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 5: What Might Still Be
As a historian, I find such nuances relevant. As a philosopher, I find them enticing.
—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 4
It was nice for Shallan to take a few hours and think for once. Sitting, wearing a bright blue havah rather than her traveling clothing, on the top row of the stone open-air forum in Lasting Integrity, drawing. How long had it been since she’d simply let herself draw? She’d sketched a little during their trip, but that felt like an eternity ago.
She relaxed, flowing with the drawing: a depiction of the vertigo she felt looking up along one of the interior walls of Lasting Integrity. A surreal image like something from one of the older art movements, where perspective was intentionally alien and off-putting. She liked to think that the old surrealists had made contact with spren and Shadesmar, warping their minds to new ways of seeing things.
Though she’d never been as good with landscapes as she was with people, she was proud of the sense her sketch gave of falling—yet into what you could not see, because the unnatural perspective drew your eyes upward.
As with others she’d done today though, strange faces kept sneaking into the art.
In this case, she’d absently warped the shadings of one wall into a face. Feminine, a singer with a crownlike carapace and shadows and curves forming a stratalike design on her face. Shallan flipped through the sketchbook. Each drawing done today had that singer face hidden somewhere, and she didn’t remember making them.
She’d done something similar at Urithiru, where the presence of an Unmade had warped her sketches. She tried not to let it disturb her quite so much this time. Then, it had been a message. Was there a similar one now?
She looked toward Adolin, who paced at the center of the forum—the place where only a few days before, he’d been on trial. Today he’d been joined by Godeke, a lanky Edgedancer. Shallan’s agents had joined them as well: Ishnah, Vathah, and Beryl, along with their Cryptics. Together they waited for the Windrunners, and for the fruits of some final efforts in Lasting Integrity. She started another sketch as they waited.
In the end, twelve arrived.
Twelve honorspren, from a population of hundreds. That was how many showed up in response to Adolin’s call to arms. He and Godeke greeted each one with a smile, but she knew he’d expected more. One other did arrive: Notum. The former sea captain sported his unique facial hair as always, though he walked on unsteady feet. They still didn’t know why he’d been assaulted by those Tukari that Adolin had saved him from.
Notum didn’t join Godeke and Adolin, but instead walked down the steps to Shallan. “Radiant Kholin,” he said.
That was odd to hear, even a year after the wedding. It hadn’t been a foregone conclusion that she would take Adolin’s name; among the Alethi lighteyes, either party was equally likely to keep their name as adopt a new one. In her case, she was needed in the line of Kholin succession. She doubted she’d take a throne that Adolin had refused, but Dalinar wanted people he trusted in line. Her adoption into the Kholin house would strengthen her claim, should it come to that.
In explaining this to her, Dalinar and Navani had been speaking pragmatically—but that wasn’t what Shallan remembered most about that day. For her, it was the day when a set of parents had, for the first time, wanted her.
Notum settled down beside her. “Your mission was a success. Twelve new Radiants.”
“We expected more though,” Radiant said, emerging. “After the support Adolin got at the trial, I anticipated an excellent recruitment result.”
“A good number of honorspren support him,” Notum said, “but that doesn’t mean they want to be bonded. One can be irate at the honorspren leadership and think humans are deserving of support, without wanting to take that step.”
Below, the twelve honorspren started to fade.
“I’ve never seen this before,” Notum added. “I thought they’d go in a blink. Instead they fade away to nothing…”
“Not nothing,” Radiant said. “They’ll appear on the other side.”
“I hear it’s traumatic,” Notum said. He had a stiff, formal way of speaking, even when the words were casual. Clipping each word as if he were making an announcement from the quarterdeck of his ship. “Spren on the other side forget themselves.”
“Only briefly,” Radiant said. “These will probably stay in a group—which helps—and immediately make their way to Urithiru, drawn by the squires training there.”
“Do you still need them now, though?” Notum asked. “Isn’t the war soon to end?”
“Windrunners are our primary method of traveling long distances—and I suspect they’ll be very helpful in peacetime. Beyond that… even if Dalinar wins the contest, I worry about what is to come next. The more Radiants we have, the more stable our position will be.”
“Then I should hurry,” Notum said, standing. “To join them, so that I’m not left alone.”
Radiant approved. But Shallan… she noticed something.
“You sound reluctant,” Shallan said.
He looked at her, glowing the same soft blue as all the honorspren. His uniform, his hair, everything about him was made of the same light—solid, not transparent, but also not quite real in the way she understood reality.
“There is nothing more for me here,” Notum said. “I have been rejected of mine, and have seen their pettiness. I should like to be of service. Though… I admit, I do not wish to bond a human. I loathe the idea. Is that petty of me, in turn?”
“Absolutely not,” Shallan said. “I have two bonds, Notum, and understand the cost better than most. It’s not pettiness, or cowardice, to be hesitant. Just as it’s not petty or cowardly to reject any relationship.”
“Pardon,” Notum said, “but other sorts of relationships don’t lead to soldiers with remarkable powers.”
That did admittedly complicate the matter. But after learning what she’d done to Testament—who sat with Pattern a few rows down—Shallan couldn’t help but question their mission. They needed Windrunners, yes, but it made her increasingly uneasy to demand a spren bond. It wasn’t intimate in the traditional human sense of the word, but it felt as deeply personal.
“We can use every Windrunner, yes,” she said, “but I don’t think you should force yourself to bond a human if it makes you uncomfortable. You can be a good person and say no, Notum. I’ve learned that.”
“Perhaps I will stay here a little longer then,” Notum said. “With effort, I might persuade others of my kind to offer you support.” He pointed, and drew her attention to a group of honorspren walking past, wearing traveling clothing and carrying gear. As if leaving for a long hike. They waved to Shallan and Adolin, but did not join those fading away.
“Objectors?” Shallan asked as Adolin waved back to them. “Those you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes,” Notum said. “They don’t agree with how you were treated, but also don’t want to go to war. They depart Lasting Integrity to make their own way.”
She nodded. “Well, Radiant Godeke is staying to continue to normalize relations with the honorspren, and I might leave one of my agents as well. If you stay, that would help—they could use a solid ally here.”
“I am your ally,” he said, “but as I warned you, the honorspren leadership does not care for me, even if they have been forced to revoke my exile.” His expression grew distant. “We have an entire navy that once sailed the bead ocean; it is a shame to see those ships abandoned in the yards. It gives the enemy full control of the Shadesmar seas. Perhaps I could sail under honorspren authority again…”
Storms, if Shallan hadn’t said anything, Notum might have gone to become a Radiant spren—meaning that she’d just actively gone against their orders in coming here. Perhaps she wouldn’t mention that in her report to Dalinar.
No other spren came. Lusintia, the spren who had been Shallan’s guide since her arrival at Lasting Integrity, made no appearance. Shallan had hoped she would change her mind, despite their occasional clashes.
“Notum, thank you,” Shallan said. “For how you stood up for us during the trial.”
“I am one person stretched thin, Radiant Kholin,” he said, standing with his hands clasped behind him. “Like colors on the mast that have waved too long in the wind. I don’t know what I believe or trust any longer, but what was done to you was not right. I could not play the sham role they demanded of me. I ask your forgiveness for even considering it.”
“It was natural to want your old life back, Notum.”
He turned to her, blue eyes meeting hers. “I lay on the ground, battered and assaulted, and watched your husband rise in my defense against overwhelming odds. He saved me with no expectation of reward. In that moment I knew that Honor lived.” He nodded curtly to Shallan, then walked down the steps to talk with Adolin.
Shallan slowly returned to her sketch—where she soon found that she’d drawn yet another face. In Adolin’s shadow. Storms.
Don’t be unnerved, she thought. You were upset when you drew Pattern for the first time, back in Kharbranth. But look how that turned out.
She would not be afraid of her own art. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to flip to the next sheet and start drawing again, until someone else sat beside her. Kelek leaned forward, hands clasped, seeming small and fragile.
“I’m not going with you,” he said softly. “I… I can’t.”
“It’s not safe for you here,” Shallan said, sketching, her fingers moving as if of their own accord. “If I got to you, Mraize’s other assassins can too.”
“I… I will hide. Better. But I can’t leave the seon, and she can’t travel now. It wouldn’t be good for her.”
Shallan didn’t argue. That never worked well with Kelek. Instead she lost herself in a sketch of him. A Herald to add to her collection. She might have said this was the rarest of gems to obtain, but was a Herald actually rarer than anyone else? One might argue that due to their immortality, they were less so.
“We are broken, Shallan,” Kelek finally said. “We are not the heroes you wish us to be. Not anymore.”
“I know how that feels.”
“I don’t think you do,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t believe anyone does.” He glanced at Adolin, chatting with Notum and Godeke. “You’re really going to try to find Mishram?”
“If I don’t,” Shallan said, “my enemies will.”
“Then what?” he said. “Will you release her? I… I cannot decide. Always cannot decide. I have advocated for her freedom in the past, but now I worry. She might join and strengthen Odium. She… hates humans.” He put his hand to his head. “Ishar says all the Unmade should be contained, yet what we did to the singers by imprisoning her…”
“I’ll worry about that when I find her gemstone,” Shallan said. “Honestly, I’ll probably bring her back to the Bondsmith and let everyone decide together.”
He didn’t respond, so she continued drawing. The familiar sound of charcoal or colored pencil on paper; the distilled attention of creation, like the most potent alcohol. She attracted a few creationspren, little swirling lights. These ones, though, behaved oddly—in here, she’d never seen them change shape like they did in the Physical Realm, but these started adopting the appearance of her pencil or eraser.
She kept drawing. Lines imitating life. Freezing it. But altering it at the same time, for you could never make an exact copy. That wasn’t the point. Every sketch was a picture of the artist as well: their perspective, their emphasis, their instinct reclaiming a moment otherwise lost…
Once you reached the end… it was sublime.
That moment when you basked in the thing you’d created—that feeling of awe mixed with disbelief that this beautiful object had come from you. Accompanied by the slightest worry that because you didn’t understand how you’d done it, you maybe didn’t deserve to have been part of the creation. She loved the feeling, even the uncertainty of it.
“Radiant,” Kelek said, hands clasped as he stared at the stone floor of the amphitheater, “what do you fear?”
What kind of question was that? “I don’t know,” she lied.
“I fear options,” he said. “I see each choice I make, and see the terrible results that could stem from it. If I stay here, I see you fail without me. If I go, I see my presence—broken as I am—cause your failure. I cannot continue. I… I do not…”
She rested her hand on his, then passed him the sketch. He took the picture, frowning, then his eyes widened as he saw it depicted him standing tall, wearing robes and striding from a fanciful city with colorful walls and strange trees with long fronds she’d made up. He carried a staff with an odd shape at the top, and strode toward a glowing light on the horizon—though in the picture, he looked backward and his face was determined. Decisive.
“Do you often do this?” he asked.
“Sketch people?” she said, then blushed. “Yes, I kind of do it all the time. When I’m feeling like myself, at least.”
“Not simply sketching, child. Do you often draw upon Fortune? Glimpse someone’s possible selves, and pull one forth… touch, in some small way, what could have been. What might still be…” He glanced to her, and must have seen the utter confusion in her eyes, as he sighed. “Is this a skill commonly employed by Lightweavers during your time?”
“Not that I know of,” she said. “But I don’t exactly understand what you’re saying.”
He glanced toward Pattern and Testament. “Two spren. Of course… you’ve bonded two. Strange things happen when the Nahel bond is imbricated. There were rules against it once, I believe. How long have you had them both?”
“For some time,” she said, “though I didn’t know it—didn’t remember it—until recently.”
“And how often,” he asked, holding up the sheet, “do you glimpse into the Spiritual Realm, then manifest it in your art?”
“I…” She thought back to pictures she’d done, like one found in the pocket of a dead man. Like sketches of the Unmade lurking in Urithiru… or faces turning up in her art without her intending to draw them. She began to feel like a fool for objecting so quickly to someone who clearly knew far more about these things than she did.
“It might happen now and then,” she said. “There was an Unmade in Urithiru, and it showed up in my art. Now these faces…” She turned one toward him.
He nodded. “Because you’ve been thinking about traveling to the Spiritual Realm and finding Ba-Ado-Mishram.”
“That’s her?”
“One interpretation of her, yes,” he said. “If you were someone else, I would assume you had seen some ancient art and were unconsciously influenced by it. For you…” He shrugged. “Fortune can do unthought, fantodic things.”
“I’m sorry. Fantodic?”
“It means… unnerving?” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t keep up on shifts in language, nor am I an expert on Fortune. Best speak to Midius—your Wit—about that. A fantodic man himself, that one.”
He took her page and carefully folded it to place in his pocket. She cringed at that—she hadn’t applied lacquer to keep it from smudging—but was distracted by something happening up beyond the walls of Lasting Integrity. A group of glowing figures were descending, trailing various kinds of spren who could soar with them—attracted to their use of Stormlight. The Windrunners had arrived.
Seconds later, Drehy, his spren, and some of his squires landed nearby, holding common spears, as Shardblades couldn’t enter Shadesmar. At least not in Shardblade shape.
“I believe,” Drehy said, “a lighteyed lady ordered a palanquin trip to Urithiru?”
“Funny-looking palanquin, Drehy,” Shallan said, rising.
“Now, that’s not nice, Brightness,” Drehy said, thumbing over his shoulder at one of his squires. “Shiosak there might have been dropped a few times as a child, but he isn’t funny looking. He’s unique.”
Shiosak—who was actually a rather handsome, affable Veden man—rolled his eyes.
Five Windrunners. Not enough to take everyone; Adolin’s soldiers, and likely some of her agents, would have to make the more boring trip back via boat. Most wouldn’t mind that. The bigger problem would be Adolin—who would have to leave his horse and his swords behind. Shallan stood up as her husband, grinning ear to ear, came jogging up the steps. He knew Drehy, of course. Adolin knew everyone. She watched him count the Windrunners, do the calculations in his mind, and come to the same conclusion.
Almost.
“How many of you,” Adolin said, “will it take to fly my horse home?”
Chapter 6: Nobility
Regardless, the events surrounding the cleansing of Shinovar are of specific relevance, and I am doing my best to record what I can discover of the Wind’s own words regarding them. Though, now that the Wind and Heralds have vanished, I have only two sources who can speak of these events.
They are my witnesses.
—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 5
Dalinar looked out a window at the frosted peaks of the Ur mountain range. Kaladin knew these lands were probably claimed by some kingdom, yet it was difficult to imagine. Owning fields was one thing, but mountains?
If someone could claim them though, it would be the mountain of a man by the window. Dalinar didn’t lean against the stone frame to relax as another might have. He clasped his hands behind him, his spine straight. Wearing a Kholin blue uniform with his glyphs on the back: the tower and the crown.
Szeth sat on the floor near the far corner. Dressed once more in white, head shaved. Eyes closed with his long, silvery-sheathed Shardblade in his lap. Kaladin had always thought the weapon wicked in appearance, with those hooked crossguard arms and the jet-black hilt. Szeth appeared to be meditating. Calm, rhythmic breaths. Storms, even when relaxing, the man was unnerving.
Syl maintained both her human size and the colors on her havah as she walked over to stare Szeth in the face to see if he was peeking.
“How are you feeling?” Dalinar asked. “About your upcoming task?”
“Good, sir,” Kaladin said. “The world is going to be different, whatever happens in ten days. Wit says I need to find a new place in it—so I’m going to try this. You asked me to be a surgeon, not a soldier. I’m game.”
A surgeon for the mind—who didn’t cut with a scalpel, but with calm words and understanding. Storms, that seemed so much more difficult.
“Excellent,” Dalinar said. “I’ve had reports on the men you helped with their battle shock. It’s remarkable.”
“Take a person from the darkness and show them that light still exists. It won’t fix everything, but it does make a difference.”
“Light,” Dalinar said, gazing out across snowfields reflecting sunlight like liquid diamonds. “Ishar said something about light, when he told me he wanted to refound the Oathpact. Saying the Words—the moment when an oath is sworn, even by someone else nearby—brings clarity… and should restore him, if briefly.” He glanced toward Szeth.
“Sir?” Kaladin asked.
“I’m sending Szeth with you.”
“He’s the companion you promised me?” Kaladin said.
“I return to my homeland,” Szeth said softly, “to set right what is wrong. To cleanse an evil. To achieve the Fourth Ideal, a Skybreaker must undertake a crusade of righteous cause. Upon completing it, I will be poised for the final step, in which a man becomes the law itself. I wished to go alone, but Dalinar has insisted I bring you.”
Kaladin took that in, then stepped closer to Dalinar, turning his back on Szeth—which felt very wrong to do. “Sir,” he hissed. “That man is not stable. He doesn’t need to be sent on a quest. He needs time, attention, and the help of…”
Kaladin trailed off as he noticed Dalinar’s expression.
“Storms,” Kaladin said. “You think I can do something to help Szeth while he’s trying to ‘cleanse the evil’ of his homeland?”
“Yes,” Dalinar said, firm. “You up to it, soldier?”
Kaladin glanced over his shoulder at Szeth. “Sir, with all due respect, I have managed to help one group of men suffering a mental burden that I understand from personal experience. You can’t expect me to replicate that kind of success with an extreme case like Szeth. I would need months to devise a treatment!”
“We should… speak in private. Plus, I feel like I need some perspective. What about you, soldier?”
“Always, sir,” Kaladin said as Syl joined them, head cocked, eyeing Dalinar.
“Excellent,” Dalinar said, turning and walking toward the door. He took a small wooden box from a table by the wall, then tucked it under one arm. “Szeth, will you be fine here on your own for a while?”
“I’m never alone,” the man said in his lightly accented voice. “Even without spren or sword, I’d have the voices.” He looked straight at Kaladin with all the emotion of a corpse. Storms. Dalinar wanted him to help that man? The assassin who had killed Dalinar’s own brother?
Kaladin followed Dalinar out, expecting them to chat in the next room, but Dalinar led them up the steps to the roof of Urithiru. Kaladin hadn’t been up here since…
Well, since he’d thrown himself off.
“I find that this view helps me think,” Dalinar said, turning around to survey the mountains. “How far one can see, when no walls obstruct.” He grew contemplative, and seemed to want a minute, so Kaladin gave it to him, walking toward the edge of the tower.
“Storms,” he said to Syl, reaching the railing. “It feels surreal to be here again. And it’s so warm.”
“It’s Brightness Navani,” Syl said, leaning over the side to look down. “And her bond to the tower. This city flourished with life once. It will again.”
“Reminds me of home,” Kaladin said. “It’s more humid there than on the Plains.”
“Home…” Syl glanced toward the sky, where Kaladin’s armor spren played. Her ponytail loosened, letting her hair fly freely, white-blue, waving in real wind. She grinned at him. “I never felt like I had a home until I found this.”
“Urithiru?” Kaladin asked.
“By association, yes.”
“Have you been taking lessons on being enigmatic from Wit?”
“Hardly,” she said, resting against the stone railing. “Your family is here now, Kaladin. Does that make this your home now?”
“I suppose it has to be. My other home is in the hands of the enemy.”
“Not just the enemy,” Syl said. “The singers.”
It was a valid point, difficult to remember. It was their home as well. The Alethi parshmen had been enslaved too, but had taken their homeland for themselves. In other circumstances, he would have cheered their fight—he knew precisely what it was like to have your dignity stripped away, to be beaten until you lost personality and volition, becoming a thing.
He looked again toward Dalinar, whose contest with Odium was supposed to offer a way out of this mess. Kaladin walked over, the breeze in his face—which always felt invigorating.
“I keep hoping,” Dalinar said softly, “that there are answers somewhere.”
“Sir?”
“I have set us on a collision course with destiny,” he explained. “If I lose, I might have roped all of us into a much greater war than we knew was possible.”
“So you have to win,” Kaladin said.
“I do,” Dalinar said. “But I can’t imagine what the contest will be like. I feel it won’t be a clash of swords, but what? What am I missing? Have I doomed us, Kaladin?” He took a deep breath, and with the arm that the small wooden box was tucked under, he pointed out at the field of white snowcaps. “Can you take us to that peak? The big one that looks like the tallest spike on a crown.”
“Sir,” Kaladin said, “the tower’s warmth won’t reach that far.”
“Exactly the point, Kaladin.” Dalinar held his hand toward him. “If you please.”
Kaladin breathed in, drawing strength—Light—from the tower. He Lashed them upward, Syl shrinking and zipping after them as Kaladin flew Dalinar to the specific peak, his armor spren spinning about him. The transition to colder air was gradual—the circle of warmth around Urithiru was more like a corona than a bubble. Bare stone gave way to little rivers of snowmelt, which gave way to icy slush, until they finally entered a realm of deep-packed snow.
As they drew close, the Towerlight he’d taken failed him, and he had to rely on Stormlight from his pouch. It seemed the human body couldn’t hold Towerlight unless it was right by Urithiru. Once he’d taken in replacement Light and stabilized them, he increased the pressure. The tower’s protections offered more than just warmth. Rock could talk all day about how the air in the Peaks was healthier, but Kaladin had seen firsthand that people found it hard to breathe up this high. Fortunately, Kaladin’s powers included a more nebulous ability to sculpt pressure and air.
He kept a little invisible bubble of thicker air around them. It was something he had been doing instinctively, but wanted to be more conscious of. Syl returned to full size as Kaladin settled himself and Dalinar down into the snow with a crunching sound. Such bizarre stuff. Why did it crunch? It was only very cold water, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t it crack?
Their breath puffed in the air—except Syl’s, of course. Though she did mimic breathing; her chest subtly rose and fell. Had she always done that?
Coldspren began to grow around Kaladin’s feet, like little crystal spikes. Dalinar picked up a handful of snow and let it trail between his fingers. “Navani says that some of the deeper snow here is likely ancient. We walk on strata of ice like the strata of rock, for it never gets warm enough up here for it to melt. It remains frozen. For eons.”
“Sir?” Kaladin said. “Why did we come out into the cold?”
“I wanted to look at the tower from the outside,” he said, turning and studying Urithiru. “I never can get a good view of it from the Oathgates. It’s too massive.”
Kaladin stepped up beside Dalinar and examined the tower, their breath puffing in front of them.
“Roshar has seen so many versions of this war, Kaladin,” Dalinar said softly. “We’ve been fighting the singers since our first generations on this planet, a time that stretches back far beyond our written histories. Through multiple calamities, and the almost utter loss of civilization. I want to see that cycle ended.”
“We all want that, sir,” Syl said.
“I know. Yet I can’t help wondering. Should one man have such power and authority as I do?” Dalinar shook his head. “Jasnah puts ideas in my mind, like cremlings wintering in the heart of a plant, eating it from the inside until the weather turns. The world didn’t decide upon this contest. I did. Was there a better way?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Kaladin said. “I really don’t.”
“Well,” Dalinar replied, “you’re not the only one going into a situation blind, soldier. I respect your complaints about Szeth. I understand them. He is a difficult case, and you have only just begun to learn how to help those with mental wounds.” Dalinar turned, scanning the snowfield. From here the peak of the mountain didn’t seem pointed at all—merely a gentle hilltop covered in snow. “And yet, all these eons. All those deaths, like strata beneath our feet… We need to change, Kaladin. To do things differently. I think we start by not throwing people away when we worry they’re defective.”
“He murdered dozens.”
“On orders from the person who was effectively his owner,” Dalinar said, “while in a compromised mental state. He’s trying to find a better path. Kaladin, when I asked you to step down from your post, how did you feel?”
“Worthless,” Kaladin said, remembering what Wit had told him. Who would you be if there was no one you needed to save, no one you needed to kill?
“You saved me from Szeth once,” Dalinar said. “Now I’m asking for a different kind of rescue. Save him, and save the Herald Ishar. Hard, I know, but I want you to try anyway. Because this is the end, and I don’t have other options.”
Kaladin glanced at Syl, who nodded. And storm him, Dalinar was right. Again.
“I’ll try to help them,” Kaladin said. “I’ll do what I can. But sir… you should know. Wit told me I won’t be able to come back in time to help you.”
“He said that, did he? Well, Szeth can write, so we can send a spanreed with you to report back that way, in case you truly can’t return in time.”
“I guess,” Kaladin said. “But… well, Wit told me that Ishar couldn’t help you, sir. Not in the way you want.”
Dalinar grunted. “What else?”
“Mostly just that… and that I should listen to the Wind, and Roshar.” Kaladin took a deep breath. “I think the Wind has been speaking to me, sir. A… version of it that is a spren? I don’t fully understand. It told me to listen to you though.”
“Well, I appreciate it for that. The Heralds are important; they’re part of this. I can’t explain why yet, but I have felt it in my gut for weeks now. Maybe longer.” Dalinar put a firm hand on Kaladin’s shoulder, wet from the snow, his foot crunching as he moved. “Ishar… he’s not like Ash or Taln. He’s active, and planning to interfere with what we’re doing. He’s dangerous. Exceptionally dangerous.” Dalinar met his eyes. “He’s in Shinovar, which means he has the Honorblades.”
Syl whistled softly.
“Each weapon,” Dalinar said, “is as dangerous as the one Szeth used to wreak terror across Roshar. Ishar thinks he’s the actual champion, not me. Either that or he thinks he’s the Almighty himself… probably some crazed mix of both. He was able to raise an army in Tukar. Now he’s in Shinovar, which we know nothing about, and which has been suspiciously quiet for this entire war. I’m worried.
“Szeth is going regardless, but I can’t rely upon him for anything needing nuance or strong decision-making. I can rely on you for both. I need someone watching my back, soldier. I don’t want to find myself outmaneuvered by a madman at the last moment. Maybe if we’re lucky, you’ll be able to get through to Ishar and bring me help, despite what Wit fears. Even if not, I need some eyes on that land. We’ve ignored it far too long.”
Storms. This was his true task: help a demigod overcome his megalomania. By Sigzil’s reports, Ishar had been taking spren from Shadesmar and bringing them physically to this realm—permanently killing them in the process. Creating twisted half-flesh bodies for them that could not survive.
Each of the Heralds was suffering some kind of severe mental trauma. Worse, Kaladin worried that their problems were partially supernatural in nature. Who was Kaladin to try to figure out the pathology of gods?
He didn’t say any of this, because he knew the answer.
Who was Kaladin to do this?
The only person available. Stormfather help them all.
“We’ll do it, sir,” Syl said. “Well, Kaladin will do the mental healing bit. I’ll do what I can though.”
This drew an odd glance from Dalinar. He wasn’t used to honorspren being visible to anyone but their Radiant, let alone ones who walked around full sized and acted like soldiers. Kaladin, though, found it appropriate. In a way, Syl had kicked all this off by deciding to bond him. Why shouldn’t she get a voice in agreeing to their next mission?
“Good,” Dalinar said to the two of them. “I do have… one other thing, Kaladin. Do you still have that cloak I gave you when you first joined my army?”
“I do,” he said. “I keep it as a mark of pride, sir, though I don’t often wear it. Doesn’t match the uniform, and… well, it has your house glyphs on the back. Emblazoned to indicate a member of the royal family.”
“I can understand that,” Dalinar said. “House Stormblessed is a new lighteyed house, sure to begin its own grand traditions. It’s not normally fitting that you would wear another house’s glyphs.”
“Except?” Kaladin asked.
The man untucked the small wooden box from under his arm and opened it, then took out a sheet of paper and unfolded it. It was covered in script, which Dalinar looked over. Kaladin’s instinct was to glance away, as a man reading was… well, embarrassing, even still. But times were changing, and Kaladin himself had invited women into the military. So he didn’t avert his eyes.
“My sons,” Dalinar said softly, “have both declined to be named as my heirs to any throne I might claim.”
“I know, sir,” Kaladin said. “That’s why Jasnah was chosen as queen.”
“Queen of Alethkar,” Dalinar said. “In exile. I have a second throne now, shared with Navani, here at Urithiru. Yet we are old, and our children are either unwilling or already committed. Jasnah is dedicated to restoring Alethkar, and wishes her focus to stay there. Gavinor must remain her heir, to the Alethi throne. He will ascend to it if she dies.”
“At his age?” Kaladin asked.
“A child can, and must, inherit to preserve the throne,” Dalinar said. “That settles Alethkar, which is separate from Urithiru and from the Knights Radiant. So this kingdom has no heir to take over should something happen to me and Navani.”
Dalinar turned, holding the sheet of paper, and looked to Kaladin. Syl gasped. Pale yellow shockspren burst around Kaladin, and he felt his insides crumbling. “Sir,” he said, going stiff. “Please, no. I’m broken.”
“Life breaks us,” Dalinar said. “Then we fill the cracks with something stronger.”
“Renarin. He’s Radiant.”
“He can see glimpses of the future, and what he’s seen makes him reject this charge. I support him in this. Soldier, Renarin is bonded to a corrupted spren, and we as yet don’t know the effects that might have. Adolin flat-out refuses. I… hope to be able to resolve our problems, as I worry I am the reason he turned down the throne of Alethkar. But even if we did, Urithiru should have a Radiant at its head.” Dalinar held out the sheet to Kaladin. “I will not force this upon you, Kaladin. But I will ask, because I must. Will you be our heir?”
It was like a cold bucket of rainwater thrown over him. He couldn’t respond. Being an officer was difficult, being a lighteyes worse, but being royalty?
“Son,” Dalinar said softly. “I see your hatred still. Hopefully not for anyone specific—but for what has been done to you. In the last years, I’ve been forced to accept that the distinction between lighteyes and dark is one of pure social construction. Nobility is not of the blood, but of the heart. But it must go the other way too. You don’t like what we represent, but to continue feeling as you do… it will eat you from the inside.”
“I know,” Kaladin forced out. “But this?”
“Nothing more,” Dalinar said, handing him the document, “than a duty to serve. Navani and I are Bondsmiths. If I fall in this contest, she will take the throne. She will also be a target though, and it is entirely possible that neither of us will survive.
“If the worst happens, present that letter at Urithiru. It is ratified by multiple ardents. I’ve spoken to Jasnah, the highprinces, and the other monarchs about this, and everyone agrees that a Radiant is best for this duty. Unfortunately, most of them are untested. It is, of course, your decision. If you don’t take the throne, I’ve arranged for Dami to be next.”
Dami. He was a Riran Stoneward, with whom Kaladin hadn’t spent much time. He was well liked, however, and had reportedly said the fourth oath the day before, after the campaign in Emul, becoming the third to do so after Jasnah and Kaladin.
“If he won’t do it,” Dalinar added, “then it will fall to the highprinces of Alethkar. Aladar first and—God Beyond help us—Sebarial after that.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He’s good with money.”
“So good half of it ends up in his pocket.”
“He’s a better man than he gives himself credit for. Navani thinks the state of his books is a front for his hidden competence. Regardless, I hope that we’ll all survive, and other Radiants with proper leadership training can be placed into the line. Or perhaps something like Jasnah has always dreamed of, a more… representational method of governance. You should read some of her essays on the topic.”
“I…” Kaladin glanced at Syl for support.
She grinned back at him.
“You’re not helping,” he said.
“I’m kind of royalty already,” she said. “It’s not so bad. Trust me.”
“It’s not the same.” Kaladin looked down at the paper. “I will do what I can for Ishar and Szeth, sir, and send you information on Shinovar. But this letter… this is too much.”
“I’ll accept your decision,” Dalinar said. “All I ask is that instead of making an immediate judgment call now, you consider a little while. For me. Out of respect?”
Storming man. But he was right—this was something that should be given some time. Kaladin forced himself to fold the sheet and put it into his pocket. Logically, there was no difference between darkeyed and light—and he was a lighteyes anyway now. Ruler of a small piece of land in Alethkar that he’d probably never visit. Even so, this felt like a betrayal.
“I’ll consider it,” he said anyway.
Excerpted from Wind and Truth, copyright © 2024 Dragonsteel Entertainment.
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