Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

The direform femalen from the meeting stalked up to Garith, her figure—like those of all direforms—covered in sharp barbs of carapace. While the other Windrunners backed away, Dalinar stood his ground. She came right up to him, standing a few inches taller than he was. She studied him, and her expression softened—her humming changing to a comforting rhythm. Then she bent forward, took Dalinar’s head in her hands, and kissed him.

“Wait,” Kaladin said. “Because laws are old, they’re good?” “You would discard the wisdom of your elders?” Nale asked. “My elders were shockingly keen on things like slavery,” Kaladin said. “I don’t revere anything or anyone just because of age.”

“This seed was buried deep, wasn’t it?” Navani whispered. “Grew into a weed that snarled and choked me for decades, watered by Gavilar once he recognized it. I’ve pulled that weed. Its power withered as its roots died. Begone.”

“You undermine my authority.” “I assert my authority.” “You will make me look bad before the highprinces.” “I learned long ago, Gavilar,” she said, “queen or not, I can’t make you into anything. If you look bad before anyone, it’s merely because I’ve pulled the curtains back.” He growled, then raised his hand. “Ah,” she said. “But he never hit me. If he does now, it will break the illusion, won’t it?” He huffed, then spun, turning away from her.

“Yes, he can’t hit me,” she whispered. “Physical pain would have bolstered me, provoked me to leave and escape his control. What he did was in some ways worse. He undermined my confidence…” Gavilar spun back toward her. “You think,” he said, “you belong at my side? You think you deserve to be a queen?” “Yes,” she said. “Like that.” “I build something grand,” Gavilar said, stalking toward her, “and you’re still stuck—at least in your mind—on a backwater ranch, barely able to write your name.” “He didn’t know that about me,” she added. “By the time I knew him, I had impressive penmanship and spelling.” “I build something grand,” Gavilar said, stalking toward her again, like an actor repeating his lines after flubbing them, “and you’re still stuck—in your mind—on a backwater ranch, worrying about your insignificant father and his petty concerns.” “Much better,” Navani said. “But Gavilar always built up to insults like these—he never came in spewing them. You’re missing the nuance. The careful gibes like pins—not daggers. The cold refusal to talk to me about important matters, as if insulting me wasn’t even worth his time. Gavilar was a master of precision abuse.”

The fool will, when losing, seek to flip the board and scatter the pieces. This is not an adage for towers. —Proverbs for Towers and War, Zenaz, date unknown

He knew that in an instant. His sister had refused to kill him, but Nin would not hold back. So Szeth saw his death approach as a silver wave of light. Until a spear intercepted it with a resounding clang.

“Szeth,” Kaladin said, not daring to take his eyes off Nale, “do you want my help?” “Yes, please,” Szeth whispered. “Nin, this is my champion. I cannot fight you. I choose not to. But he defeated me. He can defeat you.”

“Fine,” Nale said, tossing first one pouch to Szeth, then a second, then finally a third. “Sword against spear.” “Fine,” Kaladin said, tossing his gemstones to Szeth as well. “I accept your challenge, Nale. I will protect the one who cannot right now protect himself.” “Windrunners,” Nale said, as if it were a curse.

Not the expected reaction. While Kaladin could anticipate this man’s attacks, Nale’s motives were as opaque as ever. Oddly, Wit’s words returned to him. The fight ahead of you is going to be legendary. Unfortunately, you can’t fight this one with strength of muscle …

This guy, Syl said in Kaladin’s head. Have we ever fought someone so annoying? “Amaram,” Kaladin whispered. Oh yeah. He was an absolute tool, wasn’t he? And that’s coming from a girl who is currently a spear.

Kaladin gripped his flute tighter and stood above the pitiful man kneeling on the ground. Demigod. Broken. A moment later, Szeth stumbled up beside him. Then, Szeth reached a trembling hand out to Nale. “We can help you,” he said softly. “We can’t make it all better, but we can help. Right, Kaladin?” Even those I hate, Kaladin thought. “Yes, we can help, Nale. We will help.”

“When new information arrives,” Jasnah said, “I change. If I find oppression in the cosmere, I will oppose it. However, to join you in war against other planets would only perpetuate suffering.” She took a deep breath, everything locking into place. “I will not side with you. I am not you.” “Of course not,” he said. “You don’t see far enough. If you did, you’d understand completely. The greatest good.” “You are not good for this planet. Your history, temperament, and morality all prove it. It will require sacrifices to stand against you, but we will do so, united. Regardless of the cost.”

It suddenly seemed that she’d always been two women. One who pretended to be cold, calculating, and willing to do anything in the name of her philosophical morality. Another who knew that there had always been something wrong with the morals she claimed to follow.

He pulled back and waited for a reply, anxious. “That was … nicer than I expected,” Rlain said to the Rhythm of Anxiety. “Are you sure, Renarin? I don’t think that the world is going to take kindly to us being together. I don’t want you to get hurt.” “Will you be the one to hurt me?” “No,” Rlain said to Confidence. “Never.” “Then I will risk it,” he said. “Come on. I think … I think I’m close to understanding what Mishram is trying to say to us.”

Yes. Because … She took a mental breath, and he could feel this much talking remained difficult for her. Because if you could do it all yourself, you wouldn’t need a sword at your side. There was a wisdom in that, but wisdom wasn’t what Adolin wanted to hear at the moment. Storm you, he thought. Storm you! she thought back. With a hint of a smile somehow suffusing the words. Which helped.

“I don’t know what comes next, Dalinar,” Wit said. “But I’m glad you are the one who will walk up to meet Odium. Because while you might not know the secret to defeating him, you have learned something more important. We’re not sending a soldier up those steps. We’re sending a king.”

“No,” Dalinar said. “That’s what the path of gods has shown me, Sebarial. I can’t just protect Alethkar; I have to find a way to defeat him fully.” “How will you storming do that?” “With oaths and light, Sebarial.” Navani had placed Dalinar’s copy of The Way of Kings on a table. He smiled, slipped it off, and carried it in one hand as he strode up the stairs.

Szeth remembered a voice. Heard it, almost. His own. As a child. “What is right, Father? Can’t you just tell me?” Then, his voice again, older, to the Farmer. “How do you know what to do?” Older again. To the captain of the guard. “Just tell me what to do, sir.” To Sivi, when joining her monastery. “I’m sure you know what is right.” Taravangian, Dalinar, Nin. Each time it was less and less a question. More and more a mantra. I am Truthless. I do not ask. I do as my masters require. Never. Again.

Never. AGAIN. “I am my own agent,” Szeth shouted. “I make my own choices. I. Am. THE LAW!” Light erupted around him.

Thank you, he thought. Life before death, she replied. Or maybe life after death this time? I never really understood that motto anyway. Let’s kick some Fused ass.

Venli reached into the pocket of her cloak, to an oiled and protected pouch. From within she took a roll of papers signed by Jasnah, the human queen. A treaty. After seven long years at war, the Alethi and listeners had finally made peace.

“I will not lie,” Kaladin said, “and promise you that all future days will be warm. But Ishar, you will be warm again. And that is another thing entirely to promise.” “I … I don’t know if that is true,” Ishar whispered. “It’s different for us.” “It’s not,” Kaladin said. “I feel your pain now, and I see what it is. Your lives might be supernatural, Ishar, but what you feel is what I feel. I realize that on one hand, that is no consolation. Your pain, your sorrow—your darkness—doesn’t transform because another experienced it. Still, it seems to help, doesn’t it? Knowing you aren’t alone.”

It was a laughable thought. How could he help? He was barely functional. It was all he could do to stand there. But stand. Kaladin. DID.

“We do have to make awful decisions sometimes. They will be flawed because we are flawed. That is not a reason, however, to give up on finding better solutions. And the destination…” “… must not undermine the journey.” Dalinar nodded. “I’ll pay the cost. Send me back.” Nohadon smiled. “Good luck, my friend. Thank you for listening to me all those years. It does a man good to know that what he wrote has meant something…”

“Welcome, Kaladin Stormblessed. Herald of Kings. Herald of the Wind. Herald of…” “Herald,” Kaladin said, “of Second Chances.”

Taravangian formed an avatar to confront Dalinar. He found only the man’s corpse, huddled beside the stone railing. His clothing ripped, his body bloodied. The damage done by the winds and tempest had been too much for Dalinar—but beneath him, sheltered from the storm, Gavinor survived, unconscious but alive. Protected in one last act of self-sacrifice.

“No hero dies alone,” Renarin read, written in halting words by his own hand, “for he carries with him the dreams of everyone who continues to live. Those dreams will keep my father company in the Beyond, where he taught us we go when we die. No continual war. No more killing. My father is finally at peace. And we live because of his sacrifice.”