Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

Leaving the book on the lectern, Jasnah walked over to Dalinar as he stood up. They embraced, saying nothing. After a few moments, she left.

He went to the book, touching it, feeling the lines of the writing stamped into its cover. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when Adolin peeked in. “Father? We’re planning to send expeditionary forces to the Shattered Plains. Your input would be appreciated.”

“I must,” Dalinar whispered, “go on a journey.”

“Yeah,” Adolin said. “It’s a long way. Might get some hunts in while we’re on our way, if there’s time. Elhokar wants these barbarians wiped out quickly. We could be gone and back in a year.”

Paths. Dalinar could not choose his end.

But perhaps his path …

The Old Magic can change a person, Evi had said. Make something great of them.

Dalinar stood up taller. He turned and stepped toward Adolin, seizing him by the shoulder. “I’ve been a poor father these last few years,” Dalinar said.

“Nonsense,” Adolin said. “You—”

“I’ve been a poor father,” Dalinar repeated, raising his finger. “To you and your brother both. You should know how proud I am of you.”

Adolin beamed, glowing like a sphere right after a storm. Gloryspren sprang up around him.

“We will go to war together,” Dalinar said. “Like we did when you were young. I will show you what it is to be a man of honor. But first, I need to take an advance force—without you, I’m afraid—and secure the Shattered Plains.”

“We talked about that,” Adolin said, eager. “Like your elites, from before. Fast, quick! You’ll march—”

“Sail,” Dalinar said.

“Sail?”

“The rivers should be flowing,” Dalinar said. “I’ll march south, then take a ship to Dumadari. From there, I’ll sail to the Ocean of Origins and make landfall at New Natanan. I’ll move in toward the Shattered Plains with my force and secure the region, preparing for the rest of you to arrive.”

“That would be a sound idea, I guess,” Adolin said.

It was sound. Sound enough that when one of Dalinar’s ships was delayed—and Dalinar himself remained in port, sending most of his force on without him—nobody would think it strange. Dalinar did get himself into trouble.

He would swear his men and sailors to secrecy, and travel a few months out of his way before continuing on to the Shattered Plains.

Evi had said the Old Magic could transform a man. It was about time he started trusting her.

I find Ba-Ado-Mishram to be the most interesting of the Unmade. She is said to have been keen of mind, a highprincess among the enemy forces, their commander during some of the Desolations. I do not know how this relates to the ancient god of the enemy, named Odium.

—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 224

Szeth of Shinovar flew with the Skybreakers for three days, southward.

They stopped several times to recover hidden stockpiles in mountain peaks or remote valleys. To find doorways, they often had to hack through five inches of crem. That amount of buildup had probably taken centuries to accumulate, yet Nin spoke of the places as if he’d just left. At one, he was surprised to find the food long since decayed—though fortunately, the gemstone stockpile there had been hidden in a place where it remained exposed to the storms.

In these visits, Szeth finally began to grasp how ancient this creature was.

On the fourth day, they reached Marat. Szeth had been to the kingdom before; he had visited most of Roshar during the years of his exile. Historically, Marat wasn’t truly a nation—but neither was it a place of nomads, like the backwaters of Hexi and Tu Fallia. Instead, Marat was a group of loosely connected cities, tribally run, with a highprince at their head—though in the local dialect, he was called “elder brother.”

The country made for a convenient waystop between the Vorin kingdoms of the east and the Makabaki ones of the center west. Szeth knew that Marat was rich in culture, full of people as proud as you’d find in any nation—but of almost no value on the political scale.

Which made it curious that Nin chose to end their flight here. They landed on a plain full of strange brown grass that reminded Szeth of wheat, save for the fact that this pulled down into burrows, leaving visible only the small bob of grain on the top. This was casually eaten by wild beasts that were wide and flat, like walking discs, with claws only on the underside to shove the grain into their mouths.

The disclike animals would probably migrate eastward, their droppings containing seeds that—stuck to the ground—would survive storms to grow into first-stage polyps. Those would later blow to the west and become second-stage grain. All life worked in concert, he’d been taught in his youth. Everything but men, who refused their place. Who destroyed instead of added.

Nin spoke briefly with Ki and the other masters, who took to the air again. The others joined them—all but Szeth and Nin himself—and streaked toward a town in the distance. Before Szeth could follow, Nin took him by the arm and shook his head. Together, the two of them flew to a smaller town on a hill near the coast.

Szeth knew the effects of war when he saw them. Broken doors, ruins of a short, breached wall. The destruction looked recent, though any bodies had been cleaned out and the blood had been washed away by highstorms. They landed before a large stone building with a peaked roof. Mighty doors of Soulcast bronze lay broken off in the rubble. Szeth would be surprised if somebody didn’t return to claim those for their metal. Not every army had access to Soulcasters.

Aw, the sword said from his back. We missed the fun?

“That tyrant in Tukar,” Szeth said, looking through the silent town. “He decided to end his war against Emul, and expand eastward?”

“No,” Nin said. “This is a different danger.” He pointed toward the building with the broken doors. “Can you read that writing above the doorway, Szeth-son-Neturo?”

“It’s in the local language. I don’t know the script, aboshi.” The divine honorific was his best guess of how to address one of the Heralds, though among his people it had been reserved for the great spren of the mountains.

“It says ‘justice,’ ” Nin said. “This was a courthouse.”

Szeth followed the Herald up the steps and into the cavernous main room of the ruined courthouse. In here, sheltered from the storm, they found blood on the floor. No bodies, but plenty of discarded weapons, helms, and—disturbingly—the meager possessions of civilians. The people had likely taken refuge inside here during the battle, a last grasp at safety.

“The ones you call parshmen name themselves the singers,” Nin said. “They took this town and pressed the survivors into labor at some docks farther along the coast. Was what happened here justice, Szeth-son-Neturo?”

“How could it be?” He shivered. The dark reaches of the room seemed to be filled with haunted whispers. He drew closer to the Herald for safety. “Ordinary people, living ordinary lives, suddenly attacked and murdered?”

“A poor argument. What if the lord of this city had stopped paying his taxes, then forced his people to defend the city when higher authorities arrived and attacked? Is not a prince justified in maintaining order in his lands? Sometimes, it is just to kill ordinary people.”