Chapter 129

Curiously, the closest I came to the Knight of Wind and the Knight of Truth during their quest happened during the last hours before Stormfall. When they visited my parents’ house, while I was asleep, and purchased their wagon.

—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 27

I think Ishar took the power … maybe three hundred years ago?” Nale said from where he lay in the wagon bed. “Four? This was right after your people attacked. When was that?”

“Almost a thousand years, Aboshi,” Szeth said softly. “A thousand years since those dark days when we sent armies across the stones. To our shame.”

Kaladin found himself strangely calm as he sat in the front seat between Szeth and Syl. Time was running out, but he was willing to take this next part slowly. In every other instance he could think of, he’d gone charging—or at least striding—toward his destiny. It was nice to just quietly roll there.

This region seemed empty—though earlier in the night, before reaching Nale’s cache, they’d swung past a larger city glowing bright in the distance. The size had shocked Kaladin. He’d begun to think of this land as populated solely by homesteads and farming towns.

He’d immediately felt foolish. Visiting Hearthstone and the region nearby, one would have assumed Alethkar had no grand cities. Shinovar’s monasteries were deliberately placed in less populated regions—so while he hadn’t seen much urban development here, it obviously existed. There was even an Oathgate here somewhere.

“He Connected himself to this land,” Nale continued. “I don’t know the process—I don’t understand a fraction of the things Ishar can do with his powers. Seven millennia later, I still couldn’t tell you why Ashyn burns. However, it was after he took the power … and became the spren of this land … that he started seeing himself as the Almighty. Oh, it had always been there, this sense of grandeur. He is not a humble man, our Ishar. But he never thought he was God. Not until … he kind of became one …”

Kaladin glanced at Syl, who uncharacteristically hadn’t gone soaring upon the winds. Instead she remained human size, occasionally resting her head on his shoulder, though she didn’t get physically tired. She’d look to the skies, where—now that it was light—only a faint shimmering in the air indicated that spren were migrating this way in Shadesmar, Kaladin’s armor spren flying around up there with them.

“Does any of this make sense to you?” Kaladin asked softly.

“Honor died,” she said. “Leaving this land without a god. It’s reasonable someone would try to fill that void. Ishar’s attempt seems … less than stellar.”

“If we kill him, Nin,” Szeth said, “can we actually end his touch on the land and free my people?”

“I don’t entirely know,” Nale said. “Our immortality is related to our status as Heralds, but was conferred separately. We can still be reborn. I think that to save this land, you must do more than defeat Ishar. You must do for him what you did for me … but it will be harder.”

Szeth looked to Kaladin.

“There might be a way,” Kaladin said, leaning forward in his seat. “Dalinar says that a spoken oath might restore Ishar, at least briefly.”

“When a Radiant says the Words,” Syl agreed, “they don’t just Connect to their spren in the Cognitive Realm, they Connect to the Spiritual Realm. It’s a mini perpendicularity each time. A confluence of power and Intent, and an alignment of self.”

“How close are you?” Szeth said, still regarding Kaladin.

“I have barely let myself think about the final Words,” Kaladin admitted. “The last set nearly broke me.”

“Then it will have to be me,” Szeth said, “but there is a difficulty here. For Skybreakers, I must complete my quest in order to say the Fourth Ideal.”

“Yes,” Nale said. “The Fourth Ideal—the quest. The Fifth to become the law. I have said those words already. I cannot be the one.”

“So you have to finish your quest,” Kaladin said to Szeth.

“But defeating Ishar is what finishes my quest,” Szeth said. “We cannot restore him to sanity without the burst of power I might release at the Words, but I cannot say the Words unless he is already defeated.”

Damnation. Kaladin chewed on that, seeking another way. Could he … could he talk to Ishar, and help him as he’d helped Szeth?

Syl nodded toward Nale. You helped him, her voice whispered in his mind.

The Wind helped him, Kaladin sent back through the bond.

You and the Wind together.

Kaladin frowned at the idea. “What is the Wind, Syl? I feel that I’m missing something here.”

“She’s part of something very ancient,” Syl said, looking back at the sky. “I’m an honorspren, and was created by him—or the remnant of him that is the Stormfather. Yet this isn’t a world of just Honor.” Her expression became distant, searching. “There’s more. Before Honor, Cultivation, and Odium arrived … Roshar was here. If a God still lives, I find him in the quiet breeze that dances with all things.”

That … didn’t help terribly. But he couldn’t keep from thinking of times even in his youth when the wind had been there, and how eventually it had brought Syl to him.

The time approaches, the Wind whispered to him. The hour when spren may need a champion. I wish that it were not so.

“And what does it mean?” Kaladin whispered. “What will be required of me?”

Everything. I’m sorry …

Szeth soon slowed the wagon. “We’re close. I’ve only been here once though.”

“It’s over to your left,” Nale whispered, sitting up. “Along that ridge there, beside the mound that was once a thunderclast corpse. Twist around to those rocks, where stones rise like a cathedral. That’s where you’ll find him.”

Szeth started them rolling that way, across stone and occasional patches of soil. In fact, Kaladin was shocked to see that some of the stone bore grass that peeked from holes. Real grass. After only nine days, he found it odd how surprising its movement was.

A place where two grasses met. They drove up a shallow stone incline, onto a small ridge.

“I remember,” Nale said, his voice haunted, “when this entire region was filled with corpses. When it burned, and even mountains had been slain. I remember … a final battle …”

“Aharietiam,” Syl said. “It was here ?”

“Yes,” Nale said. “This is where Honor abandoned his Heralds. This is where we walked away, leaving our Blades and our … self-worth. I don’t know that I can ever have mine back …”

“Nonsense,” Kaladin said. He turned, twisting to look at Nale. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I left him,” Nale whispered. “I left Taln. I thought he’d break soon. He should have broken soon. But he lasted over four thousand years. ”

“And how long had you suffered?” Kaladin asked.

Nale looked away.

“The burden you ten carried,” Kaladin said, “is unfair. And while trauma doesn’t excuse what you did, it does explain it. We can’t let you, or Ishar, hurt others—but that doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt yourselves. You have a right to receive help.”

Nale continued to look away, but he gave a shallow nod. “There was no grass long ago. It can grow here now. Remarkable.”

Soon they reached the rock formation, which rose high like the walls of an ornate monastery. And standing in its shadow was a figure with an Honorblade. With white hair and beard, Shin by the look of his features, wearing blue robes.

Szeth stopped the wagon. “Nin,” he said. “Nightblood. Please guard the Honorblades.”

Szeth? Nightblood asked. You’re going to fight without me?

“I don’t know if I’m going to fight at all,” he replied. “But if I do, I will use my Shardblade.”

But … I’m a great sword, aren’t I?

“You are a great sword,” Szeth said, climbing from the wagon. “But you are also too dangerous. I’m sorry, sword-nimi. I do not want to kill today.”

But … but evil …

“I see no evil,” Szeth replied. “Merely confusion.”

He glanced at Kaladin, who climbed down as well. Together they walked to the edge of the clearing, looking toward Ishar. Syl landed beside Kaladin, and a moment later—perhaps spurred on by her—12124 appeared beside Szeth. In a human shape and size.

The Wind joined them a moment later. A soft, encouraging breeze. Kaladin looked to Szeth. “Ready?”

Szeth considered. Kaladin gave him time. Then finally, Szeth started toward Ishi’Elin, Herald of Oaths. The rest of them followed.

Adolin and his team emerged from the tunnel into the famous grounds of the Bronze Palace.

The sight was stunning. Even the stone had been Soulcast into bronze—with little bits of quartz in it, to make it sparkle and shine like a sky full of stars. As they climbed out of the hidden tunnel exit, he saw figures swooping past high in the sky: a formation of Heavenly Ones moving away from the city center. Drehy and Skar had done their job well, it seemed.

The grounds were silent, particularly compared to the chaos and looting in the streets outside. Jaskkeem—the soldier who ran the smuggler’s port—led them across one last stretch of bronze ground up to the palace itself, an ornate building with smooth metal walls. The tip of Adolin’s peg leg thumped with each step, rubber on bronze. It didn’t hurt, as the doctor’s tincture was working—and Adolin felt a zip of alertness and energy. He tried not to think of the cost, focusing on the palace … storms, they really did have a good eye for aesthetics in Azir. It was gaudy, yes, but also undeniably gorgeous.

Yanagawn led them to one of the large building’s back doors—and Noura had a key. They were inside a second later, and the emperor shared a grin with Adolin.

“I feel like I’m actually doing something,” the younger man whispered. “For the first time since taking this throne, I’m helping rather than merely sitting and being seen.”

“How long until my father’s confrontation?” Adolin asked Noura.

“Just over half an hour,” she whispered.

“We have to slip into the throne room unseen,” Yanagawn said. “We hold the room quietly, without anyone the wiser, until the deadline. We won’t even have to raise a sword.”

“That would be storming beautiful,” Adolin said.

They continued on, Kushkam, Sarqqin, and Gezamal forming the rearguard, May and Yanagawn going first, taking Jaskkeem with them. Notum scouted ahead, as before. That left Noura, Adolin, Colot, Rahel, Hmask, and Zabra at the center of their line. Adolin threw off the blanket now that they were inside—as the group would be suspicious here no matter what. He hoped they simply wouldn’t encounter anyone.

The place was dead. Staff had been evacuated, and all the guards had been recruited into the war effort. They did find places where the doors had been broken open, so the enemy had been here, but perhaps they’d secured the palace complex and moved on. Could Adolin be that lucky?

No, he thought. This seems deliberate.

“Wait a moment,” he said to the others, causing them to bunch up around him. “This feels too quiet. What are we walking into, Yanagawn? What is the layout of the hallways ahead of us?”

Noura pointed, used to answering questions directed toward the emperor. “See that hallway at the end of this one? We take a left there, then another immediate left into the throne room.”

He looked ahead, down a grand hallway with chandeliers and art on every storming free space of wall. It ended at a T intersection. Left to the throne room.

“What do you mean by too quiet, Adolin?” Yanagawn asked.

“There should be looting here,” he said. “Or at least guards stationed to watch to be sure it doesn’t happen. Notum. Check our rear.”

The spren saluted and became a ribbon of light, then zipped back the way they’d come in.

Be ready, Adolin thought to Maya.

Got it, she replied.

“I think this is a trap,” Adolin said. “Three ways out—back the way we came, forward and to the left, forward and to the right. I’m betting there are troops at each position.” He looked to Kushkam, then May. Both nodded, agreeing with his assessment.

“We knew this probably wouldn’t be easy,” May said. “We’ll have to send someone in to hold the throne, then fight to hold the room.”

“We can bolt the doors in seven places,” Yanagawn said, “with the flick of a lever inside. If this is a trap, the room will be locked tight.”

“Can we cut our way in?” Sarqqin asked. “Brightlord Adolin, is your Shardblade available yet?”

“It is,” Adolin said. “That spot up to our left? That’s the wall into the throne room. I could slice us a hole there maybe, and we’d at least have a way out.”

Noura winced.

“The entire chamber is lined in aluminum,” Yanagawn said. “Remember? I told you we lined it after learning about Deepest Ones. But there is a hidden door.”

He led them to a spot between two ornate urns on pedestals. Here, Noura flipped a hidden switch, but nothing happened.

“Jammed shut,” Colot guessed. “That proves it. They’re ready for us.”

Yanagawn looked to Adolin with panic in his eyes. “Do we run?”

“Where?” Adolin said. “Yanagawn, it would have been nice if we could sneak, but life is rarely that easy.”

Notum came zipping back a second later. “You’re right, Adolin,” he said. “A good fifty troops, with some Fused, are coming up behind us.”

Kushkam pointed the way forward. They continued along the hallway, reaching the T intersection. To both their left and their right—perhaps fifty feet down each corridor—waited another force. Hundreds of them.

Sounds announced the troops coming up behind. Kushkam gave him a grim look, sword out. They were well and truly surrounded.

“We’re doomed,” the emperor whispered.

“Perhaps,” Adolin said. “But do you remember that there was one last way a smaller force can defeat a greater one?”

“Yes,” Yanagawn said. “You promised to tell me what it was.”

Kushkam grunted. He was forced to hold his sword in his off hand because of his lost fingers. “You taught him those, did you?”

“What is it?” the emperor asked, gripping his sword in nervous fingers. “The fourth way.”

“The game can never fully account for the human spirit, Yanagawn,” Adolin said. “Numbers, advantages, disadvantages, statistics … sometimes they lie. Because sometimes the smaller force fights in a way that no pieces on a board can ever replicate. Sometimes in real life, when the odds of winning are miniscule—and any smart general would have surrendered—a force keeps fighting. And wins. ”

Yanagawn trembled. “There are hundreds of them though …”

“Why aren’t they attacking?” May asked, bow out and strung, her hand resting on the large dagger at her side.

Adolin considered a moment, and realized he knew why. He walked a short distance—just ten feet—to the left at the intersection, then pulled open one of the doors to the throne room itself.

In the ornate, well-furnished room beyond, the lights were dim. Sitting on the throne—illuminated from above—was a figure in glittering Plate, red eyes shining through the slits on the front. Adolin’s Plate.

Abidi the Monarch wanted his challenge.

The others saw it, and Kushkam cursed softly, recognizing the Blade—the Azish one, named the Blade of Memories—stabbed into a table beside Abidi. He stood and slid it from the wood, then raised it and pointed it at Adolin.

“Wait out here,” Adolin said to the others.

“But—” Colot began.

“If those forces attack, hold this spot,” Adolin said. “Whatever else happens, hold the room. ”

Then he stepped inside, hobbling on one foot and one peg, before closing the door behind him. He got ready to call Maya.

Abidi pulled a lever built into the shining bronze throne. The doors behind Adolin clicked softly, the many bolts that Yanagawn had mentioned sliding into place.

“They say,” Abidi growled, “you are this era’s greatest living swordsman.”

“No,” Adolin said. “But I was trained by him.” He thrust his hand to the side to summon Maya.

Nothing happened.

Abidi laughed, holding up his Blade. “Aluminum lines this room, little mortal. You should have summoned your Blade, then carried it into the room. The Azish didn’t realize the death trap they were creating here. You have to be very, very careful about how aluminum is applied—something those of your time have yet to learn.”

Storms. Storms.

Adolin backed up, his heels touching the locked door.

“You defeated me in front of all my soldiers,” Abidi said. “You cracked my gemheart and stole my ability to fly, so I’ve had to crawl among the lowborn these ten days. It was either that or return and be reborn, losing my chance to win this land and rule, as is my right.”

He raised his Blade toward Adolin. “I stay sane by bathing in the blood of Radiants. Be honored. Today, I allow you that distinction instead.” The glow behind the helm seemed to intensify. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Then he rushed forward and attacked with a sweep of his Shardblade.

Within the Spiritual Realm, and beneath Formless’s eyeless gaze, Shallan was subjected to death after death as the visions continued to try to destroy her.

She saw her mentors fall again and again. But … Pattern. Pattern told her that she fixated on the fact that she’d killed mentors, but really that was a distortion. It wasn’t true.

She stood up, and looked the visions in the face.

And found they didn’t hurt.

She knew she wouldn’t kill Wit, or Jasnah, or Navani. Once, she’d have accepted these lies. At that time she’d feared—and to an extent hated—herself. That wasn’t completely gone, but she’d reconciled with Veil and accepted the truth.

What were these lies compared to that?

We have found, Radiant said, her voice firm, a life we love. With people who love us back.

Yes. Shallan killed, yes, when she had to. But not because she was a psychopath. Her personas were not something she feared. They were something she used to cope. They helped and protected her. So, as the visions continued, she rejected the lie that she would inevitably hurt people she loved. She recognized it for what it was.

Because she, Shallan Davar, was an expert in lies.

Soon the terrible visions began to fade, becoming just the ordinary Spiritual Realm again. It seemed that the shadow watching her had moved its attention elsewhere. She hadn’t stopped those terrible visions, but she had weathered them, and that was a grand victory. Odium and Formless should have picked something more novel, because she had spent the last several years practicing how to deal with this very flavor of pain.

Once the visions stopped coming so violently, a familiar sensation appeared in her mind. Pattern—then soon afterward, the shifting and flowing mists of the Spiritual Realm faded. She emerged into a black expanse again, joined by her two spren, where Rlain and Renarin—real, as far as she could tell—were waiting. They rushed to her.

“Shallan?” Renarin said. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” she said. “Where are Glys and Tumi?”

“Hiding inside us,” Rlain said. “With the gods moving about recently, they are frightened.”

“Shallan, I need to know what you saw,” Renarin said. “I think it might all be relevant, as I’m guessing the visions are embedded with clues from Mishram.”

“I agree,” Shallan said. “And I’ve been watching for clues too. We will find her prison not in a place, but in a mindset. Her mindset. Which she’s been embedding into the visions we see.”

“My friends,” Rlain said, “did not stand up for me. That’s what I saw. Then the day my people—the listeners—walked away. And … Mishram. She was betrayed at the end by the other Unmade, who did not come to help her when she was captured. She was abandoned by friends and followers.”

“Like me, she wanted to stand up for herself,” Renarin said. “Maybe that’s why I saw what I did—a day when I was too weak and another had to protect me. But then I grew, and became a man who could protect myself. As she did, perhaps? When she decided to take up power and help the singers?”

“Instead of her father,” Shallan whispered. “She took the place of her father. Mishram … did your father try to kill you? Is that the Connection you’re trying to send? The message that will let us find you?”

The three of them stood together.

It wasn’t enough.

“What now?” Rlain asked to Curiosity.

Shallan closed her eyes. “There’s more,” she whispered, thinking back to all she’d been experiencing. “Mishram is afraid that after so long, she’s become unpredictable—dangerous to those she loves. Even deeper, she’s afraid that she deserves this prison, because everyone betrayed her. Because she’s been trapped with her own thoughts so long, they’ve betrayed her. That’s what she’s feeling. That she deserves this suffering.”

Shallan opened her eyes and stepped forward. A corridor appeared before her. It looked into a small stone room with soft glowing light.

Renarin gasped. Rlain hummed.

Together they entered a small room lit by vibrant torches. A corpse lay in the corner, old and desiccated, basically just bones. Holding … blocks? A child’s blocks, and that side of the room was painted soft colors, like a nursery.

The corpse wore Melishi’s clothing. The ancient Bondsmith had died here, alone, in the Spiritual Realm. After finding his childhood room, as each of them had.

A brilliant glowing yellow heliodor lay in the center of the chamber, ringed by candles that somehow still burned. It was cracked along one side, tiny wisps of smoke escaping to taint the Spiritual Realm, and eventually Shallan’s drawings.

Mishram’s prison.

Shallan, Pattern thought to her. We are not alone.

She turned, and saw a shadow darkening the corridor behind them. It was Mraize; she knew that posture. As he’d told her, their next encounter would lead to the end.

“I leave Mishram to you, gentlemen,” she said, walking out. “I need to deal with a loose thread that has been left to dangle for far, far too long.”

Navani’s breath caught as Dalinar stepped into her meeting room at the top of the tower.

He was back. He was alive.

The Sibling had warned her he was coming, so she’d waited to see if she could tell from his eyes which Dalinar he was. The Bondsmith? The Blackthorn?

Neither. He was neither.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. Those watching—guards, scribes, Sebarial and Palona holding hands with a Herdazian wedding ribbon around their wrists—seemed to be made uncomfortable by his display of affection.

Navani held the kiss, held him, held to that warmth. For it was nearly time. Soon Dalinar would march up the steps to the roof, and the end would come. Once the kiss broke, Navani hugged him, feeling the hard muscles. The soft touch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked.

“For leaving you.”

“Gemheart,” he replied, “you cannot leave me. I carry you inside. Gav?”

“Safe,” she said. “Sleeping in the next room. He’s barely stirred since we got out. Love, I thought we’d be able to help you from here. I was wrong.”

He squeezed her tighter. “You did the right thing, and you are wonderful in every way, Navani. I couldn’t have been saved. I didn’t want to be. There were things I needed to see.”

She pulled back, but kept her arms around him, tipping her chin up and meeting his eyes, so close to hers. “What?”

“I always thought the burden of a king was the greatest a man could know,” Dalinar said. “But I was a child, Navani, with a childish understanding.”

“You’ve changed,” she said, and put her hand to his face, brushing her fingers over the stubble—something he hated, preferring a military clean cut. Though over a week had passed, the hairs on his face told her how long his body felt it had been gone. One day, maybe two. Remarkable.

“Every moment we live changes us, Navani,” he said. “Living the memories of gods has changed me above all. I saw his life, Navani. Tanavast’s entire existence. It both haunts and inspires me.”

“Storms,” she whispered.

“Am I … still frightening to you, as you once said I was?”

“No,” she said, searching his eyes. “Your fire is still there, Dalinar, but I know it better now. It is not the fire of destruction, but the fire that spreads, shares its warmth. The fire that envelops my heart, but leaves me breathless.”

He smiled. “I fear I will never live up to the things you say about me, love. I am far too boring. Isn’t that what you once said? That older people should be compelled to be boring?”

“And yet,” she said, “I’m compelled to find you fascinating regardless.”

They shared a moment. The room around them—with ten pillars at the sides, one at the center, and the stairwell to the roof—remained quiet and still, despite all the observers. Including Jasnah, who had kept to herself since her return, feeling soundly her failure in Thaylen City.

No one dared clear their throats or remind them that the deadline was looming. This was her time. Navani kissed him again, for ten burning heartbeats.

When she pulled back, his eyes were sorrowful.

“You don’t know how you’re going to beat him?” she guessed. “The trip through the Spiritual Realm … a waste?”

“No,” he said. “Very much not a waste. It showed me how little I understand, which is a lesson I wish I could stop needing to be taught. I don’t know what is to come. I don’t know if I’ll be able to counter it. But … I feel more confident than I did ten days ago.”

“Do what is right in the moment,” she whispered.

He cocked his head.

“I trust you, Dalinar. The man you’ve become, at last, is a man I trust fully.”

“Even with the fire?”

“Because of the fire,” she said. “There is no need to trust someone who couldn’t hurt you, Dalinar. I trust you because you can hold that fire and not be burned.”

He nodded. “I will do what is right.”

“Discard all the rest. All the thoughts, philosophies, arguments, and even the memories of gods. Do not do what they would have you do. Do what you, Dalinar Kholin, would do.”

“Thank you,” he said, then let go at last. And she felt colder without his touch. The world less bright. He surveyed the others. “Thank you, all of you, for your strength. Your prayers. Your trust.” He nodded to Wit, who bowed his head in respect. Then, as he walked past Sebarial, Dalinar put a hand on the highprince’s shoulder.

Sebarial—remarkably teary-eyed—gripped Dalinar’s wrist in return. “Strange,” Sebarial said, “how we can accidentally become good men, eh, Dalinar? A few choices here and there, and suddenly we’re respectable. The way your brother always said he wanted.”

“My brother,” Dalinar said, “was a liar, Sebarial.”

Sebarial smiled, squeezing Dalinar’s arm. “So you finally know, do you? Gavilar always talked about living the Codes, and here you’ve gone and become them. Go. Be a storming hero. Win our homeland back.”

“No,” Dalinar said. “That’s what the path of gods has shown me, Sebarial. I can’t just protect Alethkar; I have to find a way to defeat him fully.”

“How will you storming do that?”

“With oaths and light, Sebarial.” Navani had placed Dalinar’s copy of The Way of Kings on a table. He smiled, slipped it off, and carried it in one hand as he strode up the stairs.