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May 29 - June 9, 2025
Surgebinding. Soulcasting. These were talents of the Lost Radiants, the abilities—supposedly just legend—that had been their blessing or their curse, depending upon which reports you read. Or so she’d learned from the books Jasnah had given her to read during their trip.
“If honor is dead,” Kaladin whispered. “He is,” Syl said. “But he lives on in men. And in me.” Kaladin frowned.
Other curiosities baffled her. A vial of pale sand. A couple of thick hairpins. A lock of golden hair. The branch of a tree with writing on it she couldn’t read. A silver knife. An odd flower preserved in some kind of solution. There were no plaques to explain these mementos. That chunk of pale pink crystal looked like it might be some kind of gemstone, but why was it so delicate? Bits of it had flaked off in its case, as if simply setting it down had almost crushed it.
“I see,” the messenger said softly. “You do not yet understand the nature of lies. I had that trouble myself, long ago. The Shards here are very strict. You will have to see the truth, child, before you can expand upon it. Just as a man should know the law before he breaks it.”
Shallan watched him go, the deep things within her settling again, returning to the forgotten parts of her mind. She realized she had not even asked the man his name.
“Is not just water,” Rock said. “Is water of life. It is connection to gods. If Unkalaki swim in it, sometimes they see place of gods.”
“She’s far too young for me, child,” Wit said. “That’s right,” Adolin said with a nod. “Stick to women your own age.” Wit grinned. “Well, that might be a little harder. I think there’s only one of those around these parts, and she and I never did get along.”
“What has happened to us?” Dalinar asked. “Where is our honor?” “Honor is dead,” a voice whispered from beside him. Dalinar turned and looked at Captain Kaladin. He hadn’t noticed the bridgeman walking down the steps behind him. Kaladin took a deep breath, then looked at Dalinar. “But I’ll see what I can do. If this goes poorly, take care of my men.” Spear in hand, he grabbed the edge of the wall and flung himself over, dropping to the sands of the arena floor below.
“I will protect even those I hate,” Kaladin whispered through bloody lips. “So long as it is right.”
Kaladin
“This is not a problem,” Nin said, looking back. “I have brought a replacement Shardblade for you. One that is a perfect match for your task and temperament.” He tossed his large sword to the ground. It skidded on stone and came to a rest before Szeth. He had not seen a sword with a metal sheath before. And who sheathed a Shardblade? And the Blade itself . . . was it black? An inch or so of it had emerged from the sheath as it slid on the rocks. Szeth swore he could see a small trail of black smoke coming off the metal. Like Stormlight, only dark. Hello, a cheerful voice said in his mind.
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“I had instruction,” Dalinar said, walking into the room and tucking the sphere away. “The Stormfather called me Bondsmith.” “It was the name of one of the orders,” Shallan said, resting her fingers on one of the pillars. “That makes three of us. Windrunner, Bondsmith, Lightweaver.” “Four,” a voice said from the shadows of the stairwell. Renarin stepped up into the lit room. He looked at them, then shrank back. “Son?” Dalinar asked. Renarin remained in the darkness, looking down. “No spectacles . . .” Dalinar whispered. “You stopped wearing them. I thought you were trying to look like a
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“And we will save the ones we can,” Dalinar said. He turned to her. “Life before death, Radiant. It is the task to which we are now sworn.” She pursed her lips, still looking eastward, but nodded. “Life before death, Radiant.”
