Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

Dalinar followed, curious, catching fragments of the conversation. What happened here? Who are you? Why were you fighting?

The men didn’t have many answers. They were wounded, exhausted, trailed by painspren. They did find their way to a larger group though, in the direction Jasnah had gone during Dalinar’s previous visit to this vision.

The crowd had gathered around a man standing on a large boulder. Tall and confident, the man was in his thirties, and he wore white and blue. He had an Alethi feel to him, except … not quite. His skin was a shade darker, and something was faintly off about his features.

Yet there was something … familiar about the man.

“You must spread the word,” the man proclaimed. “We have won! At long last, the Voidbringers are defeated. This is not my victory, or that of the other Heralds. It is your victory. You have done this.”

Some of the people shouted in triumph. Too many others stood silent, staring with dead eyes.

“I will lead the charge for the Tranquiline Halls,” the man shouted. “You will not see me again, but think not on that now! You have won your peace. Revel in it! Rebuild. Go now, help your fellows. Carry with you the light of your Herald king’s words. We are victorious, at long last, over evil!”

Another round of shouts, more energetic this time.

Storms, Dalinar thought, feeling a chill. This was Jezerezeh’Elin himself, Herald of Kings. The greatest among them.

Wait. Did the king have dark eyes?

The group broke up, but the young emperor remained, staring at the place where the Herald had stood. Finally, he whispered, “Oh, Yaezir. King of the Heralds.”

“Yes,” Dalinar said, stepping up beside him. “That was him, Your Excellency. My niece visited this vision earlier, and she wrote that she thought she’d spotted him.”

Yanagawn grabbed Dalinar by the arm. “What did you say? You know me?”

“You are Yanagawn of Azir,” Dalinar said. He nodded his head in a semblance of a bow. “I am Dalinar Kholin, and I apologize that our meeting must take place under such irregular circumstances.”

The youth’s eyes widened. “I see Yaezir himself first, and now my enemy.”

“I am not your enemy.” Dalinar sighed. “And this is no mere dream, Your Excellency. I—”

“Oh, I know it’s not a dream,” Yanagawn said. “As I am a Prime raised to the throne miraculously, the Heralds may choose to speak through me!” He looked about. “This day we are living through, it is the Day of Glory?”

“Aharietiam,” Dalinar said. “Yes.”

“Why did they place you here? What does it mean?”

“They didn’t place me here,” Dalinar said. “Your Excellency, I instigated this vision, and I brought you into it.”

Skeptical, the boy folded his arms. He wore the leather skirt provided by the vision. He’d left his bronze-tipped spear leaning against a rock nearby.

“Have you been told,” Dalinar asked, “that I am considered mad?”

“There are rumors.”

“Well, this was my madness,” Dalinar said. “I suffered visions during the storms. Come. See.”

He led Yanagawn to a better view of the large field of the dead, which spread out from the mouth of the canyon. Yanagawn followed, then his face grew ashen at the sight. Finally, he strode down onto the larger battlefield, moving among the corpses, moans, and curses.

Dalinar walked beside him. So many dead eyes, so many faces twisted in pain. Lighteyed and dark. Pale skin like the Shin and some Horneaters. Dark skin like the Makabaki. Many that could have been Alethi, Veden, or Herdazian.

There were other things, of course. The giant broken stone figures. Parshmen wearing warform, with chitin armor and orange blood. One spot they passed had a whole heap of strange cremlings, burned and smoking. Who would have taken the time to pile up a thousand little crustaceans?

“We fought together,” Yanagawn said.

“How else could we have resisted?” Dalinar said. “To fight the Desolation alone would be madness.”

Yanagawn eyed him. “You wanted to talk to me without the viziers. You wanted me alone! And you can just … you just show me whatever will strengthen your argument!”

“If you accept that I have the power to show you these visions,” Dalinar said, “would that not in itself imply that you should listen to me?”

“The Alethi are dangerous. Do you know what happened the last time the Alethi were in Azir?”

“The Sunmaker’s rule was a long time ago.”

“The viziers have talked about this,” Yanagawn said. “They told me all about it. It started the same way back then, with a warlord uniting the Alethi tribes.”

“Tribes?” Dalinar said. “You’d compare us to the nomads that roam Tu Bayla? Alethkar is one of the most cultured kingdoms on Roshar!”

“Your code of law is barely thirty years old!”

“Your Excellency,” Dalinar said, taking a deep breath, “I doubt this line of conversation will be relevant. Look around us. Look and see what the Desolation will bring.”

He swept his hand across the awful view, and Yanagawn’s temper cooled. It was impossible to feel anything but sorrow when confronted by so much death.

Eventually, Yanagawn turned and started back the way they’d come. Dalinar joined him, hands clasped behind.

“They say,” Yanagawn whispered, “that when the Sunmaker rode out of the passes and into Azir, he had one unexpected problem. He conquered my people too quickly, and didn’t know what to do with all of his captives. He couldn’t leave a fighting population behind him in the towns. There were thousands upon thousands of men he needed to murder.

“Sometimes he’d simply assign the work to his soldiers. Every man was to kill thirty captives—like a child who had to find an armload of firewood before being allowed to play. In other places the Sunmaker declared something arbitrary. Say that every man with hair beyond a certain length was to be slaughtered.

“Before he was struck down with disease by the Heralds, he murdered ten percent of the population of Azir. They say Zawfix was filled with the bones, blown by highstorms into piles as tall as the buildings.”

“I am not my ancestor,” Dalinar said softly.

“You revere him. The Alethi all but worship Sadees. You carry his storming Shardblade.”

“I gave that away.”

They stopped at the edge of the battlefield. The emperor had grit, but didn’t know how to carry himself. He walked with shoulders slumped, and his hands kept reaching for pockets his antiquated clothing didn’t have. He was of low birth—though in Azir, they didn’t properly revere eye color. Navani had once told him it was because there weren’t enough people in Azir with light eyes.

The Sunmaker himself had used this to justify conquering them.

“I am not my ancestor,” Dalinar repeated. “But I do share much with him. A youth of brutality. A lifetime spent at war. I have one advantage he did not.”

“Which is?”

Dalinar met the young man’s eyes. “I’ve lived long enough to see the consequences of what I’ve done.”

Yanagawn nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” a voice piped up. “You’re old.”