Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

—From drawer 30-20, fifth emerald

“My name is Kaladin,” he said, standing in the barrack common room—which had been emptied at the highmarshal’s order. Noro’s squad had remained by Kaladin’s request, and Azure had invited in Battalionlord Hadinar—a stocky, bejowled fellow, one of Azure’s primary officers. The only other person in the room was the fidgety ardent who painted glyphwards for the platoon.

Soft blue spherelight bathed the table where most of them sat. Kaladin stood instead, washing the blood from his hands with a damp rag at a water basin.

“Kaladin,” Azure mused. “A regal name. What’s your house?”

“They just call me Stormblessed. If you need proof of my orders from the king, it can be arranged.”

“Let’s pretend, for the sake of conversation, that I believe you,” Azure said. “What do you want from us?”

“I need to know how you’re using a Soulcaster without drawing the attention of the screaming spren. The secret might be essential to my work to save the city.”

Azure nodded, then rose and walked toward the back of the barrack. She used a key to open the back room. Kaladin had glanced in there before though. It only held some supplies.

The rest of them followed Azure into the room, where she slipped a small hook between two stones and threw a hidden latch. This let her remove a stone, revealing a handle. She heaved, pulling open a doorway. The light of a few handheld spheres revealed a small corridor that ran down the middle of the city wall.

“You cut a tunnel in one of the windblades, sir?” Beard asked, shocked.

“This has been here longer than any of us have been alive, soldier,” Battalionlord Hadinar said. “It is a quick, secret way between posts. There are even a few hidden stairwells up to the top.”

They had to go single file inside. Beard followed behind Kaladin, scrunched up against him in the confines. “Um, so Kal, you … you know the Blackthorn?”

“Better than most.”

“And … ahem … you know—”

“That the two of you never went swimming together in the Purelake?” Kaladin said. “Yes, though I suspect the rest of the squad guessed that, Beard.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back at the others. He exhaled softly. “I figured you’d never believe the truth, since it was actually the Azish emperor.…”

This corridor, cut through the stone, reminded Kaladin of the strata of Urithiru. They reached a trapdoor in the floor, which Azure opened with a key. A short trip down a ladder—which had a dumbwaiter beside it, with ropes and pulleys—led them to a large room filled with sacks of grain. Kaladin held up a sphere, revealing a jagged wall with chunks cut out of it in a distinctly uneven way.

“I come down here every night or so,” Azure said, pointing with a gloved hand, “and cut out blocks with my Blade. I have nightmares about the city collapsing down on us, but I don’t know of another way to get enough stone—at least not without drawing even more attention.”

On the other side of the chamber, they found yet another locked door. Azure knocked twice, then opened this one, revealing a smaller room occupied by an aged female ardent. She knelt beside a stone block, and wore a distinctive fabrial on her hand—one that glowed powerfully with light from the emeralds it contained.

The woman had an inhuman look to her; she seemed to be growing vines under her skin, and they peeked out around her eyes, growing from the corners and spreading down her face like runners of ivy.

She stood and bowed to Azure. A real Soulcaster. So … Azure wasn’t doing it herself? “How?” Kaladin asked. “Why didn’t the screamers come for you?”

Azure pointed at the sides of the room, and for the first time Kaladin noticed the walls were covered in reflective metal plates. He frowned and rested his fingers against one, and found it cool to the touch. This wasn’t steel, was it?

“Soon after the strangeness at the palace began,” Azure said, “a man pulled a chull cart up to the front of our barrack. He had these sheets of metal in the back. He was … an odd fellow. I’ve had interactions with him before.”

“Angular features?” Kaladin guessed. “Quick with an insult. Silly and straight, somehow all at once?”

“You know him, I see,” Azure said. “He warned us to only Soulcast inside a room lined with this metal. So far as we can tell, it prevents the screamers from sensing us. Unfortunately, it also blocks spanreeds from contacting the outside.

“We keep poor Ithi and her sister working nonstop, trading off the Soulcaster. Feeding the entire city would be an impossible task for the two of them, but we’ve been able to at least keep our army strong, with some to spare.”

Damnation, Kaladin thought, inspecting the reflective walls. This wasn’t going to help him use his powers without notice.

“All right, Stormblessed,” Azure said. “I’ve opened our secrets to you. Now you’ll tell me how the king could expect one man, even a Shardbearer, to be able to save this city.”

“There’s a device in Kholinar,” he said, “of ancient design. It can instantly transport large groups of people across great distances.” He turned toward Azure and the others. “The Kholin armies wait to join us here. All we need to do is activate the device—something that only a select few people can do.”

The soldiers looked stunned—all but Azure, who perked up. “Really? You’re serious?”

Kaladin nodded.

“Great! Let’s get this thing working! Where is it?”

Kaladin took a deep breath. “Well, that happens to be the problem.…”

Surely this will bring—at long last—the end to war that the Heralds promised us.

—From drawer 30-20, final emerald

She huddled someplace. She’d forgotten where.

For a while, she’d been … everybody. A hundred faces, cycling one after another. She searched them for comfort. Surely she could find someone who didn’t hurt.

All the nearby refugees had fled, naming her a spren. They left her with those hundred faces, in silence, until her Stormlight died off.

That left only Shallan. Unfortunately.

Darkness. A candle snuffed out. A scream cut off. With nothing to see, her mind provided images.

Her father, his face turning purple as she strangled him, singing a lullaby.

Her mother, dead with burned eyes.

Tyn, run through by Pattern.

Kabsal, shaking on the floor as he succumbed to poison.

Yalb, the incorrigible sailor from Wind’s Pleasure, dead in the depths of the sea.

An unnamed coachman, murdered by members of the Ghostbloods.

Now Grund, his head opened up.

Veil had tried to help these people, but had succeeded only in making their lives worse. The lie that was Veil became suddenly manifest. She hadn’t lived on the streets and she didn’t know how to help people. Pretending to have experience didn’t mean she actually did.

Veil had always thought to herself that Shallan could handle the big picture, the Voidbringers and the Unmade. Now she had to confront the truth that she had no idea what to do. She couldn’t get to the Oathgate. It was guarded by an ancient spren that could get inside her brain.