The Stormfather rumbled in reply.
“Did he … care about what we felt?” Dalinar asked. “Honor, the Almighty? Did he truly care about men’s pain?”
He did. Then, I didn’t understand why, but now I do. Odium lies when he claims to have sole ownership of passion. The Stormfather paused. I remember … at the end … Honor was more obsessed with oaths. There were times when the oath itself was more important than the meaning behind it. But he was not a passionless monster. He loved humankind. He died defending you.
Dalinar found Navani entertaining Taravangian in the common area of their villa. “Your Majesty?” Dalinar asked.
“You could call me Vargo, if you wish,” Taravangian said, pacing without looking at Dalinar. “It is what they called me as a youth.…”
“What’s wrong?” Dalinar asked.
“I’m just worried. My scholars … It is nothing, Dalinar. Nothing. Silliness. I am … I am well today.” He stopped and squeezed his pale grey eyes shut.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But it is not a day to be heartless. So I worry.”
Heartless? What did he mean?
“Do you need to sit out the meeting?” Navani asked.
Taravangian shook his head quickly. “Come. Let us go. I will be better … better once we’ve started. I’m sure.”
* * *
As Dalinar stepped into the temple’s main chamber, he found that he was looking forward to the meeting.
What a strange revelation. He’d spent so much of his youth and middle years dreading politics and the endless rambling of meetings. Now he was excited. He could see the outlines of something grand in this room. The Azish delegation warmly greeted Queen Fen, with Vizier Noura even giving Fen a poem she’d written as thanks for the Thaylen hospitality. Fen’s son made a point of sitting next to Renarin and chatting with him. Emperor Yanagawn looked comfortable on his throne, surrounded by allies and friends.
Bridge Four joked with the guards of Highprince Aladar, while Lift the Edgedancer perched on a windowsill nearby, listening with a cocked head. In addition to the five scout women in uniform, two women in havahs had joined Bridge Four. They carried notepads and pencils, and had sewn Bridge Four patches to the upper sleeves of their dresses—the place where scribes commonly wore their platoon insignia.
Alethi highprinces, Azish viziers, Knights Radiant, and Thaylen admirals all in one room. The prime of Emul talking tactics with Aladar, who had been aiding the beleaguered country. General Khal and Teshav speaking with the princess of Yezier, who was eyeing Halam Khal—their eldest son—standing tall in his father’s Shardplate by the door. There was talk of a political union there. It would be the first in centuries between an Alethi and a Makabaki princedom.
Unite them. A voice whispered the words in Dalinar’s mind, echoing with the same resonant sound from months ago, when Dalinar had first started seeing the visions.
“I’m doing so,” Dalinar whispered back.
Unite them.
“Stormfather, is that you? Why do you keep saying this to me?”
I said nothing.
It was growing hard to distinguish between his own thoughts and what came from the Stormfather. Visions and memories struggled for space in Dalinar’s brain. To clear his mind, he strode around the perimeter of the circular temple chamber. Murals on the walls—ones he had healed with his abilities—depicted the Herald Talenelat during several of his many, many last stands against the Voidbringers.
A large map had been mounted on one wall depicting the Tarat Sea and surrounding areas, with markers noting the locations of their fleet. The room quieted as Dalinar stepped up and studied this. He glanced for a moment out the doors of the temple, toward the bay. Already, a few of the faster ships of their fleet had arrived, flying the flags of both Kharbranth and Azir.
“Your Excellency,” Dalinar said to Yanagawn. “Could you share news of your troops?”
The emperor gave leave for Noura to report. The main fleet was less than a day away. Their outriders—or scout ships, as she called them—had spotted no indications of the enemy advance. They’d worried that this window between storms would be when the enemy would move, but so far there was no sign.
The admirals began to discuss how to best patrol the seas while keeping Thaylen City safe. Dalinar was pleased by the conversation, mostly because the admirals seemed to think that the real danger to Thaylen City had passed. A Veden highprince had managed to get a foot scout close enough to Marat to count the ships at the docks. Well over a hundred vessels were waiting in the various coves and ports along the coast. For whatever reason, they weren’t ready to launch yet, which was a blessing.
The meeting progressed, with Fen belatedly welcoming everyone—Dalinar realized he should have let her take charge from the start. She described the defenses in Thaylen City and raised concerns from her guildmasters about Amaram’s troops. Apparently they’d been carousing.
Amaram stiffened at that. For all his faults, he liked to run a tight army.
Sometime near the end of this discussion, Dalinar noticed Renarin shifting uncomfortably in his seat. As the Azish scribes began explaining their code of rules and guidelines for the coalition, Renarin excused himself in a hoarse voice, and left.
Dalinar glanced at Navani, who seemed troubled. Jasnah stood to follow, but was interrupted by a scribe bringing her a small sheaf of documents. She accepted them and moved to Navani’s side so they could study them together.
Should we break? Dalinar thought, checking his forearm clock. They’d only been going for an hour, and the Azish were obviously excited by their guidelines.
The Stormfather rumbled.
What? Dalinar thought.
Something … something is coming. A storm.
Dalinar stood up, looking about the room, half expecting assassins to attack. His sudden motion caught the attention of one of the Azish viziers, a short man with a very large hat.
“Brightlord?” the interpreter asked at a word from the vizier.
“I…” Dalinar could feel it. “Something’s wrong.”
“Dalinar?” Fen asked. “What are you talking about?”
Spanreeds suddenly started blinking throughout the room. A dozen flashing rubies. Dalinar’s heart sidestepped. Anticipationspren rose around him, streamers whipping from the ground, as the various scribes grabbed the blinking spanreeds from boxes or belts and set them out to begin writing.
Jasnah didn’t notice that one of hers was blinking. She was too distracted by what she and Navani were reading.
“The Everstorm just hit Shinovar,” Queen Fen finally explained, reading over a scribe’s shoulder.
“Impossible!” Ialai Sadeas said. “It has only been five days since the last one! They come at nine-day intervals.”
“Yes, well, I think we have enough confirmation,” Fen said, nodding toward the spanreeds.
“The storm is too new,” Teshav said. She pulled her shawl closer as she read. “We don’t know it well enough to truly judge its patterns. The reports from Steen say it is particularly violent this time, moving faster than before.”
Dalinar felt cold.
“How long until it reaches us?” Fen asked.
“Hours yet,” Teshav said. “It can take a full day for the highstorm to get from one side of Roshar to the other, and the Everstorm is slower. Usually.”
“It’s moving faster though,” Yanagawn said through his interpreter. “How far away are our ships? How are we going to shelter them?”
“Peace, Your Excellency,” Fen said. “The ships are close, and the new docks miles farther along the coast are sheltered from both east and west. We merely need to make sure the fleet goes directly there, instead of stopping here to drop off troops.”
The room buzzed with conversations as the various groups received reports from their contacts in Tashikk, who in turn would be relaying information from contacts in Iri, Steen, or even Shinovar.
“We sh
ould break for a short time,” Dalinar told them. The others agreed, distracted, and separated into groups scattered about the room. Dalinar settled back in his seat, releasing a held breath. “That wasn’t so bad. We can deal with this.”
That wasn’t it, the Stormfather said. He rumbled, his concerned voice growing very soft as he continued, There’s more.
Dalinar jumped back to his feet, instincts prompting him to thrust his hand to the side, fingers splayed, to summon a Blade he no longer possessed. Bridge Four responded immediately, dropping food from the table of victuals, grabbing spears. Nobody else seemed to notice.
But … notice what? No attack came. Conversations continued on all sides. Jasnah and Navani were still huddled side by side, reading. Navani gasped softly, safehand going to her mouth. Jasnah looked at Dalinar, lips drawn to a line.
Their message wasn’t about the storm, Dalinar thought, pulling his chair over to them. “All right,” he whispered, though they were far enough from other groups to have some privacy. “What is it?”
“A breakthrough was made in translating the Dawnchant,” Navani whispered. “Teams in Kharbranth and the monasteries of Jah Keved have arrived at the news separately, using the seed we provided through the visions. We are finally receiving translations.”
“That’s good, right?” Dalinar said.
Jasnah sighed. “Uncle, the piece that historians have been most eager to translate is called the Eila Stele. Other sources claim it is old, perhaps the oldest document in written memory, said to be scribed by the Heralds themselves. From the translation that finally came in today, the carving appears to be the account of someone who witnessed the very first coming of the Voidbringers, long, long ago. Even before the first Desolation.”
“Blood of my fathers,” Dalinar said. Before the first Desolation? The last Desolation had happened more than four thousand years ago. They were speaking of events lost to time. “And … we can read it?”
“ ‘They came from another world,’ ” Navani said, reading from her sheet. “ ‘Using powers that we have been forbidden to touch. Dangerous powers, of spren and Surges. They destroyed their lands and have come to us begging.
“ ‘We took them in, as commanded by the gods. What else could we do? They were a people forlorn, without home. Our pity destroyed us. For their betrayal extended even to our gods: to spren, stone, and wind.
“ ‘Beware the otherworlders. The traitors. Those with tongues of sweetness, but with minds that lust for blood. Do not take them in. Do not give them succor. Well were they named Voidbringers, for they brought the void. The empty pit that sucks in emotion. A new god. Their god.
“ ‘These Voidbringers know no songs. They cannot hear Roshar, and where they go, they bring silence. They look soft, with no shell, but they are hard. They have but one heart, and it cannot ever live.’ ”
She lowered the page.
Dalinar frowned. It’s nonsense, he thought. Is it claiming that the first parshmen who came to invade had no carapace? But how would the writer know that parshmen should have carapace? And what is this about songs.…
It clicked. “That was not written by a human,” Dalinar whispered.
“No, Uncle,” Jasnah said softly. “The writer was a Dawnsinger, one of the original inhabitants of Roshar. The Dawnsingers weren’t spren, as theology has often postulated. Nor were they Heralds. They were parshmen. And the people they welcomed to their world, the otherworlders…”
“Were us,” Dalinar whispered. He felt cold, like he’d been dunked in icy water. “They named us Voidbringers.”
Jasnah sighed. “I have suspected this for a time. The first Desolation was the invasion of humankind onto Roshar. We came here and seized this land from the parshmen—after we accidentally used Surgebinding to destroy our previous world. That is the truth that destroyed the Radiants.”
The Stormfather rumbled in his mind. Dalinar stared at that sheet of paper in Navani’s hand. Such a small, seemingly unimportant object to have created such a pit inside of him.
It’s true, isn’t it? he thought at the Stormfather. Storms … we’re not the defenders of our homeland.
We’re the invaders.
Nearby, Taravangian argued softly with his scribes, then finally stood up. He cleared his throat, and the various groups slowly stilled. The Azish contingent had servants pull their chairs back toward the group, and Queen Fen returned to her place, though she didn’t sit. She stood, arms folded, looking perturbed.
“I have had disconcerting news,” Taravangian said. “Over the spanreed, just now. It involves Brightlord Kholin. I don’t wish to be objectionable…”
“No,” Fen said. “I’ve heard it too. I’m going to need an explanation.”
“Agreed,” Noura said.
Dalinar stood up. “I realize this is troubling. I … I haven’t had time to adjust. Perhaps we could adjourn and worry about the storm first? We can discuss this later.”
“Perhaps,” Taravangian said. “Yes, perhaps. But it is a problem. We have believed that ours is a righteous war, but this news of mankind’s origins has me disconcerted.”
“What are you talking about?” Fen said.
“The news from the Veden translators? Ancient texts, manifesting that humans came from another world?”
“Bah,” Fen said. “Dusty books and ideas for philosophers. What I want to know about is this highking business!”
“Highking?” Yanagawn asked through an interpreter.
“I’ve an essay,” Fen said, slapping papers against her hand, “from Zetah the Voiced claiming that before King Elhokar left for Alethkar, he swore to Dalinar to accept him as emperor.”
Noura the vizier leaped to her feet. “What?”
“Emperor is an exaggeration!” Dalinar said, trying to reorient toward this unexpected attack. “It’s an internal Alethi matter.”
Navani stood beside him. “My son was merely concerned about his political relation to Dalinar. We have prepared an explanation for you all, and our highprinces can confirm that we are not looking to expand our influence to your nations.”
“And this?” Noura said, holding up some pages. “Were you preparing an explanation for this as well?”
“What is that?” Dalinar asked, bracing himself.
“Accounts of two visions,” Noura said, “that you didn’t share with us. In which you supposedly met and fraternized with a being known as Odium.”
Behind Dalinar, Lift gasped. He glanced toward her, and the men of Bridge Four, who were muttering among themselves.
This is bad, Dalinar thought. Too much. Too fast for me to control.
Jasnah leaped to her feet. “This is obviously a concentrated attempt to destroy our reputation. Someone deliberately released all this information at the same time.”
“Is it true?” Noura asked in Alethi. “Dalinar Kholin, have you met with our enemy?”
Navani gripped his arm. Jasnah subtly shook her head: Don’t answer that.
“Yes,” Dalinar said.
“Did he,” Noura asked pointedly, “tell you you’d destroy Roshar?”
“What of this ancient record?” Taravangian said. “It claims that the Radiants already destroyed one world. Is that not what caused them to disband? They worried that their powers could not be controlled!”
“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this highking nonsense,” Fen said. “How is it merely an ‘internal Alethi matter’ if you’ve allowed another king to swear to you?”
Everyone started talking at once. Navani and Jasnah stepped forward, responding to the attacks, but Dalinar only sank into his seat. It was all falling apart. A sword, as keen as any on a battlefield, had been rammed into the heart of his coalition.
This is what you feared, he thought. A world that turns not upon force of armies, but upon the concerns of scribes and bureaucrats.
And in that world, he had just been deftly outflanked.
I am certain there are nine Unmade. There are many legends and n
ames that I could have misinterpreted, conflating two Unmade into one. In the next section, I will discuss my theories on this.
—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 266
Kaladin remembered a woman’s kiss.
Tarah had been special. The darkeyed daughter of an assistant quartermaster, she had grown up helping with her father’s work. Though she was a hundred percent Alethi, she preferred dresses of an old-fashioned Thaylen style, which had an apronlike front with straps over the shoulders and skirts that ended right below the knee. She’d wear a buttoned shirt underneath, often in a bright color—brighter than most darkeyes could afford. Tarah knew how to squeeze the most out of her spheres.
That day, Kaladin had been sitting on a stump, shirt off, sweating. The evening was growing cold as the sun set, and he basked in the last warmth. His spear resting across his lap, he toyed with a rock of white, brown, and black. Alternating colors.
The warmth from the sun was mirrored as someone warm hugged him from behind, wrapping her arms across his chest. Kaladin rested a callused hand on Tarah’s smooth one, drinking in her scent—of starched uniforms, new leather, and other clean things.
“You’re done early,” he said. “I thought there were greenvines to outfit today.”
“I have the new girl doing the rest.”
“I’m surprised. I know how much you like this part.”
“Storms,” she said, slipping around in front of him. “They get so embarrassed when you measure them. ‘Hold on, kid. I’m not making a pass at you because I’m putting a measuring tape up against your chest, I swear.…’ ” She lifted his spear, looking it over with a critical eye, testing the balance. “I wish you’d let me requisition a new one for you.”
“I like that one. Took me forever to find one long enough.”
She peered along the length of the weapon, to make sure it was straight. She would never trust it, as she hadn’t personally requisitioned it for him. She wore green today, under a brown skirt, her black hair tied back in a tail. Slightly plump, with a round face and firm build, Tarah’s beauty was a subtle thing. Like an uncut gemstone. The more you saw of it—the more you discovered of its natural facets—the more you loved it. Until one day it struck you that you’d never known anything as wonderful.
Oathbringer Page 125
