Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson
It all churned into a melee. Battle lines disintegrated, and platoons shattered, men fighting alone or in pairs. It was a battlefield commander’s nightmare. Hundreds of men mixing and screaming and fighting and dying.
Kaladin saw them. All of them. Sah and the parshmen, fighting to keep their freedom. The guardsmen who had been rescued, fighting for their king. Azure’s Wall Guard, terrified as their city fell around them. The Queen’s Guard, convinced they were loyally following orders.
In that moment, Kaladin lost something precious. He’d always been able to trick himself into seeing a battle as us against them. Protect those you love. Kill everyone else. But … but they didn’t deserve death.
None of them did.
He locked up. He froze, something that hadn’t happened to him since his first days in Amaram’s army. The Sylspear vanished in his fingers, puffing to mist. How could he fight? How could he kill people who were just doing the best they could?
“Stop!” he finally bellowed. “Stop it! Stop killing each other!”
Nearby, Sah rammed Beard through with a spear.
“STOP! PLEASE!”
Noro responded by running through Jali—one of the other parshmen Kaladin had known. Ahead, Elhokar’s ring of guards fell, and a member of the Queen’s Guard managed to ram the point of a halberd into the king’s arm. Elhokar gasped, dropping his Shardblade from pained fingers, holding his son close with his other arm.
The Queen’s Guardsman pulled back, eyes widening—as if seeing the king for the first time. One of Azure’s soldiers cut the guardsman down in his moment of confusion.
Kaladin screamed, tears streaming from his eyes. He begged them to just stop, to listen.
They couldn’t hear him. Sah—gentle Sah, who had only wanted to protect his daughter—died by Noro’s sword. Noro, in turn, got his head split by Khen’s axe.
Noro and Sah fell beside Beard, whose dead eyes stared sightlessly—his arm stretched out, glyphward soaking up his blood.
Kaladin slumped to his knees. His Stormlight seemed to frighten off the enemies; everyone stayed away from him. Syl spun around him, begging for him to listen, but he couldn’t hear her.
The king … he thought, numb. Get … get to Elhokar …
Elhokar had fallen to his knees. In one arm he held his terrified son, in the other hand he held … a sheet of paper? A sketch?
Kaladin could almost hear Elhokar stuttering the words.
Life … life before death …
The hair on Kaladin’s neck rose. Elhokar started to glow softly.
Strength … before weakness …
“Do it, Elhokar,” Kaladin whispered.
Journey. Journey before …
A figure emerged from the battle. A tall, lean man—so, so familiar. Gloom seemed to cling to Moash, who wore a brown uniform like the parshmen. For a heartbeat the battle pivoted on him. Wall Guard behind him, broken Palace Guard before.
“Moash, no…” Kaladin whispered. He couldn’t move. Stormlight bled from him, leaving him empty, exhausted.
Lowering his spear, Moash ran Elhokar through the chest.
Kaladin screamed.
Moash pinned the king to the ground, shoving aside the weeping child prince with his foot. He placed his boot against Elhokar’s throat, holding him down, then pulled the spear out and stabbed Elhokar through the eye as well.
He held the weapon in place, carefully waiting until the fledgling glow around the king faded and flickered out. The king’s Shardblade appeared from mist and clanged to the ground beside him.
Elhokar, king of Alethkar, was dead.
Moash pulled the spear free and glanced at the Shardblade. Then he kicked it aside. He looked at Kaladin, then quietly made the Bridge Four salute, wrists tapped together. The spear he held dripped with Elhokar’s blood.
The battle broke. Kaladin’s men had been all but obliterated; the remnants escaped along the Sunwalk. A member of the Queen’s Guard scooped up the young prince and carried him away. Azure’s men limped back before the growing parshman armies.
The queen descended the stairs, wreathed in black smoke, eyes glowing red. She’d transformed, strange crystal formations having pierced her skin like carapace. Her chest was glowing bright with a gemstone, as if it had replaced her heart. It shone through her dress.
Kaladin turned from her and crawled toward the king’s corpse. Nearby, a member of the Queen’s Guard finally took notice of him, seizing him by the arm.
And then … light. Glowing Stormlight flooded the chamber as twin Radiants exploded out from the Sunwalk. Drehy and Skar swept through the enemy, driving them back with sweeping spears and Lashings.
A second later, Adolin grabbed Kaladin under the arms and heaved him backward. “Time to go, bridgeboy.”
Don’t tell anyone. I can’t say it. I must whisper. I foresaw this.
—From drawer 30-20, a particularly small emerald
Adolin shoved down the emotion of seeing Elhokar’s dead body. It was one of the first battlefield lessons his father had taught him.
Grieve later.
Adolin pulled Kaladin out along the Sunwalk while Skar and Drehy guarded their retreat, encouraging the last of the Wall Guard to run—or limp—to safety.
Kaladin stumbled along. Though he didn’t appear wounded, he stared with a glazed-over look. Those were the eyes of a man who bore the kinds of wounds you couldn’t fix with bandages.
They eventually poured out of the Sunwalk onto the Oathgate platform, where Azure’s soldiers held firm, her surgeons running to help the wounded who had escaped the bloodbath in the eastern gallery. Skar and Drehy dropped down to the platform, guarding the way onto the Sunwalk, to prevent the Queen’s Guard or parshmen from following.
Adolin stumbled to a stop. From this vantage he could see the city.
Stormfather.
Tens of thousands of parshmen flooded in through the broken gates or across the nearby sections of wall. Figures glowing with dark light zipped through the air. Those seemed to be gathering in formations nearby, perhaps for an assault on the Oathgate platform.
Adolin took it all in, and admitted the terrible truth. His city was lost.
“All forces, hold the platform,” he heard himself saying. “But pass the word. I’m going to take us to Urithiru.”
“Sir!” a soldier said. “Civilians are crowding the base of the platform, trying to get up the steps.”
“Let them!” Adolin shouted. “Get as many people up here as you can. Hold against any enemy who tries to reach the platform top, but don’t engage them if they don’t press. We’re abandoning the city. Anyone not on the platform in ten minutes will be left behind!”
Adolin hurried toward the control building. Kaladin followed, dazed. After what he’s been through, Adolin thought, I wouldn’t have expected that anything could faze him. Not even Elhokar’s …
Storms. Grieve later.
Azure stood guard in the doorway to the control building, holding the pack full of gemstones. Hopefully, those would be enough to get everyone to safety.
“Brightness Davar told me to clear everyone else out,” the highmarshal said. “Something’s wrong with the device.”
Adolin cursed under his breath and stepped inside. Shallan knelt on the ground before a mirror, looking at herself. Behind, Kaladin stepped in, then settled down on the floor, placing his back to the wall.
“Shallan,” Adolin said. “We need to go. Now.”
“But—”
“The city has fallen. Transfer the entire platform, not just the control building. We need to get as many people as we can to safety.”
“My men on the wall!” Azure said.
“They’re dead or routed,” Adolin said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“The king—”
“The king is dead. The queen has joined the enemy. I’m ordering our retreat, Azure.” Adolin locked gazes with the woman. “We gain nothing by dying here.”
She drew her lips to a line, but didn’t argue further.
“Adolin,” Shallan whispered, “the heart was a trick. I didn’t chase it off—it left on purpose. I think … I think the Voidbringers intentionally left Kaladin and his men alone after only a brief fight. They let us come here because the Oathgate is trapped.”
“How do you know?” Adolin asked.
Shallan cocked her head. “I’m speaking to her.”
“Her?”
“Sja-anat. The Taker of Secrets. She says that if we engage the device, we’ll be caught in a disaster.”
Adolin took a deep breath.
“Do it anyway,” he said.
* * *
Do it anyway.
Shallan understood the implication. How could they trust an ancient spren of Odium? Perhaps Shallan really had driven the black heart away, and—in a panic to keep the humans from escaping—Sja-anat was now stalling.
Shallan looked away from the pleading figure in the mirror. The others couldn’t see her—she’d confirmed this with Azure already.
“Pattern?” she whispered. “What do you think?”
“Mmmm…” he said quietly. “Lies. So many lies. I don’t know, Shallan. I cannot tell you.”
Kaladin slumped by the wall, staring sightlessly, as if he were dead inside. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him in such a state.
“Get ready.” Shallan stood up, summoning Pattern as a Blade.
Trust is not mine, said the figure in the mirror. You will not give my children a home. Not yet.
Shallan pushed the Blade into the lock. It melded to match Pattern’s shape.
I will show you, Sja-anat said. I will try. My promise is not strong, for I cannot know. But I will try.
“Try what?” Shallan asked.
Try not to kill you.
With those words haunting her, Shallan engaged the Oathgate.
My spren claims that recording this will be good for me, so here I go. Everyone says I will swear the Fourth Ideal soon, and in so doing, earn my armor. I simply don’t think that I can. Am I not supposed to want to help people?
—From drawer 10-12, sapphire
Dalinar Kholin stood at attention, hands behind his back, one wrist gripping the other. He could see so far from his balcony at Urithiru—but it was endless miles of nothing. Clouds and rock. So much and so little, all at once.
“Dalinar,” Navani said, stepping up and resting her hands on his arm. “Please. At least come inside.”
They thought he was sick. They thought his collapse on the Oathgate platform had been caused by heart troubles, or fatigue. The surgeons had suggested rest. But if he stopped standing up straight, if he let it bow him down, he worried the memories would crush him.
The memories of what he’d done at the Rift.
The crying voices of children, begging for mercy.
He forced his emotions down. “What news,” he said, embarrassed by how his voice trembled.
“None,” Navani said. “Dalinar…”
Word had come from Kholinar via spanreed, one that somehow still worked. An assault on the palace, an attempt to reach the Oathgate.
Outside, the gathered Kholin, Aladar, and Roion armies clogged one of Urithiru’s Oathgate platforms, waiting to be taken to Kholinar to join the battle. But nothing happened. Time seeped away. It had been four hours since the first communication.
Dalinar closed his mouth, eyes ahead, and stared at the expanse. At attention, like a soldier. That was how he would wait. Even though he’d never really been a soldier. He’d commanded men, ordered recruits to stand in line, inspected ranks. But he himself … he’d skipped all of that. He’d waged war in a bloodthirsty riot, not a careful formation.
Navani sighed, patting him on the arm, then returned to their rooms to sit with Taravangian and a small collection of scribes and highprinces. Awaiting news from Kholinar.
Dalinar stood in the breeze, wishing he could empty his mind, rid himself of memories. Go back to being able to pretend he was a good man. Problem was, he’d given in to a kind of fancy, one everyone told about him. They said the Blackthorn had been a terror on the battlefield, but still honest. Dalinar Kholin, he would fight you fair, they said.
Evi’s cries, and the tears of murdered children, spoke the truth. Oh … oh, Almighty above. How could he live with this pain? So fresh, restored anew? But why pray? There was no Almighty watching. If there had been—and if he’d had a shred of justice to him—Honor would have long ago purged this world of the fraud that was Dalinar Kholin.
And I had the gall to condemn Amaram for killing one squad of men to gain a Shardblade. Dalinar had burned an entire city for less. Thousands upon thousands of people.
“Why did you bond me?” Dalinar whispered to the Stormfather. “Shouldn’t you have picked a man who was just?”
Just? Justice is what you brought to those people.
“That was not justice. That was a massacre.”
The Stormfather rumbled. I have burned and broken cities myself. I can see … yes, I see a difference now. I see pain now. I did not see it before the bond.
Would Dalinar lose his bond now, in exchange for making the Stormfather increasingly aware of human morality? Why had these cursed memories returned? Couldn’t he have continued for a little longer without them? Long enough to forge the coalition, to prepare the defense of humankind?
That was the coward’s route. Wishing for ignorance. The coward’s route he’d obviously taken—though he could not yet remember his visit to the Nightwatcher, he knew what he’d asked for. Relief from this awful burden. The ability to lie, to pretend he had not done such horrible things.
He turned away and walked back into his rooms. He didn’t know how he’d face this—bear this burden—but today, he needed to focus on the salvation of Kholinar. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make battle plans until he knew more about the city’s situation.
He entered the common room, where the core of his government had gathered. Navani and the others sat on some couches around the spanreed, waiting. They’d laid out battle maps of Kholinar, talked over strategies, but then … hours had passed with no news.
It felt so frustrating to just sit here, ignorant. And it left Dalinar with too much time to think. To remember.
Instead of sitting with the others, Taravangian had taken his normal place: a seat before the warming fabrial in the corner. Legs aching and back stiff, Dalinar walked over and finally let himself sit, groaning softly as he took the seat beside Taravangian.
Before them, a bright red ruby glowed with heat, replacing a fire with something safer but far more lifeless.
“I’m sorry, Dalinar,” Taravangian finally said. “I’m sure news will come soon.”
Dalinar nodded. “Thank you for what you did when the Azish came to tour the tower.”
The Azish had arrived yesterday for an initial tour, but Dalinar had been recovering from the sudden return of his memories. Well … truth was, he was still recovering. He’d welcomed them, then retired, as Taravangian had offered to lead the tour. Navani said the Azish dignitaries had all been charmed by the elderly king, and planned to return soon for a more in-depth meeting about the possibility of a coalition.
Dalinar leaned forward, staring at the heating fabrial. Behind, Aladar and General Khal conversed—for probably the hundredth time—on how to recover the Kholinar walls, if they were lost by the time the Oathgate started working.
“Have you ever come to the sudden realization,” Dalinar said softly, “that you’re not the man everyone thinks you are?”
“Yes,” Taravangian whispered. “More daunting, however, are similar moments: when I realize I’m not the man I think of myself as being.”
Stormlight swirled in the ruby. Churning. Trapped. Imprisoned.
“We spoke once,” Dalinar said, “of a leader forced to either hang an innocent man or free three murderers.”
“I remember.”
“How does one live after m
“This is the sacrifice, isn’t it?” Taravangian said softly. “Someone must bear the responsibility. Someone must be dragged down by it, ruined by it. Someone must stain their soul so others may live.”
“But you’re a good king, Taravangian. You didn’t murder your way to your throne.”
“Does it matter? One wrongly imprisoned man? One murder in an alley that a proper policing force could have stopped? The burden for the blood of those wronged must rest somewhere. I am the sacrifice. We, Dalinar Kholin, are the sacrifices. Society offers us up to trudge through dirty water so others may be clean.” He closed his eyes. “Someone has to fall, that others may stand.”
The words were similar to things Dalinar had said, and thought, for years. Yet Taravangian’s version was somehow twisted, lacking hope or life.
Dalinar leaned forward, stiff, feeling old. The two didn’t speak for a long period until the others started to stir. Dalinar stood, anxious.
The spanreed was writing. Navani gasped, safehand to her lips. Teshav turned pale, and May Aladar sat back in her seat, looking sick.
The spanreed cut off abruptly and dropped to the page, rolling as it landed.
“What?” Dalinar demanded. “What does it say?”
Navani looked to him, then glanced away. Dalinar shared a look with General Khal, then Aladar.
Dread settled on Dalinar like a cloak. Blood of my fathers. “What does it say?” he pled.
“The … the capital has fallen, Dalinar,” Navani whispered. “The ardent reports that Voidbringer forces have seized the palace. He … he cut off after only a few sentences. It looks like they found him, and…”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“The team you sent,” Teshav continued, “has apparently failed, Brightlord.” She swallowed. “The remnants of the Wall Guard have been captured and imprisoned. The city has fallen. There is no word on the king, Prince Adolin, or the Radiants. Brightlord … the message cuts off there.”
Dalinar sank back down into his chair.