Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson
The soldiers sequestered him in a narrow chamber with a low table at the center and nice couches along the sides. They left him inside the small room alone, but took up positions outside. It wasn’t quite a prison, but he obviously wasn’t to be allowed to roam either.
He sighed and sat on a couch, dropping his lunch to the table beside some bowls of dried fruit and nuts. He took the spanreed out and sent a brief signal to Navani that meant time, the agreed sign that he was to be given another hour before anyone panicked.
He rose and began pacing. How did men suffer this? In battle, you won or lost based on strength of arms. At the end of the day, you knew where you stood.
This endless talking left him so uncertain. Would the viziers dismiss the essays? Jasnah’s reputation seemed to be powerful even here, but they’d seemed less impressed by her argument than by the way she expressed it.
You’ve always worried about this, haven’t you? the Stormfather said in his mind.
“About what?”
That the world would come to be ruled by pens and scribes, not swords and generals.
“I…” Blood of my fathers. That was true.
Was that why he insisted on negotiating himself? Why he didn’t send ambassadors? Was it because deep down, he didn’t trust their gilded words and intricate promises, all contained in documents he couldn’t read? Pieces of paper that were somehow harder than the strongest Shardplate?
“The contests of kingdoms are supposed to be a masculine art,” he said. “I should be able to do this myself.”
The Stormfather rumbled, not truly in disagreement. Just in … amusement?
Dalinar finally settled onto one of the couches. Might as well eat something … except his cloth-wrapped lunch lay open, crumbs on the table, the wooden curry box empty save for a few drips. What on Roshar?
He slowly looked up at the other couch. The slender Reshi girl perched not on the seat, but up on the backrest. She wore an oversized Azish robe and cap, and was gnawing on the sausage Navani had packed with the meal, to be cut into the curry.
“Kind of bland,” she said.
“Soldier’s rations,” Dalinar said. “I prefer them.”
“’Cuz you’re bland?”
“I prefer not to let a meal become a distraction. Were you in here all along?”
She shrugged, continuing to eat his food. “You said something earlier. About men?”
“I … was beginning to realize that I’m uncomfortable with the idea of scribes controlling the fates of nations. The things women write are stronger than my military.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. Lots of boys is afraid of girls.”
“I’m not—”
“They say it changes when you grow up,” she said, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t know, because I ain’t going to grow. I figured it out. I just gotta stop eatin’. People that don’t eat, don’t get bigger. Easy.”
She said it all around mouthfuls of his food.
“Easy,” Dalinar said. “I’m sure.”
“I’m gonna start any day now,” she said. “You want that fruit, or…”
He leaned forward, pushing the two bowls of dried fruit toward her. She attacked them. Dalinar leaned back in the seat. This girl seemed so out of place. Though she was lighteyed—with pale, clear irises—that didn’t matter as much in the west. The regal clothing was too big on her, and she didn’t take care to keep her hair pulled back and tucked up under the cap.
This entire room—this entire city, really—was an exercise in ostentation. Metal leaf coated domes, the rickshaws, even large portions of the walls of this room. The Azish owned only a few Soulcasters, and famously one could make bronze.
The carpeting and couches displayed bright patterns of orange and red. The Alethi favored solid colors, perhaps some embroidery. The Azish preferred their decorations to look like the product of a painter having a sneezing fit.
In the middle of it all was this girl, who looked so simple. She swam through ostentation, but it didn’t stick to her.
“I listened to what they’re sayin’ in there, tight-butt,” the girl said. “Before comin’ here. I think they’re gonna deny you. They gots a finger.”
“I should think they have many fingers.”
“Nah, this is an extra one. Dried out, looks like it belonged to some gramma’s gramma, but it’s actually from an emperor. Emperor Snot-a-Lot or—”
“Snoxil?” Dalinar asked.
“Yeah. That’s him.”
“He was Prime when my ancestor sacked Azimir,” Dalinar said with a sigh. “It’s a relic.” The Azish could be a superstitious lot, for all their claims about logic and essays and codes of law. This relic was probably being used during their discussions as a reminder of the last time the Alethi had been in Azir.
“Yeah, well, all I know is he’s dead, so he ain’t got to worry about … about…”
“Odium.”
The Reshi girl shivered visibly.
“Could you go and talk to the viziers?” Dalinar asked. “Tell them that you think supporting my coalition is a good idea? They listened to you when you asked to unlock the Oathgate.”
“Nah, they listened to Gawx,” she said. “The geezers that run the city don’t like me much.”
Dalinar grunted. “Your name is Lift, right?”
“Right.”
“And your order?”
“More food.”
“I meant your order of Knights Radiant. What powers do you have?”
“Oh. Um … Edgedancer? I slip around and stuff.”
“Slip around.”
“It’s real fun. Except when I run into things. Then it’s only kinda fun.”
Dalinar leaned forward, wishing—again—he could go in and talk to all those fools and scribes.
No. For once, trust in someone else, Dalinar.
Lift cocked her head. “Huh. You smell like her.”
“Her?”
“The crazy spren who lives in the forest.”
“You’ve met the Nightwatcher?”
“Yeah … You?”
He nodded.
They sat there, uncomfortable, until the young girl handed one of her bowls of dried fruit toward Dalinar. He took a piece and chewed it in silence, and she took another.
They ate the entire bowl, saying nothing until the door opened. Dalinar jumped. Noura stood in the doorway, flanked by other viziers. Her eyes flickered toward Lift, and she smiled. Noura didn’t seem to think as poorly of Lift as the little girl indicated.
Dalinar stood up, feeling a sense of dread. He prepared his arguments, his pleas. They had to—
“The emperor and his council,” Noura said, “have decided to accept your invitation to visit Urithiru.”
Dalinar cut off his objection. Did she say accept?
“The Prime of Emul has almost reached Azir,” Noura said. “He brought the Sage with him, and they should be willing to join us. Unfortunately, following the parshman assault, Emul is a fraction of what it once was. I suspect he will be eager for any and every source of aid, and will welcome this coalition of yours.
“The prince of Tashikk has an ambassador—his brother—in the city. He’ll come as well, and the princess of Yezier is reportedly coming in person to plead for aid. We’ll see about her. I think she simply believes Azimir will be safer. She lives here half the year anyway.
“Alm and Desh have ambassadors in the city, and Liafor is always eager to join whatever we do, as long as they can cater the storming meetings. I can’t speak for Steen—they’re a tricky bunch. I doubt you want Tukar’s priest-king, and Marat is overrun. But we can bring a good sampling of the empire to join your discussions.”
“I…” Dalinar stammered. “Thank you!” It was actually happening! As they’d hoped, Azir was the linchpin.
“Well, your wife writes a good essay,” Noura said.
He started. “Navani’s essay was the one that convinced you? Not Jasnah’s?”
“Each of the three arg
“She is one of the most authentic people I know.” Dalinar smiled like a fool. “And she is good at getting what she wants.”
“Let me lead you back to the Oathgate. We will be in contact about the Prime’s visit to your city.”
Dalinar collected his spanreed and bade farewell to Lift, who stood on the back of the couch and waved to him. The sky looked brighter as the viziers accompanied him back to the dome that housed the Oathgate. He could hear them speaking eagerly as they entered the rickshaws; they seemed to be embracing this decision with gusto, now that it had been made.
Dalinar passed the trip quietly, worried that he might say something brutish and ruin things. Once they entered the market dome, he did take the opportunity to mention to Noura that the Oathgate could be used to transport everything there, including the dome itself.
“I’m afraid that it’s a larger security threat than you know,” he finished saying to her as they reached the control building.
“What would it do,” she said, “if we built a structure halfway across the plateau perimeter? Would it slice the thing in two? What if a person is half on, half off?”
“That we don’t know yet,” Dalinar said, fumbling the spanreed on and off in a pattern to send the signal that would bring Jasnah back through the Oathgate to fetch him.
“I’ll admit,” Noura said softly as the other viziers chatted behind, “I’m … not pleased at being overruled. I am the emperor’s loyal servant, but I do not like the idea of your Radiants, Dalinar Kholin. These powers are dangerous, and the ancient Radiants turned traitor in the end.”
“I will convince you,” Dalinar said. “We will prove ourselves to you. All I need is a chance.”
The Oathgate flashed, and Jasnah appeared inside. Dalinar bowed to Noura in respect, then stepped backward into the building.
“You are not what I expected, Blackthorn,” Noura said.
“And what did you expect?”
“An animal,” she said frankly. “A half-man creature of war and blood.”
Something about that struck him. An animal … Echoes of memories shuddered inside of him.
“I was that man,” Dalinar said. “I’ve merely been blessed with enough good examples to make me aspire to something more.” He nodded to Jasnah, who repositioned her sword, rotating the inner wall to initiate the transfer and take them back to Urithiru.
Navani waited outside the building. Dalinar stepped out and blinked at the sunlight, chilled by the mountain cold. He smiled broadly at her, opening his mouth to tell her what her essay had done.
An animal … An animal reacts when it is prodded …
Memories.
You whip it, and it becomes savage.
Dalinar stumbled.
He vaguely heard Navani crying out, yelling for help. His vision spun, and he fell to his knees, feeling an overwhelming nausea. He clawed at the stone, groaning, breaking fingernails. Navani … Navani was calling for a healer. She thought he’d been poisoned.
It wasn’t that. No, it was far, far worse.
Storms. He remembered. It came crashing down on him, the weight of a thousand boulders.
He remembered what had happened to Evi. It had started in a cold fortress, in highlands once claimed by Jah Keved.
It had ended at the Rift.
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Dalinar’s breath misted as he leaned on the stone windowsill. In the room behind him, soldiers set up a table with a map on it.
“See there,” Dalinar said, pointing out the window. “That ledge down there?”
Adolin, now twelve years old—nearly thirteen—leaned out the window. The outside of the large stone keep bulged here at the second floor, which would make scaling it challenging—but the stonework provided a convenient handhold in the form of a ledge right below the window.
“I see it,” Adolin said.
“Good. Now watch.” Dalinar gestured into the room. One of his guards pulled a lever, and the stonework ledge retracted into the wall.
“It moved!” Adolin said. “Do that again!”
The soldier obliged, using the lever to make the ledge stick out, then retract again.
“Neat!” Adolin said. So full of energy, as always. If only Dalinar could harness that for the battlefield. He wouldn’t need Shards to conquer.
“Why did they build that, do you think?” Dalinar asked.
“In case people climb it! You could make them drop back down!”
“Defense against Shardbearers,” Dalinar said, nodding. “A fall this far would crack their Plate, but the fortress also has interior corridor sections that are too narrow to maneuver in properly with Plate and Blade.”
Dalinar smiled. Who knew that such a gem had been hiding in the highlands between Alethkar and Jah Keved? This solitary keep would provide a nice barrier if true war ever did break out with the Vedens.
He gestured for Adolin to move back, then shuttered the window and rubbed his chilled hands. This chamber was decorated like a lodge, hung with old forgotten greatshell trophies. At the side, a soldier stoked a flame in the hearth.
The battles with the Vedens had wound down. Though the last few fights had been disappointing, having his son with him had been an absolute delight. Adolin hadn’t gone into battle, of course, but he’d joined them at tactics meetings. Dalinar had at first assumed the generals would be annoyed at the presence of a child, but it was hard to find little Adolin annoying. He was so earnest, so interested.
Together, he and Adolin joined a few of Dalinar’s lesser officers at the room’s table map. “Now,” Dalinar said to Adolin, “let’s see how well you’ve been paying attention. Where are we now?”
Adolin leaned over, pointing at the map. “This is our new keep, which you won for the crown! Here’s the old border, where it used to be. Here’s the new border in blue, which we won back from those thieving Vedens. They’ve held our land for twenty years.”
“Excellent,” Dalinar said. “But it’s not merely land we’ve won.”
“Trade treaties!” Adolin said. “That’s the point of the big ceremony we had to do. You and that Veden highprince, in formal dress. We won the right to trade for tons of stuff for cheap.”
“Yes, but that’s not the most important thing we won.”
Adolin frowned. “Um … horses…”
“No, son, the most important thing we’ve won is legitimacy. In signing this new treaty, the Veden king has recognized Gavilar as the rightful king of Alethkar. We’ve not just defended our borders, we’ve forestalled a greater war, as the Vedens now acknowledge our right to rule—and won’t be pressing their own.”
Adolin nodded, understanding.
It was gratifying to see how much one could accomplish in both politics and trade by liberally murdering the other fellow’s soldiers. These last years full of skirmishes had reminded Dalinar of why he lived. More, they’d given him something new. In his youth, he’d warred, then spent the evenings drinking with his soldiers.
Now he had to explain his choices, vocalize them for the ears of an eager young boy who had questions for everything—and expected Dalinar to know the answers.
Storms, it was a challenge. But it felt good. Incredibly good. He had no intention of ever returning to a useless life spent wasting away in Kholinar, going to parties and getting into tavern brawls. Dalinar smiled and accepted a cup of warmed wine, surveying the map. Though Adolin had been focused on the region where they were fighting the Vedens, Dalinar’s eyes were instead drawn to another section.
It included, written in pencil, the numbers he’d requested: projections of troops at the Rift.
“Viim cachi eko!” Evi said, stepping into the room, holding her arms tight to her chest
The boy looked down, as if suddenly surprised that he wasn’t wearing it. “Um…” He looked to Teleb, who merely smiled, shaking his head.
“Run along, son,” Dalinar said. “You have geography lessons today.”
“Can I stay? I don’t want to leave you.”
He wasn’t speaking merely of today. The time was approaching when Adolin would go to spend part of the year in Kholinar, to drill with the swordmasters and receive formal training in diplomacy. He spent most of the year with Dalinar, but it was important he get some refinement in the capital.
“Go,” Dalinar said. “If you pay attention in your lesson, I’ll take you riding tomorrow.”
Adolin sighed, then saluted. He hopped off his stool and gave his mother a hug—which was un-Alethi, but Dalinar suffered the behavior. Then he was out the door.
Evi stepped up to the fire. “So cold. What possessed someone to build a fortress way up here?”
“It’s not that bad,” Dalinar said. “You should visit the Frostlands in a season of winter.”
“You Alethi cannot understand cold. Your bones are frozen.”
Dalinar grunted his response, then leaned down over the map. I’ll need to approach from the south, march up along the lake’s coast.…
“The king is sending a message via spanreed,” Evi noted. “It’s being scribed now.”
Her accent is fading, Dalinar noticed absently. When she sat down in a chair by the fire, she supported herself with her right hand, safehand tucked demurely against her waist. She kept her blonde hair in Alethi braids, rather than letting it tumble about her shoulders.
She’d never be a great scribe—she didn’t have the youthful training in art and letters of a Vorin woman. Besides, she didn’t like books, and preferred her meditations. But she’d tried hard these last years, and he was impressed.
She still complained that he didn’t see Renarin enough. The other son was unfit for battle, and spent most of his time in Kholinar. Evi spent half the year back with him.
No, no, Dalinar thought, writing a glyph on the map. The coast is the expected route. What then? An amphibious assault across the lake? He’d need to see if he could get ships for that.