Dalinar was still trying to deal with those himself. Navani bonding a spren? That was wonderful, but he was so emotionally worn at the moment, he just wanted to sit and think. He pushed open the door to his house, stumbled through, and entered a vast golden field.
The ground shimmered as if infused with Stormlight. Dalinar pulled to a halt and turned around. The doorway was gone, the doorknob having vanished from his hand. The sky was a deep reddish orange, like a sunset.
He was in a vision. But he hadn’t heard the highstorm hit.
And … no. This wasn’t a highstorm vision. This was something else. He turned with trepidation, looking across the glimmering field to where a figure—clad in golden robes—stood on a nearby hilltop, facing away from Dalinar and staring out at the horizon.
Odium. Storms within, Dalinar thought, flagging. Not now. I can’t face him right now.
Well, a soldier couldn’t always pick his battlefield. This was the first time Odium had appeared to him in a year. Dalinar needed to use this.
He took a deep breath and pushed through his fatigue. He hiked up the hillside and eventually stopped beside the figure in gold. Odium held a small scepter like a cane, his hand resting on the ball at the top.
He appeared different from when Dalinar had last seen him. He still resembled a wise old man with a grey beard cut to medium length. A paternal air. Sagacious, knowing, understanding. Only now his skin was glowing in places, as if it had grown thin and a light inside was seeking to escape. The god’s eyes had gone completely golden, as if they were chunks of metal set into a statue’s face.
When Odium spoke, there was a harsh edge to his tone, his words clipped. Barely holding in his anger.
“Our Connection grows, Dalinar,” Odium said. “Stronger by the day. I can reach you now as if you were one of my own. You should be.”
“I will ever and always be my own,” Dalinar said.
“I know you went to see Ishar. What did he tell you?”
Dalinar clasped his hands behind him and used the old commander’s trick of remaining silent and staring in thought. Stiff back. Strong posture. Outwardly in control, even if you’re one step from collapsing.
“You were supposed to be my champion, Dalinar,” Odium said. “Now I see how you resisted me. You’ve been working with Ishar all along, haven’t you? Is that how you learned to bind the realms?”
“You find it inconvenient, don’t you?” Dalinar said. “That you cannot see my future. How does it feel to be human, Odium?”
“You think I fear humanity?” Odium said. “Humanity is mine, Dalinar. All emotions belong to me. This land, this realm, this people. They live for me. They always have. They always will.”
And yet you come to me, Dalinar thought. To berate me? You stayed away all these months. Why now?
The answer struck him like the light of a rising sun. Odium had lost the tower—Urithiru was safe and there was another Bondsmith. He’d failed again. And now he thought Dalinar had been working with Ishar.
Cultivation’s gift, though it had bled Dalinar, had given him the strength to defy Odium. All this time, he’d been asking what a god could possibly fear, but the answer was obvious. Odium feared men who would not obey him.
He feared Dalinar.
“Ishar told me some curious things this latest visit,” Dalinar said. “He gave me a book with secrets in it. He is not as mad as I feared, Odium. He showed me my Connection to you, and explained how limited you are. Then he proved to me that a Bondsmith unchained is capable of incredible feats.” He looked at the ancient being. “You are a god. You hold vast powers, yet they bind you as much as they free you. Tell me, what do you think of a human bearing the weight of a god’s powers, but without that god’s restrictions?”
“The power will bind you eventually, as it has me,” Odium said. “You don’t understand a fraction of the things you pretend to, Dalinar.”
Yet you’re afraid of me, Dalinar thought. Of the idea that I might fully come into my power. That you’re losing control of your plans.
Perhaps Dalinar’s errand to Tukar hadn’t been a failure. He hadn’t gained Ishar’s wisdom, but so long as Odium thought he had …
Bless you, Renarin, Dalinar thought. For making my life unpredictable to this being. For letting me bluff.
“We made an agreement,” Odium said. “A contest of champions. We never set terms.”
“I have terms,” Dalinar said. “On my desk. A single sheet of paper.”
Odium waved his hand and the words began appearing—written as if in glowing golden ink—in the sky before them. Enormous, intimidating.
“You didn’t write this,” Odium said, his eyes narrowing. “Nor did that Elsecaller.” The light grew more vibrant beneath Odium’s skin, and Dalinar could feel its heat—like that of a sun—rising. Making his skin burn.
Anger. Deep anger, white hot. It was consuming Odium. His control was slipping.
“Cephandrius,” Odium spat. “Ever the rat. No matter where I go, there he is, scratching in the wall. Burrowing into my strongholds. He could have been a god, yet he insists on living in the dirt.”
“Do you accept these terms?” Dalinar asked.
“By this, if my champion wins,” Odium said, “then Roshar is mine? Completely and utterly. And if yours wins, I withdraw for a millennium?”
“Yes. But what if you break your word? You’ve delayed longer than you should have. What if you refuse to send a champion?”
“I cannot break my word,” Odium said, the heat increasing. “I basically am incapable of it.”
“Basically?” Dalinar pressed. “What happens, Odium, if you break your word.”
“Then the contract is void, and I am in your power. Same, but reversed, if you break the contract. You would be in my power, and the restrictions Honor placed upon me—chaining me to the Rosharan system and preventing me from using my powers on most individuals—would be void. But that is not going to happen, and I am not going to break my word. Because if I did, it would create a hole in my soul—which would let Cultivation kill me.
“I am no fool, and you are a man of honor. We will both approach this contest in good faith, Dalinar. This isn’t some deal with a Voidbringer from your myths, where one tricks the other with some silly twist of language. A willing champion from each of us and a fight to the death. They will meet on the top of Urithiru. No tricks, no lies.”
“Very well,” Dalinar said. “But as the terms state, if your champion is defeated, it isn’t only you who must withdraw for a thousand years. The Fused must go with you, locked away again, as well as the spren that make Regals. No more forms of power. No more Voidspren.”
The light pulsed inside Odium and he turned his eyes back toward the horizon. “I … cannot agree to this.”
“The terms are simple,” Dalinar said. “If you—”
“I said I cannot agree,” Odium said. “The Everstorm has changed everything, and Cephandrius should have realized this. Singers can adopt Regal forms powered by the Everstorm. The Fused are free now; they can be reborn without my intervention. The Oathpact could have imprisoned them, but it is now defunct. I am literally unable to do as you ask, not without destroying myself in the process.”
“Then we cannot have an accommodation,” Dalinar said. “Because I’m certainly not going to agree to anything less.”
“And if I agreed to less?”
Dalinar frowned, uncertain, his mind muddled from fatigue. The creature was going to try to trick him. He was certain of it. So, he did what he thought best. He said nothing.
Odium chuckled softly, rotating his scepter beneath his hand so the butt ground against the golden stone at their feet. “Do you know why I make men fight, Dalinar? Why I created the Thrill? Why I encourage the wars?”
“To destroy us.”
“Why would I want to destroy you? I am your god, Dalinar.” Odium shook his head, staring into the infinite golden distance. “I need soldiers. For the true battle that is co
ming, not for one people or one miserable windswept continent. A battle of the gods. A battle for everything.
“Roshar is a training ground. The time will come that I unleash you upon the others who are not nearly as well trained. Not nearly as hardened as I have made you.”
“Curious,” Dalinar said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your ‘hardening’ tactic has resulted in Fused who are going mad from the stress.”
The light grew stronger inside Odium, seeming as if it might explode from his skin.
“If your champion wins, I will step away for a thousand years,” he said. “I will retreat to Braize, and I will no longer speak to, contact, or influence the Fused or Voidspren. But I cannot contain them. And you will have to pray that your descendants are as lucky as you are, as I will be less … lenient when I return.”
Dalinar started to speak, but Odium interrupted.
“Let me finish,” he said. “In exchange for you giving up one thing you wanted, I will give up one in turn. If I win, I will give up my grand plans for Roshar. I will leave this planet for a thousand years, and abandon all I’ve worked for here. I give you and the singers freedom to make your own peace. Freedom for you, and freedom for me.
“This is all I ask for my victory: As you represent Honor, you can relax his prohibitions on me. No matter what happens in the contest, you never have to worry about me again. All I want is away from this miserable system.”
Of course it wouldn’t be as easy as Wit had promised. Dalinar wavered. Wit looked out for himself, as he’d always said he would. The contract reinforced that idea. Odium offered a different, tempting prospect. To be rid of him, to fight this war as an ordinary war …
Two forces pulled at him. Which did he trust? He doubted that any mortal—Jasnah included—could construct a contract good enough to hold a god. But to simply give Wit what he desired?
Who do you trust more? Wit, or the god of anger?
It wasn’t really in question. He didn’t trust Wit much, but he didn’t trust Odium at all. Besides, if Honor had died to trap this god here on Roshar, Dalinar had to believe the Almighty had done so for good reason.
So he turned to go. “Send me back, Odium,” Dalinar said. “There will be no agreement today.”
A flare of heat washed over him from behind. Dalinar spun, finding Odium glowing with a bright red-gold light, his eyes wide, his teeth clenched.
Stand firm, Dalinar thought to himself. Wit says he can’t hurt you. Not without breaking his word … not without inviting his own death …
Wit hadn’t included that last part. But Dalinar stood his ground, sweating, his heart racing. Until at last the power abated, the heat and light retreating.
“I would prefer,” Odium said, “to make an agreement.”
Why so eager? Dalinar thought. It’s the power, isn’t it? It’s ripping you apart for delaying. It wants out.
“I’ve offered you an agreement,” Dalinar said.
“I’ve told you that I cannot keep to these terms. I can seal myself away, but not my minions. I can demand that the Fused and the Unmade retreat—but not all currently obey my will. And I can do nothing about the Regals.”
Dalinar took a deep breath. “Fine,” he said, “but I cannot entertain an agreement that frees you from this world. So we should focus on our conflict, you and me. If I win, you are exiled to Damnation and withdraw from the conflict entirely. If you win, I will go into exile, and my people will have to fight without my aid.”
“You offer a mortal life for that of a god?” Odium demanded. “No, Dalinar. If I win, I want the Knights Radiant. The forces of Alethkar and Urithiru will surrender to my Fused, and your Radiants will end this war. The other foolish kingdoms of men can keep fighting if they wish, but your people and mine will begin preparing for the true war: the one that will begin when the gods of other worlds discover the strength of Surgebinding. Your heirs will be bound to this, as you are.”
“I cannot negotiate for people who are not yet born,” Dalinar said. “Nor can I promise my Radiants will follow you, as you cannot promise the Fused will obey you. As I said, this must be between you and me. But … if you win, I will agree to order my armies to stand down and stop the fighting. I will give up the war, and those who wish to join you will be allowed to do so.”
“Not good enough, Dalinar. Not nearly good enough.” Odium took a long, suffering breath. That light pulsed inside of him, and Dalinar felt a kind of kinship to the ancient god then. Sensing his fatigue, which somehow mirrored Dalinar’s own. “I want so much more than Roshar, so much more than one planet, one people. But my people … tire. I’ve worn them thin with this eternal battle. They seek endings, terrible endings. The entire war has changed, based on what your wife has done. You realize this.”
“I do,” Dalinar said.
“It is time for a true accommodation. A true ending. Do you not agree?”
“I … Yes. I realize it. What do you propose?”
Odium waved dismissively at the contract Wit had drawn up. “No more talk of delays, of sending me away. Of half measures. We have a contest of champions on the tenth of next month,” Odium said. “At the tenth hour.”
“So soon? The month ends tomorrow.”
“Why delay?” Odium asked. “I know my champion. Do you know yours?”
“I do,” Dalinar said.
“Then let us stop dancing and commit. On the tenth, our champions meet. If you win, I will withdraw to the kingdoms I currently hold—and I enforce an end to the war. I will even give up to you Alethkar, and restore your homeland to you.”
“I must have Herdaz too.”
“What?” Odium said. “That meaningless little plot of land? What are they to you?”
“It’s the matter of an oath, Odium,” Dalinar said. “You will restore to me Herdaz and Alethkar. Keep whatever other lands you’ve taken; they mostly followed you freely anyway. I can accept this, so long as you are still trapped on Roshar, as Honor wished.”
“I will,” Odium said, “though I will be able to focus my attentions on sending agents to the rest of the cosmere, using what I’ve conquered here as enough for now. However, if I win the contest of champions, I keep everything I’ve conquered—Herdaz and Alethkar included. And I want one other small thing. I want you, Dalinar.”
“My life? Odium, I intend to be my own champion. I’ll have died if you win.”
“Yes,” Odium said, eyes shining golden. “You will have. And you will give your soul to me. You, Dalinar, will join the Fused. You will become immortal, and will personally serve me. Bound by your oaths. You will be the one I send to the stars to serve my interests in the cosmere.”
A cold shock ran through Dalinar. Like he’d felt the first time he’d been stabbed. Surprise, disbelief, terror.
You will join the Fused.
“Are we agreed?” Odium said, his skin now glowing so brightly that his features were difficult to make out. “You have gotten from me more than I ever thought I would give up. Either way, the war ends and you will have secured the safety of your allies. At the cost of gambling your own soul. How far does your honor extend, Blackthorn?”
Dalinar wavered. Stopping now, with Azir and Thaylenah safe—with a good portion of Roshar protected, and with a chance for more in Alethkar and Herdaz if he won—was truly more than he ever thought possible. A true end to the war.
Jasnah spoke of the need for councils. Groups of leaders. She thought putting too much power in the hands of one individual was dangerous. He could finally see her point, as he stood there on that field of golden light. This new deal would be good for his allies—they’d celebrate it, most likely. But he couldn’t know for certain. He had to make a decision.
Dared he do that? Dared he risk his own soul?
I have to contain him, Dalinar thought. His people were celebrating their victory in Emul, but he knew—deep down—the enemy had given it away. He had preferred to secure his power elsewhere. The Mink had said it himself: If
Odium had wanted to crush Azir, he could have. Instead, he’d secured what he had. Odium knew that in controlling Jah Keved, Alethkar, and Iri, he owned the strongest portion of Roshar.
Without this deal, Dalinar saw years of fighting ahead. Decades. Against an enemy whose Fused were constantly reborn. From years spent defending Alethkar, he knew exactly how difficult it would be to retake. Dalinar saw his people dying by the thousands, unsuccessfully trying to seize lands he himself had fortified.
Dalinar would lose this war in the long run. Honor had all but confirmed it. Renarin said victory in a traditional sense was nearly impossible as long as Odium drove his forces. And Taravangian, whom Dalinar didn’t trust but did believe, had foreseen the same fact. The enemy would win, wearing them down over centuries if need be.
Their best chance was for Dalinar’s champion to defeat Odium’s. If that champion failed, then Dalinar’s only reasonable option would be surrender anyway. He knew that, deep in his gut. Most importantly, this seemed his only real chance to free Alethkar.
He had to do it. He hadn’t achieved what he had through indecision. He either trusted his instincts, and the promises of his god, or he had nothing.
He took a deep breath. “Final terms are these: A contest of champions to the death. On the tenth day of the month Palah, tenth hour. We each send a willing champion, allowed to meet at the top of Urithiru, otherwise unharmed by either side’s forces. If I win that contest, you will remain bound to the system—but you will return Alethkar and Herdaz to me, with all of their occupants intact. You will vow to cease hostilities and maintain the peace, not working against my allies or our kingdoms in any way.”
“Agreed,” Odium said. “But if I win, I keep everything I’ve won—including your homeland. I still remain bound to this system, and will still cease hostilities as you said above. But I will have your soul. To serve me, immortal. Will you do this? Because I agree to these terms.”
“And I,” Dalinar whispered. “I agree to these terms.”
“It is done.”
And I will march proudly at the head of a human legion.
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