“Very strong. Er, yes. Strong enough.” He scratched his head and looked at her helplessly. “How … how strong do you need them to be?”
She drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t having a good day. Her mother had been like that, lucid on some days, barely cognizant on others.
“The half-shards,” Navani said, addressing the room, “will give us an edge against the enemy. We have given the plans to the Azish scholars; I’m looking forward to pooling our resources and studying the process.”
“Could it lead to Shardplate?” Queen Fen asked.
“Possibly,” Navani said. “But the more I study what we’ve discovered here in Urithiru, the more I’ve come to realize that our image of the ancients having fantastic technology was deeply flawed. An exaggeration at best, perhaps a fancy.”
“But Shards…” Fen said.
“Manifestations of spren,” Jasnah explained. “Not fabrial technology. Even the gemstones we discovered, containing words of ancient Radiants during the days when they left Urithiru, were crude—if used in a way we hadn’t yet explored. All this time we’ve been assuming that we lost great technology in the Desolations, but it seems we are far, far more advanced than the ancients ever were. It is the process of bonding spren that we lost.”
“Not lost,” the Azish Prime said. “Abandoned.”
He looked toward Dalinar, who sat in a relaxed posture. Not slumped, but not stiff either—a posture that somehow read as, “I’m in control here. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Dalinar loomed over a room even when trying to be unobtrusive. That furrowed brow darkened his blue eyes, and the way he rubbed his chin evoked the image of a man contemplating whom to execute first.
The attendees had arranged their seats roughly in a circle, but most of them faced Dalinar, who sat by Navani’s chair. After everything that had happened, they didn’t trust him.
“The ancient oaths are spoken once more,” Dalinar said. “We are again Radiant. This time, we will not abandon you. I vow it.”
Noura the vizier whispered in the Azish Prime’s ear, and he nodded before speaking. “We are still very concerned about the powers in which you dabble. These abilities … who is to say that the Lost Radiants were wrong in abandoning them? They were frightened of something, and they locked these portals for a reason.”
“It is too late to turn back from this now, Your Majesty,” Dalinar said. “I have bonded the Stormfather himself. We must either use these abilities, or crumple beneath the invasion.”
The Prime sat back, and his attendants seemed … concerned. They whispered among themselves.
Bring order from the chaos, Navani thought. She gestured toward the bridgemen and Lift. “I understand your concern, but surely you have read our reports of the oaths these Radiants follow. Protection. Remembering the fallen. Those oaths are proof that our cause is just, our Radiants trustworthy. The powers are in safe hands, Your Majesty.”
“I think,” Ialai declared, “we should stop dancing around and patting ourselves on the back.”
Navani spun to face Ialai. Don’t sabotage this, she thought, meeting the woman’s eyes. Don’t you dare.
“We are here,” Ialai continued, “to focus our attention. We should be discussing where to invade to gain the best position for an extended war. Obviously, there is only one answer. Shinovar is a bounteous land. Their orchards grow without end; the land is so mild that even the grass has grown relaxed and fat. We should seize that land to supply our armies.”
The others in the room nodded as if this were a perfectly acceptable line of conversation. With one targeted arrow, Ialai Sadeas proved what everyone whispered—that the Alethi were building a coalition to conquer the world, not just protect it.
“The Shin mountains present a historical problem,” said the Tashikki ambassador. “Attacking across or through them is basically impossible.”
“We have the Oathgates now,” Fen said. “Not to bring up that particular problem again, but has anyone investigated whether the Shin one can be opened? Having Shinovar as a redoubt, difficult to invade conventionally, would help secure our position.”
Navani cursed Ialai softly. This would only reinforce the Azish worry that the gates were dangerous. She tried to rein the discussion in, but it slipped away from her again.
“We need to know what the Oathgates do!” Tashikk was saying. “Could the Alethi not share with us everything they’ve discovered regarding them?”
“What about your people?” Aladar shot back. “They are the great traders in information. Could you share with us your secrets?”
“All Tashikki information is freely available.”
“At a huge price.”
“We need—”
“But Emul—”
“This whole thing is going to be a mess,” Fen said. “I can see it already. We need to be able to trade freely, and Alethi greed could destroy this.”
“Alethi greed?” Ialai demanded. “Are you trying to see how far you can push us? Because I assure you Dalinar Kholin will not be intimidated by a bunch of merchants and bankers.”
“Please,” Navani said into the growing uproar. “Quiet.”
Nobody seemed to notice. Navani breathed out, then cleared her mind.
Order from chaos. How could she bring order to this chaos? She stopped fretting, and tried to listen to them. She studied the chairs they’d brought, the tone of their voices. Their fears, hidden behind what they demanded or requested.
The shape of it started to make sense to her. Right now, this room was full of building materials. Pieces of a fabrial. Each monarch, each kingdom, was one piece. Dalinar had gathered them, but he hadn’t formed them.
Navani stepped up to the Azish Prime. People quieted as, shockingly, she bowed to him.
“Your Excellency,” she said, upon rising. “What would you say is the Azish people’s greatest strength?”
He glanced at his advisors as her words were translated, but they gave him no answer. Rather, they seemed curious to know what he’d say.
“Our laws,” he finally replied.
“Your famed bureaucracy,” Navani said. “Your clerks and scribes—and by extension, the great information centers of Tashikk, the timekeepers and stormwardens of Yezier, the Azish legions. You are the greatest organizers on Roshar. I’ve long envied your orderly approach to the world.”
“Perhaps this is why your essay was so well received, Brightness Kholin,” the emperor said, sounding completely sincere.
“In light of your skill, I wonder. Would anyone in this room complain if a specific task were assigned to your scribes? We need procedures. A code of how our kingdoms are to interact, and how we’re to share resources. Would you of Azir be willing to create this?”
The viziers looked shocked, then immediately began talking to one another in hushed, excited tones. The looks of delight on their faces were enough proof that yes indeed, they’d be willing.
“Now, wait,” Fen interjected. “Are you talking of laws? That we all have to follow?” Au-nak nodded eagerly in agreement.
“More and less than laws,” Navani said. “We need codes to guide our interactions—as proven by today. We must have procedures on how we hold meetings, how to give each person a turn. How we share information.”
“I don’t know if Thaylenah can agree to even that.”
“Well, surely you’d want to see what the codes contained first, Queen Fen,” Navani said, strolling toward her. “After all, we are going to need to administrate trade through the Oathgates. I wonder, who has excellent expertise in shipping, caravans, and trade in general…?”
“You’d give that to us?” Fen asked, completely taken aback.
“It seems logical.”
Sebarial choked softly on the snacks he’d been eating, and Palona pounded him on the back. He’d wanted that job. That will teach you to show up late to my meeting and make only wisecracks, Navani noted.
She glanced at Dalinar, who seemed worried. Well, he always seemed
worried lately.
“I’m not giving you the Oathgates,” Navani said to Fen. “But someone has to oversee trade and supplies. It would be a natural match for the Thaylen merchants—so long as a fair agreement can be reached.”
“Huh,” Fen said, settling back. She glanced at her consort, who shrugged.
“And the Alethi?” the petite Yezier princess asked. “What of you?”
“Well, we do excel at one thing,” Navani said. She looked to Emul. “Would you accept help from our generals and armies to help you secure what is left of your kingdom?”
“By every Kadasix that has ever been holy!” Emul said. “Yes, of course! Please.”
“I have several scribes who are experts in fortification,” Aladar suggested from his seat behind Dalinar and Jasnah. “They could survey your remaining territory and give you advice on securing it.”
“And recovering what we’ve lost?” Emul asked.
Ialai opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to extol the virtues of Alethi warmongering again.
Jasnah cut her off, speaking decisively. “I propose we entrench ourselves first. Tukar, Iri, Shinovar … each of these looks tempting to attack, but what good will that do if we stretch ourselves too far? We should focus on securing our lands as they now stand.”
“Yes,” Dalinar said. “We shouldn’t be asking ourselves, ‘Where should we strike?’ but instead, ‘Where will our enemy strike next?’ ”
“They’ve secured three positions,” Highprince Aladar said. “Iri, Marat … and Alethkar.”
“But you sent an expedition,” Fen said. “To reclaim Alethkar.”
Navani caught her breath, glancing at Dalinar. He nodded slowly.
“Alethkar has fallen,” Navani said. “The expedition failed. Our homeland is overrun.”
Navani had expected this to prompt another burst of conversation, but instead it was greeted only by stunned silence.
Jasnah continued for her. “The last of our armies have retreated into Herdaz or Jah Keved, harried and confused by enemies who can fly—or by the sudden attacks of shock troops of parshmen. Our only holdouts are on the southern border, by the sea. Kholinar has fallen completely; the Oathgate is lost to us. We’ve locked it on our side, so that it cannot be used to reach Urithiru.”
“I’m sorry,” Fen said.
“My daughter is correct,” Navani said, trying to project strength while admitting that they had become a nation of refugees. “We should apply our efforts first toward making sure no more nations fall.”
“My homeland—” the prime of Emul began.
“No,” Noura said in thickly accented Alethi. “I’m sorry, but no. If the Voidbringers had wanted your last nibble of land, Vexil, they’d have taken it. The Alethi can help you secure what you have, and it seems generous of them to do so. The enemy brushed past you to gather in Marat, conquering only what was necessary on the way. Their eyes are turned elsewhere.”
“Oh my!” Taravangian said. “Could they … be coming for me?”
“It does seem a reasonable assumption,” Au-nak said. “The Veden civil war left the country in ruin, and the border between Alethkar and Jah Keved is porous.”
“Maybe,” Dalinar said. “I’ve fought on that border. It’s not as easy a battlefield as it would seem.”
“We must defend Jah Keved,” Taravangian said. “When the king gave me the throne, I promised I’d care for his people. If the Voidbringers attack us…”
The worry in his voice gave Navani an opportunity. She stepped back into the center of the room. “We won’t allow that to happen, will we?”
“I will send troops to your aid, Taravangian,” Dalinar said. “But one army can be construed as an invading force, and I am not intending to invade my allies, even in appearance. Can we not mortar this alliance with a show of solidarity? Will anyone else help?”
The Azish Prime regarded Dalinar. Behind him, the viziers and scions conducted a private conversation by writing on pads of paper. When they finished, Vizier Noura leaned forward and whispered to the emperor, who nodded.
“We will send five battalions to Jah Keved,” he said. “This will prove an important test of mobility through the Oathgates. King Taravangian, you will have the support of Azir.”
Navani released a long breath in relief.
She gave leave for the meeting to take a pause, so that people could enjoy refreshment—though most would probably spend it strategizing or relaying events to their various allies. The highprinces became a flurry of motion, breaking into individual houses to converse.
Navani settled down in her seat beside Dalinar.
“You’ve promised away a great deal,” he noted. “Giving Fen control of trade and supply?”
“Administration is different from control,” Navani said. “But either way, did you think you were going to make this coalition work without giving something up?”
“No. Of course not.” He stared outward. That haunted expression made her shiver. What did you remember, Dalinar? And what did the Nightwatcher do to you?
They needed the Blackthorn. She needed the Blackthorn. His strength to quiet the sick worry inside of her, his will to forge this coalition. She took his hand in hers, but he stiffened, then stood up. He did that whenever he felt he was growing too relaxed. It was as if he was looking for danger to face.
She stood up beside him. “We need to get you out of the tower,” she decided. “To get a new perspective. Visit someplace new.”
“That,” Dalinar said, voice hoarse, “would be good.”
“Taravangian was speaking of having you tour Vedenar personally. If we’re going to send Kholin troops into the kingdom, it would make sense for you to get a feel for the situation there.”
“Very well.”
The Azish called for her, asking for clarification on what direction she wanted them to take with their coalition bylaws. She left Dalinar, but couldn’t leave off worrying about him. She’d have to burn a glyphward today. A dozen of them, for Elhokar and the others. Except … part of the problem was that Dalinar claimed nobody was watching the prayers as they burned, sending twisting smoke to the Tranquiline Halls. Did she believe that? Truly?
Today, she’d taken a huge step toward unifying Roshar. Yet she felt more powerless than ever.
Of the Unmade, Sja-anat was most feared by the Radiants. They spoke extensively of her ability to corrupt spren, though only “lesser” spren—whatever that means.
—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 89
Kaladin remembered holding a dying woman’s hand.
It had been during his days as a slave. He remembered crouching in the darkness, thick forest underbrush scratching his skin, the night around him too quiet. The animals had fled; they knew something was wrong.
The other slaves didn’t whisper, shift, or cough in their hiding places. He’d taught them well.
We have to go. Have to move.
He tugged on Nalma’s hand. He’d promised to help the older woman find her husband, who had been sold to another household. That wasn’t supposed to be legal, but you could get away with doing all kinds of things to slaves with the right brands, especially if they were foreign.
She resisted his tug, and he could understand her hesitance. The underbrush was safe, for the moment. It was also too obvious. The brightlords had chased them in circles for days, getting closer and closer. Stay here, and the slaves would be captured.
He tugged again, and she passed the signal to the next slave, all the way down the line. Then she clung to his hand as he led them—as quietly as he could—toward where he remembered a game trail.
Get away.
Find freedom. Find honor again.
It had to be out there somewhere.
The snapping sound of the trap closing sent a jolt through Kaladin. A year later, he’d still wonder how he missed stepping in it himself.
It got Nalma instead. She yanked her hand from his as she screamed.
Hunters’ horns moaned in t
he night. Light burst from newly unshielded lanterns, showing men in uniforms among the trees. The other slaves broke, bursting out of the underbrush like game for sport. Next to Kaladin, Nalma’s leg was caught in a fierce steel trap—a thing of springs and jaws that they wouldn’t even use on a beast, for fear of ruining the sport. Her tibia jutted through her skin.
“Oh, Stormfather,” Kaladin whispered as painspren writhed around them. “Stormfather!” He tried to stanch the blood, but it spurted between his fingers. “Stormfather, no. Stormfather!”
“Kaladin,” she said through clenched teeth. “Kaladin, run…”
Arrows cut down several of the fleeing slaves. Traps caught two others. In the distance, a voice called, “Wait! That’s my property you’re cutting down.”
“A necessity, Brightlord,” a stronger voice said. The local highlord. “Unless you want to encourage more of this behavior.”
So much blood. Kaladin uselessly made a bandage as Nalma tried to push him away, to make him run. He took her hand and held it instead, weeping as she died.
After killing the others, the brightlords found him still kneeling there. Against reason, they spared him. They said it was because he hadn’t run with the others, but in truth they’d needed someone to bear warning to the other slaves.
Regardless of the reason, Kaladin had lived.
He always did.
* * *
There was no underbrush here in Shadesmar, but those old instincts served Kaladin well as he crept toward the lighthouse. He’d suggested that he scout ahead, as he didn’t trust this dark land. The others had agreed. With Lashings, he could get away most easily in an emergency—and neither Adolin nor Azure had experience scouting. Kaladin didn’t mention that most of his practice sneaking had come as a runaway slave.
He focused on staying low to the ground, trying to use rifts in the black stone to hide his approach. Fortunately, stepping silently wasn’t difficult on this glassy ground.
The lighthouse was a large stone tower topped by an enormous bonfire. It threw a flagrant orange glow over the point of the peninsula. Where did they get the fuel for that thing?
He drew closer, accidentally startling a burst of lifespren, which shot up from some crystalline plants, then floated back down. He froze, but heard no sounds from the lighthouse.
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