Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

What would his master do?

“Now,” Sigzil said, scrambling at an idea, “everybody knows that Mishim—the third moon—is the most clever and wily of the moons.”

“All right … And this is relevant, why?”

“Because of a story,” Sigzil said. “Hush. Uh, I mean, please listen, sir. You see, there are three moons, and the third moon is the cleverest. And she doesn’t want to be in the sky, sir. She wants to escape.

“So one night, she tricked the queen of the Natan people—this was a long time ago, so they were still around. I mean, they’re still around now, but they were more around then, sir. And the moon tricked her, and then they traded places until they stopped. And now the Natan people have blue skin. Does that make sense?”

Kaladin blinked. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“Um, well,” Sigzil said. “It’s obviously fanciful. Not the real reason that the Natan people have blue skin. And, um…”

“It was supposed to explain something?”

“It’s how my master always did things,” Sigzil said, looking at his feet. “He’d tell a story anytime someone was confused, or when people were angry at him. And, well, it changed everything. Somehow.” He looked to Kaladin.

“I suppose,” Kaladin said slowly, “that maybe you feel … like a moon.…”

“No, not really.” It was about responsibility, but he had really not explained it well. Storms. Master Hoid had named him a full Worldsinger, and here he couldn’t even tell a story straight.

Kaladin clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Sig.”

“Sir,” Sigzil said. “The other men don’t have any direction. You’ve given them purpose, a reason to be good men. They are good men. But in some ways, it was easy when we were slaves. What do we do if not all the men manifest the ability to draw in Stormlight? What is our place in the army? Brightlord Kholin released us from guard duty, as he said he wanted us practicing and training as Radiants instead. But what is a Knight Radiant?”

“We’ll need to figure it out.”

“And if the men need guidance? If they need a moral center? Someone has to talk to them when they’re doing something wrong, but the ardents ignore us, since they associate us with the things Brightlord Dalinar is saying and doing.”

“You think you can be the one to guide the men instead?” Kaladin asked.

“Someone should, sir.”

Kaladin waved for Sigzil to follow him out into the corridor. Together they started walking toward the Bridge Four barracks, Sigzil holding out a sphere for light.

“I don’t mind if you want to be something like our unit’s ardent,” Kaladin said. “The men like you, Sig, and they put a lot of stock in what you have to say. But you should try to understand what they want out of life, and respect that, rather than projecting onto them what you think they should want out of life.”

“But sir, some things are just wrong. You know what Teft has gotten into, and Huio, he’s been visiting the prostitutes.”

“That’s not forbidden. Storms, I’ve had some sergeants who suggested it as the key to a healthy mind in battle.”

“It’s wrong, sir. It’s imitating an oath without the commitment. Every major religion agrees to this, except the Reshi, I suppose. But they’re pagans even among pagans.”

“Your master teach you to be this judgmental?”

Sigzil stopped short.

“I’m sorry, Sig,” Kaladin said.

“No, he said the same thing about me. All the time, sir.”

“I give you permission to sit down with Huio and explain your worries,” Kaladin said. “I won’t forbid you from expressing your morals—I’d encourage it. Just don’t present your beliefs as our code. Present them as yours, and make a good argument. Maybe the men will listen.”

Sigzil nodded, hurrying to catch up. To cover his embarrassment—more at completely failing to tell the right story than anything else—he dug into his notebook. “That does raise another issue, sir. Bridge Four is down to twenty-eight members, after our losses during the first Everstorm. Might be time for some recruitment.”

“Recruitment?” Kaladin said. He cocked his head.

“Well, if we lose any more members—”

“We won’t,” Kaladin said. He always thought that.

“—or, even if we don’t, we’re down from the thirty-five or forty of a good bridge crew. Maybe we don’t need to keep that number, but a good active unit should always be watching for people to recruit.

“What if someone else in the army has been displaying the right attitude to be a Windrunner? Or, more pointedly, what if our men start swearing oaths and bonding their own spren? Would we dissolve Bridge Four, and let each man be their own Radiant?”

The idea of dissolving Bridge Four seemed to pain Kaladin almost as much as the idea of losing men in battle. They walked in silence for a short time. They weren’t going to the Bridge Four barracks after all; Kaladin had taken a turn deeper into the tower. They passed a water wagon, pulled by laborers to deliver water from the wells to the officers’ quarters. Normally that would be parshman work.

“We should at least put out a call for recruitment,” Kaladin finally said, “though honestly I can’t think of how I’ll cull hopefuls down to a manageable number.”

“I’ll try to come up with some strategies, sir,” Sigzil said. “If I might ask, where are we…” He trailed off as he saw Lyn hurrying down the hallway toward them. She carried a diamond chip in her palm for light, and wore her Kholin uniform, her dark Alethi hair pulled back in a tail.

She drew up when she saw Kaladin, then saluted him smartly. “Just the man I was looking for. Quartermaster Vevidar sends word that ‘your unusual request has been fulfilled,’ sir.”

“Excellent,” Kaladin said, marching through the hallway past her. Sigzil shot her a look as she fell in with him, and she shrugged. She didn’t know what the unusual request was, only that it had been fulfilled.

Kaladin eyed Lyn as they walked. “You’re the one who has been helping my men, right? Lyn, was it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“In fact, it seems you’ve been making excuses to run messages to Bridge Four.”

“Um, yes, sir.”

“Not afraid of the ‘Lost Radiants’ then?”

“Frankly, sir, after what I saw on the battlefield, I’d rather be on your side than bet on the opposition.”

Kaladin nodded, thoughtful as he walked. “Lyn,” he finally said, “how would you like to join the Windrunners?”

The woman stopped in place, jaw dropping. “Sir?” She saluted. “Sir, I’d love that! Storms!”

“Excellent,” Kaladin said. “Sig, can you get her our ledgers and accounts?”

Lyn’s hand drooped from her brow. “Ledgers? Accounts?”

“The men will also need letters written to family members,” Kaladin said. “And we should probably write a history of Bridge Four. People will be curious, and a written account will save me from having to explain it all the time.”