Oathbringer

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Any young boys among the greenvines?” Kaladin asked, standing up and pocketing Tien’s stone.

  “I didn’t notice.”

  He grunted, waving to Gol—one of the other squadleaders. “You know I like to watch for kids who might need a little extra looking out for.”

  “I know, but I was busy. We got a caravan from Kholinar today.” She leaned close to him. “There was real flour in one of the packages. I traded in some favors. You know I’ve been wanting you to try some of my father’s Thaylen bread? I thought maybe we’d fix it tonight.”

  “Your father hates me.”

  “He’s coming around. Besides, he loves anyone who compliments his bread.”

  “I have evening practice.”

  “You just got done practicing.”

  “I just got done warming up.” He looked to her, then grimaced. “I organized the evening practice, Tarah. I can’t just skip it. Besides, I thought you were going to be busy all evening. Maybe tomorrow, lunch?”

  He kissed her on the cheek and reclaimed his spear. He’d taken only a step away when she spoke.

  “I’m leaving, Kal,” she said from behind.

  He stumbled over his own feet, then spun about. “What?”

  “I’m transferring,” she said. “They offered me a scribe’s job in Mourn’s Vault, with the highprince’s house. It’s a good opportunity, particularly for someone like me.”

  “But…” He gaped. “Leaving?”

  “I wanted to tell you over dinner, not out here in the cold. It’s something I have to do. Father’s getting older; he’s worried he’ll end up being shipped to the Shattered Plains. If I can get work, he can join me.”

  Kaladin put a hand to his head. She couldn’t just leave, could she?

  Tarah walked over, stood on the tips of her toes, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “Could you … not go?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Maybe I could get a transfer?” he said. “To the highprince’s standing house guard?”

  “Would you do that?”

  “I…”

  No. He wouldn’t.

  Not while he carried that stone in his pocket, not while the memory of his brother dying was fresh in his mind. Not while lighteyed highlords got boys killed in petty fights.

  “Oh, Kal,” she whispered, then squeezed his arm. “Maybe someday you’ll learn how to be there for the living, not just for the dead.”

  After she left, he got two letters from her, talking about her life in Mourn’s Vault. He had paid someone to read them to him.

  He never sent responses. Because he was stupid, because he didn’t understand. Because men make mistakes when they’re young and angry.

  Because she had been right.

  * * *

  Kaladin shouldered his harpoon, leading his companions through the strange forest. They’d flown part of the way, but needed to conserve what little Stormlight they had left.

  So, they’d spent the last two days hiking. Trees and more trees, lifespren floating among them, the occasional bobbing souls of fish. Syl kept saying that they were lucky they hadn’t encountered any angerspren or other predators. To her, this forest was strangely silent, strangely empty.

  The jungle-style trees had given way to taller, more statuesque ones with deep crimson trunks and limbs like burnt-red crystals that, at the ends, burst into small collections of minerals. The rugged obsidian landscape was full of deep valleys and endless towering hills. Kaladin was beginning to worry that—despite the motionless sun to provide an unerring way to gauge their heading—they were going in the wrong direction.

  “Storms, bridgeboy,” Adolin said, hiking up the incline after him. “Maybe a break?”

  “At the top,” Kaladin said.

  Without Stormlight, Shallan trailed farthest behind, Pattern at her side. Exhaustionspren circled in the air above, like large chickens. Though she tried to push herself, she wasn’t a soldier, and often was the biggest limitation to their pace. Of course, without her mapmaking skills and memory of Thaylen City’s exact location, they probably wouldn’t have any idea which way to go.

  Fortunately, there was no sign of pursuit. Still, Kaladin couldn’t help worrying that they were moving too slowly.

  Be there, Tarah had told him. For the living.

  He urged them up this hillside, past a section of broken ground, where the obsidian had fractured like layers of crem that hadn’t hardened properly. Worry pulled him forward. Step after relentless step.

  He had to get to the Oathgate. He would not fail like he had in Kholinar.

  A single glowing windspren burst alight next to him as he reached the top of the hill. Cresting it, he found himself overlooking a sea of souls. Thousands upon thousands of candle flames bobbed about in the next valley over, moving above a grand ocean of glass beads.

  Thaylen City.

  Adolin joined him, then finally Shallan and the three spren. Shallan sighed and settled to the ground, coughing softly from the effort of the climb.

  Amid the sea of lights were two towering spren, much like the ones they’d seen in Kholinar. One sparkled a multitude of colors while the other shimmered an oily black. Both stood tall, holding spears as long as a building. The sentries of the Oathgate, and they didn’t look corrupted.

  Beneath them, the device itself manifested as a large stone platform with a wide, sweeping white bridge running over the beads and to the shore.

  That bridge was guarded by an entire army of enemy spren, hundreds—perhaps thousands—strong.

  If I’m correct and my research true, then the question remains. Who is the ninth Unmade? Is it truly Dai-Gonarthis? If so, could their actions have actually caused the complete destruction of Aimia?

  —From Hessi’s Mythica, page 307

  Dalinar stood alone in the rooms Queen Fen had given him, staring out the window, looking west. Toward Shinovar, far beyond the horizon. A land with strange beasts like horses, chickens. And humans.

  He’d left the other monarchs arguing in the temple below; anything he said only seemed to widen the rifts among them. They didn’t trust him. They’d never really trusted him. His deception proved them right.

  Storms. He felt furious with himself. He should have released those visions, should have immediately told the others about Elhokar. There had simply been so much piling on top of him. His memories … his excommunication … worry for Adolin and Elhokar …

  Part of him couldn’t help but be impressed by how deftly he’d been outmaneuvered. Queen Fen worried about Dalinar being genuine; the enemy had delivered perfect proof that Dalinar had hidden political motives. Noura and the Azish worried that the powers were dangerous, whispering of Lost Radiants. To them, the enemy indicated that Dalinar was being manipulated by evil visions. And to Taravangian—who spoke so often of philosophy—the enemy suggested that their moral foundation for the war was a sham.

  Or maybe that dart was for Dalinar himself. Taravangian said that a king was justified in doing terrible things in the name of the state. But Dalinar …

  For once, he’d assumed what he was doing was right.

  Did you really think you belonged here? the Stormfather asked. That you were native to Roshar?

  “Yes, maybe,” Dalinar said. “I thought … maybe we came from Shinovar originally.”

  That is the land you were given, the Stormfather said. A place where the plants and animals you brought here could grow.

  “We weren’t able to confine ourselves to what we were given.”

  When has any man ever been content with what he has?

  “When has any tyrant ever said to himself, ‘This is enough’?” Dalinar whispered, remembering words Gavilar had once spoken.

  The Stormfather rumbled.

  “The Almighty kept this from his Radiants,” Dalinar said. “When they discovered it, they abandoned their vows.”

  It is more than that. My memory of all this is … strange. First, I was not full
y awake; I was but the spren of a storm. Then I was like a child. Changed and shaped during the frantic last days of a dying god.

  But I do remember. It was not only the truth of humankind’s origin that caused the Recreance. It was the distinct, powerful fear that they would destroy this world, as men like them had destroyed the one before. The Radiants abandoned their vows for that reason, as will you.

  “I will not,” Dalinar said. “I won’t let my Radiants retread the fate of their predecessors.”

  Won’t you?

  Dalinar’s attention was drawn to a solemn group of men leaving the temple below. Bridge Four, spears held on slumped shoulders, heads bowed as they quietly marched down the steps.

  Dalinar scrambled out of his villa and ran down the steps to intercept the bridgemen. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  They halted, falling into ranks at attention.

  “Sir,” Teft said. “We thought we’d head back to Urithiru. We left some of the men behind, and they deserve to know about this business with the ancient Radiants.”

  “What we’ve discovered doesn’t change the fact that we are being invaded,” Dalinar said.

  “Invaded by people trying to reclaim their homeland,” Sigzil said. “Storms. I’d be mad too.”

  “We’re supposed to be the good guys, you know?” Leyten said. “Fighting for a good cause, for once in our storming lives.”

  Echoes of his own thoughts. Dalinar found he couldn’t formulate an argument against that.

  “We’ll see what Kal says,” Teft replied. “Sir. All respect, sir. But we’ll see what he says. He knows the right of things, even when the rest of us don’t.”

  And if he never returns? Dalinar thought. What if none of them return? It had been four weeks. How long could he keep pretending that Adolin and Elhokar were alive out there somewhere? That pain hid behind the rest, taunting him.

  The bridgemen gave Dalinar their unique cross-armed salute, then left without waiting to be dismissed.

  In the past, Honor was able to guard against this, the Stormfather told him. He convinced the Radiants they were righteous, even if this land hadn’t originally been theirs. Who cares what your ancestors did, when the enemy is trying to kill you right now?

  But in the days leading to the Recreance, Honor was dying. When that generation of knights learned the truth, Honor did not support them. He raved, speaking of the Dawnshards, ancient weapons used to destroy the Tranquiline Halls. Honor … promised that Surgebinders would do the same to Roshar.

  “Odium claimed the same thing.”

  He can see the future, though only cloudily. Regardless, I … understand now as I never did before. The ancient Radiants didn’t abandon their oaths out of pettiness. They tried to protect the world. I blame them for their weakness, their broken oaths. But I also understand. You have cursed me, human, with this capacity.

  The meeting in the temple seemed to be breaking up. The Azish contingent started down the steps.

  “Our enemy hasn’t changed,” Dalinar said to them. “The need for a coalition is as strong as ever.”

  The young emperor, being carried in a palanquin, didn’t look at him. Oddly, the Azish didn’t make for the Oathgate, instead taking a path down into the city.

  Only Vizier Noura idled to speak to him. “Jasnah Kholin might be right,” she said in Azish. “The destruction of our old world, your secret visions, this business with you being highking—it seems too great a coincidence for it all to come at once.”

  “Then you can see that we’re being manipulated.”

  “Manipulated by the truth, Kholin,” she said, meeting his eyes. “That Oathgate is dangerous. These powers of yours are dangerous. Deny it.”

  “I cannot. I will not found this coalition on lies.”

  “You already have.”

  He drew in a sharp breath.

  Noura shook her head. “We will take the scout ships and join the fleet carrying our soldiers. Then we will wait out this storm. After that … we shall see. Taravangian has said we may use his vessels to return to our empire, without needing to use the Oathgates.”

  She walked off after the emperor, eschewing the palanquin waiting to carry her.

  Others drifted down the steps around him. Veden highprinces, who gave excuses. Thaylen lighteyes from their guild councils, who avoided him. The Alethi highprinces and scribes expressed solidarity—but Alethkar couldn’t do this on its own.

  Queen Fen was one of the last to leave the temple.

  “Will you leave me too?” Dalinar asked.

  She laughed. “To go where, old hound? An army is coming this way. I still need your famous Alethi infantry; I can’t afford to throw you out.”

  “Such bitterness.”

  “Oh, did it show? I’m going to check on the city’s defenses; if you decide to join us, we’ll be at the walls.”

  “I’m sorry, Fen,” Dalinar said, “for betraying your trust.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t really think you intend to conquer me, Kholin. But oddly … I can’t help wishing I did have to worry. Best I can tell, you’ve become a good man right in time to bravely sink with this ship. That’s commendable, until I remember that the Blackthorn would have long since murdered everyone trying to sink him.”

  Fen and her consort climbed into a palanquin. People continued to trickle past, but eventually Dalinar stood alone before the quiet temple.

  “I’m sorry, Dalinar,” Taravangian said softly from behind. Dalinar turned, surprised to find the old man sitting on the steps. “I assumed everyone had the same information, and that it would be best to air it. I didn’t expect all of this.…”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Dalinar said.

  “And yet…” He stood up, then walked—slowly—down the steps. “I’m sorry, Dalinar. I fear I can no longer fight beside you.”

  “Why?” Dalinar said. “Taravangian, you’re the most pragmatic ruler I’ve met! Aren’t you the one who talked to me about the importance of doing what was politically necessary!”

  “And that is what I must do now, Dalinar. I wish I could explain. Forgive me.”

  He ignored Dalinar’s pleas, limping down the stairs. Moving stiffly, the old man climbed into a palanquin and was carried away.

  Dalinar sank down on the steps.

  I tried my best to hide this, the Stormfather said.

  “So we could continue living a lie?”

  It is, in my experience, the thing men do best.

  “Don’t insult us.”

  What? Is this not what you’ve been doing, these last six years? Pretending that you aren’t a monster? Pretending you didn’t kill her, Dalinar?

  Dalinar winced. He made a fist, but there was nothing here he could fight. He dropped his hand to his side, shoulders drooping. Finally, he climbed to his feet and quietly trudged up the stone steps to his villa.

  THE END OF

  Part Four

  After living for a week in a cave in Marat, Venli found herself missing the stone hermitage she’d been given outside Kholinar. Her new dwelling was even more austere, with only a single blanket for sleeping, and a simple cookfire upon which she prepared fish the crowds brought her.

  She was growing dirty, rough. That was what the Fused seemed to want: a hermit living in the wilds. Apparently that was more convincing for the local crowds they brought to listen to her—most of whom were former Thaylen slaves. She was instructed to speak of “Passion” and emotion more often than she had in Alethkar.

  “My people are dead now,” Venli said to Destruction, repeating the now-familiar speech. “They fell in that last assault, singing as they drew the storm. I remain, but my people’s work is done.”

  Those words hurt. Her people couldn’t be completely gone … could they?

  “The day now belongs to your Passion,” she continued to Command. “We had named ourselves ‘listeners’ because of the songs we heard. These are your heritage, but you are not to just listen, but sing. Adopt the rhyt
hms and Passions of your ancestors! You must sail to battle. For the future, for your children! And for us. Those who died that you might exist.”

  She turned away, as instructed that she do after the end of each speech. She wasn’t allowed to answer questions any longer, not since she’d talked with some of these singers about the specific history of her people. It made her wonder. Did the Fused and the Voidspren fear the heritage of her people, even as they used her for their purposes? Or did they not trust her for other reasons?

  She put her hand to her pouch. Odium didn’t seem to know that she’d been in that vision with Dalinar Kholin. Behind, a Voidspren led the Thaylen singers away. Venli moved toward her cave, but then hesitated. A Fused sat on the rocks just above the opening.

  “Ancient One?” she asked.

  He grinned at her and giggled.

  Another one of those.

  She started into the cave, but he dropped and seized her under the arms, then carried her into the sky. Venli prevented herself—with difficulty—from trying to batter him away. The Fused never touched her, not even the crazy ones, without orders. Indeed, this one flew her down to one of the many ships at the harbor, where Rine—the tall Fused who had accompanied her during her first days preaching in Alethkar—stood at the prow. He glanced toward her as she was landed—roughly—on the deck.

  She hummed to Conceit at her treatment.

  He hummed to Spite. A small acknowledgment of a wrong done, the best she’d get out of him, so she hummed to Satisfaction in response.

  “Ancient One?” she asked to Craving.

  “You are to accompany us as we sail,” he said to Command. “You may wash yourself in the cabin as we go, if you wish. There is water.”

  Venli hummed to Craving and looked toward the main cabin. Craving slipped into Abashment as she considered the sheer size of the fleet that was launching around her. Hundreds of ships, which must have been filled with thousands of singers, were sailing from coves all along the coast. They dotted the seas like rockbuds on the plains.

  “Now?” she asked to Abashment. “I wasn’t prepared! I didn’t know!”