Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson
Jasnah summoned her Shardblade. Odd how natural it looked to see Jasnah with a sword. “You ready?”
“I am.”
The Reshi girl, Lift, had obtained permission from the Azish court to unlock the Oathgate on their side. The emperor was—at long last—willing to meet with Dalinar in the flesh.
Jasnah engaged the device, rotating the inner wall, the floor shimmering. Light flashed outside, and immediately, stuffy heat surged in through the doorways. Apparently a season of summer was well under way in Azir.
It smelled different here. Of exotic spices and more subtle things like unfamiliar woods.
“Good luck,” Jasnah said as he stepped out of the room. It flashed behind him as she returned to Urithiru, leaving him to meet the Azish imperial court on his own.
Now that we abandon the tower, can I finally admit that I hate this place? Too many rules.
—From drawer 8-1, amethyst
Memories churned in Dalinar’s head as he walked down a long corridor outside the Oathgate control building in Azimir, which was covered by a magnificent bronze dome. The Grand Market, as it was called, was an enormous indoor shopping district. That would prove inconvenient when Dalinar needed to use the full Oathgate.
He couldn’t see any of the market currently; the control building—which had been treated as some kind of monument in the market—was now surrounded by a wooden set of walls, and a new corridor. Empty of people, it was lit by sphere lamps along the walls. Sapphires. Coincidence, or a gesture of respect to a Kholin visitor?
At the end, the hallway opened into a small room populated by a line of Azish soldiers. They wore plated mail, with colorful caps on their heads, greatshields, and very long-handled axes with small heads. The whole group jumped as Dalinar entered, and then shied back, weapons held threateningly.
Dalinar held his arms out to the sides, packet from Fen in one hand, food bundle in the other. “I am unarmed.”
They spoke quickly in Azish. He didn’t see the Prime or the little Radiant, though the people in patterned robes were viziers and scions—both were, essentially, Azish versions of ardents. Except here, the ardents were involved in the government far more than was proper.
A woman stepped forward, the many layers of her long, extravagant robes rustling as she walked. A matching hat completed the outfit. She was important, and perhaps planned to interpret for him herself.
Time for my first attack, Dalinar thought. He opened the packet that Fen had given him and removed four pieces of paper.
He presented them to the woman, and was pleased at the shock in her eyes. She hesitantly took them, then called to some of her companions. They joined her before Dalinar, which made the guards distinctly anxious. A few had drawn triangular kattari, a popular variety of short sword here in the west. He’d always wanted one.
The ardents withdrew behind the soldiers, speaking animatedly. The plan was to exchange pleasantries in this room, then for Dalinar to immediately return to Urithiru—whereupon they intended to lock the Oathgate from their side. He wanted more. He intended to get more. Some kind of alliance, or at least a meeting with the emperor.
One of the ardents started reading the papers to the others. The writing was in Azish, a funny language made of little markings that looked like cremling tracks. It lacked the elegant, sweeping verticals of the Alethi women’s script.
Dalinar closed his eyes, listening to the unfamiliar language. As in Thaylen City, he had a moment of feeling he could almost understand. Stretching, he felt that meaning was close to him.
“Would you help me understand?” he whispered to the Stormfather.
What makes you think I can?
“Don’t be coy,” Dalinar whispered. “I’ve spoken new languages in the visions. You can make me speak Azish.”
The Stormfather rumbled in discontent. That wasn’t me, he finally said. It was you.
“How do I use it?”
Try touching one of them. With Spiritual Adhesion, you can make a Connection.
Dalinar regarded the group of hostile guards, then sighed, waving and miming the act of dumping a drink into his mouth. The soldiers exchanged sharp words, then one of the youngest was pushed forward with a canteen. Dalinar nodded in thanks, then—as he took a drink from the water bottle—grabbed the young man by the wrist and held on.
Stormlight, the rumbling in his mind said.
Dalinar pressed Stormlight into the other man, and felt something—like a friendly sound coming from another room. All you had to do was get in. After a careful shove, the door opened, and sounds twisted and undulated in the air. Then, like music changing keys, they modulated from gibberish to sense.
“Captain!” cried the young guard that Dalinar held. “What do I do? He’s got me!”
Dalinar let go, and fortunately his understanding of the language persisted. “I’m sorry, soldier,” Dalinar said, handing back the canteen. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
The young soldier stepped back among his fellows. “The warlord speaks Azish?” He sounded as surprised as if he’d met a talking chull.
Dalinar clasped his hands behind his back and watched the ardents. You insist on thinking of them as ardents, he told himself, because they can read, both male and female. But he was no longer in Alethkar. Despite those bulky robes and large hats, the Azish women wore nothing on their safehands.
Sunmaker, Dalinar’s ancestor, had argued that the Azish had been in need of civilizing. He wondered if anyone had believed that argument even in those days, or if they’d all seen it for the rationalization it was.
The viziers and scions finished reading, then turned toward Dalinar, lowering the pages he’d given them. He had heeded Queen Fen’s plan, trusting that he couldn’t bully his way through Azir with a sword. Instead, he had brought a different kind of weapon.
An essay.
“Do you truly speak our language, Alethi?” the lead vizier called. She had a round face, dark brown eyes, and a cap covered in bright patterns. Her greying hair came out the side in a tight braid.
“I’ve had the opportunity to learn it recently,” Dalinar said. “You are Vizier Noura, I assume?”
“Did Queen Fen really write this?”
“With her own hand, Your Grace,” Dalinar said. “Feel free to contact Thaylen City to confirm.”
They huddled to consult again in quiet tones. The essay was a lengthy but compelling argument for the economic value of the Oathgates to the cities that hosted them. Fen argued that Dalinar’s desperation to forge an alliance made for the perfect opportunity to secure beneficial and lasting trade deals through Urithiru. Even if Azir had no plans to fully join the coalition, they should negotiate use of the Oathgates and send a delegation to the tower.
It spent a lot of words saying what was obvious, and was exactly the sort of thing Dalinar had no patience for. Which, hopefully, would make it perfect for the Azish. And if it wasn’t quite sufficient … well, Dalinar knew never to go into battle without fresh troops in reserve.
“Your Highness,” Noura said, “as impressed as we are that you cared to learn our language—and even considering the compelling argument presented here—we think it best if…”
She trailed off as Dalinar reached in his packet and withdrew a second sheaf of papers, six pages this time. He held them up before the group like a raised banner, then proffered them. A nearby guard jumped back, making his mail jingle.
The small chamber grew quiet. Finally, a guard accepted the papers and took them to the viziers and scions. A shorter man among them began reading quietly—this one was an extended treatise from Navani, talking about the wonders they’d discovered in Urithiru, formally inviting the Azish scholars to visit and share.
She made clever arguments about the importance of new fabrials and technology in fighting the Voidbringers. She included diagrams of the tents she’d made to help them fight during the Weeping, and explained her theories for floating towers. Then, with Dalinar’s permission, she offe
The enemy is united against us, went her essay’s final argument. They have the unique advantages of focus, harmony, and memories that extend far into the past. Resisting them will require our greatest minds, whether Alethi, Azish, Veden, or Thaylen. I freely give state secrets, for the days of hoarding knowledge are gone. Now, we either learn together or we fall individually.
The viziers finished, then they passed around the schematics, studying them for an extended time. When the group looked back at Dalinar, he could see that their attitude was changing. Remarkably, this was working.
Well, he didn’t know much about essays, but he had an instinct for combat. When your opponent was gasping for breath, you didn’t let him get back up. You rammed your sword right into his throat.
Dalinar reached into his packet and removed the last paper inside: a single sheet written on front and back. He held it up between his first two fingers. The Azish watched it with wide eyes, as if he’d revealed a glowing gemstone of incalculable wealth.
This time Vizier Noura herself stepped forward and took it. “ ‘Verdict,’ ” she read from the top. “ ‘By Jasnah Kholin.’ ”
The others pushed through the guards, gathering around, and began reading it to themselves. Though this was the shortest of the essays, he heard them whispering and marveling over it.
“Look, it incorporates all seven of Aqqu’s Logical Forms!”
“That’s an allusion to the Grand Orientation. And … storms … she quotes Prime Kasimarlix in three successive stages, each escalating the same quote to a different level of Superior Understanding.”
One woman held her hand to her mouth. “It’s written entirely in a single rhythmic meter!”
“Great Yaezir,” Noura said. “You’re right.”
“The allusions…”
“Such wordplay…”
“The momentum and rhetoric…”
Logicspren burst around them in the shape of little stormclouds. Then, practically as one, the scions and viziers turned to Dalinar.
“This is a work of art,” Noura said.
“Is it … persuasive?” Dalinar asked.
“It provokes further consideration,” Noura said, looking to the others, who nodded. “You actually came alone. We are shocked by that—aren’t you worried for your safety?”
“Your Radiant,” Dalinar said, “has proven to be wise for one so young. I am certain I can depend on her for my safety.”
“I don’t know that I’d depend on her for anything,” said one of the men, chuckling. “Unless it’s swiping your pocket change.”
“All the same,” Dalinar said, “I have come begging you to trust me. This seemed the best proof of my intentions.” He spread his hands to the sides. “Do not send me back immediately. Let us talk as allies, not men in a battlefield tent of parley.”
“I will bring these essays before the Prime and his formal council,” Vizier Noura finally said. “I admit he seems fond of you, despite your inexplicable invasion of his dreams. Come with us.”
That would lead him away from the Oathgate, and any chance he had at transferring home in an emergency. But that was what he’d been hoping for.
“Gladly, Your Grace.”
* * *
They walked along a twisting path through the dome-covered market—which was now empty, like a ghost town. Many of the streets ended at barricades manned by troops.
They’d turned the Azimir Grand Market into a kind of reverse fortress, intended to protect the city from whatever might come through the Oathgate. If troops left the control building, they would find themselves in a maze of confusing streets.
Unfortunately for the Azish, the control building alone was not the gate. A Radiant could make this entire dome vanish, replaced with an army in the middle of Azimir. He’d have to be delicate about how he explained that.
He walked with Vizier Noura, followed by the other scribes, who passed the essays around again. Noura didn’t make small talk with him, and Dalinar maintained no illusions. This trip through the dark indoor streets—with packed market buildings and twisting paths—was meant to confuse him, should he try to remember the way.
They eventually climbed up to a second level and left through a doorway out onto a ledge along the outside rim of the dome. Clever. From up here, he could see that the ground-floor exits from the market were barricaded or sealed off. The only clear way out was up that flight of steps, onto this platform around the circumference of the large bronze dome, then down another set of steps.
From this upper ramp, he could see some of Azimir—and was relieved by how little destruction he saw. Some of the neighborhoods on the west side of the city seemed to have collapsed, but all in all, the city had weathered the Everstorm in good shape. Most of the structures were stone here, and the grand domes—many overlaid with reddish-gold bronze—reflected the sunlight like molten marvels. The people wore colorful clothing, of patterns that scribes could read like a language.
This summer season was warmer than he was accustomed to. Dalinar turned east. Urithiru lay somewhere in that direction, in the border mountains—far closer to Azir than to Alethkar.
“This way, Blackthorn,” Noura said, starting down the wooden ramp. It was constructed upon a woodwork lattice. Seeing those wooden stilts, Dalinar had a moment of surreal memory. It vaguely reminded him of something, of perching above a city and looking down at wooden lattices.…
Rathalas, he thought. The Rift. The city that had rebelled. Right. He felt a chill, and the pressure of something hidden trying to thrust itself into his consciousness. There was more to remember about that place.
He walked down the ramp, and took it as a mark of respect that two entire divisions of troops surrounded the dome. “Shouldn’t those men be on the walls?” Dalinar asked. “What if the Voidbringers attack?”
“They’ve withdrawn through Emul,” Noura said. “Most of that country is on fire by now, due to either the parshmen or Tezim’s armies.”
Tezim. Who was a Herald. Surely he wouldn’t side with the enemy, would he? Perhaps the best thing they could hope for was a war between the Voidbringers and the armies of a mad Herald.
Rickshaws waited for them below. Noura joined him in one. It was novel, being pulled by a man acting like a chull. Though it was faster than a palanquin, Dalinar found it far less stately.
The city was laid out in a very orderly manner. Navani had always admired that. He watched for more signs of destruction, and while he found few, a different oddity struck him. Masses of people standing in clumps, wearing colorful vests, loose trousers or skirts, and patterned caps. They shouted about unfairness, and though they looked angry, they were surrounded by logicspren.
“What’s all this?” Dalinar asked.
“Protestors.” She looked to him, and obviously noted his confusion. “They’ve lodged a formal complaint, rejecting an order to exit the city and work the farms. This gives them a one-month period to make their grievances known before being forced to comply.”
“They can simply disobey an imperial order?”
“I suppose you’d merely march everyone out at swordpoint. Well, we don’t do things that way here. There are processes. Our people aren’t slaves.”
Dalinar found himself bristling; she obviously didn’t know much about Alethkar, if she assumed all Alethi darkeyes were like chulls to be herded around. The lower classes had a long and proud tradition of rights related to their social ranking.
“Those people,” he said, realizing something, “have been ordered to the fields because you lost your parshmen.”
“Our fields haven’t yet been planted,” Noura said, eyes growing distant. “It’s like they knew the very best time to cripple us by leaving. Carpenters and cobblers must be pressed into manual labor, just to prevent a famine. We might feed oursel
In Alethkar, they hadn’t been as fixated on this, as reclaiming the kingdom was more pressing. In Thaylenah, the disaster had been physical, the city ravaged. Both kingdoms had been distracted from a more subversive disaster, the economic one.
“How did it happen?” Dalinar asked. “The parshmen leaving?”
“They gathered in the storm,” she said. “Leaving homes and walking right out into it. Some reports said the parshmen claimed to hear the beating of drums. Other reports—these are all very contradictory—speak of spren guiding the parshmen.
“They swarmed the city gates, threw them open in the rain, then moved out onto the plain surrounding the city. The next day, they demanded formal economic redress for improper appropriation of their labors. They claimed the subsection of the rules exempting parshmen from wages was extralegal, and put a motion through the courts. We were negotiating—a bizarre experience, I must say—before some of their leaders got them marching off instead.”
Interesting. Alethi parshmen had acted Alethi—immediately gathering for war. The Thaylen parshmen had taken to the seas. And the Azish parshmen … well, they’d done something quintessentially Azish. They had lodged a complaint with the government.
He had to be careful not to dwell on how amusing that sounded, if only because Navani had warned him not to underestimate the Azish. Alethi liked to joke about them—insult one of their soldiers, it was said, and he’d submit a form requesting an opportunity to swear at you. But that was a caricature, likely about as accurate as Noura’s own impression of his people always doing everything by the sword and spear.
Once at the palace, Dalinar tried to follow Noura and the other scribes into the main building—but soldiers instead gestured him toward a small outbuilding.
“I was hoping,” he called after Noura, “to speak with the emperor in person.”
“Unfortunately, this petition cannot be granted,” she said. The group left him and strode into the grand palace itself, a majestic bronze building with bulbous domes.