Brandon Sanderson’s epic Stormlight Archive fantasy series will continue with Wind and Truth, the concluding volume of the first major arc of this ten-book series. A defining pillar of Sanderson’s “Cosmere” fantasy book universe, this newest installment of The Stormlight Archive promises huge developments for the world of Roshar, the struggles of the Knights Radiant (and friends!), and for the Cosmere at large.
Reactor is serializing the new book from now until its release date on December 6, 2024. A new installment will go live every Monday at 11 AM ET, along with read-along commentary from Stormlight beta readers and Cosmere experts Lyndsey Luther, Drew McCaffrey, and Paige Vest. You can find every chapter and commentary post published so far in the Wind and Truth index.
We’re thrilled to also include chapters from the audiobook edition of Wind and Truth, read by Michael Kramer and Kate Reading. Click here to jump straight to the audio excerpt!
Note: Title art is not final and will be updated as soon as the final cover is revealed.
Chapter 10: Book-Quartermaster
The second moment had happened already, when Szeth himself decided to take upon him this quest. The one that would shape all of our futures.
—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 8
Kaladin followed Syl into a section of the tower with lower ceilings. They had to stop flying and walk, and soon entered the scribes’… uh, supply depot?
That wasn’t what they called it, but Kaladin of course couldn’t read the sign. Scribes didn’t have a quartermaster. Storms, what did they call the place? A long, low-ceilinged room full of bookcases and puttering ardents, bald heads reflecting the glowing lights embedded into the stone. The scents of paper and hogshide leather filled the air.
He drew more than a few stares from the women and ardents they passed, but Syl strode straight through with her chin high, fully visible. She led him through a maze of tall bookcases toward a counter along the back.
A woman stood here, arms folded. Stark red lipstick on an otherwise pale face, like blood on a corpse. Wrinkles running from her nose and along her cheeks made it appear she could frown twice at the same time. When she saw Syl, both frowns became more pronounced.
Syl bobbed right up to the counter. “Do you have my things?” She waved at Kaladin. “I brought a pack human.”
“A what?” Kaladin said.
“You can carry things. I cannot. Ergo…”
The aging woman behind the counter looked him bottom to top, then sniffed. “I suppose I must acquiesce.”
“Yes, you must,” Syl said. “Queen Navani says so. I know you checked.”
The woman’s sigh could have rippled a battle standard, but she reached beneath the counter and brought out a book, setting it on the table with a thump. “I found you a disposable copy.”
Syl waved eagerly, so Kaladin picked it up for her. He flipped through it, but there weren’t any pictures or glyphs. Just line after line of women’s script.
“The words are all broken up!” Syl said. “Not written with smooth lines at all.”
“Made with movable type, out of Jah Keved,” said the woman. “I wasn’t going to give you a handwritten one to take into the field.” She squinted at Kaladin. “You’re not going to teach him to read it, are you?”
“What if I did?” Syl said, going up on her tiptoes and projecting confidence. “Dalinar reads.”
“Brightlord Dalinar is a holy man.”
“Kaladin’s holy,” Syl said. “Tell her.”
“I’m bonded to a piece of a god,” he said. “And she won’t let me forget it.”
“See?” Syl said.
The woman sighed again. “Still doesn’t justify taking my books into the field…”
“What is it?” Kaladin said, flipping through the pages.
“The Way of Kings,” Syl said. “Your own copy! I got it for you, since I’m your scribe.”
He opened his mouth to complain about the weight, that his rucksack was already packed. Then caught sight of the enthusiasm in her expression. She’d had this idea—of scribing for him—since before the attack on Urithiru. Confronted by her excited smile, his thoughts spun on their heel and did an about-face.
“That’s wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”
“The other things too,” Syl said to the woman behind the counter. “Come on.”
The woman sent a runner girl. That left the three of them standing there, in the back of a room full of shuffling and whispering people and floating logicspren, like little storms. It wasn’t quiet, but had an air of quietude. Odd, how this place—with all those leather book covers—could smell so much like the quartermaster shop with its armor.
A woman came to the counter and received prompt service, even deferential. Kaladin watched with annoyance. They treated Syl differently because she was a spren? Another woman strode past, wearing a long pleated skirt with a military jacket over the top. Kaladin didn’t recognize her, but that was an Alethi uniform jacket, tailored more snugly than the women of Bridge Four tended to prefer.
Syl’s eyes went wide, and she let out a soft “Ooooo…”
“New style,” the woman behind the counter said. “Based on an old ko-takama.” To their confused looks, she continued, “Female warrior clothing, very old, from our more savage times. That didn’t use the uniform coat, of course—and those had a higher waist, and sometimes a bow. I might have a picture somewhere…”
She trailed off as Syl’s clothing fuzzed and she was immediately wearing something similar. Syl rose up a little, her skirt—which was longer than the one she had worn in the past—rippling faintly. Thin, pleated, with the fitted jacket above. She continued to wear her hair loose, though she was one of the only ones in the room to do so.
“Nice,” Kaladin said. “It suits you.”
Syl grinned.
“I’d suggest,” the woman said, “a nice pair of leggings or trousers under the ko-takama for a Windrunner—or whatever you are—so that…”
“What?” Syl said innocently.
“When you’re flying,” the woman said. “So that, you know…”
Syl cocked her head, then gasped. “Oh! Or everyone will see my chull.”
“Your… chull?” the woman asked.
Syl leaned forward conspiratorially across the counter. “I could never figure out why these humans were so shy about the spot between their legs! Strange to my uncultured spren mind. Then I figured it out! Must be something pretty ugly down there, for everyone to be so afraid to show it! The ugliest thing I know of is a chull head. So when I made this body, I put one there.”
The woman stared at Syl, and seemed to be trying very hard not to look.
“… Chull head,” the woman finally said.
“Chull head,” Syl replied.
“Down… there.”
“Down there.”
Syl held the woman’s eyes with an unblinking stare, before adding, “I feed it grass sometimes.”
The woman released a shockspren and made a sound not unlike one Kaladin had heard from men being strangled. “I’ll go and check on your supplies,” she said, and scrambled away, blushing and appearing maybe a little nauseated.
Syl glanced at him and smiled sweetly.
“Chull head?” he asked.
“You know us spren!” she said. “So flighty and strange. Can’t even be trusted with a storming book! We might, I don’t know, read it and damage one of the precious pages.”
He snorted. “You didn’t… actually… you know…”
“Kaladin, don’t be stupid,” she said, hovering a foot off the ground, her new skirt rippling. “Think how uncomfortable that would be.”
“Do you even exist?” he said, saying it before he thought through the words. “Under the clothing? I mean, are the clothes your skin, or…”
She leaned toward him. “Wanna see?”
“Oh, storms no,” he said, imagining her vanishing her clothing right there in the middle of the book-quartermaster depot-place, fully visible to everyone. Or perhaps worse, just to him—to make him blush. Storms, she could do that at any time, in the middle of a meeting with Dalinar. She’d probably find it as funny as sticking his feet to the floor. One would think, after all this time, he’d have learned to keep his storming mouth shut.
“This,” she said, gesturing to the clothing, “is part of me, like your hair maybe, or your fingernails. Except you can’t control yours, and I can.”
“That doesn’t explain it,” Kaladin said. “I mean, let’s be honest: if it were me, I wouldn’t finish the parts that nobody could see. Why put in the effort?”
“It’s not effort,” she said. “Changing is what takes the effort.” She gestured to herself. “This is me, my shape, my face—it’s who I am. I can change to be other things—bits of nature are easier. But eventually I will snap back to this shape. The same one I have in Shadesmar. That changes only in exceptional circumstances.”
Huh. It didn’t answer his question completely, but it was interesting.
“Still wondering how much detail I have, aren’t you?” she said, leaning up against him.
“No,” he said forcefully. “You’re going to find a way to embarrass me. So no.”
She rolled her eyes. “We are as we were imagined, Kaladin,” she said. “Basically human—but with certain enviable improvements. You can assume that if a human has it, I do too—unless it’s icky.”
Which again really didn’t explain anything, considering how erratically Syl could define the word “icky.” But she fortunately let the matter drop—as the scribe finally returned with a small box. She set out paper, some ink, and several very thin, light pens—exotic ones that he’d heard were somehow made from parts of chickens.
Syl bounced up and down eagerly, ignoring the book-quartermaster and her severe gaze. Timid at first, Syl reached and—with effort—picked up one of the pens. Before that moment, the heaviest thing Kaladin had seen Syl carry on her own was one solitary leaf. Today, full sized, she scrunched up her face and concentrated—then deliberately heaved the pen into the air, like she was lifting a training weight.
Storms, Kaladin thought, impressed as she raised the pen and dipped it, each motion slow and careful. She placed it onto the page and crafted a single letter. Then she set the pen back down.
“Very good,” the book-quartermaster said. “You now display the skill of a four-year-old.”
Syl wilted, and Kaladin immediately felt a jolt. His annoyance at this woman simmered into something hotter. He opened his mouth, a dozen different options springing to mind. She wanted a scene? Oh, he could make a scene.
He checked those words; he didn’t want to spoil his day because of a bully. Instead he sighed, resting his arms on the counter. “What are you afraid of?” he asked her.
“Brightlord?” she asked him.
“I knew another bully once,” he said. “Short man. One eye. Treated everyone around him like crem—pushed us hard, too hard. Got people killed, and didn’t have an ounce of empathy. Turns out he was hugely in debt. Always terrified it would catch up to him, so he punished everyone around him. Makes me wonder if you’re the same, and have some reason you’re so angry and unpleasant.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Brightlord,” she said.
“I hope you are lying,” Kaladin said. “Because if there isn’t a reason—if you’re insufferable with no cause—then I feel even more sorry for you. So I’ll go with the assumption that deep down inside you, there’s a person capable of understanding what I’m going to say next.
“This attitude you put on? You think it makes you appear strong, but it doesn’t. Instead it makes very clear that something is wrong with you. Look at Syl’s effort. You should be thrilled! Who berates a person for bettering herself? Who sells books and stationery, yet feels the need to undercut someone overcoming enormous physical limitations to use them?”
Kaladin held the woman’s eyes, and thought he saw something there. A spark of shame. And she drew a single shamespren, a white petal fluttering down behind her.
“Look,” Kaladin said, “you need to talk to someone about your problems. Not me; I’m just some stranger. But find someone. Talk. Grow. It’s worth the effort, all right?”
She glanced away, but then gave the faintest hint of a nod.
Kaladin took the paper Syl had written on and folded it, then tucked it in his jacket pocket. “I’m keeping this,” he said. “It’s wonderful.”
“Now,” Syl said, “I can actually be your scribe.” She glanced at the paper. “So long as you carry the materials…”
He smiled, packing them—and her book—into his ruck. He slung it over both shoulders onto his back, then the two headed out. “I assume,” Kaladin said under his breath, “most book-quartermasters aren’t so terrible.”
“Wait, what did you call her?”
“Um… book-quartermaster? Who works at the scribes’ supply depot?”
“The head librarian,” she said, “at the library?”
“Oh, right. Yeah, that’s the word.”
“You are absolutely adorable sometimes.”
They stepped out into Urithiru’s labyrinth of narrow corridors again. Kaladin nodded to the right, toward where he saw natural light down a hallway. It had a skylight, with some open-air windows at the sides.
“Tired of hallways?” he asked.
“Exhausted of them.”
Grinning, together they sought the sky.
Chapter 11: Musicspren
For while the contest of champions was to happen in the East, a different contest was to happen in Shinovar. And one that the Wind swore was equally vital. Perhaps more so.
—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 8
Abidi the Fused loomed over Shallan, gaping at the sword through his chest. Radiant pulled it free, then swung for his head. Despite the wound, he had the presence of mind to duck forward and tumble over Shallan, then skidded to a stop and spun as his wound resealed. Unfortunately, Radiant hadn’t managed to hit him in the gemheart or sever his spine—the two cleanest ways to kill a Fused.
He took her in, then glanced at Radiant—made physical—his eyes narrowing as he hummed to a discordant rhythm. “You have learned substantiation? I thought your kind had forbidden that skill. Odium will need to know.” He dove through the bead wall, vanishing.
The cavern immediately collapsed, a deluge of beads consuming Shallan, and the illusion of Radiant puffed away into Stormlight. Shallan held tightly to the satchel around her arm, drawing in more Stormlight, and quested out with her ungloved freehand. Searching the beads.
She needed one as a blueprint. She’d done this before, and had practiced on this trip. In this case, she searched for a room. A bead that was the soul of a room…
She found one almost immediately. An empty room. A part of her mind acknowledged that it was incredibly—even supernaturally—convenient to find the exact bead she needed so quickly.
Shallan! a voice said in her mind. She had the distinct impression of Adolin beneath her and to the left. She followed that impression, using Stormlight to make the beads nudge her that way. She held on to her blueprint and hit the bottom of the ocean, smooth obsidian. There she commanded the beads back, forming a large, empty square room. The beads pulled away to reveal Adolin on the ground, curled in on himself, hands cupped around his mouth to make space so he could breathe.
He blinked at the sudden light—all of it coming from her—and sat up. A few swords were scattered nearby, having fallen with Adolin. Feeling overwhelmed, Shallan walked to him, still clutching the bead. It seemed… eager to be helpful.
What?
She’d never felt such a sensation from a bead before. And what was that voice that had led her toward Adolin? Frowning, she reached Adolin, but staggered. The room spun, and a second later she found herself on the ground, everything a jumble.
“Shallan?” Adolin said, cradling her.
“Are you… real?” she asked.
“What? Of course I am.”
“I created Radiant,” Shallan whispered. “I could have created you… Maybe that’s why you’re so wonderful. I said reality could be what I imagine it to be, but I don’t actually want that. That would be… terrifying…”
He squeezed her hand and helped her sit. The world stopped spinning, and… that was him, wasn’t it? Not an illusion? It had felt wonderful to manifest Radiant—a part of her stepping out and becoming real—but the idea that she could touch her illusions… How would she ever know what to trust?
Trust him. You can trust him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath and putting her hand to his face. “I’ve been pushing myself hard these last few days, what with Formless and all…”
“We’ve all been pushing too hard,” he said, poking her shoulder where she’d been stabbed and clicking his tongue. Likely at the damage to the coat, as he could see that she’d already healed. “We need a long, uneventful rest after this.”
“Sounds enchanting,” Shallan said, waving for him to help her stand. It felt mortifying to go from a moment of such strength—attacking one of the Fused—to this. She kept hold of that bead in her freehand, because there was something very strange about it.
Adolin checked to see that she was steady on her feet, then grabbed a one-handed sword from the ground. “Drehy and his squires are still fighting up there. Can you help me get to them? I know you need rest, but we can’t leave them.”
She walked to the side of the cavern and felt at the beads there. They’d clicked into place, perfectly aligned in a smoothish surface. “I’ll need something that can make a platform and raise us up. Or maybe I can just lift this room? Pretend that…”
Her vision started to spin again. Briefly. The beads trembled. Adolin jumped back, and a face formed from beads in the wall—in the shape of a crowned femalen singer. The one Shallan had sketched, which Ketek had identified as Ba-Ado-Mishram. Shallan’s sight began to blacken at the edges, and she heard a rushing sound, accompanied by…
In her mind, a woman’s voice speaking to the rhythms.
I will kill you. I will burn everything you love. I will exact vengeance in a river of blood!
Adolin’s voice was a panicked but distant sound. Darkness tunneled around Shallan.
I will rampage across this world until not a single human remains drawing breath. Betrayers, thieves, monsters! I will send you back to the flames from whence you—
Adolin slammed an oversized, massive greatsword into the face. An eruption of beads burst from it, like a wellspring of water. The entire cavern disintegrated.
She needed a dome. No, a sphere. Like Navani’s traveling sphere. She should have been able to create one without a blueprint, but she couldn’t yet—but she did reach out and find a bead that represented such a room. That was an even more ridiculous coincidence, but she used it, enclosing Adolin and her, sending the sphere flying up until—
They emerged from the ocean of beads, the door of her improvised vehicle opening at her command. They bobbed there, and Adolin put a hand on her shoulder. “Shallan? What in Damnation is going on?”
She shook her head and pointed to where the Windrunners were engaging the Heavenly Ones. As she did, one of Drehy’s squires—the woman who had been stabbed earlier—came flying down. She seemed to be angling for Shallan’s half-sphere vehicle, but crashed hard into the beads nearby, her Stormlight winking out.
Adolin, bless him, moved as if to jump out and grab her, but swimming in the beads was next to impossible. Shallan always felt it should have been easy, considering how solid they were—but the way they shifted and moved sucked a person down or flung them about. Shallan put a hand on his leg to stop him, then took in a long, deep breath of Stormlight, thankful for what the Windrunners had given her.
She had no idea what was going on, and she was scared. In her core, she was still terrified. That, however, Veil whispered, is a step forward.
For years, Shallan had hated herself. Now she merely feared herself. That was progress.
She managed to solidify the beads around her vehicle, forming a stable ring some twenty feet in diameter. That raised the wounded Windrunner up, and Adolin, oversized sword in hand, ran to check on her. Above, the attack was relentless—and Shallan saw one of the Fused in particular leading the others: Abidi the Monarch, with his mostly white patterned face. He saw her, and dove to attack.
Shallan had begun thinking of the Heavenly Ones as the least dogmatic of the Fused, but—like everyone else—they were individuals. She should have realized her mistake in generalizing an entire group.
As Abidi landed on her platform, she tried to form Radiant again, but the effort left her so dizzy she fell to her knees. Fortunately, Abidi made a huge tactical error: he discounted Adolin. He absently shoved Adolin aside and raised a sword to finish off the fallen Windrunner. Adolin leaped in and deflected the blow with his oversized sword, which he held in a strange grip: one hand on the hilt, one hand on the unsharpened section right above the crossguard.
With obvious surprise at being challenged, Abidi swept for Adolin—who ducked, stepping in close, and expertly rammed the tip of his sword between two pieces of carapace on the Fused’s side. It crunched as Adolin shoved it in deep.
The Fused gasped, and the red light in his eyes flickered. Abidi ripped himself back off the sword, managed to dodge Adolin’s follow-up attack, then tried to flee into the sky. He made it ten feet before his Voidlight gave out and he crashed into the beads and was sucked beneath the surface.
Another Fused flew to his aid—and a few more came in from above.
“Storms, Adolin is good,” Radiant said, having at last formed out of Stormlight beside Shallan. She turned her gaze upward, then raised a massive Shardbow and—in a single fluid motion—loosed an arrow almost as thick as a spear. Then another. The Fused above them scattered.
Shallan sat and breathed deeply, concentrating on her Lightweaving and on staying conscious. Drehy and his squires regrouped on the platform in a defensive formation around their fallen comrade—spears up. Doing a quick count—and finding everyone there save for the spren—Shallan used the bead that represented a room to build a large box around them all. Before the Fused could come for them, she lowered them beneath the surface.
Drehy pulled out a sapphire for light and knelt by his squire. Judging by how she immediately absorbed the Stormlight—plunging them into darkness again—she was going to be fine. The next gemstones that came out didn’t get consumed.
Shallan flopped backward, almost completely out of Light. A moment later Drehy stepped over. “This your doing, Shallan?” he asked, rapping on the wall of the room.
“Yes.”
“Those Fused saw where we went down. They’ll come for us.”
Damnation. It was a good point. Well, Jasnah had mastery over her objects made of beads—she had demonstrated it for Shallan, floating along on a platform. Shallan had been stretching these muscles more and more lately. So maybe…
With more Stormlight from Drehy in hand, she managed to sink the room to the bottom of the bead ocean. Then she sent it traveling along like a little boat under the water.
Now to find the spren. She could feel Pattern if she concentrated. Sense his emotions. So she could tell when the under-bead room moved close to him.
“A little help?” she said, her head pounding. “Search through that wall for me…”
Drehy and his squires reached into the beads and pulled Pattern, then Testament, Maya, and finally Drehy’s spren into the boat from the bottom of the sea. After that, Shallan moved them all away. She didn’t think she actually moved the ship-room-thing. More that the beads outside moved it for her, like in a current. Once they’d traveled far enough that the enemy wouldn’t find them without a lot of luck, she stopped it and let herself rest. Breathing deeply, Adolin feeding her spheres of Light from Drehy’s mostly depleted sack.
“That was something, wasn’t it?” Drehy asked, flopping down beside her.
“What about Gallant?” Adolin asked, his voice pained. “Will his Lashing still be working?”
“Should be…” Drehy pulled out his little fabrial. “That’s the correct direction, toward Azimir. I… think.”
“You think?” Shallan asked.
“This device points to something far in the distance. Something the Sibling called ‘the Grand Knell, source of the Current, the death of a god.’ ”
“Not at all ominous,” Shallan said, sitting up.
“It gives us a bearing,” Drehy explained. “This always points to the Knell. I know the angle from Lasting Integrity we were to take, and I don’t think we’ve strayed too far…”
Adolin started to pace. He got like his father when he was anxious. “Can we go up and send someone to look?”
Shallan glanced at Drehy, who nodded. She took them up and opened a little section in the ceiling. Drehy went himself, streaking out with a Lashing, though he left the compass device with them just in case.
He was back less than five minutes later, landing on the top of the improvised boat and peering in through the hole she’d made in the roof. “You two are going to want to see this…”
* * *
An island was nearby, made by a small lake in the real world. There, Shallan was ecstatic to find Gallant trotting along, perfectly safe, exactly as Drehy had said.
He was surrounded by an entire herd of glowing horses.
Shallan had seen one before—Notum had used it as a mount. Not truly a horse, but something that evoked the same impression: with a long, smooth neck and flowing strands of hair. Glowing, lithe, ethereal. As Gallant saw Adolin approaching—flown by Drehy—he let out a whinny of delight, then charged, joined by the herd.
When the horses—Gallant included—reached the sea, they simply kept running, galloping through the air, hooves making glowing marks and throwing off sparks. As before, Gallant seemed completely unfazed by flying. In fact, it was as if he’d expected his Lashing to work like this. It was like… like he often went galloping through the sky in a ghostly herd.
Adolin met him with a cry of delight, grabbing hold of his neck. The ethereal horses—musicspren, she’d been told, though she didn’t see the resemblance—galloped around them in the air. And Shallan noticed something she perhaps should have figured out long ago. She’d remarked, upon first entering Shadesmar, how Gallant had a strange afterimage glow. An outline that followed him, moved with him…
Was there a musicspren bonded to him? Overlapping him?
Eventually the herd moved off, giving Gallant nuzzles before going. All except one, who lingered, looking over its shoulder at Adolin.
In a strangely intimate moment, this horselike spren trotted back and put its muzzle out to Adolin—who lifted his hand to touch it. The interaction lasted barely a moment, then the spren was off again, galloping through the air after the others.
“What was that?” Shallan asked.
“That spren…” Adolin said. “It was familiar somehow. Its eyes… I’ve seen it somewhere before…” He was interrupted as Gallant started to drift downward. The Lashing—or whatever—that the musicspren had provided was running out. Drehy had to swoop in and Lash Gallant once more, who took it remarkably calmly.
“Well, I’m glad the animal is well,” Drehy said. “But this isn’t the only thing you need to see.” Drehy pointed the other direction. “I spotted the horses here and came this way. Then I saw something else.”
“Lights,” Shallan said, following his gesture toward something in the distance. “I saw them earlier.”
“Those Fused weren’t on a random patrol,” Drehy said. “They were guarding something. It’s dangerous to be this close, but I think we need to investigate.”
“Hold on,” Shallan said, then did a Lightweaving. Even without a sketch first. Sure, she’d just seen the spren, but she felt proud of projecting musicspren illusions around herself and the others. If they lay down lengthwise as they flew, they’d mostly be obscured. Maybe from a distance it would be convincing. Merely a strange herd of spren galloping through the air, not spies.
“Let’s go,” she said.
As they drew close, she could make out better what the lights represented. Ships. Hundreds of ships bearing singer warriors, sailing the bead ocean pulled by flying mandras, trailed by emotion spren of many varieties churning the waves like camp followers. Shallan gaped.
“That’s thousands of assault troops,” Adolin whispered from inside his illusion. He righted Gallant’s saddle after handing off his greatsword to one of Drehy’s squires. The scabbard was gone, and the equipment boxes had been knocked free—Adolin grimaced as his hand lingered on the now vacant saddle hooks.
“They have patrols watching to make sure no one spots them,” Shallan said. “It’s a secret strike force.”
“They’re sailing straight for Azimir,” Drehy said. “Storms… they probably came all the way from the Horneater Peaks, and the perpendicularity there. They must have been planning this for months.”
“Agreed,” Adolin said. “Drehy, you have to get us to Azimir as quickly as possible.”
Excerpted from Wind and Truth, copyright © 2024 Dragonsteel Entertainment.
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