Chapter 59

EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO

S zeth ducked into the building, a simple one-room home in the fishing village. Dirt floor. An unmended net hanging on a peg from the wall. Bone hooks leaning against the door, for reaching into the deep and pulling up cages. The place smelled of brine and old shells.

Five men huddled on the floor, wearing the clothing of fishermen. Dirty, their eyes downcast. The stonewalkers had begun taking slaves. Today they would get what they came for. And more.

“All is well?” Szeth hissed to the men.

One of his sergeants nodded. “We’re ready, sir.”

The men on this mission were his best: a brave group willing to forgo exercise for a time to enhance their scrawny appearance. He checked on each one, making absolutely certain each was committed. Then he hurried to the goods by the wall: oil from the bladders of the giant crabs that walked the ocean floor, stored in leather sacks. Prized shells in wooden boxes.

The stonewalkers’ loot, and their doom. Each box had a false bottom with weapons stored inside. Hand on his sword, Szeth urged the men to bravery and moved toward the next building. In the distance, the stonewalker raiders’ ships were barely visible. Szeth hesitated, looking out across the evening waters—which were placid, as if subservient to the invaders.

You have time, the Voice said. If you hurry.

Szeth crept into the next building. At nineteen, he’d been living as a soldier for eight years now. He sometimes found it difficult to remember pastoral life as a shepherd—but going out among the common folk brought reminders. As he checked on the soldiers in this building, he passed a large crab shell on the wall—painted with colors. The fisherfolk here added; they would capture fish, but nothing larger. They would have harvested that shell from a crab that died naturally. Even the oil could be harvested humanely.

Once, he had believed adding was the sole way to live. Now he had found another. He spoke to each man, then hastened outside.

This is a good plan, Szeth, the Voice said as he entered the final building in the row. I’m proud of you.

“The General wouldn’t go this far,” he whispered.

Are you following orders?

“To the letter,” Szeth said.

Then how could he complain?

These last years, he’d cherished what the Honorbearer had told him. Do as he was told. Except … there was so much wiggle room. His orders were to protect the villages. The General would want a display of force to scare the raiders away—but if Szeth did that, the raiders would just find another undefended village to assault. It had happened before.

Though it hadn’t seemed so at first, what the Honorbearer had said—to follow orders to the best of his understanding—put the burden back on Szeth. Lately they’d told him to show initiative—to be a leader. These words had to mean something. He would show the General that he could do more than follow orders; he could excel at them.

Every one of his soldiers was in place, eyes downcast, dirt on their faces. Ready for the trap.

The General doesn’t have answers, the Voice said. Only you have answers. The ones you find, the ones you create for yourself. This is good. You are good.

Szeth nodded, crouching inside the doorway and lifting the beads that draped the opening to peek at the approaching ships, which stalked like wild axehounds on the hunt—shadows moving across the water. Five years since that day the Honorbearers had visited. Five years of visiting the slaughterhouse each week. Five years of being sent on patrols. He now fully understood the weaknesses of those who added. The Farmer, for all his careful wisdom, was afraid of the outsiders. His orders to the General were too passive.

Both worried about antagonizing the stonewalkers, so it had grown worse over the years. More raids. More thefts. Now the opportunistic taking of slaves. The Farmer had begun leaving goods as a kind of tribute, hoping that a larger offering would keep the enemy from taking slaves.

That wouldn’t work. The Voice promised it would merely get worse. Szeth had been told to show initiative, and he thought he could hear the words they weren’t saying. They wanted someone to solve this problem for them.

Szeth narrowed his eyes. He knew that feeling.

Today, the spren said, they learn.

Szeth slipped out of the building. He paused by the water to fish a stone out of the surf. For luck. Sand was fine for fisherfolk to walk on because of its size, though they used docks to avoid little stones. He liked to carry them for a bit, then deliver them to the grove near the camp.

Lucky stone secured, he moved around the building and selected a hiding spot behind it. He felt at his belt for the horn—slick, cold, ready to summon his reserves from the nearby valley. It would be his job to call off the trap if he thought anything was amiss. So Szeth watched—anxious—as the ships stilled in the bay. They released smaller boats, like a swarm of gnats, which glided ever closer, moved by oars through the mirror waters. Almost here …

A sound to his right.

Szeth spun, and to his horror he spotted a young boy—wearing a splash of green in the form of bright socks—creeping through the village. What? The people had been evacuated on the Farmer’s orders! But before Szeth could move to usher the child away, he heard guttural outlander shouts. The splashing of men leaping from boats, which ground against the sand as they were pulled ashore.

The boy panicked and crouched by a building. Idiot. What had tempted him into danger?

What tempted you that day, Szeth? the Voice asked. Perhaps this boy left behind something he loved.

Szeth watched with an increased tension as the stonewalkers raided the village. Ripping down bead doorways, laughing to one another as they found offerings. This time not just goods, but some weak, scraggly slaves. Men taught to speak one phrase in the stonewalker language: “We are yours now.”

“Please, spren of the moons,” Szeth whispered. “Don’t let them be suspicious. Don’t let them question.”

It will be as I desire, the Voice said to the prayer .

The foreigners began forcing slaves onto their boats, sacks of oil slung over shoulders, boxes of shells carried triumphantly. Not for the first time Szeth wondered, were there people who added among the outsiders? Did these soldiers really have no Farmer to control them?

Men who would subtract with no oversight whatsoever from calmer minds. The idea disturbed him.

Szeth refused to let himself relax, even though the enemy took the bait—laughing and joking in their twisted language. One lit a torch, ready to throw it onto the buildings. Another of the stonewalkers slapped him, shouting something, then tossed the torch into the nearby surf with a hiss.

“What are they saying?” Szeth asked, wishing he had the training in languages that was common to the shamans.

With so much oil around, the leader fears that a fire could rage out of control.

Pity. Szeth had thought they were showing mercy to the village. He turned to look through the darkness toward the boy, who had smartly remained quiet. Obviously terrified, huddling by the wall, shadowed from the pale blue light of the Second Sister above.

Szeth needed these soldiers to retreat with their bounty, so he could move on to the next stage of the plan. Unfortunately, as some of them started to row out to sea, the leader barked something to his men, who began to scout the area. What could they possibly be looking for? The village homes were all arrayed facing the coast; only some sheds and small pastures lay back here.

Apparently they wanted to squeeze every bit of value from this raid. A few grabbed chickens from a coop, and another kicked open a shed. There were no hinges, so the boards were fitted to slide into place. Loathing the men for their greed, Szeth faded further into the darkness of his hiding place. Until he saw men heading toward the boy’s location. They’d push into that shack, and with the way the boy was whimpering …

You know what you need to do, the Voice said to him.

Szeth stood up from his hiding place.

I meant you needed to remain in hiding, Szeth, and let the boy suffer the consequences of his actions. The Voice sounded annoyed. But how could it be angry if it wouldn’t explain what it wanted?

Szeth walked into the middle of the roadway, causing the foreigners to shout. The ones nearest the boy pulled out weapons and pointed them at Szeth, who—feigning fear—cringed away. He tossed them his sword, then went to his knees.

This is a dangerous gamble, the Voice said.

“They took the others as slaves without question.”

Unarmed men weakened over time. They might be afraid of you. They should be afraid of you.

They weren’t. They were accustomed to weakness from Szeth’s people, even the soldiers. These laughed, one taking his sword, then saying something that—despite the language barrier—Szeth could tell was derisive. Outsiders did not think highly of Shin metallurgy.

They took Szeth, removed his armor, and tied him up. Then all the men who had been searching this back street hauled him off toward one of the landing boats, leaving the boy hidden.

The stonewalkers smelled awful, of oil and sweat. They wore furs for warmth while sailing, but their clothing underneath was … well, ordinary. Colorful, in fact. Tunics with leather breastplates and knee guards. Metal helmets.

Many had narrow black beards bound in cords, and they handled him roughly as they forced him to sit in the little boat. They rowed him out across the still waters toward the nearest of the three ships. They’d left him his horn, but he didn’t seek to blow it. The plan—his own problems notwithstanding—was going fine. Hopefully none of his watching reserves would strike out early in some foolish attempt to rescue him. Hopefully he hadn’t ruined the entire operation to protect one silly boy.

But if it’s not to protect silly boys, Szeth thought to himself, then why am I here?

At the ship, they raised his boat up on winches, then hauled him out onto the deck—where a man wearing fine clothing, including a long coat, looked him over. Likely the captain. Szeth spotted some of his soldiers being ushered belowdecks, as escaped slaves from past raids had indicated. Loot—people and goods alike—was split equally among the ships, and stowed in their dark bowels. But each of Szeth’s men had a small blade hidden in their mouth to cut their bonds.

The captain seized Szeth’s horn and had others search his pockets, where they found the lucky stone he’d grabbed earlier. They found this particularly exciting, and for a moment Szeth was confused.

They think it’s an Oathstone, the Voice explained. They think you’re already a slave among your own people.

An Oathstone. Szeth had heard of the practice—the final chance for an otherwise condemned soldier. These were allowed to take an oath on a sacred stone, then do service. They were rare enough he’d never met one.

“One that small could be an Oathstone?” he asked.

Most are smaller, the Voice said. It is a curious practice among your people, one I have encouraged. I approve of oaths. Unbreakable, binding your will to the people you serve.

The leader of the raiders barked orders at Szeth. In response, Szeth sagged in the men’s grip, trying to get his feet underneath him as the ship swayed. The other landing boats had all been unloaded.

Distant horns sounded from the reserves. The sign. Excellent. People on the ship scanned the coast. The captain merely laughed—they had the loot. He called out to his men, and they started preparing the ship to sail.

The captain is amused, the Voice said. He finds leaving slaves and offerings to be a sign of cowardice, and believes the arriving forces are just making a show of doing something now that the danger has passed. Like a dog raving at the fence once the stranger has already turned away. He believes raiding here each season will make him extremely rich.

Szeth nodded, his nervousness rising as he waited, hoping. Now was the moment. This was when …

One of the three ships leaked smoke. Screams followed, then flames broke through windows, and smoke billowed from the hold, turning the ship into a black column in moments—only a phantom orange light below marking the flames within. Szeth held a breath until he saw unarmored Shin men diving from the ship in the chaos.

His soldiers had executed the plan. Cutting themselves free, killing any watching, then spreading and burning the oil. That done, they could escape into the night. Moments later, shouts sounded from the hold of the ship he was on, and he smelled smoke. In seconds it began to seep, thick and black, between the boards under his feet.

The men on deck panicked, ripping themselves away from the horrific sight of their sister vessel going up in flames as they realized they were next.

Perfect. Szeth yanked free from his stunned captors and rolled on the deck. He bodychecked a sailor, then clomped down the steps to the hold, coming up behind a sailor fighting against someone below. He slammed a kick into the sailor’s back, throwing them forward on the sword of Lumo-son-Tumo.

“Stones Unhallowed!” Lumo said, light from the growing fire below showing a confused Shin face. “Sir, what are you doing on board?”

“Simply keeping an eye on things,” Szeth said, turning around. “Little help?”

Lumo sliced through the ropes binding him, then Szeth took the saber from the fallen man. Curved. He wasn’t used to that. He nodded to the members of the strike team, then together they burst up out of the hold onto the deck—to find it practically empty. The sailors had jumped overboard, including the captain. They had likely realized the vessel was irrecoverable.

“Join the reserves as they watch the beach,” Szeth said to the four. “If any sailors slip past and make their way inland, they could slaughter dozens.”

“Yes, sir!” the strike team said, four diving overboard as more and more smoke blackened the air.

Lumo hesitated by the rail. “Sir?”

Szeth was watching that third ship. Stonewalker sailors were swimming that direction. There was no smoke.

“Sir!” Lumo said, coughing. “You can’t stay here!”

“Go!” Szeth said, feeling the heat flare up as flames licked through the hatch in the deck. Lumo refused to go, sticking by his side. Strange, how out here—among these men—the very attitudes that had once brought Szeth derision now brought him loyalty. He had not changed. He was quiet, not wanting to talk when everyone else was so full of words. He still sparred relentlessly, and made no excuses for his resulting skill.

These men loved him for it. It seemed he had found three different militaries in his life. One represented in the corrupt soldier he’d killed. Another represented in those of the camp, who enjoyed their easy lives. The final one was out here, among those assigned to defend their shores.

The third group didn’t care if he was brusque, if he beat them at swordplay, or if he chided them. Not as long as he could fight. Because a man who kept his companions alive earned the respect of all.

Five of the men who respected him were on that last ship. Szeth turned and fought through the smoke, Lumo coughing as he followed. Szeth fetched the coat from the corpse in the stairwell, then pulled Lumo out of the smoke, where both gasped for breath.

“Swim to shore,” he said to Lumo. “I need to go for Jathen and the others. If I do not return, tell Cade he has command.”

“Yes …” Lumo said between coughs. “Yes, sir.”

Szeth shoved him off the side of the ship, then ran across the deck—throwing on the coat—to leap off the other side. He hit the water, cool and refreshing, though salt stung his eyes and filled his mouth. It was better than the smoke.

He’d only learned to swim after joining the military—yet as with all his lessons, he’d practiced eagerly. But it was difficult while wearing a coat and trying to carry a sword in one hand. Even in a peaceful sea, he felt like he fought for every inch. Surging beneath the water, hearing popping and knocking upon the waves, he joined the stonewalkers swimming for the last remaining ship, hoping that his coat and the dark night would help him pass as one of them.

He swam, blackness above, a dark watery void beneath, full of phantom sounds. Until he reached the anchor chain of the enemy ship. Other men climbed up ropes thrown over the sides, but Szeth seized the links and climbed apart from the others, arm over arm, sword stuck through his belt. His muscles straining and his stolen coat streaming with water, he reached the anchor hole. Conveniently, the sides of this ship had many wooden shelves and ornaments. He clawed his way up until he heaved himself over the rail.

The air smelled weakly of smoke from the nearby burning vessels—but this ship was not aflame. Instead his five soldiers sat at the center of the deck, tied to the mast with their heads bowed. By the light of shining white lanterns—profane, as gemstones belonged in monasteries—he could see blood on the deck. At least one of his men had a broken nose. Yet they stirred, groaning. He was in time.

Unfortunately, some twenty stonewalker raiders were here, helping others up from the water below.

What will you do? the Voice said to Szeth. I am curious at your brave choice. Are you not afraid?

Fear. Szeth never seemed to feel that emotion as acutely as others did. There was always too much going on, too much to worry about, to be afraid. Still, he was nervous as he crossed the deck, pulling out the stolen sword. He kept his head bowed, and staggered as if exhausted from his swim.

That was a mistake. One of the others on the deck turned to help him, and immediately recognized what he was. Szeth had lighter skin than any of these raiders—the swim had taken the soot from him, and the deck was far too well lit. Szeth raised his sword threateningly, but who would be intimidated by one man? Several of them grabbed their swords and came for him.

There was no wind, but Szeth danced anyway.

Always before, he’d held back. Sparring or engaging in quick clashes with foes had never given him a chance to truly become what he’d trained for. Among his own men, he was virtually untouchable. The enemy raiders proved to be of lesser skill. Limbs dropped. Men screamed. Blood mixed with water on the deck, lit by the too-regular glow of gemstone lanterns.

Szeth became death for the first time. Before, he’d borrowed that darkness. Today he embraced it. Three … four … seven men he dropped. Unstoppable.

Until he felt a faint tap on his back, near his left side. He thought he’d stumbled into something, and glanced down to see a sword tip jutting from his stomach. Pain blossomed then, and the sword was yanked free. Szeth stumbled to the deck, stunned, and watched blood and something darker and fouler surge from his wound and across his hand.

A part of his mind refused to believe. His enemies could have finished him off easily as he knelt there, touching his own viscera, numbed by the incongruous experience.

Do you know why there are so few true swordmasters, Szeth? the Voice asked.

Szeth looked up across the ship’s deck, and a piece of him noticed that the stonewalkers were still frightened of him. He’d left eight twitching bodies on the wood in his brief, explosive attack. The man who had struck him was wounded too, and had lurched away, calling to friends as he held a dark spot on his thigh.

It’s because the consequences of mistakes are so high, the Voice said, conversationally. Even the best fighters must face battles where whims of fate can leave them dead in a moment. In true battle, men don’t get a chance to learn from mistakes.

Szeth slumped to the deck, and the sounds of yells, of waves on the hull, of his own groans … softened. Dulled. Could sounds go out of focus?

You show promise, the Voice said. Would you like another chance, Szeth?

“Yes,” he whispered. “ Please. ”

The lantern nearest him went out. A moment later, Szeth’s strength returned. He pressed his hand to the wound, and found it sealed.

This once, the Voice said, I restore you. Not many men have a chance to live a second time. You did not earn this. I gave it to you. Remember that.

Szeth hauled himself to his feet.

Also, learn from the mistake. What did you do wrong?

Szeth gripped his sword, but already several on deck had noticed him. They were calling to their friends. He could become death again, or …

He turned and cut Jathen and his brother free from the nearby mast. He kicked a sword their way from one of the fallen, shouting, “Free the others!”

Hopefully they hadn’t been beaten too badly. They did start moving at his command, but Szeth’s attention had to be on the enemies. He once more fought with all he had. This time though, before he could be surrounded, his men started backing him up. Four had gotten to their feet and were fighting.

In seconds, a stunning event occurred: the enemy began throwing down their swords and asking for mercy. Szeth stood, confused, gazing around the deck full of exhausted, wounded, waterlogged enemy raiders.

“It’s true,” Szeth whispered. “These never were their best, were they?”

You’d be hard-pressed to find truly capable soldiers among the people of Steen nowadays. Travel to Azir, and you’ll encounter another thing entirely.

Szeth knew neither of those places, but he ordered his men to gather the surrendered weapons. Then he pointed for the raiders to drag their wounded to one side of the ship, where he allowed them to tend to the fallen. What next though? His goal had been to destroy all three of these ships, not capture an entire crew.

“How is Athszen?” Szeth asked as Jathen stepped up to him.

“Dazed from his beating,” the other soldier said, “but I think he’ll recover. Sir … thank you for coming for us. Truly.”

Szeth nodded.

“What … do we do now?” Jathen asked.

“Get one of those shore boats ready for the six of us,” Szeth said, still holding a sword on the captives. “Take those bows in that rack by the side there, then help Athszen and the others onto the boat.”

Jathen set to work. Szeth’s men had some rowing practice, as part of their training.

“What do I do with them?” he whispered to the Voice.

That depends on what you want. Revenge?

“A little,” Szeth said. “More, I want them to stop raiding. To go away, and never return.”

Best way to accomplish that is to leave them frightened of you. That means letting this ship go. It’s dangerous though, because you have an equal chance of inspiring rage in them. A cycle of vengeance. They may return with six ships next time.

“How do I stop that?”

How far are you willing to go?

He thought of years spent in the slaughterhouse. “Assume,” Szeth said, “I am willing to do whatever it takes.”

Good. Yes, you were worth the second chance, Szeth. That one who stabbed you? That’s their captain. Show him the healed wound and repeat the words I tell you.

Szeth stepped up before the man and pulled back the cut and bloody section of his shirt, revealing the healed skin. The Voice said words in Szeth’s mind that he didn’t understand, but he repeated the sounds as best he could.

The captain and those around him pulled back, horrified.

“What did I say?” Szeth asked.

You said that you were of the Stormriders. That you’d heard of the raids on this land, and had finally brought your immortals to stop them.

“I don’t know what the Stormriders are.”

Legends among them, the Voice said. From a long time ago, when your people left their lands and walked stones. Back when the Shin were fearsome warriors.

“Hard to believe that was the case,” Szeth admitted.

It’s possible for any people. Humans are humans, whatever their homeland. Most of the regions on this continent have been known for their skill in battle at one point or another. These days it might be the Alethi or the Vedens, but it was once you.

He found that curious.

Now, the Voice said, pick one of them and stab them right where you were stabbed.

Szeth hesitated. That would be a … hard way for a man to die. Long, painful.

You said you’d do anything.

“Why that?” Szeth asked.

To make them race home, hoping to get the person to medical care. It won’t work. If I hadn’t killed the foreign bacteria in your gut, you’d have died.

Szeth didn’t know the word “bacteria,” but he understood the meaning anyway. He dithered, but then heard the sounds of the slaughterhouse, and he knew what he was. Better these than his own people. He stabbed not one, but two of the sailors, to be certain the message was delivered.

Before the others could rise up and attack, believing they would be executed, Szeth stepped back and repeated the words the Voice gave him. A warning to these men never to return, and a charge for them to spread the word. Shin shores were no longer easy targets.

For every ship that came, he would increase the number of raiders he chose to die slowly, painfully.

Saying the words left him feeling … dull. Like his emotions had suffered the same muffling distortion that sounds had taken on earlier. He joined his men in the little boat. Jathen had figured out the lowering mechanism.

As they rowed to shore, and no arrows fell, Szeth saw the captain standing on deck and watching.

“Can you speak to his mind?” Szeth whispered to the Voice.

I cannot, as I am bonded only to those of your land.

“Pity,” Szeth said. “I would have wished for you to tell him that I’m watching him. A voice in his mind would drive that fear deep.”

Perhaps there is something I can do. I will see.

A short time later, Szeth rejoined his celebrating soldiers on the beach—their casualties nonexistent save a wound or two, their enemies defeated. He did not celebrate with them, nor with the fishermen who came with cheers, bringing beer and food for their protectors. His men didn’t mind as he walked away. They knew he did not participate in such events.

Instead Szeth stood on the beach, watching two ships burn away into the deep. He stood there until, as expected, a group of riders came down from the monastery. He hadn’t, however, anticipated his father being among them. Neturo ran up and looked at the blood on Szeth’s clothing, then embraced him.

“Szeth,” Neturo said, though the warmth of the embrace felt distant to Szeth, “what have you done?”

Was that … horror in his father’s voice? Szeth pulled back, trying to read the emotions in the older man. “I protected our shores,” Szeth said. “I did what I was commanded to do.”

“You went too far!” the General called from behind. “Burning their ships? They’ll come back with hundreds more!”

“I saw to it that they won’t, sir,” Szeth said, frustration building inside him.

“You shouldn’t have made this decision.”

“But I followed the chain of command,” Szeth said, growing even more angry. “I was told to protect the shores. That was your order. You told me to patrol, and to find a strategy. That’s what I did! I did exactly as I was told.”

“You took too much upon yourself, son,” Neturo said.

“Stones! How am I to know that?” Szeth said, exasperated.

Neturo glanced back at the General, lit by a flickering lantern. Out in the bay, the last of the lights went out as the burning ships finally slipped beneath the surf. Leaving moonlight to reflect on the glassy water, again dominant, fire only a memory.

“Szeth, report to camp,” the General said. “I will … need to seek the wisdom of greater minds than mine as I decide what to do with you.”