Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

Of knowing what he truly was.

* * *

Szeth tried to walk toward Dalinar. The darkness had grown up his arm, and the sword drank his last wisps of Stormlight.

There was … was a lesson in this … wasn’t there? There had to be. Nin … Nin wanted him to learn.…

He fell to the ground, still holding the sword as it screamed mindlessly.

DESTROY EVIL.

The little Radiant girl scrambled to him. She looked toward the sky as the sun vanished behind clouds. Then she took Szeth’s head in her hands.

“No…” he tried to croak. It will take you too.…

She breathed life into him somehow, and the sword drank of it freely. Her eyes went wide as the black veins began to grow up her fingers and hands.

* * *

Renarin didn’t want to die. But strangely, he found himself welcoming Jasnah’s strike.

Better to die than to live to see what was happening to his father. For he saw the future. He saw his father in black armor, a plague upon the land. He saw the Blackthorn return, a terrible scourge with nine shadows.

Odium’s champion.

“He’s going to fall,” Renarin whispered. “He’s already fallen. He belongs to the enemy now. Dalinar Kholin … is no more.”

* * *

Venli shivered on the plain, near Odium. Timbre had been pulsing to Peace, but now she quieted. Twenty or thirty yards away, a figure in white clothing collapsed to the ground, a little girl at his side.

Nearer to her, Dalinar Kholin—the man who had resisted—slumped forward, head bowed, holding one hand against his chest and trembling.

Odium stepped back, his appearance that of a parshman with golden carapace. “It is done,” he said, looking toward Venli and the gathered group of Fused. “You have a leader.”

“We must follow one of them?” Turash asked. “A human?”

Venli’s breath caught. There had been no respect in that tone.

Odium smiled. “You will follow me, Turash, or I will reclaim that which gives you persistent life. I care not for the shape of the tool. Only that it cuts.”

Turash bowed his head.

Stone crunched as a figure in glittering Shardplate walked up to them, carrying a Shardblade in one hand and—strangely—an empty sheath in the other. The human had his faceplate up, exposing red eyes. He tossed the silvery sheath to the ground. “I was told to deliver that to you.”

“Well done, Meridas,” Odium said. “Abaray, could you provide this human with an appropriate housing for Yelig-nar?”

One of the Fused stepped forward and proffered a small, uncut smokestone toward the human, Meridas.

“And what is this?” Meridas asked.

“The fulfillment of my promise to you,” Odium said. “Swallow it.”

“What?”

“If you wish for the promised power, ingest that—then try to control the one who follows. But be warned, the queen at Kholinar tried this, and the power consumed her.”

Meridas held up the gemstone, inspecting it, then glanced toward Dalinar Kholin. “So, you’ve been speaking to him all this time too?”

“Even longer than I’ve been speaking to you.”

“Can I kill him?”

“Someday, assuming I don’t let him kill you.” Odium rested his hand on the shoulder of the huddled Dalinar Kholin. “It’s done, Dalinar. The pain has passed. Stand up and claim the station you were born to obtain.”

* * *

Kaladin thought, finally, of Dalinar.

Could Kaladin do it? Could he really say these Words? Could he mean them?

The Fused swept close. Adolin bled.

“I…”

You know what you need to do.

“I … can’t,” Kaladin finally whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I can’t lose him, but … oh, Almighty … I can’t save him.” Kaladin bowed his head, sagging forward, trembling.

He couldn’t say those Words.

He wasn’t strong enough.

Syl’s arms enfolded him from behind, and he felt softness as her cheek pressed against the back of his neck. She pulled him tight as he wept, sobbing, at his failure.

* * *

Jasnah raised her Blade over Renarin’s head.

Make it quick. Make it painless.

Most threats to a dynasty came from within.

Renarin was obviously corrupted. She’d known there was a problem the moment she’d read that he had predicted the Everstorm. Now, Jasnah had to be strong. She had to do what was right, even when it was so, so hard.

She prepared to swing, but then Renarin turned and looked at her. Tears streaming down his face, he met her eyes, and he nodded.

Suddenly they were young again. He was a trembling child, weeping on her shoulder for a father who didn’t seem to be able to feel love. Little Renarin, always so solemn. Always misunderstood, laughed at and condemned by people who said similar things about Jasnah behind her back.

Jasnah froze, as if standing at the edge of a cliff. Wind blew through the temple, carrying with it a pair of spren in the form of golden spheres, bobbing in the currents.

Jasnah dismissed her sword.

“Jasnah?” Ivory said, appearing back in the form of a man, clinging to her collar.

Jasnah fell to her knees, then pulled Renarin into an embrace. He broke down crying, like he had as a boy, burying his head in her shoulder.

“What’s wrong with me?” Renarin asked. “Why do I see these things? I thought I was doing something right, with Glys, but somehow it’s all wrong.…”

“Hush,” Jasnah whispered. “We’ll find a way through it, Renarin. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. We’ll survive this, somehow.”

Storms. The things he’d said about Dalinar …

“Jasnah,” Ivory said, becoming full size as he stepped free of her collar. He leaned down. “Jasnah, this is right. Somehow it is.” He seemed completely stunned. “It is not what makes sense, yet it is still right. How. How is this thing?”

Renarin pulled back from her, his tearstained eyes going wide. “I saw you kill me.”

“It’s all right, Renarin. I’m not going to.”

“But don’t you see? Don’t you understand what that means?”

Jasnah shook her head.

“Jasnah,” Renarin said. “My vision was wrong about you. What I see … it can be wrong.”

* * *

Alone.

Dalinar held a fist to his chest.

So alone.

It hurt to breathe, to think. But something stirred inside his fist. He opened bleeding fingers.

The most … the most important …

Inside his fist, he somehow found a golden sphere. A solitary gloryspren.

The most important step a man can take. It’s not the first one, is it?

It’s the next one. Always the next step, Dalinar.

Trembling, bleeding, agonized, Dalinar forced air into his lungs and spoke a single ragged sentence.

“You cannot have my pain.”

As I began my journey, I was challenged to defend why I insisted on traveling alone. They called it irresponsible. An avoidance of duty and obligation.

Those who said this made an enormous mistake of assumption.

—From The Way of Kings, postscript