Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson
Demid had fallen, but she had been preserved. And Odium himself, god of gods, had a purpose for her. She sat down on the ground to wait as the Fused conversed in their strange language. As she waited, she noted something hovering near the ground a short distance away. A little spren that looked like a ball of light. Yes … she’d seen one of those near Eshonai. What was it?
It seemed agitated, and scooted across the stone closer to her. She instantly knew something—an instinctive truth, as sure as the storms and the sun. If the creatures standing nearby saw this spren, they would destroy it.
She slapped her hand down over the spren as the creature wearing Demid’s body turned toward her. She cupped the little spren against the stone, and attuned Abashment.
He didn’t seem to notice what she’d done.
“Ready yourself to be carried,” he said. “We must travel to Alethela.”
As a Stoneward, I spent my entire life looking to sacrifice myself. I secretly worry that is the cowardly way. The easy way out.
—From drawer 29-5, topaz
The clouds that usually congregated about the base of the Urithiru plateau were absent today, allowing Dalinar to see down along the endless cliffs below the tower’s perch. He couldn’t see the ground; those cliffs seemed to extend into eternity.
Even with that, he had trouble visualizing how high in the mountains they were. Navani’s scribes could measure height using the air somehow, but their numbers didn’t satisfy him. He wanted to see. Were they really higher than the clouds were over the Shattered Plains? Or did the clouds here in the mountains fly lower?
How contemplative you’ve grown in your old age, he thought to himself, stepping onto one of the Oathgate platforms. Navani held his arm, though Taravangian and Adrotagia had trailed behind on the ramp up.
Navani looked into his eyes as they waited. “Still bothered by the latest vision?”
That wasn’t what was distracting him at the moment, but he nodded anyway. Indeed, he was worried. Odium. Though the Stormfather had returned to his previous self-confident ways, Dalinar could not shake the memory of the mighty spren whimpering in fright.
Navani and Jasnah had eagerly feasted on his account of meeting the dark god, though they’d chosen not to publish this one for wide dissemination.
“Maybe,” Navani said, “this was somehow another preplanned event, placed by Honor for you to encounter.”
Dalinar shook his head. “Odium felt real. I truly interacted with him.”
“You can interact with the people in the visions. Just not the Almighty himself.”
“Because, you theorize, the Almighty couldn’t create a full simulacrum of a god. No. I saw eternity, Navani … a divine vastness.”
He shivered. For now, they had decided to suspend use of the visions. Who knew what risk they’d run by bringing people’s minds in and potentially exposing them to Odium?
Of course, who’s to say what he can and cannot touch in the real world? Dalinar thought. He looked up again, the sun burning white, the sky a faded blue. He would have thought that being above the clouds would give him more perspective.
Taravangian and Adrotagia finally arrived, followed by Taravangian’s strange Surgebinder, the short-haired woman, Malata. Dalinar’s guards brought up the rear. Rial saluted him. Again.
“You don’t need to salute me each time I look at you, Sergeant,” Dalinar said dryly.
“Just trying ta be extra careful, sir.” The leathery, dark-skinned man saluted one more time. “Wouldn’t want ta be reported for being disrespectful.”
“I didn’t mention you by name, Rial.”
“Everyone knew anyway, Brightlord.”
“Imagine that.”
Rial grinned, and Dalinar waved for the man to open his canteen, then sniffed for alcohol. “It’s clean this time?”
“Absolutely! You chastised me last time. Water only.”
“And so you keep the alcohol…”
“In my flask, sir,” Rial said. “Right leg pocket of my uniform. Don’t worry though. It’s buttoned up tight, and I’ve completely forgotten it’s there. I’ll discover it when duty is done.”
“I’m sure.” Dalinar took Navani by the arm and followed Adrotagia and Taravangian.
“You could have someone else assigned to guard you,” Navani whispered to him. “That greasy man is … unfitting.”
“I actually like him,” Dalinar admitted. “Reminds me of some of my friends from the old days.”
The control building at the center of this platform was shaped like the others—mosaics on the floor, keyhole mechanism in the curved wall. The patterns on the floor, however, were glyphs in the Dawnchant. This building would be identical to one in Thaylen City—and when engaged, it would swap places with that one.
Ten platforms here, ten across the world. The glyphs on the floors indicated that it might somehow be possible to transport directly from one city to another without coming to Urithiru first. They hadn’t discovered how that might work, and for now each gate could swap only with its twin—and they had to first be unlocked from both sides.
Navani went straight for the control mechanism. Malata joined her, watching over Navani’s shoulder as she fiddled with the keyhole, which was in the center of a ten-pointed star on a metal plate. “Yes,” Navani said, consulting some notes. “The mechanism is the same as the one to the Shattered Plains. You need to twist this here…”
She wrote something via spanreed to Thaylen City, then ushered them back outside. A moment later, the building itself flashed—a ring of Stormlight running around it, like the afterimage of a firebrand being waved in the dark. Then Kaladin and Shallan emerged from the doorway.
“It worked!” Shallan said as she bounced out, bubbling over with eagerness. In contrast, Kaladin stepped out with a firm gait. “Transferring only the control buildings, instead of the entire platform, should save us Stormlight.”
“Up until now,” Navani said, “we’ve been working the Oathgates at full power for every transfer. I suspect that’s not the only mistake we’ve made in regard to this place and its devices. Anyway, now that you two have unlocked the Thaylen gate on their end, we should be able to use it at will—with the help of a Radiant, of course.”
“Sir,” Kaladin said to Dalinar, “the queen is prepared to meet with you.”
Taravangian, Navani, Adrotagia, and Malata entered the building, though Shallan started down the ramp back toward Urithiru. Dalinar took Kaladin by the arm as he moved to follow.
“The flight in front of the highstorm went well?” Dalinar asked.
“No problems, sir. I’m confident it will work.”
“Next storm then, soldier, make for Kholinar. I’m counting on you and Adolin to keep Elhokar from doing anything too foolhardy. Be careful. Something strange is going on inside the city, and I can’t afford to lose you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As you fly, wave to the lands along the south fork of the Deathbend River. The parshmen may have conquered them by now, but they actually belong to you.”
“… Sir?”
“You’re a Shardbearer, Kaladin. That makes you at least fourth dahn, which should be a landed title. Elhokar found you a nice portion along the river that reverted to the crown last year at the death of its brightlord, who had no heir. It’s not as large as some, but it is yours now.”
Kaladin looked stunned. “Are there villages on this land, sir?”
“Six or seven; one town of note. The river is one of the most consistent in Alethkar. It doesn’t even dry up in the Midpeace. That’s on a good caravan route. Your people will do well.”
“Sir. You know I don’t want this burden.”
“If you’d wanted a life without burdens, you shouldn’t have said the oaths,” Dalinar said. “We don’t get to choose things like this, son. Just make sure you have a good steward, wise scribes, and some solid men of the fifth and sixth dahns to lead the towns. Personally, I’ll count us lucky—you included—i
Kaladin nodded slowly. “My family is in northern Alethkar. Now that I’ve practiced flying with the storms, I’ll want to go and fetch them, once I get back from the Kholinar mission.”
“Get that Oathgate open, and you can have as much time as you want. I guarantee, the best thing you can do for your family right now is keep Alethkar from falling.”
By spanreed reports, the Voidbringers were slowly moving northward, and had captured much of Alethkar. Relis Ruthar had tried to gather the remaining Alethi forces in the country, but had been pushed back toward Herdaz, suffering at the hands of the Fused. However, the Voidbringers weren’t killing noncombatants. Kaladin’s family should be safe enough.
The captain jogged off down the ramp, and Dalinar watched, thinking about his own burdens. Once Elhokar and Adolin returned from the mission to rescue Kholinar, they’d need to get on with Elhokar’s highking arrangement. He still hadn’t announced that, not even to the highprinces.
A part of Dalinar knew he should simply go forward with it now, naming Adolin highprince and stepping down, but he delayed. This would make a final separation between himself and his homeland. He’d at least like to help recover the capital first.
Dalinar joined the others in the control building, then nodded toward Malata. She summoned her Shardblade and inserted it into the slot. The metal of the plate shifted and flowed, matching the shape of the Blade. They’d run tests, and though the walls of the buildings were thin, you couldn’t see the other end of the Shardblade jutting through. The Blade was melding into the mechanism.
Malata pushed against the side of the Blade’s hilt. The inner wall of the control building rotated. The floor underneath the mosaics began glowing, illuminating them like stained glass. She stopped her Blade at the proper position, and a flash of light later, they had arrived. Dalinar stepped out of the small building onto a platform in distant Thaylen City, a port on the western coast of a large southern island near the Frostlands.
Here the platform that surrounded the Oathgate had been turned into a sculpture garden—but most of the sculptures lay toppled and broken. Queen Fen waited on the ramp up with her attendants. Shallan had probably told her to wait there in case the room-only transfer didn’t work.
The platform was high up in the city, and as Dalinar neared the edge, he saw that it gave an excellent view. The sight of it made Dalinar’s breath catch.
Thaylen City was a mountainside metropolis like Kharbranth, placed with its back to a mountain to provide shelter from the highstorms. Though Dalinar had never been to the city before, he’d studied maps, and knew Thaylen City had once included only a section near the center they called the Ancient Ward. This raised portion had a distinctive shape formed by the way the rocks had been carved millennia ago.
The city had long since been built beyond that. A lower section called the Low Ward cluttered the stones around the base of the wall—a wide, squat fortification to the west that ran from the cliffs on one side of the city to the mountain foothills on the other.
Above and behind the Ancient Ward, the city had expanded up a series of steplike tiers. These Loft Wards ended at a majestic Royal Ward at the top of the city, holding palaces, mansions, and temples. The Oathgate platform was on this level, at the northern edge of the city, close to the cliffs down to the ocean.
Once, this place would have been stunning because of its magnificent architecture. Today, Dalinar paused for a different reason. Dozens … hundreds of buildings had fallen in. Entire sections had become rubble when higher structures, smashed by the Everstorm, had slid down on top of them. What had once been one of the finest cities of all Roshar—known for its art, trade, and fine marble—was cracked and broken, like a dinner plate dropped by a careless maid.
Ironically, many more modest buildings at the base of the city—in the wall’s shadow—had weathered the storm. But the famous Thaylen docks were out beyond this fortification, on the small western peninsula fronting the city. This area had once been densely developed—likely with warehouses, taverns, and shops. All wood.
They’d been swept away completely. Only smashed ruins remained.
Stormfather. No wonder Fen had resisted his distracting demands. Most of this destruction had been caused by that first full Everstorm; Thaylen City was particularly exposed, with no land to break the storm as it surged across the western ocean. Beyond that, many more of these structures had been of wood, particularly in the Loft Wards. A luxury available to a place like Thaylen City, which up until now had been subject only to the most mild of the stormwinds.
The Everstorm had come five times now, though subsequent passings had—blessedly—been tamer than the first. Dalinar lingered, taking it in, before leading his group to where Queen Fen stood on the ramp with a collection of scribes, lighteyes, and guards. This included her prince consort, Kmakl, an aging Thaylen man with matching mustaches and eyebrows, both drooping down to frame his face. He wore a vest and cap, and was attended by two ardents as scribes.
“Fen…” Dalinar said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“We lived too long in luxury, it seems,” Fen said, and he was momentarily surprised by her accent. It hadn’t been present in the visions. “I remember as a child worrying that everyone in other countries would discover how nice things were here, with the mild straits weather and the broken storms. I assumed we’d be swarmed with immigrants someday.”
She turned toward her city, and sighed softly.
How would it have been to live here? He tried to imagine living in homes that didn’t feel like fortresses. Buildings of wood with broad windows. Roofs needed only for keeping the rain off. He’d heard people joke that in Kharbranth, you had to hang a bell outside to know when the highstorm had arrived, for otherwise you’d miss it. Fortunately for Taravangian, that city’s slightly southern orientation had prevented devastation on this scale.
“Well,” Fen said, “let’s do a tour. I think there are a few places worth seeing that are still standing.”
If this is to be permanent, then I wish to leave record of my husband and children. Wzmal, as good a man as any woman could dream of loving. Kmakra and Molinar, the true gemstones of my life.
—From drawer 12-15, ruby
“The temple of Shalash,” Fen said, gesturing as they entered.
To Dalinar, it looked much like the others she’d shown them: a large space with a high-domed ceiling and massive braziers. Here, ardents burned thousands of glyphwards for the people, who supplicated the Almighty for mercy and aid. Smoke pooled in the dome before leaking out through holes in the roof, like water through a sieve.
How many prayers have we burned, Dalinar wondered uncomfortably, to a god who is no longer there? Or is someone else receiving them instead?
Dalinar nodded politely as Fen recounted the ancient origin of the structure and listed some of the kings or queens who had been crowned here. She explained the significance of the elaborate design on the rear wall, and led them around the sides to view the carvings. It was a pity to see several statues with the faces broken off. How had the storm gotten to them in here?
When they were done, she led them back outside onto the Royal Ward, where the palanquins waited. Navani nudged him.
“What?” he asked softly.
“Stop scowling.”
“I’m not scowling.”
“You’re bored.”
“I’m not … scowling.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Six temples?” he asked. “This city is practically rubble, and we’re looking at temples.”
Ahead, Fen and her consort climbed into their palanquin. So far, Kmakl’s only part in the tour had been to stand behind Fen and—whenever she said something he thought significant—nod for her scribes to record it in the official histories.
Kmakl didn’t carry a sword. In Alethkar, that would indicate the man—at least one of his rank—was a Shardbearer, but that was not
“Scowling…” Navani said.
“It’s what they expect of me,” Dalinar said, nodding toward the Thaylen officers and scribes. Near the front, one group of soldiers in particular had watched Dalinar with keen interest. Perhaps this tour’s true intent was to give those lighteyes a chance to study him.
The palanquin he shared with Navani was scented like rockbud blossoms. “The progression from temple to temple,” Navani said softly as their bearers lifted the palanquin, “is traditional in Thaylen City. Visiting all ten allows a survey of the Royal Ward, and is a not-so-subtle reinforcement of the throne’s Vorin piety. They’ve had trouble with the church in the past.”
“I sympathize. Do you think if I explain I’m a heretic too, she’ll stop with all the pomp?”
Navani leaned forward in the small palanquin, putting her freehand on his knee. “Dear one, if this kind of thing irks you so, we could send a diplomat.”
“I am a diplomat.”
“Dalinar…”
“This is my duty now, Navani. I have to do my duty. Every time I’ve ignored it in the past, something terrible has happened.” He took her hands in his. “I complain because I can be unguarded with you. I’ll keep the scowling to a minimum. I promise.”
As their porters skillfully carried them up some steps, Dalinar watched out the palanquin window. This upper section of the city had weathered the storm well enough, as many of the structures here were of thick stone. Still, some had cracked, and a few roofs had fallen in. The palanquin passed a fallen statue, which had broken off at the ankles and toppled from a ledge toward the Loft Wards.
This city was hit harder than any I’ve had a report about, he thought. This level of destruction is unique. Is it just all that wood, and the lack of anything to blunt the storm? Or is it more? Some reports of the Everstorm mentioned no winds, only lightning. Others confusingly reported no rain, but burning embers. The Everstorm varied greatly, even within the same passing.