Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

Taravangian pondered. He would have to let Azir keep its land, as they had won, wouldn’t he? Dalinar had broken the contract, but Honor … Honor wanted desperately to follow it—and Taravangian had to be careful lest the power rebel against him. As he determined to do so, Honor swelled inside him, and more fully bonded into Retribution. Good. Likewise, he would allow the Shattered Plains to have a kind of autonomy themselves. What of the rest? Roshar was entirely dominated. His agents in the Shin government had succeeded while the Heralds were distracted. The Reshi Isles … he had the land, all of it, though those who rode the beasts had largely rejected his offers. They weren’t worth the effort.

I will need to move quickly, he thought, seeing possible futures. Escape Roshar, before the other Shards move against me. They are timid still, but will be galvanized by time. His next actions would have to be decisive. He began thinking of ways to draw the attention of his enemies toward a conflict on Scadrial … He would have to leave Roshar under a regent, as he needed to plan how to evade this trap that Dalinar had created for him.

For Dalinar Kholin was an oathbreaker. You realize I can now do with you what I will, Taravangian said to him. I could torture you for eternity, Dalinar. You really think your sacrifice was worth the cost? Rippling through the soul of his rival, a question. What is my life worth? Nothing, anymore. Dalinar, you are NOTHING. If so, then I trade it for everything. Taravangian … I call that a bargain. Taravangian raged, furious that Dalinar refused to let him gloat. Yet he would not be goaded; he would control this power. Taravangian still had uses for Dalinar. His broken oaths put his soul in Taravangian’s hands, and he would make an Unmade from him. Make him … Dalinar’s soul slipped away from him. Stretched. And vanished into the Beyond. Taravangian scrambled to hold it, but like water through fingers, he could not. You cannot have him, the powers said, for he is claimed by another.

In that vision, the Blackthorn had formed. And the Blackthorn … it was a legend. It was spoken of, molded by the minds of people, taking shape. It had responded differently from every other part of the visions, for things people thought about came alive. A great number of people thought about the Blackthorn. The stories of him outgrew Dalinar himself—who had made at least one mistake. He’d given this thing his memories, shown it the future, and now it came even more fully to life. Retribution cradled it. You are right, it said to him, making his ego soothe and anger soften. He was weak. I am not weak. I will not do the things he showed me. I will not weep, drunken, when an assassin must be fought. I will not back down from the fight and the conquest. I am the Blackthorn. Will you serve me? Retribution asked. When I take war to the stars. It is what I do, said the Blackthorn. Yes … a mistake. Dalinar had Connected to this nascent spren of himself, given it his memories, his skill—memories that, in it, came too soon. It was what Dalinar could have been, had Cultivation not protected him from his actions. Greater than Gavilar, greater than any man. A true champion. With incredible battle acumen, brilliant understanding of tactics and strategy, and Dalinar’s stubborn force of will. But without the weak inhibitions of his old age, such as having been broken by his wife’s death. Yes. Dalinar Kholin had died. But the Blackthorn would live.

“Pay attention,” Wit said, shaking him. “I’m holding something incredibly dangerous. Something that Odium absolutely cannot get access to. A power more ancient than any of the gods. Do you understand me? I need someone to take it. I need someone to bear it for a short time, until I can return for it. It can’t be a Radiant. It would be too dangerous, too much power in one person’s hands.” “But … you’re a Radiant …” “Smart as always.” Wit pointed one hand at him. “Sigzil,” he said, his voice growing solemn. “Old Dalinar has done something incredibly stupid. He made a gamble, and in so doing he unleashed a terror upon the entire cosmere. I don’t have time to explain all the ramifications, but we cannot let Odium have the Dawnshard. He is the last being in all the many worlds who should hold it.”

Our little experiment worked, hmmmm? I found you on the floor of my laboratory earlier this morning!” “Thank you,” Wit … no, Hoid … said, “for keeping that cell culture alive.” His body regenerated from the largest piece of flesh he had remaining. He’d always known this, but had never found opportunity to, well, weaponize it.

“We’re already trying!” Ulaam said. “But time appears to be passing far slower on Roshar than it is here, which is making communication unreliable. Quite the slowness bubble around the planet, yes indeed, hmmmm? Why, I bet it will be months before we have the full story! Months for us. Hours for them.” Months? When Shards died, combined, or otherwise distorted, strange events could follow. Harmony’s creation had involved the remaking of a world, while Ambition’s death had destroyed several. The formation of Retribution … caused time dilation? That could be an enormous hassle. “I need to get back immediately.” “Hoid,” Ulaam said, “if you go, you’ll be trapped in that bubble. We’ll lose you for who knows how long, and events are transpiring. Autonomy is moving. I have a message I’m certain is from Taldain, though the planet should be unreachable. Think carefully before you return to Roshar, hmmmm?”

His father had failed to protect them, but only so much could be expected of one man. Others would curse Dalinar in coming days, but Adolin would not be one of them. For a part of him had known what had happened since that day—when he’d felt a surreal sense of love and apology from his father. Adolin had survived that terrible night by telling himself he needed to see his father again, to make amends. He felt that last parting gift from Dalinar, but was still sad. He’d never have the chance to look Dalinar in the eyes again. Damnation, that hurt.

“You are a Windrunner, yes?” he said. “No,” Sigzil whispered. “No need to lie,” the spren said. “I’ve seen you, with the others. With Kaladin.” Sigzil perked up. “You … know Kaladin?” “Briefly, I knew him. I can tell you of his time in Shinovar, though I do not know the end of his quest there. I was rejected by my Radiant first.” Sigzil considered, rocking in place, numb. “Spren can’t leave Roshar. Why are you here on this caravan?” “Ah, well, you see,” the highspren said—having far more familiar a tone than Sigzil had expected—“I can leave now! Any of us can. There are some in the caravan, even some windspren and other smaller ones. Cultivation fled, and it was her bond with Honor, and their agreement with Odium, that locked us here.”

She pulled her cloak closer, feeling cold. “How long will this effect last? Can you guess?” The face froze, then shook, then spoke again, and it looked like his hair had been brushed. “We’ve been calculating. Seems like the time dilation is slowing around Roshar, and the worst was at the start, but it’s going to be a while yet. Maybe … seventy or eighty years from now, you’ll realign with cosmere standard? That will seem like a decade or so for you.”

“Have you thought about my proposal?” she asked Thaidakar. He fuzzed again. Then responded. “I have. I don’t know if I can make peace with you, Kholin. Killing Iyatil went too far. I accept that she must bear the consequences of her brutality, but she was my colleague—and her brother will need to be told what happened. He doesn’t know yet. We’ve had our own crisis here recently. “However, without Stormlight—and with Mishram freed—our interests on Roshar are minimized. I doubt Iyatil’s brother will insist on coming to seek vengeance against you immediately. He’s more likely going to try to break away from me—so I might have a little civil war on my hands. If his agents do arrive on Roshar, they’ll be your enemies.

Taravangian emerged into the Spiritual Realm in his avatar form, joining a vision he himself had created and kept going indefinitely. It was populated by tens of thousands of people. His daughter. His grandchildren. Adrotagia. Each of whom was real, and not a fake made of this realm. Kharbranth was dead, but in the moment that Cultivation had looked away, Taravangian had summoned his power and taken the people. The city had indeed been destroyed, but he’d saved the occupants. In utter secret. In the Spiritual Realm, he’d created for them a clone of Kharbranth. He walked its streets, knowing them to be fake, while no one living here did.

It bothered him that few would know what Dalinar had achieved and sacrificed. But fortunately, at least one person did know, and he wasn’t exactly a quiet type. Dalinar Kholin’s true story would be told. Once the time was right, and Hoid could get back to Roshar.

Well, hate it though he did, there was only one reasonable choice. With Retribution formed, Hoid needed allies—even allies who hated him—who knew how to fight gods. He would have to go find Valor. After all that time he’d spent trying to manipulate Dalinar, the old Blackthorn had gone and manipulated Hoid—and every single Shard. “Brilliant job, my friend,” he said, striding out onto the street. “Brilliant storming job. You’ve given us a chance. Let’s hope we can live up to it.”

“Then what harm is there,” Kaladin said, “in trying one more time? If everything is already doomed?” “I …” “One more try,” Kaladin whispered. “Just once more.” “Once more,” Kalak said. “A … final Return?” “We heal,” Kaladin said. “We reclaim ourselves. Then we go back to Roshar. This time, we win for real. Instead of coming back withered from torture, you’ll return refreshed. Mended, and we’ll see what we can do together.” One more try. A final Return.

“Is that Taln?” Kalak asked. “Taln is here? Has he … said anything?” “He needs time,” Kaladin said. “And help. So far, he’s only said one thing. He said … he forgives you all.” A tremble went through Kalak. It left warmth and, unfortunately, shame in its wake. He was used to the shame. He’d carried it for millennia. The warmth was new. Taln was back. Taln … forgave them. Kalak reached up and took Kaladin’s hand.