killed her? He had heard her weeping earlier, hadn’t he?
He tried, just out of futile experimentation, to pull in some Stormlight. He kind of wanted Shallan to see, to gauge her reaction. It didn’t work, of course.
The storm slowly passed, the floodwaters receding bit by bit. After the rains slackened to the level of an ordinary storm, the waters started flowing in the other direction. It was as he’d always assumed, though never seen. Now rain was falling more on the ground west of the Plains than on the Plains themselves, and the drainage was all to the east. The river churned—far more lethargically—back out the way it had come.
The chasmfiend’s corpse emerged from the river. Then, finally, the flood was done—the river reduced to a trickle, the rain a drizzle. The drops that dripped from the plateaus above were far larger and heavier than the rain itself.
He shifted to move to climb down, but realized that Shallan, curled up against him, had fallen asleep. She snored softly.
“You must be the only person,” he whispered, “to ever fall asleep while outside in a highstorm.”
Uncomfortable though he was, he realized he really didn’t fancy the idea of climbing down with this wounded leg. Strength sapped, feeling a crushing darkness at what the Stormfather had said about Syl, he let himself succumb to the numbness, and fell asleep.
The cosmere itself may depend upon our restraint.
“At least speak with him, Dalinar,” Amaram said. The man walked quickly to match Dalinar’s pace, his cloak of the Knights Radiant billowing behind him, as they inspected the lines of troops loading up wagons with supplies for the trip out onto the Shattered Plains. “Come to an accommodation with Sadeas before you leave. Please.”
Dalinar, Navani, and Amaram passed a group of spearmen running to get into place with their battalion, which was counting ranks. Just beyond them, the men and women of the camp acted similarly excited. Cremlings scuttled this way and that, moving through pools of water left by the storm.
Last night’s highstorm was the final one of the season. Sometime tomorrow, the Weeping would begin. Wet though it would be, it provided a window. Safety from storms, time to strike out. He planned to leave by midday.
“Dalinar?” Amaram asked. “Will you talk to him?”
Careful, Dalinar thought. Don’t make any judgments just yet. This had to be done with precision. At his side, Navani eyed him. He’d shared his plans regarding Amaram with her.
“I—” Dalinar began.
A series of horns interrupted him, blaring above through the camp. They seemed more urgent than usual. A chrysalis had been spotted. Dalinar counted the rhythms, placing the plateau location.
“Too far,” he said, pointing to one of his scribes, a tall, lanky woman that often helped Navani with her experiments. “Who is on the schedule for today’s runs?”
“Highprinces Sebarial and Roion, sir,” the scribe said, consulting her ledger.
Dalinar grimaced. Sebarial never sent troops, even when commanded. Roion was slow. “Send the signal flags to tell those two the gemheart is too far out to try for. We’ll be marching for the Parshendi camp later today, and I can’t have some of our troops splitting off and running for a gemheart.”
He made the order as if either man would commit any troops to his march. He had hopes for Roion. Almighty send that the man didn’t get frightened at the last minute and refuse to go on the expedition.
The attendant rushed away to call off the plateau run. Navani pointed to a group of scribes who were tabulating supply lists, and he nodded, stopping w
hile she walked over to talk to the women and get an estimate on readiness.
“Sadeas won’t like a gemheart being left unharvested,” Amaram said as the two of them waited. “When he hears you called off the run, he’ll send his own troops for it.”
“Sadeas will do as he wishes, regardless of my intervention.”
“Each time you allow him to disobey openly,” Amaram said, “it drives a wedge between him and the Throne.” Amaram took Dalinar by the arm. “We have bigger problems than you and Sadeas, my friend. Yes, he betrayed you. Yes, he likely will again. But we can’t afford to let the two of you go to war. The Voidbringers are coming.”
“How can you be certain of that, Amaram?” Dalinar asked.
“Instinct. You gave me this title, this position, Dalinar. I can feel something from the Stormfather himself. I know that a disaster is coming. Alethkar needs to be strong. That means you and Sadeas working together.”
Dalinar shook his head slowly. “No. The opportunity for Sadeas to work with me has long since passed. The road to unity in Alethkar is not at the table of negotiation, it’s out there.”
Across the plateaus, to the Parshendi camp, wherever it was. An end to this war. Closure for both him and his brother.
Unite them.
“Sadeas wants you to try this expedition,” Amaram said. “He’s certain you will fail.”
“And when I do not,” Dalinar said, “he will lose all credibility.”
“You don’t even know where you’ll find the Parshendi!” Amaram said, throwing his hands into the air. “What are you going to do, just wander out there until you run across them?”
“Yes.”
“Madness. Dalinar, you appointed me to this position—an impossible position, mind you—with the charge to be a light to all nations. I’m finding it hard to even get you to listen to me. Why should anyone else?”
Dalinar shook his head, looking eastward, over those broken plains. “I have to go, Amaram. The answers are out there, not here. It’s like we walked all the way to the shore, then huddled there for years, peering out at the waters but afraid to get wet.”
“But—”
“Enough.”
“Eventually, you’re going to have to give away authority and let it stay given, Dalinar,” Amaram said softly. “You can’t hold it all, pretending you aren’t in charge, but then ignore orders and advice as if you were.”
The words, problematically truthful, slapped him hard. He did not react, not outwardly.
“What of the matter I assigned you?” Dalinar asked him.
“Bordin?” Amaram said. “So far as I can tell, his story checks out. I really think that the madman is only raving about having had a Shardblade. It’s patently ridiculous that he might have actually had one. I—”
“Brightlord!” A breathless young woman in a messenger uniform—narrow skirt slit up the sides, with silk leggings beneath—scrambled up to him. “The plateau!”
“Yes,” Dalinar said, sighing. “Sadeas is sending out troops?”
“No, sir,” the woman said, flush in the cheeks from her run. “Not . . . I mean . . . He came out of the chasms.”
Dalinar frowned, looking sharply toward her. “Who?”
“Stormblessed.”
* * *
Dalinar ran the entire way.
When he drew close to the triage pavilion at the edge of camp—normally reserved for tending to the wounded who came back from plateau runs—he had trouble seeing because of the crowd of men in cobalt blue uniforms blocking the path. A surgeon was yelling for them to back up and give him room.
Some of the men saw Dalinar and saluted, hastily pulling out of the way. The blue parted like waters blown in a storm.
And there he was. Ragged, hair matted in snarls, face scratched and leg wrapped in an improvised bandage. He sat on a triage table and had removed his uniform coat, which sat on the table beside him, tied into a round bundle with what looked like a vine wrapping it.
Kaladin looked up as Dalinar approached, and then moved to pull himself to his feet.
“Soldier, don’t—” Dalinar began, but Kaladin didn’t listen. He hauled himself up tall, using a spear to support his bad leg. Then he raised hand to breast, a slow motion, as if the arm were tied with weights. It was, Dalinar figured, the most tired salute he’d ever seen.
“Sir,” Kaladin said. Exhaustionspren puffed around Kaladin like little jets of dust.
“How . . .” Dalinar said. “You fell into a chasm!”
“I fell face-first, sir,” Kaladin said, “and fortunately, I’m particularly hard-headed.”
“But . . .”
Kaladin sighed, leaning on his spear. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t really know how I survived. Some spren were involved, we think. Anyway, I hiked back through the chasms. I had a duty to see to.” He nodded to the side.
Farther into the triage tent, Dalinar saw something he hadn’t originally noticed. Shallan Davar—a tangle of red hair and ripped clothing—sat amid a pack of surgeons.
“One future daughter-in-law,” Kaladin said, “delivered safe and sound. Sorry about the damage done to the packaging.”
“But there was a highstorm!” Dalinar said.
“We really wanted to get back before that,” Kaladin said. “Ran into some troubles along the way, I’m afraid.” With lethargic movements, he took out his side knife and cut the vines off the package beside him. “You know how everyone kept saying there was a chasmfiend prowling about in the nearby chasms?”
“Yes . . .”
Kaladin lifted the remnants of his coat away from the table, revealing a massive green gemstone. Though bulbous and uncut, the gemheart shone with a powerful inner light.
“Yeah,” Kaladin said, taking the gemheart in one hand and tossing it to the ground before Dalinar. “We took care of that for you, sir.” In the blink of an eye, gloryspren replaced his exhaustionspren.
Dalinar stared mutely at the gemheart as it rolled and tapped against the front of his boot, its light almost blinding.
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, bridgeman,” Shallan called. “Brightlord Dalinar, we found the beast already dead and rotting in the chasm. We survived the highstorm by climbing up its back to a crack in the side of the plateau, where we waited out the rains. We could only get the gemheart out because the thing was half-rotted already.”
Kaladin looked to her, frowning. He turned back to Dalinar almost immediately. “Yes,” Kaladin said. “That’s what happened.”
He was a far worse liar than Shallan was.
Amaram and Navani finally arrived, the former having remained behind to escort the latter. Navani gasped when she saw Shallan, then ran to her, snapping angrily at the surgeons. She fussed and bustled around Shallan, who seemed far less the worse for wear than Kaladin, despite the terrible state of her dress and hair. In moments, Navani had Shallan wrapped in a blanket to cover her exposed skin, then she sent a runner back to prepare a warm bath and meal at Dalinar’s complex, to be had in whichever order Shallan wished.
Dalinar found himself smiling. Navani pointedly ignored Shallan’s protests that none of this was necessary. The mother axehound had finally emerged. Shallan was apparently no longer an outsider, but one of Navani’s clutch—and Chana help the man or woman who stood between Navani and one of her own.
“Sir,” Kaladin said, finally letting the surgeons settle him back on the table. “The soldiers are gathering supplies. The battalions forming up. Your expedition?”
“You needn’t worry, soldier,” Dalinar said. “I could hardly expect you to guard me in your state.”
“Sir,” Kaladin said, more softly, “Brightness Shallan found something out there. Something you need to know. Talk to her before you set out.”
“I’ll do so,” Dalinar said. He waited for a moment, then waved the surgeons aside. Kaladin seemed to be in no immediate danger. Dalinar stepped closer, leaning in. “Your men waited for you, Stormblessed. They skipped meals, pulled triple shi
fts. I half think they’d have sat out here, at the head of the chasms, through the highstorm itself if I hadn’t intervened.”
“They are good men,” Kaladin said.
“It’s more than that. They knew you would return. What is it they understand about you that I don’t?”
Kaladin met his eyes.
“I’ve been searching for you, haven’t I?” Dalinar said. “All this time, without seeing it.”
Kaladin looked away. “No, sir. Maybe once, but . . . I’m just what you see, and not what you think. I’m sorry.”
Dalinar grunted, inspecting Kaladin’s face. He had almost thought . . . But perhaps not.
“Give him anything he wants or needs,” Dalinar said to the surgeons, letting them approach. “This man is a hero. Again.”
He withdrew, letting the bridgemen crowd around—which, of course, started the surgeons cursing at them again. Where had Amaram gone? The man had been here just a few minutes ago. As the palanquin arrived for Shallan, Dalinar decided to follow and find out just what it was that Kaladin said the girl knew.
* * *
One hour later, Shallan snuggled into a nest of warm blankets, wet hair on her neck, smelling of flowered perfume. She wore one of Navani’s dresses—which was too big for her. She felt like a child in her mother’s clothing. That was, perhaps, exactly what she was. Navani’s sudden affection was unexpected, but Shallan would certainly accept it.
The bath had been glorious. Shallan wanted to curl up on this couch and sleep for ten days. For the moment, however, she let herself revel in the distinctive feeling of being clean, warm, and safe for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
“You can’t take her, Dalinar.” Navani’s voice came from Pattern on the table beside Shallan’s couch. She didn’t feel a moment’s guilt for sending him to spy on the two of them while she bathed. After all, they had been talking about her.
“This map . . .” Dalinar’s voice said.
“She can draw you a better map and you can take it.”
“She can’t draw what she hasn’t seen, Navani. She’ll need to be there, with us, to draw out the center of the pattern on the Plains once we penetrate in that direction.”