“Huh,” Kaladin said, feeling at the door that had opened to let him in. “What were they like?”
“I don’t know,” Syl said, moving to his shoulder. “We’ve talked to Brightness Navani about this, answering her questions, and the other Radiant spren didn’t know more than I just said. Remember, many of the spren who knew about the old days died—and the Sibling was always secretive. I don’t know what kind of spren they were, or why they could create a Bondsmith. If they are alive though, I don’t know why so much in the tower doesn’t work.”
“Well, this wall worked,” Kaladin said, finding the gemstone in the wall. The gem was dark now, but it was also much more prominent on this side. He could easily have missed it from the other direction. How many other rooms had such gemstones embedded in the wall, hiding secret doors?
He touched the gemstone. Despite the fact that he didn’t have any more Stormlight, light appeared deep inside it. A white light that twinkled like a star. It expanded into a small burst of Stormlight, and the door silently split open again.
Kaladin let out a long breath and felt a little of his panic wash away. He wouldn’t die in the darkness. Once the gemstone was charged, it worked like any other fabrial, continuing to function so long as it had remaining Stormlight.
He looked to Syl. “Think you can find your way back here to Teft if we leave and do some scouting?”
“I should be able to memorize our path.”
“Great,” Kaladin said. “Because we need supplies.” He couldn’t afford to think about the long term yet. Those daunting questions—what he was going to do about the tower, the dozens of Radiants in enemy captivity, his family—would need to wait. First he needed water, food, Stormlight, and—most importantly—a better weapon.
I approach this project with inspiration renewed; the answers are all that should matter.
—From Rhythm of War, page 1 undertext
The wood lurched under Dalinar’s feet, and he grabbed a railing to steady himself. “Skybreakers!” he shouted. “Trying to get at the fabrial housings!”
Two figures in blue leaped off the deck nearby, bursting with Light as the platform continued to shake. Two wouldn’t be able to handle this. Storm it, where was—
Sigzil and his force of ten Windrunners came swooping back, striking at the underside of the flying platform. It wasn’t truly a flying machine like the Fourth Bridge, but these platforms were nevertheless an excellent vantage for viewing a battlefield. Assuming they didn’t get attacked.
Dalinar held firm to the railing, glancing at the Mink—who was tethered to Dalinar with a rope. The shorter man was grinning wildly as he clung to the railing. Fortunately, the platform soon stopped lurching and the Skybreakers scattered, trailed by figures in blue with spears.
Fewer Heavenly Ones than I’d have expected, Dalinar noted as the wind ruffled his hair. He picked out only four of the flying Fused watching the battlefield from above and occasionally delivering instructions to the ground troops. They didn’t engage. They’re leaning on the Skybreakers for this battle. Perhaps the bulk of the Heavenly Ones were with the main enemy forces, stationed several days’ march away.
The Mink leaned out over the side of the platform, trying to get a view directly beneath—where Radiants were clashing. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the three-hundred-yard drop to the ground. For a man who always seemed so paranoid, he could certainly be cavalier regarding danger.
Beneath them, the battle lines held formation. Dalinar’s troops, augmented by ranks of Azish, fought Taravangian’s treasonous forces—who had tried to strike inward to rescue their king. The Vedens were accompanied by a small number of Fused and some singer troops, a small enough force to have moved in close without detection before the betrayal.
On Dalinar’s platform, some fifty archers re-formed their ranks following the chaos of the sudden Skybreaker attack. In moments, they were sending a hail of arrows on the Vedens.
“They’ll break soon,” the Mink said softly, surveying the battlefield. “Their line is bowing. Those Azish fight well. Better than I thought they would.”
“They have excellent discipline,” Dalinar agreed. “They simply needed proper direction.” Any given Azish soldier was no match for an Alethi, but after witnessing their discipline this last year, Dalinar was grateful he’d never had to face their infantry in battle. The vast blocks of Azish pikes were less mobile than the Alethi equivalent, but were impeccably coordinated.
They were a tremendous addition to an Alethi system, which had far more flexibility and a variety of specialized troops. Using Azish blocks like wedges, and Alethi tactics, they’d been able to stand against the enemy despite their natural advantages, like carapace armor and stronger builds.
And the Veden traitors? Well, the Mink was right. The enemy line was beginning to bow and crack. They had no cavalry, and the Mink made a quiet order to one of the waiting scribes, who transferred it. Dalinar guessed—correctly—he’d ordered a harrying strike of light riders along the left flank. Those filled the Veden back rows with arrows, distracting them to further stress the wavering lines.
“I do have to admit,” the Mink said to Dalinar as they watched, bowstrings snapping behind them, “this is an excellent way to oversee a battlefield.”
“And you were worried about there being no escape.”
“Rather,” the Mink said, looking toward the ground below, “I was worried about all avenues of escape being interrupted by an unfortunate collision with the ground. Still don’t know the wisdom of putting us both up here; seems like we should be on separate platforms, so that if one falls, the other can continue to lead our forces.”
“You mistake my purpose, Dieno,” Dalinar said, tugging on the rope that bound them. “My job in this battle isn’t to command if you are killed. It’s to get you out before you are killed.”
One of Jasnah’s escape boats waited on the other side, in Shadesmar. In an emergency, Dalinar could get himself and the Mink through the perpendicularity. They’d drop a short distance—but not nearly as far as they would on this side—into a padded ship with mandras hooked in place.
The Mink, unsurprisingly, didn’t like that escape route. He couldn’t control it. In truth, Dalinar wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable with it himself—he didn’t fully trust his powers yet. His mastery over them was tenuous.
He opened the perpendicularity as the Windrunners approached for more Stormlight. He managed to open it only a sliver, renewing those nearby, but preventing the Skybreakers from partaking. They retreated; Skybreakers couldn’t match Windrunners who were being constantly renewed, and were usually deployed on battlefields where Dalinar was not present.
As the Mink took casualty reports—which included two Windrunner squires, unfortunately—a young scribe stepped up to Dalinar with a sheaf of papers and a blinking spanreed. “Word from Urithiru, Brightlord,” she said. “You wanted to know as soon as we heard something, and we have.”
Dalinar felt a huge weight slide off his shoulders. “Finally! What is happening?”
“Trouble with the tower fabrials,” the scribe reported. “Brightness Navani says that some kind of strange defensive aura has been deployed, preventing Radiants from using their powers. It also interferes with fabrials. She had to send a scouting team out along the ridge into the mountains before they were able to deliver her message.
“Everyone is safe, and she’s working on the problem. That is why the Oathgates have stopped working, however. She begs for your patience, and asks if anything strange has happened here.”
“Tell her about Taravangian’s betrayal,” Dalinar said, “but report that I’m safe, as is our family. We are fighting the traitors, and should soon win the day.”
She nodded and went to send the message. The Mink stepped closer; he’d either overheard, or had received a similar report.
“They’re trying to confuse and distract us during the betrayal,” he said. “Heaping attacks on multiple fronts.”
/>
“Another ploy to negate the Oathgates,” Dalinar agreed. “That device they used on Highmarshal Kaladin must have been some sort of test. They’ve knocked out Urithiru for a while to isolate us.”
The Mink leaned out, squinting at the armies below. “Something about this smells wrong, Blackthorn. If this was merely a ploy to isolate the fighting in Azir and Emul, they’ve made a tactical mistake. Their forces in this part of the land are exposed, and we have the upper hand. They wouldn’t go through so much effort to block us from the Oathgates unless it were truly cutting off our escape route. Which it won’t because we’re not going to need one.”
“You think this is a distraction from something else?”
The Mink nodded slowly. Far below, the cavalry did another sweep. The line of the traitors buckled further.
“I’ll tell the others to watch out,” Dalinar said, “and send scouts to investigate Urithiru. I agree, something about this is off.”
“Make certain the armies we’re going to fight in Emul haven’t been secretly reinforced. That could be terrible for us—the only true disaster I can envision here is Azimir being besieged, and unable to be resupplied via the Oathgates. Having seen that city, I’d hate to be trapped there.”
“Agreed,” Dalinar said.
The Mink leaned out further, precariously, as he watched the battlefield below. It was hard to hear—muffled clangs, shouts from far away. Men moved like lifespren.
But Dalinar could smell the sweat. Could hear the roar. Could feel himself standing among the struggling, screaming, dying bodies and dominating with Blade in hand. Once you’d tasted the near invincibility of wearing Plate and wading in among mortals, it was a … difficult flavor to forget.
“You miss it,” the Mink said, eyeing him.
“Yes,” Dalinar admitted.
“They could use you on the ground.”
“Down there, I’d be merely another sword. I can do more in other positions.”
“Pardon, Blackthorn, but you were never merely another sword.” The Mink crossed his arms, leaning against the wooden railing. “You keep saying you’re more use elsewhere, and I suppose you make a pretty good storm for renewing spheres. But I can sense you stepping away. What are you planning?”
That was the question. He sensed there was so much more for him to do. Greater things. Important things. The tasks of a Bondsmith. But getting to them, figuring them out …
“They’re breaking,” the Mink said, standing up straight. “You want to let them go, or pin them and crush them?”
“What do you think?” Dalinar asked.
“I hate fighting men who feel they have no way out,” the Mink said.
“We can’t afford to let them reinforce the enemy to the south,” Dalinar said. That would be their true battlefield, once this skirmish was over. The war for Emul. “Keep pressing them until they surrender.”
The Mink began giving the orders. From below, drums washed over the battlefield: the frantic attempts by enemy commanders to maintain discipline as the lines disintegrated. He could almost hear their shouted, panic-tinged cries. Desperation in the air.
The Mink is right, Dalinar thought. They made a real effort here to strike at us—but something is wrong. We’re missing a piece of the enemy’s plan.
As he was watching, a nondescript soldier stepped up beside him. Dalinar had brought only a handful of bodyguards today: three men from the Cobalt Guard, and a single Shardbearer. Cord, the Horneater woman, who had taken it upon herself to join his guards for reasons he didn’t quite understand.
He also held a hidden weapon—the man who stood beside him, so ordinary in his Alethi uniform, holding a sheathed sword that was admittedly longer than regulation. Szeth, the Assassin in White, wearing a false face. He didn’t speak, though the complex Lightweaving he wore would disguise his voice. He simply watched, his eyes narrowed. What did he see in this battlefield? What had caught his attention?
Szeth suddenly grabbed Dalinar by the front of his uniform and towed him to the side. Dalinar barely had time to shout in surprise as a glowing figure rose up beside the archer platform, radiant with Stormlight and bearing a silvery Blade. Szeth stepped between Dalinar and the Skybreaker, hand going to his sword. But Dalinar caught him by the arm, preventing him from drawing it. Once that weapon came out, dangerous things happened. They would want to be absolutely certain it was needed before unleashing it.
The figure was familiar to Dalinar. Dark brown skin, with a birthmark on his cheek. Nalan—called Nale. Herald and leader of the Skybreakers. He had shaved his head recently, and held out his Blade in a defiant—perhaps challenging—posture as he addressed Dalinar.
“Bondsmith,” Nale said, “your war is unjust. You must submit to the laws of the—”
An arrow slammed into his face, dead center, interrupting him. Dalinar glanced back, then stopped Cord, who was drawing her Shardbow again. “Wait. I’d hear him.”
Nale, with a suffering expression, pulled the arrow free and dropped it, letting his Stormlight heal him. Could this man be killed? Ash said the enemy had somehow killed Jezrien—but before, when Heralds died, their souls had returned to Damnation to await torture.
Nale didn’t continue his diatribe. He lightly stepped up onto the railing of the platform, then dropped to the deck. He tossed his Blade away, letting it vanish to mist in midair.
“How are you a Bondsmith?” Nale asked Dalinar. “You should not exist, Blackthorn. Your cause is not righteous. You should be denied the true Surges of Honor.”
“Perhaps it is a sign that you are wrong, Nalan,” Dalinar said. “Perhaps our cause is righteous.”
“No,” Nale said. “Other Radiants can lie to themselves and their spren. So-called honorspren prove that morality is shaped by their perceptions. You should be different. Honor should not allow this bonding.”
“Honor is dead,” Dalinar said.
“And yet,” Nale said, “Honor still should prevent this. Prevent you.” He looked Dalinar up and down. “No Shardblade. Fair enough.”
He launched forward, reaching for Dalinar. Szeth was upon him in a moment, but hesitated to draw his strange Blade. Nale moved with a skyeel’s grace, twisting Szeth about and slamming him to the deck of the wooden platform. The Herald slapped aside Szeth’s sheathed sword, punching him in the crook of the elbow and making him drop his weapon. Nale casually reached up and caught the arrow launched from Cord’s Shardbow mere feet away—an inhuman feat.
Dalinar pressed his hands together, reaching beyond reality for the perpendicularity. Nale leaped over Szeth toward Dalinar as the others on the platform shouted, trying to react to the attack.
No, the Stormfather said to Dalinar. Touch him.
Dalinar hesitated—the power of the perpendicularity at his fingertips—then reached out and pressed his hand to Nale’s chest as the Herald reached for him.
Flash.
Dalinar saw Nale stepping away from a discarded Blade rammed into the stone.
Flash.
Nale cradling a child in one arm, his Blade out as dark forces crawled across a ridge nearby.
Flash.
Nale standing with a group of scholars and unrolling a large writ, filled with writing. “The law cannot be moral,” Nale said to them. “But you can be moral as you create laws. Ever must you protect the weakest, those most likely to be taken advantage of. Institute a right of movement, so that a family who feels their lord is unrighteous can leave his area. Then tie a lord’s authority to the people who follow him.”
Flash.
Nale kneeling before a highspren.
Flash.
Nale fighting on a battlefield.
Flash.
Another fight.
Flash.
Another fight.
The visions came faster and faster; Dalinar could no longer distinguish one from another. Until
Flash.
Nale clasping hands with a bearded Alethi man, regal and wise. Dalinar knew this wa
s Jezerezeh, though he couldn’t say how.
“I will take this charge,” Nale said softly. “With honor.”
“Do not consider it an honor,” Jezerezeh said. “A duty, yes, but not an honor.”
“I understand. Though I had not expected you would come to an enemy with this offer.”
“An enemy, yes,” Jezerezeh said. “But an enemy who was correct all along, making me the villain, not you. We will fix what we’ve broken. Ishar and I agreed. There is no person we would welcome more eagerly into this pact than you. You are the single most honorable man I have ever had the privilege of opposing.”
“I wish that were true,” Nale said. “But I will serve as best I can.”
The vision faded and Nale lurched away from Dalinar, gasping, his eyes wide. He left a line of light stretching between him and Dalinar.
Bondsmith, the Stormfather said in Dalinar’s mind. You forged a brief Connection with him. What did you see?
“His past, I think,” Dalinar whispered. “And now…”
Nale scratched at his head, and Dalinar saw a skeletal figure overlapping him. Like the echo of light that followed Szeth, only worn, dim. Dalinar stepped forward, walking among his stunned bodyguards, noting eight lines of light extending from Nale into the distance.
“I see the Oathpact, I think,” Dalinar said. “The thing that bound them together and made them capable of holding the enemy in Damnation.”
A cage, forged of their spirits, the Stormfather said in his mind. It was broken. Even before Jezrien’s death, they shattered it by what they did long ago.
“No, only one line of it is completely broken. The rest are there, but weak, impotent.” Dalinar pointed to one line, bright and powerful. “Except one. Still vibrant.”
Nale looked up at him, then ripped free of the line of light Connecting him to Dalinar and threw himself off the platform. The Herald burst alight and shot away as—belatedly—a few Windrunners came to Dalinar’s aid.
You wield the power of gods, Dalinar, the Stormfather said. I once thought I knew the extent of your abilities. I have abandoned that ignorant supposition.
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