Chapter 42

There, we will find our destiny. We cannot stop him from destroying us. It is time.

D id I do that?” Szeth asked as Rit vanished to dust and black smoke. The fire in the air went out, and a rushing sound surrounded him.

His spren did not reply.

“What in Damnation was that?” Kaladin asked, dropping down beside him with Syl.

“Honorbearer,” Szeth said. “Stoneward.”

“I meant why did you kill her?” Kaladin said. “And since when could you use Dustbringing?”

“Skybreakers rightly fear Division,” Szeth said. “My spren tells me when it is allowed. Only in special circumstances.”

Your life is a special circumstance now, Szeth, it said. You may use the power until I tell you otherwise.

Szeth took in a deep breath, his full weight coming upon him as his Lashings ran out. He looked around the chamber, the beautiful mural consumed by the strange art of the Stoneward. Some sixty columns reached from floor to ceiling, like sinew. The floor had dropped tens of feet in the battle. The chamber was ruined.

“Something is odd here,” Szeth said, turning and fixating upon Talmut’s dropped Blade, which Syl had leaned down to inspect.

“Just one thing?” Kaladin said.

“Dalinar has mentioned the disappearance of Talmut’s—or Taln’s—Blade,” Szeth said, walking over. He hesitated, then picked it up. “It would have been carried by Talmut when he returned from Damnation. Yet when he arrived at the Shattered Plains, his Blade had been swapped for another.”

“I’ve heard,” Kaladin said. “But—”

“My people must have retrieved it,” Szeth said. “How did they find him so quickly? Why leave him with a different Blade as a ruse?”

Was he to go on a full pilgrimage, visiting each of the monasteries in turn? He rose up toward the doorway, Kaladin and Syl following, then dismissed his Blade. With Talmut’s Honorblade, he cut free some of the gemstones in the wall. Kaladin did likewise, gathering Stormlight of his own. Blasphemy, perhaps, but his spren did not order him to stop. This monastery was ruined anyway.

“I know you like to be mysterious,” Kaladin said, hovering beside him, “but could you please explain?”

The man would pester him unless it was spelled out, wouldn’t he? “Rit spoke of a pilgrimage,” Szeth said. “That is something from my younger years. To bear one of the Blades of the Heralds is an … honor. A great and terrible honor. Among my people, none but the best warriors were allowed this duty.

“As such, the training and path to become an Honorbearer was arduous. You needed to practice with each Blade, then pick one and defeat its owner in a fight using no powers. Then, with that Blade, you needed to face each of the other seven Honorbearers. We call it a pilgrimage of Truth. If you were successful, you would be allowed to join their ranks. You could try only once.”

“You … did this?” Syl asked. “When you were younger?”

“Yes,” Szeth said. “First I traveled to each monastery to train. I won the Blade of Jezrien, whom we call Yesoran. Then I went with that Blade to face my former teachers. Instead I was exiled. With it. Years ago.” He landed in the doorway. “And now when I arrive home, Rit claims I am on a pilgrimage again.”

“Last night Ishar told me,” Kaladin said, “that he’d speak with me once your pilgrimage was finished.”

Szeth nodded. “I met Ishu last week. I … was not emotionally strong during that encounter. Ishu said he’d killed my father, and warned that the Shin had accepted the Unmade. He implied he’d saved them.”

“The people don’t look very saved to me,” Kaladin said, landing beside him as they started back down the path.

“I worry that the Herald is unreliable,” Szeth said. “I do not know that we can trust what he said.”

“He claims to be the Almighty,” Kaladin said. “And he perpetuated a war for years in southern Makabak. You’re right; anything he says is going to be unreliable.”

Szeth held up Talmut’s Honorblade as he descended the path. “Our Sacred Truth is that the enemy would return, and we would need to fight them with the Honorblades. One at each monastery …”

“So … we have to retrace the path you took as a youth?” Syl said. “Is that how we cleanse your homeland?”

“It is a start,” Szeth said. “A direction.”

“I don’t like it,” Kaladin said, arms folded, hovering along out over the cliff. Of course he had to complain. “We’re being manipulated—and by someone who is obviously delusional.”

“And what would you do instead?” Szeth asked him. “I must at least visit another monastery to investigate. Perhaps the other shamans will speak to me, or perhaps they will attack me. Either action will give us more information.”

“Szeth,” Kaladin said, taking him by the arm. “What if we went straight to the Bondsmith monastery? Would Ishar be there?”

“What do you think?” Szeth asked. “You just said he’s unreliable. If we ignore his instructions, would he simply appear and answer your questions?”

Kaladin thought a moment, then gave the answer he plainly didn’t like. “No,” he admitted. “He was quite explicit—he wants you to complete your quest, and he wants me to help you. If we’re going to hunt him down, we’ll at least need more information on what is happening.”

“You came here to help Ishu-son-God see clearly,” Szeth said. “I think showing you are earnestly helping will do a great deal. Come.”

Kaladin hovered in place, studying Szeth. The Windrunner was annoying, but smart. Perhaps that was why he was annoying. “I’m worried,” Kaladin said. “I’m supposed to return with help for Dalinar, but … but Wit said I won’t be able to. Not in time, surely. Maybe not at all …” He looked behind him at the monastery. “There’s power here, of a type I haven’t ever seen …”

“And?” Szeth asked.

“… And you’re probably right. Seeing if the other Honorbearers will talk to us is the best way to proceed.” He sighed. “How close is the next monastery?”

“Not too far,” Szeth said. “It would take a few days walking, but we can use some Stormlight and arrive tomorrow.”

With a nod, Kaladin joined him along with Syl, walking back down the pathway. Soon they heard voices.

People from the encampment had left the buildings and were gathering in the sunlight.

Adolin gave an excited leap as he left the dome. He soared some ten feet before slamming to the ground, meeting his soldiers, who had formed up outside following the battle.

His father would have given a fine speech. Adolin ripped his helmet off, held it high in one hand with his Shardblade in the other, and bellowed a vibrant yell of triumph, exploding with gloryspren. His soldiers shouted their enthusiasm in a roar, raising weapons.

“Colot!” Adolin said. “How many fallen do we need to mourn today?”

“Six wounded, sir,” Colot called back. “None dead among our men.”

None? The Azish had certainly lost some, but to have his men fight without dying? Adolin let out another shout, mirrored by his soldiers. This felt good. He went among them, letting them bang their fists on his Plate, as he’d done with other troops before life had become so complicated and his father’s rules so strict.

Morale wasn’t just about official commendations or even about increased rations or pay after a victory. It was about the soldiers knowing that Adolin personally was proud of them. How would they know that if they couldn’t see him?

I am proud, Maya said. I want to join.

Feel like letting others carry you? he asked.

Yes, she said, sounding surprised. The sword. I will make it dull. Let them carry it.

Most people never had the chance to hold a Shardblade. So Adolin picked out the Thaylen man from earlier, then summoned Maya and held her out.

The entire group grew hushed, their eyes opening wide.

“The Blade remains bonded to me,” Adolin said, “but she wishes to join your celebrations. Hold her high! I’m going to go talk to the emperor. I’ll summon the sword back when I need it.” He let the man reverently hold Maya, then raise her high with a shout.

Adolin slipped out from among them. He admittedly was a tad anxious letting go of Maya—but it felt meaningful. Colot jogged up beside him as he walked away. “I’ve never seen a Shardbearer act like this,” he said. “Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?”

“It’s basically impossible without killing me. Besides, these men were brave enough to volunteer for an isolated and risky deployment. They’re our best, Colot.” He put an armored hand on the man’s shoulder. “ You are our best, my friend. You executed those maneuvers perfectly. ”

“Well, I’m glad someone wants me,” he said.

“Those Windrunners will someday realize what they missed out on,” Adolin said, then nodded toward the crowd. “Who is that Thaylen fellow?”

“One of the most enthusiastic of the foreign volunteers,” Colot said. “Name is Hmask. He’s got skill, so I used him to plug a hole in your personal guard. He seems specifically loyal to you for some reason, but he doesn’t speak a lick of Alethi so I haven’t been able to ask.”

“I don’t recognize him,” Adolin said. “Get him a uniform, and formally induct him into the Cobalt Guard. He stared down a Heavenly One and kept his wits.”

“It will be done,” Colot said, then gestured toward the emperor—who was still seated on a podium set up by his palanquin. An ornate, if portable, throne. “They tried to move him once the fighting started, and I think he refused. Also, I believe that Kushkam will give you trouble. He was livid about how things played out.”

Colot pointed toward the beefy Azish commandant, who was approaching the emperor with a bowed back and a shamed posture.

“I think you might be wrong about that,” Adolin said. “Go and make sure I didn’t accidentally start a riot by letting them hold the sword—and have my soldiers set up my tent in a spot near our barracks. Oh, and make sure the worst of the Azish wounded get healing from May’s budding Radiant ward. I’ll handle Kushkam.”

“Better you than me,” Colot said, with a quick salute before trotting off.

Adolin was still tailed by several scribes and two bodyguards, but he was used to that sort of thing. He clomped up to Yanagawn and his attendants, helm under his arm, in time to catch Kushkam giving a report.

“… will see that the field inside is covered in debris, as Kholin suggested,” the commandant was saying toward Noura, his head bowed as he knelt before the emperor, his hand outstretched in a penitent way—shamespren falling like flower petals around it. “I understand now that our assault tactics were faulty.” He glanced toward Adolin, then bowed his head lower. “In addition, I must offer—”

“May I interrupt?” Adolin asked, giving a quick bow to the emperor. “If it’s all right?”

“Please,” Yanagawn said, sitting up in his seat. “What is your perspective, Adolin?”

“I’m impressed,” Adolin said. “You have a fantastic military here, Excellency.”

Kushkam glanced at him, frowning.

“By our reports, we wonder if that statement is true,” Noura said, standing behind the Prime’s seat, decked out in robes that looked far too hot, even if the sun was close to setting by now. “Our lines bowed immediately and failed to anticipate enemy maneuvers, requiring your salvation.”

“Pardon, Noura,” Adolin said. “But I’m a Shardbearer. Jumping into the action when things go wrong is my storming job.” He turned and pointed to an Azish company that had left the dome to lick its wounds while others filled in to stand watch. “I don’t know how much direct battlefield observation you’ve done, but any plan can fall apart on any battlefield.

“The commandant’s strategy didn’t work—but when it didn’t, he and his armies quickly reassessed. They fell in to the next best plan, and held. A well-executed pivot like that is one of the single best hallmarks of a disciplined and well-trained military.”

“One might question his skill if he made such a big mistake,” Noura pressed. “You were right and he was wrong.”

“And on other battlefields, I’ve been wrong,” Adolin said. “Look, Kushkam isn’t used to how Fused and Regals fight, and that got us into trouble today. But he adapted. Moreover, my own officers all thought Kushkam’s plan would be effective. He’s neither a bad officer nor a bad tactician. He made one incorrect call, but then fixed it. I’m honored to be able to serve with him and his troops.”

To his relief, a lone sincerityspren—like opening blue fronds—appeared next to him, giving testament to the fact that he genuinely believed what he was saying. They all regarded it silently, then Kushkam slowly climbed to his feet.

“Well,” the emperor said, “I suppose we should celebrate, if not in such a … boisterous manner as your troops, Adolin. The day is won.”

“They will be back,” Kushkam said, gazing directly at Noura. “Vizier, they might try to push through again immediately, assuming that we will be resting.”

“Kushkam is correct,” Adolin said. “They have an army of fresh troops waiting for battle. Their blitz attack having failed, they’ll likely realize their best move now is to try to tire us out.”

“Agreed,” Kushkam said. “They will regroup, give new orders, and plan how to wear us down—run us out of defenders and break through. The next few days will be grueling.”

“I have some thoughts on how to approach that, Commandant,” Adolin said. “If you’d like to hear them.”

“I think I would,” he said, then bowed to the emperor, who waved that he could withdraw.

Before joining him, Adolin stepped closer to Yanagawn. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hear you didn’t leave when they tried to make you.”

“Yeah,” Yanagawn said, then sat up a little straighter, as if remembering not to slouch. “I mean, indeed, I thought it best to maintain a strong presence here—to indicate faith in the troops.” He smiled at Adolin. “And … sometimes I want to be part of events.”

“I’ll be camping out here on this square, near where my men are barracked. Need to be close, as the enemy will attack at night to test us. Want to do the same?”

Yanagawn blinked. “You’re … inviting me to a campout ?”

“We call them bivouacs in the military,” Adolin replied, with a grin. “There should be some time between the fights. I could give you a little training. Let you swing a Shardblade, practice wearing Plate. You should know how to use it, since you own several sets yourself.”

Adolin was pretty sure an emperor wasn’t supposed to gawk like that, jaw gaping, eyes alight. He recovered a moment later, then glanced at Noura.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said carefully. “You are not like an Eastern ruler. You aren’t needed on the front lines. Your role is to inspire and provide leadership.”

“We won’t put him on the front lines, Noura,” Adolin said, “not unless it becomes absolutely necessary. But he’s about the age I was when I tried winning my own Blade in a duel.”

“It’s different,” she said. “You didn’t represent an entire empire. As long as the emperor is on his throne, Azimir stands. Without him, we are in chaos.”

“Yes,” Adolin said, “but this is the storming end. If the enemy wins this city, there won’t be an empire. You understand that, right?”

She hesitated. “And what good is one more teenager on the battle lines?” she finally asked.

“Depends,” Adolin said. “If that teenager is the emperor himself, coming to prove to the troops precisely how vital their defense is? It could be the most important thing he ever does.” He looked to Yanagawn. “There are times when I saw Gavilar step onto the field, and every eye turned toward him. He didn’t need to raise a Blade, but when the men knew he was there—that he was committed—it changed the way they fought. It’s not your way, but it might be worth trying.”

“I’ll do it,” Yanagawn said, keeping his gaze directed at Adolin as Noura released a soft sigh. “Will you teach me that game you mentioned?”

“Towers?” Adolin said. “Absolutely.” He nodded and withdrew, jogging up to Kushkam, who was waiting nearby. They began walking back toward the bulk of the men, trailed by Adolin’s attendants—who kept far enough behind to let them speak in private.

“What did I do wrong?” Kushkam asked in a low voice. “Why did the line nearly break? I thought the strategy was so sound.”

“The enemy has, by my best count, around two hundred Regals,” Adolin said. “I think I might have killed around ten today, plus one—of maybe ten—Fused, who might not be able to be reborn in time to rejoin the fight. Regardless, Kushkam, you assumed a few of your soldiers were a match for a few of theirs. Forming up close to the control room like you did let them leverage only their strongest soldiers against ours.”

He groaned softly. “It really was a Stuko Stem.”

“Afraid so.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“If it means anything,” Adolin said, “I was being honest earlier—my officers agreed with your decision, and they have fought Fused. But it’s hard to give up what feels like an advantageous position.”

“So what we should do,” he said, “is what your army demonstrated. We form solid pike walls farther back, and force them to come to us—make them spread their Regals out, so they can’t pit a hundred of them against a hundred humans. They have to instead pit a hundred Regals plus nine hundred regular soldiers against a thousand of mine.”

“Exactly,” Adolin said. “Plus, you will have archer support, and the time—during their advance—to position our Shardbearers wherever the enemy sends most of their elite troops. And anything that slows their advance gives us more time to try to bring Regals down from a distance.”

“Hence the suggestion that we throw furniture in the way,” Kushkam said. “I still feel like a failure. Did you … hear they took that imperial Soulcaster?”

“Storms, no,” Adolin said. “I was distracted by fighting.”

“A flying Fused grabbed him and towed him to the portal while we were first regrouping.”

Adolin took a deep breath. “Poor man.”

“He was almost gone to the Soulcaster disease,” Kushkam said. “But I hate to have caused this. I …” He sighed. “I was too intimidated by an Alethi coming to take over my city. I apologize.”

“As do I,” Adolin said. “I put you on the spot earlier by offering suggestions in front of the emperor—ones you didn’t have time to consider. That forced you to make a decision immediately. I should have known better, and come to you in private to explain my concerns.”

Kushkam grunted. “They warned me about you.”

“They?”

“Some of my men,” he said, stopping and turning to face Adolin, who was taller by an inch or two—but not nearly so bulky. Kushkam looked him up and down with one eye, the other a tattooed hole. “They said you’d win me over. I said that you were a fop, a dandy who was more interested in clothing and duels than warfare.”

“I think, actually,” Adolin said, “both of you were right. I’d much, much rather be choosing tomorrow’s wardrobe than be here killing. You?”

Kushkam waited an uncomfortably long moment. Then he smiled, holding out his hand. “Absolutely.”

With relief, Adolin took his hand.

“You like to use first names,” Kushkam said. “I’m Zarb, Adolin. I appreciate what you did today. You saved lives.”

“It’s why I’m here,” Adolin said. “I promise.”

“You should be in command.”

“Respectfully, no,” Adolin said. “I have more experience fighting the singers, but you know your troops and this city. Beyond that, when this is over, I get to go back to Urithiru. You have to live with what we do here. You need to lead, Zarb. I promise I’ll do my best not to undermine you any further—but also to make it very clear when I disagree.”

“Remarkable,” the man said, shaking his head. “You’re really the son of the Blackthorn?”

Adolin didn’t reply. Because while yes, he was Dalinar’s son … he wasn’t always sure if he was the son of the Blackthorn.

Kushkam’s eyes grew distant as he gazed at the dome. “I’d hoped,” he said quietly, “to win decisively today—to kill hundreds while they tried to push through. I understand your strategy now, and agree … but Adolin, if we have to field pike walls and hold …”

“It will get brutal,” Adolin agreed softly. “We’ll have an advantage as the defender, but they can afford to lose four to every one they kill.”

“These soldiers are good men,” Kushkam said. “Our best. They will fight, and they will hold, but … we’re looking at high casualties until the main army arrives. I wish you hadn’t been right.”

“So do I, Zarb,” Adolin said.

“My officers and I are setting up our tents over in that area,” Kushkam said, pointing. “I want to be near the fighting, and have refused better accommodations farther inside the city. Would you dine with us this evening, Adolin? I want you to meet my command staff. If they get to know you, it may help keep them from resenting you.”

“I’d be honored,” Adolin said. “Thank you. Let me make sure my men are properly quartered, and I’ll join you in … say, an hour?”

“Excellent,” he said, then glanced at the dome again, seeming reserved. Finally, he marched toward the pavilions being erected.

Adolin took a deep breath. Winning over the Azish command structure should have felt fantastic, and it did, but …

It was going to be brutal. He’d saved the day, but worse ones were coming. Far worse.

You feel sad, Maya said. Uncertain.

“Just still finding my place in all of this. I’ll figure it out. I will protect this city.”

I’m worried about the way you say things like that, Adolin.

“Just being confident.”

And it doesn’t reach deeper?

He wasn’t certain. He took a seat at the edge of the square, on a wall by a fountain. He looked over the enormous bronze dome, reflecting the light of a setting sun.

“I want to be enough,” he said. “I’m nothing more than a man with a sword and armor. That used to be enough.” Once, he’d been the best. Now that didn’t matter.

I feel that’s not who you are, Adolin, she said. But storms, I can’t say. I know you, but I don’t know you.

He nodded, understanding the meaning. They had been with each other for years, but only now could interact.

“I’m worried about what Kushkam said,” he said softly. “My strategy is sound, but the enemy is going to attack again and again. We’re going to lose so many.”

Only three days of fighting. Until the reinforcements.

“And if they don’t come?” Adolin asked. “Or if the enemy gets more Regals?”

You … might be right to worry about that. I saw some Heavenly Ones leave the group earlier—two of them, leaving them with seven, now that you killed one. Those two could be going to fetch help, since the initial attack was turned back.

He took another deep breath.

It used to be enough. He used to be enough. Storms, he missed Shallan already. Her voice always helped.

He hoped she was safe, wherever she was.

He stood and walked toward the others, trying to think of something more he could do here. As he drew closer, he saw soldiers holding his sword in a reverent posture. Colot was making sure there was no riot, making them take turns. But seeing this, Adolin couldn’t help imagining what would happen to his troops if a legitimate force of Fused were brought in. Regals were trouble enough; if there were Deepest Ones in this army, they could swim out through the stones to flank his people. A single Magnified One, and then a single Husked One, had given Kaladin trouble.

And even aside from Fused … he was still looking at high casualties over the next few days. That was why the Mink had been so uncertain about this defense. Adolin couldn’t help imagining his troops getting slaughtered. Couldn’t help remembering the cries from his troops in Kholinar, when he’d left them.

He needed an edge. Something to help.

“Do you remember,” he said, thinking back to a few days ago, “those spren who left Lasting Integrity right as we did?” When those honorspren objectors had abandoned the fortress, he had met the eyes of a few. They’d been among those who had taken up the call, Honor is not dead …

I do, Maya said.

“I wonder,” Adolin said, “if we could … I don’t know, get them to come and lend us their powers or something …”

It felt foolish when he said it. What could they do here? Maya, however, grew excited.

I can talk now, Adolin. I feel better. I can persuade them! I could go to them.

“Could you?”

I can move with the beads. All of us deadeyes do it. I think … I think this could work! Even if it takes a few days, I might be able to get back here in time!

Huh. “How confident are you?”

Reasonably confident.

Well … that was interesting. Now that she was speaking more, perhaps she could persuade the honorspren. He could certainly use some more Radiants.

“The timing doesn’t seem like it will work,” he said, thinking of how long it took to bond and train a Radiant.

I can make it work. If you trust me.

“Always,” Adolin said.

But … to do this … I’d have to go.

Go. He realized what she was saying. She’d slip away in Shadesmar, into the bead ocean. On a battlefield like this, he didn’t need a Blade. Blades were excellent for duels, but nothing beat the power of Plate when fighting multiple foes. Azimir had some Shardhammers—large conventional weapons designed to be swung by a person in Plate. He could use one of those, and be nearly as effective. But still …

He felt Maya’s emotions, so eager, so certain. She seemed completely confident she could bring him those honorspren to help against the Fused. She wanted to do it so badly, and he’d sworn to himself that she wasn’t his. He didn’t decide for her.

“I support,” he found himself saying, “whatever decision you make.”

I will go, she said, sounding eager. Try not to summon me. That will start my journey over. Only if you are in dire need.

“I understand,” he said.

And the sword, in May Aladar’s hands, vanished of its own accord. Storms, Adolin thought as he felt Maya immediately start to grow distant. How many men had given up their Shardblade like that? He thought she would come back, but …

All of the Radiants did it once, he thought. And there was one other. My father.

Adolin considered that, filled with complex emotions, as he ran to check on his troops. After that, he spent the evening doing his best to win over Kushkam’s officers—all the while worried about Maya. And all the while confident that he’d made the right choice—because it was the decision his heart demanded.

Kaladin glanced over his shoulder as he hiked with Szeth down toward the encampment. “Syl,” he whispered, “have you ever seen a Stoneward with that kind of strength?”

“No,” she replied, hovering beside him. “But I didn’t live during the days of the Heralds.”

“What was powering her?” Kaladin said. “She didn’t drain a single gemstone in the wall—and when I examined the clothing she left after Szeth burned the corpse away, I found no spheres or gems.”

Syl shook her head, looking as troubled as he felt.

“Storms,” Kaladin said, finally prying his eyes away from the monastery. “If that’s what a fully oathed Stoneward can do, it makes me wonder what I’m missing about our powers.”

I don’t think it was that impressive, Nightblood said in his hand.

“She made the stone flow like water,” Kaladin said.

Water flows like water all the time, and it’s super stupid. Have you tried talking to it?

“He has a point,” Syl said to Kaladin. “Water does tend to be pretty dumb. Even for something inanimate. No offense, sword.”

Glad to hear that. Regardless, that sword isn’t so great. I could do better, I’m sure.

“That’s an Honorblade,” Kaladin said. “It grants the bearer the Surges of a Stoneward—Radiant abilities, unbound by oaths …”

I could learn that, the sword said. I’m super good at being a sword. Besides, what’s more interesting than making stone act like water? Destroying it. That’s what.

“Szeth did a pretty good job of that too,” Kaladin noted. “Looks like he’s figured out Division at last.”

Nightblood gave a humph.

Together, they followed Szeth as he stepped up to the main camp on the ridge, where people were emerging from their buildings. There were more of them than Kaladin had expected—thousands. They must have been packed into those barracks. They wore unkempt clothing. Not ripped or frayed, really, but they obviously hadn’t been washed in some time. Stained by sweat and crem. Or … well, dirt.

Many gazed up at the sky, blinking. Several approached Szeth with awe, whispering, pointing at the Honorblade.

“What are they saying?” Kaladin asked.

“They’re thanking him,” Syl said. “I think the death of that woman must have freed them somehow. Look how different they seem.”

“Like they’ve just woken up,” Kaladin agreed.

More and more people gathered around Szeth, reaching toward him—which made him step back, alert, Honorblade clutched as if he expected them to take it. Their postures were universally reverent, but his eyes began to dart from side to side. He was feeling boxed in.

Kaladin moved up quickly to intervene, coming in wide so Szeth could see him and not get spooked. “Hey,” Kaladin said. “Hey, you okay?”

“What do they want of me?” Szeth said. “Why are they acting like this?”

“Thankful?” Kaladin asked. “You saved them.”

“I kill,” Szeth said. “I subtract. I destroy. I am to be reviled. I …”

Kaladin carefully put his hand on Szeth’s shoulder and gestured to the people. Nearby, some of them were laughing, clutching family members, while others had fallen to their knees and were staring at the sky.

“It’s all right, Szeth,” Kaladin said. “It’s all right.”

Timid, Szeth relaxed, letting some of the people thank him. Kaladin didn’t understand the words, but he’d seen those postures before, those eyes holding back tears. He’d been there. Szeth, it appeared, never had. He took the kindness with an air of bemusement.

Syl stepped up and translated. “That one in the once-colorful robes seems to be their leader. He’s bowing to Szeth.”

“It’s not right,” Szeth said in Alethi. “This is the Farmer. Son of the man I used to know. He doesn’t recognize me, but he is far above me. He … he shouldn’t be grateful. ”

Still, Szeth bore it. As he turned to Kaladin and Syl at the end, he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “I … I do not know how to respond. Please forgive me.”

“This is what it’s about, Szeth,” Kaladin said.

“It?”

“What we do,” Kaladin said. “Being a watcher at the rim? This is why. My father never understood, and I suspect your people never did either. You can. This is what we fight for. Those looks. Those tears. That joy. Our duty has a cost, as you said—we are both proof of that. But if there’s a difference between us, it’s this: I know the why.”

“I thought I knew why,” Szeth whispered.

“Service to the law?”

“To an ideal.”

“Ideals are dead things,” Kaladin said, “unless they have people behind them. Laws exist not for themselves, but for those they serve.”

“Perhaps,” Szeth said, then took a deep breath and dried his eyes. “Did you see the woman I killed vanish?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. “I thought you did that.”

“I do not know for certain,” Szeth replied. “This is the first time I have been allowed Division. I may be … unpracticed with it, since my days training as a young man. Before she died though, she said something that makes me consider.”

Syl frowned. “What was it she said?”

“Just that … my family waited for me. The other Honorbearers, it seems.”

Kaladin looked back over the people, and felt the wind blow across him—something he couldn’t remember feeling since they’d arrived at the camp.

It whispered to him. We need you.

“I … I believe you,” he whispered back. “There’s something for me here. Not as important as the battle my friends fight in, but still relevant.”

No, not as important, the Wind said. More important. Far, far more important …

“Kaladin?” Szeth asked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m talking to the Wind, Szeth. She wants me here. Which is the next monastery?”

“Willshaper,” he said, pointing into the distance. “Shall we begin?”

Kaladin nodded, feeling fully invested in this mission for the first time since Dalinar had given him the order.

THE END OF

Day Three