Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

“Was I supposed to save those soldiers, sword-nimi?” Szeth said. “I am a Radiant now.”

I think they would have flown like you instead of falling down, if they’d wanted to be saved.

There was a profound puzzle in the words, one which Szeth could not consider. The Fused were deft, more skilled than he was. He dodged among the streets, but they kept on him. He swung around, left the Ancient Ward, and shot for the wall—trying to get back to Dalinar. Unfortunately, a swarm of the enemies cut him off. The rest surrounded him.

Looks like we’re cornered, the sword said. Time to fight, right? Accept death, and die slaying as many as possible? I’m ready. Let’s do it. I’m ready to be a noble sacrifice.

No. He did not win by dying.

Szeth lobbed the gemstone away as hard as he could.

The Fused went after it, leaving him an avenue to escape. He dropped toward the ground, where spheres glistened like stars. He drew in a deep breath of Stormlight, then spotted Lift waiting on the field between the fighting illusions and the waiting parshmen.

Szeth settled down lightly beside her. “I have failed to carry this burden.”

“That’s okay. Your weird face is burden enough for one man.”

“Your words are wise,” he said, nodding.

Lift rolled her eyes. “You’re right, sword. He’s not very fun, is he?”

I think he’s deevy anyway.

Szeth did not know this word, but it sent Lift chortling in a fit of amusement, which the sword mimicked.

“We have not fulfilled the Blackthorn’s demands,” Szeth snapped at the two of them, Stormlight puffing from his lips. “I could not stay ahead of those Fused long enough to deliver the stone to our master.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Lift said. “But I’ve got an idea. People are always after stuff, but they don’t really like the stuff—they like having the stuff.”

“These words are … not so wise. What do you mean?”

“Simple. The best way to rob someone is leave them thinking that nothing is wrong.…”

* * *

Shallan clung to Veil’s and Radiant’s hands.

She’d long since fallen to her knees, staring ahead as tears leaked from her eyes. Taut, her teeth gritted. She’d made thousands of illusions. Each one … each one was her.

A portion of her mind.

A portion of her soul.

Odium had made a mistake in flooding these soldiers with such thirst for blood. They didn’t care that Shallan fed them illusions—they just wanted a battle. So she provided one, and somehow her illusions resisted when the enemy hit them. She thought maybe she was combining Soulcasting with her Lightweaving.

The enemy howled and sang, exulting in the fray. She painted the ground red and sprayed the enemy with blood that felt real. She serenaded them with the sounds of men screaming, dying, swords clashing and bones breaking.

She absorbed them in the false reality, and they drank it in; they feasted on it.

Each one of her illusions that died hit her with a little shock. A sliver of her dying.

Those were reborn as she pushed them out to dance again. Enemy Fused bellowed for order, trying to rally their troops, but Shallan drowned out their voices with sounds of screaming and metal on metal.

The illusion absorbed her entirely, and she lost track of everything else. Like when she was drawing. Creationspren blossomed around her by the hundred, shaped like discarded objects.

Storms. It was beautiful. She gripped Veil’s and Radiant’s hands tighter. They knelt beside her, heads bowed within her painted tapestry of violence, her—

“Hey,” a girl’s voice said. “Could you, uh, stop hugging yourself for a minute? I need some help.”

* * *

Kaladin ducked toward Amaram, thrusting with his spear one-handed. That was usually a good tactic against an armored man with a sword. His spear hit right on target, where it would have dug into the armpit of an ordinary opponent. Here, unfortunately, the spear just slid off. Shardplate didn’t have traditional weak points, other than the eye slit. You had to break it open with repeated hits, like cracking into a crab’s shell.

Amaram laughed, a startlingly genuine mirth. “You have great form, spearman! Do you remember when you first came to me? Back in that village, when you begged me to take you? You were a blubbering child who wanted so badly to be a soldier. The glory of the battle! I could see the lust in your eyes, boy.”

Kaladin glanced toward the Fused, who rounded the cloud, timid, looking for Dalinar.

Amaram chuckled. With those deep red eyes and the strange crystals growing from his body, Kaladin hadn’t expected him to sound so much like himself. Whatever hybrid monster this was, it still had the mind of Meridas Amaram.

Kaladin stepped back, reluctantly changing Syl into a Blade, which would be better for cracking Plate. He fell into Windstance, which had always seemed appropriate. Amaram laughed again and surged forward, his second Shardblade appearing in his waiting grip. Kaladin dodged to the side, ducking under one Blade and getting at Amaram’s back—where he got in a good hit on the Plate, cracking it. He raised his Blade to attack again.

Amaram slammed his foot down, and his Shardplate boot shattered, exploding outward in bits of molten metal. Beneath, his ripped sock revealed a foot overgrown with carapace and deep violet crystals.

As Kaladin came in for his attack, Amaram tapped his foot, and the stone ground became liquid for a moment. Kaladin stumbled, sinking down several inches, as if the rock were crem mud. It hardened in a moment, locking Kaladin’s boots in place.

Kaladin! Syl cried in his mind as Amaram swung with two Shardblades, parallel to one another. Syl became a halberd in Kaladin’s hands, and he blocked the blows—but their force threw him to the ground, snapping his ankles.

Teeth gritted, Kaladin hauled his pained feet out of the boots and pulled himself away. Amaram’s weapons sliced the ground behind, narrowly missing him. Then Amaram’s other armored boot exploded, crystals from inside breaking it apart. The highlord pushed with one foot and glided across the ground, incredibly quick, approaching Kaladin and swinging.

Syl became a large shield, and Kaladin barely blocked the attack. He Lashed himself backward, getting out of range as Stormlight healed his ankles. Storms. Storms!

That Fused! Syl said. She’s getting very close to Dalinar.

Kaladin cursed, then scooped up a large stone. He launched it into the air with several Lashings compounded, which sent it zipping off to slam into the head of the Fused. She shouted in pain, pulling back.

Kaladin scooped up another stone and Lashed it toward Amaram’s horse.

“Beating up the animal because you can’t defeat me?” Amaram asked. He didn’t seem to notice that the horse, in bolting away, carried off the Shardbow.

I’ve killed a man wearing that Shardplate before, Kaladin thought. I can do it again.

Only, he wasn’t merely facing a Shardbearer. Amethyst crystals broke Amaram’s armor all up the arms. How did Kaladin defeat … whatever this thing was?

Stab it in the face? Syl suggested.

It was worth a try. He and Amaram fought on the battlefield near the red mist, on the western shore but between the main body of troops and the waiting parshmen. The area was mostly flat, except for some broken building foundations. Kaladin Lashed himself up a few inches, so he wouldn’t sink into the ground if Amaram tried again to do … whatever he’d done. Then he moved backward carefully, positioning himself where Amaram would likely leap across a broken foundation to get at him.