Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

The Fused clashed with Bridge Four in the air over the city. This group of enemies seemed more skilled than the ones Renarin had seen below, but they didn’t fight so much as defend themselves. They were progressively moving the clash farther out over the city, and Renarin worried they were deliberately drawing Bridge Four away from the Oathgate.

The Alethi division marched into the city with shouts of praise and joy from the surrounding people. Two thousand men wasn’t going to do much if those parshmen outside joined the battle, but it was a start—plus, General Khal had brought not one, but three Shardbearers. Renarin did his best to explain the city situation, but was embarrassed to tell the Khals that he didn’t know his father’s status.

As they reunited with Teshav—turning her scribe station into a command post—Rock and Lyn landed next to Renarin.

“Ha!” Rock said. “What happened to uniform? Is needing my needle.”

Renarin looked down at his tattered clothing. “I got hit by a large block of stone. Twenty times … You’re not one to complain, anyway. Is that your blood on your uniform?”

“Is nothing!”

“We had to carry him all the way down to the Oathgate,” Lyn said. “We were trying to get him to you, but he started drawing in Stormlight as soon as he got here.”

“Kaladin is close,” Rock agreed. “Ha! I feed him. But here, today, he fed me. With light!”

Lyn eyed Rock. “Storming Horneater weighs as much as a chull.…” She shook her head. “Kara will fight with the others—don’t tell anyone, but she’s been practicing with a spear since childhood, the little cheater. But Rock won’t fight, and I’ve only been handling a spear for a few weeks now. Any idea where you want us?”

“I’m … um … not really in command or anything.…”

“Really?” Lyn said. “That’s your best Knight Radiant voice?”

“Ha!” Rock said.

“I think I used up all my Radianting for the day,” Renarin said. “Um, I’ll work the Oathgate and get more troops here. Maybe you two could go down and help on the city wall, pull wounded out of the front lines?”

“Is good idea,” Rock said. Lyn nodded and flew off, but Rock lingered, then grabbed Renarin in a very warm, suffocating, and unexpected embrace.

Renarin did his best not to squirm. It wasn’t the first hug he’d endured from Rock. But … storms. You weren’t supposed to just grab someone like that.

“Why?” Renarin said after the embrace.

“You looked like person who needed hug.”

“I assure you, I never look like that. But, um, I am glad you guys came. Really, really glad.”

“Bridge Four,” Rock said, then launched into the air.

Renarin settled down nearby on some steps, trembling from it all, but grinning anyway.

* * *

Dalinar drifted in the Thrill’s embrace.

He’d once believed he had been four men in his life, but he now saw he’d grossly underestimated. He hadn’t lived as two, or four, or six men—he had lived as thousands, for each day he became someone slightly different.

He hadn’t changed in one giant leap, but across a million little steps.

The most important always being the next, he thought as he drifted in the red mist. The Thrill threatened to take him, control him, rip him apart and shred his soul in its eagerness to please him—to give him something it could never understand was dangerous.

A small hand gripped Dalinar’s.

He started, looking down. “L-Lift? You shouldn’t have come in here.”

“But I’m the best at going places I’m not supposed to.” She pressed something into his hand.

The large ruby.

Bless you.

“What is it?” she said. “Why do you need that rock?”

Dalinar squinted into the mists. Do you know how we capture spren, Dalinar? Taravangian had said. You lure the spren with something it loves. You give it something familiar to draw it in …

Something it knows deeply.

“Shallan saw one of the Unmade in the tower,” he whispered. “When she got close, it was afraid, but I don’t think the Thrill comprehends like it did. You see, it can only be bested by someone who deeply, sincerely, understands it.”

He lifted the gemstone above his head, and—one last time—embraced the Thrill.

War.

Victory.

The contest.

Dalinar’s entire life had been a competition: a struggle from one conquest to the next. He accepted what he had done. It would always be part of him. And though he was determined to resist, he would not cast aside what he had learned. That very thirst for the struggle—the fight, the victory—had also prepared him to refuse Odium.

“Thank you,” he whispered again to the Thrill, “for giving me strength when I needed it.”

The Thrill churned close around him, cooing and exulting in his praise.

“Now, old friend, it is time to rest.”

* * *

Keep moving.

Kaladin dodged and wove, avoiding some strikes, healing from others.

Keep them distracted.

He tried to take to the skies, but the eight Fused swarmed about him, knocking him back down. He hit the stone ground, then Lashed himself laterally, away from the stabbing lances or crushing clubs.

Can’t actually escape.

He had to keep their attention. If he managed to slip away, all of these would turn against Dalinar.

You don’t have to beat them. You simply have to last long enough.

He dodged to the right, skimming a few inches above the ground. But one of the hulking Fused—there were four fighting him now—grabbed him by the foot. She slammed him down, then carapace grew down along her arms, threatening to bind Kaladin to the ground.

He kicked her off, but another grabbed him by the arm and flung him to the side. Flying ones descended, and while he warded away their lances with the Sylshield, his side throbbed with pain. The healing was coming more slowly now.

Two other Fused swept along, scooping up nearby gemstones, leaving Kaladin in an ever-expanding ring of darkness.

Just buy time. Dalinar needs time.

Syl sang in his mind as he spun, forming a spear and ramming it through the chest of one of the hulking ones. Those could heal unless you stabbed them in exactly the right spot in the sternum, and he’d missed. So, he made Syl into a sword and—the weapon still embedded in the Fused woman’s chest—swept upward through the head, burning her eyes. Another hulking Fused swung, but as it hit—the club being part of the thing’s actual body—Kaladin used much of his remaining Stormlight to Lash this man upward, crashing him into a Fused above.

Another clobbered him from the side, sending him rolling. Red lightning pulsed overhead as he came to a rest on his back. He immediately summoned Syl as a spear, pointing straight up. That impaled the Fused dropping down to attack him, cracking its sternum within, causing its eyes to burn.

Another grabbed him by the foot and lifted him, then slammed him face-first into the ground. That knocked Kaladin’s breath out. The monstrous Fused stomped a carapace-encrusted foot onto his back, shattering ribs. Kaladin screamed, and though the Stormlight healed what it could, the last of it fluttered inside.