Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive, #3)

by Brandon Sanderson

“Words are the most important things in my life right now.”

“Highprince Dalinar Kholin,” Kaladin said, Stormlight puffing before his lips, “has refounded the Knights Radiant. And this time, we will not fail you.”

“Can I ask you a question?” “As that was a question, apparently you can.” “Oh, um. Huh.” “It’s fine. What did you want to know?” “You’re … a Radiant.” “That one was actually a statement, and that’s making me doubt my previous assertion.”

It’s hard to resent a man who is doing his best.

You must know what I have done, and what those actions cost me.

“Falsehoods serve nobody, Kadash,”

Dalinar’s breath caught. Navani’s hair glowed with the tiny rubies she’d woven into it, a color matched by her pendant and bracelet. Her face a sultry tan, her hair Alethi jet black, her red-lipped smile so knowing and clever. And a figure … a figure to make a man weep for desire. His brother’s wife.

“You could try water sometime you know, Dalinar,” Sadeas said. “I had some rainwater earlier.

I give way for Gavilar in all things. Let him have the throne, let him have love. I must never be king.

“But sometimes a hypocrite is nothing more than a person who is in the process of changing.”

“Did you … did you stick yourself to the ground?” Kaladin asked. “Just part of the plan, gon!” Lopen called back. “If I am to become a delicate cloud upon the sky, I must first convince the ground that I am not abandoning her. Like a worried lover, sure, she must be comforted and reassured that I will return following my dramatic and regal ascent to the sky.”

Some days, it seemed you couldn’t break Kaladin Stormblessed with all the stones on Roshar. Then one of his men would get wounded, and you’d see him crack.

“Don’t worry, dear one. The Lopen is vast enough to be possessed by many, many forces, both terrestrial and celestial! I must soar to the air, for if I were to remain only on the ground, surely my growing magnitude would cause the land to crack and break.”

“You are not a heretic, Dalinar Kholin. You are a king, a Radiant, and a father. You are a man with complicated beliefs, who does not accept everything you are told. You decide how you are defined. Don’t surrender that to them. They will gleefully take the chance to define you, if you allow it.”

“I’ll do my best, Your Majesty.” “No,” Elhokar said. “You’ll do what I command. Be extraordinary, Captain. Nothing else will suffice.”

“Well, I figured we’d want someplace safe,” Adolin said. “We’d need to stay with someone I’d trust with my life, or more.” He looked at Kaladin, then gestured toward the woman. “So I brought us to my tailor.”

“Come. You look like you could use the opportunity to buy me something to eat.”

“I made a vow.” Shallan nodded, wide-eyed. “I said I’d always be there when I was needed.”

If stone met a man, stone might win—but if stone met humanity, then no force could preserve it.

“I intend to so thoroughly ruin this place that for ten generations, nobody will dare build here for fear of the spirits who will haunt it. We will make a pyre of this city, and there shall be no weeping for its passing, for none will remain to weep.”

“I’m here,” Kaladin said, resting the Sylblade on his shoulder, “on orders from King Elhokar and the Blackthorn. It’s my job to save Kholinar. And it’s time you started talking to me.” She smiled at him. “Come with me.”

“I cannot judge the worth of a life. I would not dare to attempt it.”

“As I lack the experience to decide the worth of a life, I sincerely doubt that she has somehow obtained it. You tried to help the people of the market. You mostly failed. This is life. The longer you live, the more you fail. Failure is the mark of a life well lived. In turn, the only way to live without failure is to be of no use to anyone. Trust me, I’ve practiced.”

“You’re not a monster, Shallan,” Wit whispered. “Oh, child. The world is monstrous at times, and there are those who would have you believe that you are terrible by association.”

“It’s terrible,” Wit said, stepping up beside her, “to have been hurt. It’s unfair, and awful, and horrid. But Shallan … it’s okay to live on.”

Bridge Four piled into the room after them. Many had brought simple seats, but the Herdazian had stumbled onto the lift with a chair so grand—inlaid with embroidered blue cloth and silver—it was almost a throne. They settled their chairs behind hers with a fair bit of squabbling, and then attacked the food without waiting for permission. For a group that was essentially one step from being lighteyed Shardbearers, they were an unruly and raucous bunch. Bridge Four had, characteristically, taken the news of their leader’s potential fall with laughter. Kaladin is tougher than a wind-tossed boulder, Brightness, Teft had told her. He survived Bridge Four, he survived the chasms, and he’ll survive this.

It seemed that Dalinar had been four people in his life. The bloodlusty warrior, who killed wherever he was pointed, and the consequences could go to Damnation. The general, who had feigned distinguished civility—when secretly, he’d longed to get back on the battlefield so he could shed more blood. Third, the broken man. The one who paid for the actions of the youth. Then finally, the fourth man: most false of them all. The man who had given up his memories so he could pretend to be something better.

“Duty isn’t about what you enjoy. It’s about doing what is demanded of you, in serving the greater good. You can’t just abandon responsibility because you feel like it.”

“But of all the things I’ve walked away from, the one I don’t regret is allowing someone else to rule. Sometimes, the best way to do your duty is to let someone else—someone more capable—try carrying it.”

“Being a ruler is a burden, not merely a privilege,”

Nohadon nodded. “So why don’t you?” “You didn’t.” “I tried and failed. That led me to a different path.” “You’re wise and thoughtful. I’m a warmonger, Nohadon. I’ve never accomplished anything without bloodshed.” He heard them again. The tears of the dead. Evi. The children. Flames burning a city. He heard the fire roar in delight at the feast.

talk about your burdens and the difficulty of the decision. What is the cost of a principle?” “The cost? There shouldn’t be a cost to being principled.” “Oh? What if making the right decision created a spren who instantly blessed you with wealth, prosperity, and unending happiness? What then? Would you still have principles? Isn’t a principle about what you give up, not what you gain?” “So it’s all negative?” Dalinar said. “Are you implying that nobody should have principles, because there’s no benefit to them?” “Hardly,” Nohadon said. “But maybe you shouldn’t be looking for life to be easier because you choose to do something that is right! Personally, I think life is fair. It’s merely that often, you can’t immediately see what balances it.”

“This is quite the nightmare you’ve created,” Nohadon said. “What does that thunderclast represent, I wonder?” “Pain,” Dalinar said, backing away from the monster. “Tears. Burdens. I’m a lie, Nohadon. A hypocrite.” “Sometimes, a hypocrite is nothing more than a man who is in the process of changing.”

“You’ve said the oaths,” Nohadon called. “But do you understand the journey? Do you understand what it requires? You’ve forgotten one essential part, one thing that without which there can be no journey.” The monsters slammed fists toward Dalinar, and he shouted. “What is the most important step a man can take?”

But she had learned that nobody was strong all the time, not even Dalinar Kholin. Love wasn’t about being right or wrong, but about standing up and helping when your partner’s back was bowed. He would likely do the same for her someday.

If you control your drinking when back in Kholinar, a part of him challenged, what happened at the feast? Where were you when Gavilar was fighting for his life?

It was over. He’d never have a chance to live up to Gavilar’s expectations. Dalinar would live the rest of his life as a failure to this man whom he had loved so dearly.

He pretended he was better these days, kept telling himself he was in the process of finding a way out of this mess. Of returning to the man he’d once been. But that man had been a monster.

Frightening, that nobody had blamed him for the things he’d done. Nobody but Evi, who had seen what the killing would do to him. He closed his eyes, hearing her tears.

“You must find the most important words a man can say.”

‘The question,’ she replied, ‘is not whether you will love, hurt, dream, and die. It is what you will love, why you will hurt, when you will dream, and how you will die. This is your choice. You cannot pick the destination, only the path.’ ”

“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.”

“Oh, Kal,” she whispered, then squeezed his arm. “Maybe someday you’ll learn how to be there for the living, not just for the dead.”

After she left, he got two letters from her, talking about her life in Mourn’s Vault. He had paid someone to read them to him. He never sent responses. Because he was stupid, because he didn’t understand. Because men make mistakes when they’re young and angry. Because she had been right.

When has any man ever been content with what he has?

Dalinar sank down on the steps. I tried my best to hide this, the Stormfather said. “So we could continue living a lie?” It is, in my experience, the thing men do best. “Don’t insult us.” What? Is this not what you’ve been doing, these last six years? Pretending that you aren’t a monster? Pretending you didn’t kill her, Dalinar? Dalinar winced. He made a fist, but there was nothing here he could fight. He dropped his hand to his side, shoulders drooping. Finally, he climbed to his feet and quietly trudged up the stone steps to his villa.

What is your boon? Dalinar blinked tears, listening to the sounds of the children dying in the distance, and whispered a single word. “Forgiveness.”

Navani fell to her knees above the broken edge of the wall. And then she noticed something else. Something incongruous, something her mind refused—at first—to accept. A solitary figure had somehow gotten around the troops who had already entered the city. He now picked his way across the rubble, wearing a blue uniform, carrying a book tucked under his arm. Unaided and defenseless, Dalinar Kholin stepped into the gap in the broken wall, and there faced the nightmare alone.

“You followed men before,” Nin continued. “They caused your pain, Szeth-son-Neturo. Your agony is because you did not follow something unchanging and pure. You picked men instead of an ideal.” “Or,” Szeth said, “perhaps I was simply forced to follow the wrong men.”

Dalinar licked his lips. “A test of champions,” he said to Odium. “I demand that we clash over this world.”