Oathbringer

by Brandon Sanderson

  Szeth lingered, along with four of the others. He stepped up to Ki, in her shoulder cloak of a high judge of Marabethia.

  “How did this man know to send for us?” Szeth asked.

  “We have been expanding our influence, following the advent of the new storm,” she replied. “The local monarchs have accepted us as a unifying martial force, and have given us legal authority. The city’s high minister wrote to us via spanreed, pleading for help.”

  “And these convicts?” a squire asked. “What do we know of them, and our duty here?”

  “This group of convicts escaped the prison there along the cliffs. The report says they are dangerous murderers. Your task is to find the guilty and execute them. We have writs ordering their deaths.”

  “All of those who escaped are guilty?”

  “They are.”

  At that, several of the other squires left, hurrying to prove themselves. Still, Szeth lingered. Something about the situation bothered him. “If these men are murderers, why were they not executed before?”

  “This area is populated by Reshi idealists, Szeth-son-Neturo,” Ki said. “They have a strange, nonviolent attitude, even toward criminals. This town is charged with holding prisoners from all across the region, and Minister Kwati is paid tribute to maintain these facilities. Now that the murderers have escaped, mercy is withdrawn. They are to be executed.”

  That was enough for the last two squires, who took to the sky to begin their search. And Szeth supposed it was enough for him as well.

  These are Skybreakers, he thought. They wouldn’t knowingly send us after innocents. He could have taken their implied approval at the start. Yet … something bothered him. This was a test, but of what? Was it merely about the speed with which they could dispatch the guilty?

  He started toward the waters.

  “Szeth-son-Neturo,” Ki called to him.

  “Yes?”

  “You walk on stone. Why is this? Each Shin I have known calls stone holy, and refuses to set foot on it.”

  “It cannot be holy. If it truly were, Master Ki, it would have burned me away long ago.” He nodded to her, then stepped into the Purelake.

  The water was warmer than he’d remembered. It wasn’t deep at all—reportedly, even in the very center of the lake the water wouldn’t reach higher than a man’s thighs, save for the occasional sinkhole.

  You are far behind those others, the sword said. You’re never going to catch anyone at this rate.

  “I knew a voice like yours once, sword-nimi.”

  The whispers?

  “No. A single one, in my mind, when I was young.” Szeth shaded his eyes, looking across the glistening lake. “I hope things go better this time.”

  The flying squires would catch anyone in the open, so Szeth would need to search for less obvious criminals. He only needed one …

  One? the sword said. You’re not being ambitious enough.

  “Perhaps. Sword-nimi, do you know why you were given to me?”

  Because you needed help. I’m good at helping.

  “But why me?” Szeth continued trudging through the water. “Nin said I was never to let you leave my presence.”

  It seemed like more of a burden than an aid. Yes, the sword was a Shardblade—but one he’d been cautioned about drawing.

  The Purelake seemed to extend forever, wide as an ocean. Szeth’s steps startled schools of fish, which would follow behind him for a bit, occasionally nipping at his boots. Gnarled trees poked from the shallows, gorging themselves on the water while their roots grasped the many holes and furrows in the lake bed. Rock outcrops broke the lake near the coast, but inward the Purelake grew placid, more empty.

  Szeth turned parallel to the shore.

  You’re not going the same way as the others.

  That was true.

  Honestly, Szeth, I have to be frank. You aren’t good at slaying evil. We haven’t killed anyone while you’ve held me.

  “I wonder, sword-nimi. Did Nin-son-God give you to me so I could practice resisting your encouragements, or because he saw me as equally bloodthirsty? He did call us a good match.”

  I’m not bloodthirsty, the sword said immediately. I just want to be useful.

  “And not bored?”

  Well, that too. The sword made some soft hums, imitating a human deep in thought. You say you killed many people before we met. But the whispers … you didn’t take pleasure in destroying those who needed to be destroyed?

  “I am not convinced that they needed to be destroyed.”

  You killed them.

  “I was sworn to obey.”

  By a magic rock.

  He had explained his past to the sword several times now. For some reason, it had difficulty understanding—or remembering—certain things. “The Oathstone had no magic. I obeyed because of honor, and I sometimes obeyed evil or petty men. Now I seek a higher ideal.”

  But what if you pick the wrong thing to follow? Couldn’t you end up in the same place again? Can’t you just find evil, then destroy it?

  “And what is evil, sword-nimi?”

  I’m sure you can spot it. You seem smart. If increasingly kind of boring.

  Would that he could continue in such monotony.

  Nearby, a large twisted tree rose from the bank. Several of the leaves along one branch were pulled in, seeking refuge inside the bark; someone had disturbed them. Szeth didn’t give overt indication that he’d noticed, but angled his walk so that he stepped beneath the tree. Part of him hoped the man hiding in the tree had the sense to stay hidden.

  He did not. The man leaped for Szeth, perhaps tempted by the prospect of obtaining a fine weapon.

  Szeth sidestepped, but without Lashings he felt slow, awkward. He escaped the slashes of the convict’s improvised dagger, but was forced back toward the water.

  Finally! the sword said. All right, here’s what you have to do. Fight him and win, Szeth.

  The criminal rushed him. Szeth caught the hand with the dagger, twisting to use the man’s own momentum to send him stumbling into the lake.

  Recovering, the man turned toward Szeth, who was trying to read what he could from the man’s ragged, sorry appearance. Matted, shaggy hair. Reshi skin bearing many lesions. The poor fellow was so filthy, beggars and street urchins would find him distasteful company.

  The convict passed his knife from one hand to the other, wary. Then he rushed Szeth again.

  Szeth caught the man by the wrist once more and spun him around, the water splashing. Predictably, the man dropped his knife, which Szeth plucked from the water. He dodged the man’s grapple, and in a moment had one arm around the convict’s neck. Szeth raised the knife and—before he formed conscious thought—pressed the blade against the man’s chest, drawing blood.

  He managed to pull back, preventing himself from killing the convict. Fool! He needed to question the man. Had his time as Truthless made him such an eager killer? Szeth lowered the knife, but that gave the man an opening to twist and pull them both down into the Purelake.

  Szeth splashed into water warm as blood. The criminal landed on top and forced Szeth under the surface, slamming his hand against the stony bottom and making him drop the knife. The world became a distorted blur.

  This isn’t winning, the sword said.

  How ironic it would be to survive the murder of kings and Shardbearers only to die at the hands of a man with a crude knife. Szeth almost let it happen, but he knew fate was not finished with him yet.

  He threw off the criminal, who was weak and scrawny. The man tried to grab the knife—which was clearly visible beneath the surface—while Szeth rolled the other direction to gain some distance. Unfortunately, the sword on his back got caught between the stones of the lake bottom, and that caused him to jerk back to the water. Szeth growled and—with a heave—ripped himself free, breaking the sword’s harness strap.

  The weapon sank into the water. Szeth splashed to his feet, turning to face the winded, dirty convict.
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  The man glanced at the submerged, silver sword. His eyes glazed, then he grinned wickedly, dropped his knife, and dove for the sword.

  Curious. Szeth stepped back as the convict came up looking gleeful, holding the weapon.

  Szeth punched him across the face, his arm leaving a faint afterimage. He grabbed the sheathed sword, ripping it from the weaker man’s hands. Though the weapon often seemed too heavy for its size, it now felt light in his fingers. He stepped to the side and swung it—sheath and all—at his enemy.

  The weapon struck the convict’s back with a sickening crunch. The poor man splashed down into the lake and fell still.

  I suppose that will do, the sword said. Really, you should have just used me in the first place.

  Szeth shook himself. Had he killed the fellow after all? Szeth knelt and pulled him up by his matted hair. The convict gasped, but his body didn’t move. Not dead, but paralyzed.

  “Did someone work with you in your escape?” Szeth asked. “One of the local nobility, perhaps?”

  “What?” the man sputtered. “Oh, Vun Makak. What have you done to me? I can’t feel my arms, my legs…”

  “Did anyone from the outside help you?”

  “No. Why … why would you ask?” The man sputtered. “Wait. Yes. Who do you want me to name? I’ll do whatever you say. Please.”

  Szeth considered. Not working with the guards then, or the minister of the town. “How did you get out?”

  “Oh, Nu Ralik…” the man said, crying. “We shouldn’t have killed the guard. I just wanted … wanted to see the sun again.…”

  Szeth dropped the man back into the water. He stepped onto the shore and sat down on a rock, breathing deeply. Not long ago, he had danced with a Windrunner at the front of a storm. Today, he fought in shallow water against a half-starved man.

  Oh, how he missed the sky.

  That was cruel, the sword said. Leaving him to drown.

  “Better than feeding him to a greatshell,” Szeth said. “That happens to criminals in this kingdom.”

  Both are cruel, the sword said.

  “You know of cruelty, sword-nimi?”

  Vivenna used to tell me that cruelty is only for men, as is mercy. Only we can choose one or the other, and beasts cannot.

  “You count yourself as a man?”

  No. But sometimes she talked like she did. And after Shashara made me, she argued with Vasher, saying I could be a poet or a scholar. Like a man, right?

  Shashara? That sounded like Shalash, the Eastern name for the Herald Shush-daughter-God. So perhaps this sword’s origin was with the Heralds.

  Szeth rose and walked up the coast, back toward the town.

  Aren’t you going to search for other criminals?

  “I needed only one, sword-nimi, to test what has been told to me and to learn a few important facts.”

  Like how smelly convicts are?

  “That is indeed part of the secret.”

  He passed the small town where the master Skybreakers waited, then hiked up the hillside to the prison. The dark block of a structure overlooked the Purelake, but the beautiful vantage was wasted; the place had barely any windows.

  Inside, the smell was so foul, he had to breathe through his mouth. The body of a single guard had been left in a pool of blood between cells. Szeth almost tripped over it—there was no light in the place, save for a few sphere lamps in the guard post.

  I see, he thought, kneeling beside the fallen man. Yes. This test was indeed a curious one.

  Outside, he noted some of the squires returning to the town with corpses in tow, though none of the other hopefuls seemed to have found anyone. Szeth picked his way carefully down the rocky slope to the town, careful not to drag the sword. Whatever Nin’s reasons for entrusting him with the weapon, it was a holy object.

  At the town, he approached the beefy nobleman, who was trying to make small talk with Master Ki—failing spectacularly. Nearby, other members of the town were debating the ethics of simply executing murderers, or holding them and risking this. Szeth inspected the dead convicts, and found them as dirty as the one he had fought, though two weren’t nearly as emaciated.

  There was a prison economy, Szeth thought. Food went to those in power while others were starved.

  “You,” Szeth said to the nobleman. “I found only one body above. Did you really have a single guard posted to watch all these prisoners?”

  The nobleman sneered at him. “A Shin stonewalker? Who are you to question me? Go back to your stupid grass and dead trees, little man.”

  “The prisoners were free to create their own hierarchy,” Szeth continued. “And nobody watched to see they didn’t make weapons, as I faced one with a knife. These men were mistreated, locked in darkness, not given enough food.”

  “They were criminals. Murderers.”

  “And what happened to the money you were sent to administrate this facility? It certainly didn’t go toward proper security.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this!”

  Szeth turned from him to Ki. “Do you have a writ of execution for this man?”

  “It is the first we obtained.”

  “What?” the nobleman said. Fearspren boiled up around him.

  Szeth undid the clasp on the sword and drew it.

  A rushing sound, like a thousand screams.

  A wave of power, like the beating of a terrible, stunning wind.

  Colors changed around him. They deepened, growing darker and more vibrant. The city nobleman’s cloak became a stunning array of deep oranges and blood reds.

  The hair on Szeth’s arms stood on end and his skin spiked with a sudden incredible pain.

  DESTROY!

  Liquid darkness flowed from the Blade, then melted to smoke as it fell. Szeth screamed at the pain in his arm even as he slammed the weapon through the chest of the blubbering nobleman.

  Flesh and blood puffed instantly into black smoke. Ordinary Shardblades burned only the eyes, but this sword somehow consumed the entire body. It seemed to sear away even the man’s soul.

  EVIL!

  Veins of black liquid crept up Szeth’s hand and arm. He gaped at them, then gasped and rammed the sword back into its silvery sheath.

  He fell to his knees, dropping the sword and raising his hand, fingers bent and tendons taut. Slowly, the blackness evaporated from his flesh, the awful pain easing. The skin of his hand, which had already been pale, had been bleached to grey-white.

  The sword’s voice sank to a deep muttering in his mind, its words slurring. It struck him as sounding like the voice of a beast falling into a stupor after having gorged itself. Szeth breathed deeply. Fumbling at his pouch, he saw that several spheres inside were completely drained. I will need far more Stormlight if I’m to ever try that again.

  The surrounding townspeople, squires, and even master Skybreakers regarded him with uniform horror. Szeth picked up the sword and struggled to his feet, before fastening the sword’s clasp. Holding the sheathed weapon in both hands, he bowed to Ki. “I have dealt,” he said, “with the worst of the criminals.”

  “You have done well,” she said slowly, glancing at where the nobleman had stood. There wasn’t even a stain on the stones. “We will wait and make certain the other criminals have been killed or captured.”

  “Wise,” Szeth said. “Could I … beg something to drink? I suddenly find myself very thirsty.”

  * * *

  By the time all the escapees had been accounted for, the sword was stirring again. It had never fallen asleep, if a sword could do such a thing. Rather, it had mumbled in his mind until it slowly became lucid.

  Hey! the sword said as Szeth sat on a low wall alongside the city. Hey, did you draw me?

  “I did, sword-nimi.”

  Great job! Did we … did we destroy lots of evil?

  “A great and corrupt evil.”

  Wow! I’m impressed. You know, Vivenna never drew me even once? She carried me for a long time too. Maybe a couple of
days even?

  “And how long have I been carrying you?”

  At least an hour, the sword said, satisfied. One, or two, or ten thousand. Something like that.

  Ki approached, and he returned her water canteen. “Thank you, Master Ki.”

  “I have decided to take you as my squire, Szeth-son-Neturo,” she said. “In all honesty, there was an argument among us over who would have the privilege.”

  He bowed his head. “I may swear the Second Ideal?”

  “You may. Justice will serve you until you attract a spren and swear to a more specific code. During my prayers last night, Winnow proclaimed the highspren are watching you. I won’t be surprised if it takes mere months before you achieve the Third Ideal.”

  Months. No, he would not take months. But he did not swear quite yet. Instead, he nodded toward the prison. “Pardon, master, a question. You knew this breakout would happen, didn’t you?”

  “We suspected. One of our teams investigated this man and discovered how he was using his funds. When the call came, we were not surprised. It provided a perfect testing opportunity.”

  “Why not deal with him earlier?”

  “You must understand our purpose and our place, a fine point difficult for many squires to grasp. That man had not yet broken a law. His duty was to imprison the convicts, which he had done. He was allowed to judge if his methods were satisfactory or not. Only once he failed, and his charges had escaped, could we mete out justice.”

  Szeth nodded. “I swear to seek justice, to let it guide me, until I find a more perfect Ideal.”

  “These Words are accepted,” Ki said. She removed a glowing emerald sphere from her pouch. “Take your place above, squire.”

  Szeth regarded the sphere, then—trembling—breathed in the Stormlight. It returned to him in a rush.

  The skies were his once again.

  Taxil mentions Yelig-nar, named Blightwind, in an oft-cited quote. Though Jasnah Kholin has famously called its accuracy into question, I believe it.

  —From Hessi’s Mythica, page 26

  When Adolin woke up, he was still in the nightmare.

  The dark sky, glass ground, the strange creatures. He had a crick in his neck and a pain in his back; he’d never mastered the “sleep anywhere” skill the grunts bragged about.