Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
He's not an OC. He's just translated his name out of the Black Speech by the time of canon.
Of Many Colors [Stormlight Archive/Lord of the Rings]
- Thread starter Lithos Maitreya
- Start date
- Crossover
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
...What? Krimfas is a canon character, but in canon--and in the present-day of this story--he goes by a different name. No, he is not Sarus. Or Rlain.
Is the 'oof' referring to the fact that I forget the Shen's real is Rlain?
Well, I am looking forward to finding out who Krimfas is.
- Location
- Book Fort
- Pronouns
- They/Them
It's referring to the fact that Tailiah is gay, but is being forced into a political marriage, where she awaits the fate of a broodmare.
UARTman
Flat Snark
- Location
- Russia, unfortunately
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I can't be sure, but Krimfas sounds like Frost, the dragon who Hoids writes to in the first epigraph and who appears in Raoden's interlude. Since, well, he's a dragon, doesn't mention Frost when discussing his kin, and the Black Speech name definitely sounds plausible.
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
I'm curious what Krimfas is supposed to translate into. I assume krim- is supposed to be related to krimp- (bind, tie) one of the very few Black Speech words we have from Tolkien.
-fas isn't used by Tolkien that I can remember. Might be linked to Elvish falas (beach, shore)? Which would make the translation something like shore-bound? Or the intended translation might be shore-binder?
-fas isn't used by Tolkien that I can remember. Might be linked to Elvish falas (beach, shore)? Which would make the translation something like shore-bound? Or the intended translation might be shore-binder?
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
It was a few months ago, now, but I do vaguely remember coming up with fas as a reasonable-sounding Black Speech word for something that didn't exist in canon. You are correct that the krim comes from krimp-. In fact, the original name was Faskrimp until two days ago, when @BeaconHill pointed out, correctly, that it word-associated to shrimp in an unfortunate way.
As I recall, the very next epigraph has a translation of the name. If not the next one, then the one after.
33: Shardblade
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
My own name translates, roughly, to 'the cold that binds.' More specifically, it refers to the bitter cold that makes flesh stick painfully to steel after a winter night.
"What's he doing now? Another of those traditions?"
Renarin sighed, carefully not looking in Glys' direction. Yes.
Glys made a derisive noise that sounded like it came from deep in his throat, only as far as Renarin knew, he didn't have one. "What's this one?" he asked, drifting idly around the staging room, trailing droplets of red light that fell upward into the ceiling. "Hopping around the room on one leg? Singing every other word of his favorite nursery rhyme?"
Renarin shot Glys a glare. The only other person in the room was Aunt Navani, and she was engrossed in painting her glyphward. An integrated glyphpair was taking shape, red on the white cloth—the glyphs for safety and glory, interwoven with one another to form a single glyph of increased complexity. Renarin was getting better at deciphering those as he practiced his reading. He talks to his sword, he told the Mistspren silently.
Glys visibly paused. "Oh," he said. "That… makes sense, actually."
Renarin blinked. It does?
"Yes." Glys didn't elaborate.
Why?
There was a brief pause while Glys seemed to collect his thoughts. "There was a time when talking to your Shardblade would have had a very real impact on a fight. That time is past, now, but it's… well, it's like talking to someone's grave. They can't hear you, or if they can, they can't answer. But you do it anyway to remind you that there was a time when they were alive."
Is this another thing you'll tell me when I swear the higher Ideals?
"Again, Shardblades? Third Ideal. I told you this."
Renarin sighed.
At that moment, one of the room's three doors—connecting to the meditation chamber—opened. Adolin stepped inside. His face was set, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
"Well timed," said Aunt Navani. She put her brush down on the pedestal and stepped away from it, holding up the completed glyphward for Adolin and Renarin to see.
"Victory?" Adolin guessed, with, in Renarin's opinion, enviable courage. Storms, he didn't even sound embarrassed.
"'Safety and glory,' actually." Navani folded the glyphward and laid it in the brazier to burn. Renarin lowered his head as the prayer burned, as tradition dictated.
Glys sniffed, despite the lack of a nose. "Religion."
Not really. As the light of the fire dimmed, he looked up, eyes falling on the ashes in the brazier. Adolin motioned to the armorers who had slipped inside while the ward burned, and they began the process of attaching Adolin's Plate to his harness.
"No?" Glys asked. "You're burning a prayer because you think the Almighty will answer. How is that not religion?"
Because I don't actually expect the Almighty to answer the prayers, said Renarin. But the rituals put Adolin at ease. Look.
Glys rotated in place, as if turning to look at Renarin's brother. Adolin's fists had loosened, and some of the tension in his face had eased as he stepped into his boots. "Oh," said Glys.
"Any news from the ship?" Adolin asked Aunt Navani.
Navani made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "No, but Jasnah is on that ship. If it's delayed, it's because she's up to something."
"If you're certain, Mashala," said Adolin, sounding less than certain himself.
"Just wait. In a few weeks, we'll get a communication from her demanding some information. She won't even tell us why she vanished unless I pry it from her."
Renarin stood up while his aunt and brother spoke, taking the final piece of the Plate, Adolin's cobalt-blue helmet, from the final armorer. He approached Adolin with it while the servants slipped his pauldrons into place. As Adolin turned to take the helmet, he blinked to see Renarin there.
"You ate chicken?" Renarin asked, passing the helm over.
"For breakfast," said Adolin, grinning as he slipped the helmet over his head, visor still raised.
"And you talked to the sword?"
"Had a whole conversation. It says hello."
"Mother's chain?"
"In my pocket. Checked twice."
"Really?" Navani asked them. "Still with this foolishness?"
Adolin looked askance at their aunt. "They're not superstitions! I haven't done a formal duel in years. I just don't want anything to go wrong."
"Rich of her to talk," muttered Glys. "What does she think burning someone's bedsheets is going to do?"
Hush.
"Foolishness," Navani said, shaking her head. "Trust in the Almighty and the Heralds, not chicken."
Adolin glanced sidelong at Renarin, looking slightly sheepish in the way only he could—an expression that portrayed embarrassment without any shame or regret.
"Our guards aren't happy about this," Renarin said quietly. He'd heard Sarus speaking to one of the others earlier while he was trying to catch his old friend alone. "I heard them complaining about how hard it'll be to protect you when someone else is swinging a Blade at you."
Adolin grinned. Renarin caught only an instant of the expression before he closed the faceplate. Cold mist flared around the edges of the visor as the metal sealed itself together. "I deeply regret denying them a chance to baby me."
"What bothers you so much about them? It's not just that you don't like minders—you've had bodyguards before."
"I don't like their captain," Adolin said.
"Why? He saved Father's life. He saved your life."
"There's something off about him. He makes me suspicious."
"Says the man who ate chicken for breakfast," muttered Glys. "He's just a Radiant. Probably. Nothing off about that."
"I think," said Renarin, "that you don't like that he ordered you around on the battlefield." He'd pried the story out of Adolin the evening after he returned from the Tower.
Adolin turned and started walking towards the door. "I barely even remember that," he said. Renarin wished he could see his brother's face. It was hard to judge the intent behind people's words at the best of times; it was so much harder without being able to see their faces.
"All right then," Renarin called after him. "Try not to lose."
Adolin turned back for a moment to raise a hand in an acknowledging wave before pushing the door open and stepping out into the arena. Renarin rushed out the side door and into the stands of the arena. As he stepped out, Glys slipped into his breast pocket.
He was about to sit down in the Kholin box when he happened to glance over in the direction of the royal box, where Elhokar sat, and where Aunt Navani was going. He recognized Elhokar's guard. Sarus stood, straight-backed, a longspear in one hand and a shortspear at his belt.
Then he glanced back to the Kholin box. His father waved him over. Renarin approached, but only to lean down.
"Would you mind if I sat in the royal box, Father?" he asked. "It'll offer a better view. It's Adolin's first duel in years."
Dalinar glanced speculatively at the royal box, then nodded, standing up. "I'll join you," he said. "Assuming your cousin doesn't object, of course."
Damnation. Renarin had hoped that there would be an opportunity to get Sarus alone, but with Elhokar, Aunt Navani, and now his father all there, that would be next to impossible. Still, he nodded and followed Dalinar into the royal box.
Sarus glanced at them as they opened the low gate and stepped inside. "Would you mind if we joined you, Your Majesty?" Dalinar asked.
"Of course not, Uncle," said Elhokar, but Renarin noticed that he wasn't smiling. He hadn't seen even Elhokar's obviously fake smiles nearly as often since the Battle of the Tower. Whether that was just because of the shock of Sadeas' betrayal, or something else entirely, he wasn't sure.
They sat, Dalinar beside the king, Renarin a little behind the other three—right next to Sarus. He didn't dare try to speak with Sarus with everyone here. Even if he wasn't afraid of embarrassing himself, he would have refrained out of respect to what he knew his friend would want.
Adolin and his opponent were already standing on the sand of the arena, staring one another down across the field. The other man was Salinor Eved, a Shardbearer vassal of Thanadal. Salinor had no Plate of his own, and so wore the slate-grey set of the King's Plate. Despite that, after Adolin's long hiatus from Shard duels, he'd had to wager both his Shards to convince Salinor to wager only his Blade. It was an insult, implying that Salinor needed further incentive to lower himself to Adolin's level, and Renarin knew it must chafe at his brother.
No sooner had Dalinar and Renarin taken their seats than the judge, Brightlady Istow, called out the order to summon Blades. Both combatants thrust their hands to their sides. Adolin's Shardblade fell into his hand an instant before Salinor's. It took ten heartbeats to summon a Shardblade, so Adolin's heart must be beating faster than his opponent's.
Salinor's underestimating him. Renarin tried to ignore the grain of doubt clinging to the thought. The two men shifted into ready stances. Renarin had seen enough of Adolin's duels to recognize both. Adolin took Windstance—a favorite of his. It was specialized for fighting multiple enemies at once, but Adolin was adept at using it against only one. It was an agile, dexterous stance—and, as Adolin had once admitted, very flashy.
Salinor, on the other hand, was using Flamestance. It was an aggressive stance—in the hands of someone inexperienced, such as Renarin on the few occasions he'd tried to learn the dueling stances, it could border on panicked. It was vulnerable to parries and disarming strikes, but both of those were things Windstance was not designed for. Renarin tried to ignore his worry.
The two duelists circled one another for several long seconds. Then, Salinor began to close the distance as they orbited. Adolin allowed it, though he did not move to close himself.
Then Salinor struck—a cautious thrust to test Adolin's reactions. And Adolin reacted. In the blink of an eye he had changed stances—to Ironstance, an incredibly aggressive stance relying on overwhelming power. Then he charged, shrugging aside Salinor's careful attack with his pauldron before delivering a crushing blow to the man's helm. Then another, and another, though Salinor finally managed to bring his sword up to parry the third.
Salinor managed to deal a blow to Adolin's side, but Renarin's brother scarcely seemed to notice. He raised the Blade and delivered a brutal attack to Salinor's breastplate, sending him staggering, then followed it with a kick that sent the man sprawling—and caused him to drop his Blade. It dissipated into mist, guaranteeing ten heartbeats during which Adolin would be the only man in the arena with a Shardblade.
Then Adolin dismissed his own Blade. He crossed the distance to Salinor's prone form in two strides and drove the heel of his boot into Salinor's visor, shattering the Plate.
Then he began to stomp repeatedly on Salinor's breastplate, completely ignoring the man's scrabbling efforts to catch his foot.
"What on Roshar?" murmured Elhokar. "What is he doing?"
"I've never seen him fight like this," said Dalinar, sounding somewhat concerned.
"I assume," said a deep, sonorous voice, "that he is cultivating a reputation as a musclebound brute. It will help to ensure that future opponents also underestimate him."
Renarin glanced up at Sarus, whose eyes were on the duel. Elhokar looked back too. "What do you mean?" he asked. To Renarin's surprise, he didn't sound upset at the darkeyed man's interruption. Rather, he sounded genuinely curious.
"I presume Prince Adolin knew he could defeat Brightlord Salinor, Your Majesty," said Sarus. "And if I'm not mistaken, House Kholin had some difficulty finding him an opponent for this duel."
"That's true," said Dalinar neutrally, still watching the duel.
"Then attacking this way, with no finesse, will lead more skilled duelists to underestimate Prince Adolin," Sarus concluded. "Thus making future duels easier to schedule."
Elhokar nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. Clever."
It was. And not just of Adolin, Renarin thought, shooting his one-time friend another glance. Sarus momentarily met his eyes before looking back at the duel.
"Stop!" shouted Brightlady Istow, sounding rather shrill. "Stop!"
Adolin did, lowering his foot beside Salinor's head. Renarin saw that his relentless assault had shattered Salinor's breastplate too.
"Adolin Kholin!" Istow snapped. "This is not a wrestling match! It is a duel!"
"Did I break any rules?"
That brought the judge up short. Renarin could imagine her frantically going through the customs and traditions dictating dueling in her head before concluding that, no, he had not.
The entire arena was silent for a long moment before Adolin repeated himself, even louder. "Did I break any rules?"
"This is not how a duel—" Istow protested.
"So I win," Adolin said.
"The duel was to three broken pieces of Plate. You've only broken two." The woman seemed to be grasping at anything that might restore the dignity of the contest.
Adolin did not seem interested. He looked down, then reached down, tore off Salinor's pauldron, and drove his fist into his palm directly through it, sending molten metal scattering. "Done." In the silence that followed, Adolin knelt down by his opponent. "Your Blade."
Salinor tried to stand, but the enhanced strength offered by Shardplate failed when the breastplate broke. He tried to push himself up on his arms, but Adolin put his hand on the man's remaining pauldron and shoved him back down. "You've lost," Adolin growled, and he sounded genuinely angry.
Renarin had seen his brother angry before, of course. But never like this, standing over a defeated foe in the lists. He'd never found himself fearing that his brother might do something cruel.
"You cheated!" Salinor spat.
"How?"
"I—I don't know! It's just not supposed to be like…" Salinor trailed off as Adolin laid a gauntleted hand directly on the man's throat. Renarin saw fearspren crawling out of the sand around him and rolling around like fully infused amethyst broams. "You wouldn't."
"My prize," said Adolin.
Salinor's Blade appeared in the man's hand, and the judge called out judgement. "Adolin Kholin is the victor. Salinor Eved forfeits his Shard."
Salinor let the blade slip from his fingers. Adolin caught it before it hit the ground, and held the pommel out to the man. "Break the bond," he ordered.
Salinor reached out and touched the ruby at the base of the hilt. The gemstone flashed, visible even from the stands. Adolin stood, ripping the ruby free, and crushed it in one hand. Then, without shooting Salinor another glance, he stomped back towards the staging room.
Renarin didn't even consider waiting to talk to Sarus. He stood and rushed to meet his brother. "That was incredible," he gushed as Adolin stepped inside. "It has to be the shortest Shard bout on record!"
"Thanks," said Adolin. He sounded drained, with none of the triumphant glory Renarin had expected. He held out Salinor's Shardblade. "Here. A present."
Renarin froze. In his pocket, Glys moaned. "Oh, no." The mistspren's words echoed in his head: I suspect that it would have unpleasant interactions with our bond. For both of us.
"Adolin," he said hesitantly, casting about for something, anything, he could say to stop this. "Are you sure? I'm not exactly skilled with the Plate I already have. Wouldn't someone else be better suited to carry it? Someone who can actually use a sword?"
"Might as well have the full set," Adolin said. "Take it." Then, when Renarin hesitated, he shook the Blade insistently. "Take it."
Swallowing in trepidation, Renarin reached out and closed his hand around the hilt of the Blade. The moment he touched the sword, he wanted to drop it again.
The Shardblade was screaming.
It sounded like a man wailing in unending, agonizing torture. The scream was rough and raw, as if the man—the Shardblade—had been screaming without pause since the Radiant who once bore it put it down over two thousand years ago.
Glys grunted in pain, as if some echo of the Shardblade's pain were blooming in him. "Damnation," he said hoarsely. "Damnation."
Renarin was inclined to agree. Can I even bond this thing? he asked. What will it do if I do?
"You can," said Glys. "And you should. Ugh. Once you can dispel it back to Shadesmar it'll stop that. It's being here in the Physical Realm that hurts it."
Renarin swallowed. That'll be a week cloistered away with it. Touching it almost constantly.
"I know. I'm sorry, Renarin."
So am I.
-x-x-x-
33
Shardblade
-x-x-x-
33
Shardblade
-x-x-x-
My own name translates, roughly, to 'the cold that binds.' More specifically, it refers to the bitter cold that makes flesh stick painfully to steel after a winter night.
-x-x-x-
"What's he doing now? Another of those traditions?"
Renarin sighed, carefully not looking in Glys' direction. Yes.
Glys made a derisive noise that sounded like it came from deep in his throat, only as far as Renarin knew, he didn't have one. "What's this one?" he asked, drifting idly around the staging room, trailing droplets of red light that fell upward into the ceiling. "Hopping around the room on one leg? Singing every other word of his favorite nursery rhyme?"
Renarin shot Glys a glare. The only other person in the room was Aunt Navani, and she was engrossed in painting her glyphward. An integrated glyphpair was taking shape, red on the white cloth—the glyphs for safety and glory, interwoven with one another to form a single glyph of increased complexity. Renarin was getting better at deciphering those as he practiced his reading. He talks to his sword, he told the Mistspren silently.
Glys visibly paused. "Oh," he said. "That… makes sense, actually."
Renarin blinked. It does?
"Yes." Glys didn't elaborate.
Why?
There was a brief pause while Glys seemed to collect his thoughts. "There was a time when talking to your Shardblade would have had a very real impact on a fight. That time is past, now, but it's… well, it's like talking to someone's grave. They can't hear you, or if they can, they can't answer. But you do it anyway to remind you that there was a time when they were alive."
Is this another thing you'll tell me when I swear the higher Ideals?
"Again, Shardblades? Third Ideal. I told you this."
Renarin sighed.
At that moment, one of the room's three doors—connecting to the meditation chamber—opened. Adolin stepped inside. His face was set, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
"Well timed," said Aunt Navani. She put her brush down on the pedestal and stepped away from it, holding up the completed glyphward for Adolin and Renarin to see.
"Victory?" Adolin guessed, with, in Renarin's opinion, enviable courage. Storms, he didn't even sound embarrassed.
"'Safety and glory,' actually." Navani folded the glyphward and laid it in the brazier to burn. Renarin lowered his head as the prayer burned, as tradition dictated.
Glys sniffed, despite the lack of a nose. "Religion."
Not really. As the light of the fire dimmed, he looked up, eyes falling on the ashes in the brazier. Adolin motioned to the armorers who had slipped inside while the ward burned, and they began the process of attaching Adolin's Plate to his harness.
"No?" Glys asked. "You're burning a prayer because you think the Almighty will answer. How is that not religion?"
Because I don't actually expect the Almighty to answer the prayers, said Renarin. But the rituals put Adolin at ease. Look.
Glys rotated in place, as if turning to look at Renarin's brother. Adolin's fists had loosened, and some of the tension in his face had eased as he stepped into his boots. "Oh," said Glys.
"Any news from the ship?" Adolin asked Aunt Navani.
Navani made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "No, but Jasnah is on that ship. If it's delayed, it's because she's up to something."
"If you're certain, Mashala," said Adolin, sounding less than certain himself.
"Just wait. In a few weeks, we'll get a communication from her demanding some information. She won't even tell us why she vanished unless I pry it from her."
Renarin stood up while his aunt and brother spoke, taking the final piece of the Plate, Adolin's cobalt-blue helmet, from the final armorer. He approached Adolin with it while the servants slipped his pauldrons into place. As Adolin turned to take the helmet, he blinked to see Renarin there.
"You ate chicken?" Renarin asked, passing the helm over.
"For breakfast," said Adolin, grinning as he slipped the helmet over his head, visor still raised.
"And you talked to the sword?"
"Had a whole conversation. It says hello."
"Mother's chain?"
"In my pocket. Checked twice."
"Really?" Navani asked them. "Still with this foolishness?"
Adolin looked askance at their aunt. "They're not superstitions! I haven't done a formal duel in years. I just don't want anything to go wrong."
"Rich of her to talk," muttered Glys. "What does she think burning someone's bedsheets is going to do?"
Hush.
"Foolishness," Navani said, shaking her head. "Trust in the Almighty and the Heralds, not chicken."
Adolin glanced sidelong at Renarin, looking slightly sheepish in the way only he could—an expression that portrayed embarrassment without any shame or regret.
"Our guards aren't happy about this," Renarin said quietly. He'd heard Sarus speaking to one of the others earlier while he was trying to catch his old friend alone. "I heard them complaining about how hard it'll be to protect you when someone else is swinging a Blade at you."
Adolin grinned. Renarin caught only an instant of the expression before he closed the faceplate. Cold mist flared around the edges of the visor as the metal sealed itself together. "I deeply regret denying them a chance to baby me."
"What bothers you so much about them? It's not just that you don't like minders—you've had bodyguards before."
"I don't like their captain," Adolin said.
"Why? He saved Father's life. He saved your life."
"There's something off about him. He makes me suspicious."
"Says the man who ate chicken for breakfast," muttered Glys. "He's just a Radiant. Probably. Nothing off about that."
"I think," said Renarin, "that you don't like that he ordered you around on the battlefield." He'd pried the story out of Adolin the evening after he returned from the Tower.
Adolin turned and started walking towards the door. "I barely even remember that," he said. Renarin wished he could see his brother's face. It was hard to judge the intent behind people's words at the best of times; it was so much harder without being able to see their faces.
"All right then," Renarin called after him. "Try not to lose."
Adolin turned back for a moment to raise a hand in an acknowledging wave before pushing the door open and stepping out into the arena. Renarin rushed out the side door and into the stands of the arena. As he stepped out, Glys slipped into his breast pocket.
He was about to sit down in the Kholin box when he happened to glance over in the direction of the royal box, where Elhokar sat, and where Aunt Navani was going. He recognized Elhokar's guard. Sarus stood, straight-backed, a longspear in one hand and a shortspear at his belt.
Then he glanced back to the Kholin box. His father waved him over. Renarin approached, but only to lean down.
"Would you mind if I sat in the royal box, Father?" he asked. "It'll offer a better view. It's Adolin's first duel in years."
Dalinar glanced speculatively at the royal box, then nodded, standing up. "I'll join you," he said. "Assuming your cousin doesn't object, of course."
Damnation. Renarin had hoped that there would be an opportunity to get Sarus alone, but with Elhokar, Aunt Navani, and now his father all there, that would be next to impossible. Still, he nodded and followed Dalinar into the royal box.
Sarus glanced at them as they opened the low gate and stepped inside. "Would you mind if we joined you, Your Majesty?" Dalinar asked.
"Of course not, Uncle," said Elhokar, but Renarin noticed that he wasn't smiling. He hadn't seen even Elhokar's obviously fake smiles nearly as often since the Battle of the Tower. Whether that was just because of the shock of Sadeas' betrayal, or something else entirely, he wasn't sure.
They sat, Dalinar beside the king, Renarin a little behind the other three—right next to Sarus. He didn't dare try to speak with Sarus with everyone here. Even if he wasn't afraid of embarrassing himself, he would have refrained out of respect to what he knew his friend would want.
Adolin and his opponent were already standing on the sand of the arena, staring one another down across the field. The other man was Salinor Eved, a Shardbearer vassal of Thanadal. Salinor had no Plate of his own, and so wore the slate-grey set of the King's Plate. Despite that, after Adolin's long hiatus from Shard duels, he'd had to wager both his Shards to convince Salinor to wager only his Blade. It was an insult, implying that Salinor needed further incentive to lower himself to Adolin's level, and Renarin knew it must chafe at his brother.
No sooner had Dalinar and Renarin taken their seats than the judge, Brightlady Istow, called out the order to summon Blades. Both combatants thrust their hands to their sides. Adolin's Shardblade fell into his hand an instant before Salinor's. It took ten heartbeats to summon a Shardblade, so Adolin's heart must be beating faster than his opponent's.
Salinor's underestimating him. Renarin tried to ignore the grain of doubt clinging to the thought. The two men shifted into ready stances. Renarin had seen enough of Adolin's duels to recognize both. Adolin took Windstance—a favorite of his. It was specialized for fighting multiple enemies at once, but Adolin was adept at using it against only one. It was an agile, dexterous stance—and, as Adolin had once admitted, very flashy.
Salinor, on the other hand, was using Flamestance. It was an aggressive stance—in the hands of someone inexperienced, such as Renarin on the few occasions he'd tried to learn the dueling stances, it could border on panicked. It was vulnerable to parries and disarming strikes, but both of those were things Windstance was not designed for. Renarin tried to ignore his worry.
The two duelists circled one another for several long seconds. Then, Salinor began to close the distance as they orbited. Adolin allowed it, though he did not move to close himself.
Then Salinor struck—a cautious thrust to test Adolin's reactions. And Adolin reacted. In the blink of an eye he had changed stances—to Ironstance, an incredibly aggressive stance relying on overwhelming power. Then he charged, shrugging aside Salinor's careful attack with his pauldron before delivering a crushing blow to the man's helm. Then another, and another, though Salinor finally managed to bring his sword up to parry the third.
Salinor managed to deal a blow to Adolin's side, but Renarin's brother scarcely seemed to notice. He raised the Blade and delivered a brutal attack to Salinor's breastplate, sending him staggering, then followed it with a kick that sent the man sprawling—and caused him to drop his Blade. It dissipated into mist, guaranteeing ten heartbeats during which Adolin would be the only man in the arena with a Shardblade.
Then Adolin dismissed his own Blade. He crossed the distance to Salinor's prone form in two strides and drove the heel of his boot into Salinor's visor, shattering the Plate.
Then he began to stomp repeatedly on Salinor's breastplate, completely ignoring the man's scrabbling efforts to catch his foot.
"What on Roshar?" murmured Elhokar. "What is he doing?"
"I've never seen him fight like this," said Dalinar, sounding somewhat concerned.
"I assume," said a deep, sonorous voice, "that he is cultivating a reputation as a musclebound brute. It will help to ensure that future opponents also underestimate him."
Renarin glanced up at Sarus, whose eyes were on the duel. Elhokar looked back too. "What do you mean?" he asked. To Renarin's surprise, he didn't sound upset at the darkeyed man's interruption. Rather, he sounded genuinely curious.
"I presume Prince Adolin knew he could defeat Brightlord Salinor, Your Majesty," said Sarus. "And if I'm not mistaken, House Kholin had some difficulty finding him an opponent for this duel."
"That's true," said Dalinar neutrally, still watching the duel.
"Then attacking this way, with no finesse, will lead more skilled duelists to underestimate Prince Adolin," Sarus concluded. "Thus making future duels easier to schedule."
Elhokar nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. Clever."
It was. And not just of Adolin, Renarin thought, shooting his one-time friend another glance. Sarus momentarily met his eyes before looking back at the duel.
"Stop!" shouted Brightlady Istow, sounding rather shrill. "Stop!"
Adolin did, lowering his foot beside Salinor's head. Renarin saw that his relentless assault had shattered Salinor's breastplate too.
"Adolin Kholin!" Istow snapped. "This is not a wrestling match! It is a duel!"
"Did I break any rules?"
That brought the judge up short. Renarin could imagine her frantically going through the customs and traditions dictating dueling in her head before concluding that, no, he had not.
The entire arena was silent for a long moment before Adolin repeated himself, even louder. "Did I break any rules?"
"This is not how a duel—" Istow protested.
"So I win," Adolin said.
"The duel was to three broken pieces of Plate. You've only broken two." The woman seemed to be grasping at anything that might restore the dignity of the contest.
Adolin did not seem interested. He looked down, then reached down, tore off Salinor's pauldron, and drove his fist into his palm directly through it, sending molten metal scattering. "Done." In the silence that followed, Adolin knelt down by his opponent. "Your Blade."
Salinor tried to stand, but the enhanced strength offered by Shardplate failed when the breastplate broke. He tried to push himself up on his arms, but Adolin put his hand on the man's remaining pauldron and shoved him back down. "You've lost," Adolin growled, and he sounded genuinely angry.
Renarin had seen his brother angry before, of course. But never like this, standing over a defeated foe in the lists. He'd never found himself fearing that his brother might do something cruel.
"You cheated!" Salinor spat.
"How?"
"I—I don't know! It's just not supposed to be like…" Salinor trailed off as Adolin laid a gauntleted hand directly on the man's throat. Renarin saw fearspren crawling out of the sand around him and rolling around like fully infused amethyst broams. "You wouldn't."
"My prize," said Adolin.
Salinor's Blade appeared in the man's hand, and the judge called out judgement. "Adolin Kholin is the victor. Salinor Eved forfeits his Shard."
Salinor let the blade slip from his fingers. Adolin caught it before it hit the ground, and held the pommel out to the man. "Break the bond," he ordered.
Salinor reached out and touched the ruby at the base of the hilt. The gemstone flashed, visible even from the stands. Adolin stood, ripping the ruby free, and crushed it in one hand. Then, without shooting Salinor another glance, he stomped back towards the staging room.
Renarin didn't even consider waiting to talk to Sarus. He stood and rushed to meet his brother. "That was incredible," he gushed as Adolin stepped inside. "It has to be the shortest Shard bout on record!"
"Thanks," said Adolin. He sounded drained, with none of the triumphant glory Renarin had expected. He held out Salinor's Shardblade. "Here. A present."
Renarin froze. In his pocket, Glys moaned. "Oh, no." The mistspren's words echoed in his head: I suspect that it would have unpleasant interactions with our bond. For both of us.
"Adolin," he said hesitantly, casting about for something, anything, he could say to stop this. "Are you sure? I'm not exactly skilled with the Plate I already have. Wouldn't someone else be better suited to carry it? Someone who can actually use a sword?"
"Might as well have the full set," Adolin said. "Take it." Then, when Renarin hesitated, he shook the Blade insistently. "Take it."
Swallowing in trepidation, Renarin reached out and closed his hand around the hilt of the Blade. The moment he touched the sword, he wanted to drop it again.
The Shardblade was screaming.
It sounded like a man wailing in unending, agonizing torture. The scream was rough and raw, as if the man—the Shardblade—had been screaming without pause since the Radiant who once bore it put it down over two thousand years ago.
Glys grunted in pain, as if some echo of the Shardblade's pain were blooming in him. "Damnation," he said hoarsely. "Damnation."
Renarin was inclined to agree. Can I even bond this thing? he asked. What will it do if I do?
"You can," said Glys. "And you should. Ugh. Once you can dispel it back to Shadesmar it'll stop that. It's being here in the Physical Realm that hurts it."
Renarin swallowed. That'll be a week cloistered away with it. Touching it almost constantly.
"I know. I'm sorry, Renarin."
So am I.
GiovanniBlasini
Transhumanist Nutcase from Niops IX
- Location
- San Diego, CA, USA, Sol III
- Pronouns
- He/Him
As a LotR fan not remotely familiar with Stormlight Archive…what?!! Why is it screaming?
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
It'll be fully explained in the story, before too long, but it's also fully explained in canon so I'll tell you in a spoiler.
Shardblades are, unbeknownst to the modern humans of Roshar, actually the spren of ancient Radiants manifested in the Physical Realm. When the Radiants severed their oaths on the Day of Recreance, their spren partners 'died' (which means something very different for spren than for humans) and became relatively mundane Shardblades rather than the living Blades the Radiants used, which could transform at will into any shape the Radiant desired up to a certain quantity of mass.
The 'deadeye' spren is in pain, especially when in the physical realm, so it screams.
The 'deadeye' spren is in pain, especially when in the physical realm, so it screams.
@Lithos Maitreya - The scene where Renarin has is given the Shardblade was good, but it did hurt.
- Location
- Book Fort
- Pronouns
- They/Them
...
Still, a lovely update ^.^
A week of constant agony? Oof.
Still, a lovely update ^.^
- Location
- Finland
I'm really digging these Renarin POVs into canon events, even if we already knew the broad strokes of what he was doing at the time, his insight is really something else.
The last part was also interesting, though I feel bad for Renarin and Glys having to deal with it, it also reminds me of my favorite phrase and part of Rhytm of War.
The last part was also interesting, though I feel bad for Renarin and Glys having to deal with it, it also reminds me of my favorite phrase and part of Rhytm of War.
WE. CHOSE.
I'm going to have to stop reading the new updates for a bit. Not any fault of yours, it's just that I finished the Way of Kings and need to go read the rest of the series before I get anymore spoilers.
Totally going to reread everything that happened up to now though.
Also my mind is reeling. The amount of information revealed in the last 100 pages of Way of Kings is just. Wild.
Totally going to reread everything that happened up to now though.
Also my mind is reeling. The amount of information revealed in the last 100 pages of Way of Kings is just. Wild.
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
That there is what we in the biz call a damn good reason. Have fun!
S A N D E R L A N C H E
- Location
- Mexico
Man, please, please, please show the family grieving and sad when they believe Jasnah had died. It was so underwhelming in the book when the only person who reacted was Navani and only for that scene. It made it look like the family truly, really didn't give a shit about Jasnah, even with so much POV on them. I had honestly forgotten that scene was coming.
- Location
- Toronto, Ontario, Canada, Earth
- Pronouns
- She/They
Hmmm. Confirmation about Frost, but the more interesting part of the chapter is Adolin's behaviour. His mistrust of Kaladin is the same as i recall, but his glib comnent about having a conversation with his sword makes me suspect he, like Renarin and Kaladin, has hit certain developments much earlier than canon.
I might be reading too much into things again though lol.
Adolin in canon has an oddly close relationship with his shardblade, considering its mostly dead nature. He mentions it feels almost alive, and does talk to "it" reasonably frequently, with a particular large monologue after he learns the true nature of Shardblades. In Oathbringer, a number of our heroes go to the realm of spren, and Adolin encounters the mostly dead walking corpse of his swords "human form", which follows him around because dead spren follow their physical body (the swords) around. After a bit, he miraculously manages to bond with her (in a social sense, not a Radiant sense, although he does decrease the Shardblade summoning cooldown timer so there are some concrete magicalish benefits), and during a climactic moment she even takes conciois actions to help him.
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34: In Memory
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
I have long since forgotten most of the Black Speech. It fell into disuse among the dragons during the early Third Age, and I rarely heard more than a few words of it after the Withered Heath was emptied in the early years of the Fourth Age, when the full might of Gondor renewed fell upon us.
"You know," Moash said, looking around the training grounds with a critical eye. "I always thought this place would be… I don't know. Better. It looks the same as where the darkeyes practice."
"There are different sorts of training areas," Sarus commented, remembering the spearmen's lists in the courtyards of Castle Sadaras, the duelists' salles, the archers' range. "But out here on the Plains, even the lighteyes have to, in some small ways, rough it with the rest of us."
Moash shot him a look as they both followed Kaladin, along with Drehy, Leyten, and three members of the original Cobalt Guard. Kaladin had been given command over most of the survivors from among Dalinar's bodyguards. To Sarus' surprise, all of them—even the four surviving lighteyes—had accepted the captain's authority without complaint. Sarus hadn't yet learned all their names, though he suspected Kaladin had. The three with them today were darkeyed, however, and had started slowly assimilating into Bridge Four. They had even sewn Bridge Four patches into the left shoulder of their uniforms, to match the glyphs of the Cobalt Guard on their right.
"You know an awful lot about how lighteyes live," Moash commented, his eyes hooded with suspicion.
"I was raised in closer proximity to them than most," said Sarus evenly, trying not to think too hard about what he was saying. "The wealthiest lighteyes have darkeyed house servants. My mother was a maid when I was born and became a cook when I was a child. We had a small suite within the servants' quarters. I saw more of lighteyed society than many lighteyes do, I suspect."
"Huh. Can't imagine that was much fun."
Sarus shrugged noncommittally, thinking of green eyes in the dark. "It had its moments, as any childhood does." He turned his gaze to follow a small knot of ardents bustling in their direction. Their leader was a woman in her mid-thirties, if Sarus had to guess. Her eyes were a deep blue, barely bright enough to qualify as light.
"This," she said sharply as she reached them, "is the lighteyes training ground. What business do you have here?"
"Captain Kaladin, Bridge Four," said Kaladin, without even looking at her. He was scanning the ground, his spear on his shoulder, a thoughtful scowl on his face.
"Captain?" one of the ardents scoffed. "Darkeyes—" One of the others shushed him before he could finish embarrassing himself.
"Moash," Kaladin said, ignoring them. "See those rockbuds up on top of the wall there?"
"Yes."
"They're cultivated, so there's a way up. I want you up there, keeping an eye on things. Shout if you see any trouble brewing."
Sarus narrowed his eyes at the wall along the edge of the training ground. His eyes were keener than most, he knew. Kaladin hadn't seen the tip of the railing running along a stairwell rising up along the inside of the northern side of the wall, almost hidden from this angle, but Sarus could clearly make it out. He turned to the ardents. "Do one of you happen to have the key?" he asked politely.
"I have," said the woman at the front of the group stiffly.
"Great," said Kaladin. "You can let him in."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "And what danger do you expect to find here?"
"I see a lot of weapons, including two Shardblades. A lot of people moving in and out, with no one monitoring who except to check their eyes. You're right, I'm sure nothing could possibly go wrong."
Sarus carefully kept his lips from twitching as the ardent sighed and passed her key to an assistant.
Kaladin turned back to the rest of the group, though his eyes kept scanning the edges of the field for good vantage points. "Drehy, you head up onto that boulder there. Leyten, head over to that corner, back to the wall. Ahis, over by that building. Morel, on that hill over there. Veslin, by the gate. Sarus, with me."
All five men saluted and jogged off. Kaladin himself remained standing near the center of the field, watching the two men practicing with their Shards. Both wore Plate, and both suits were painted in simple Kholin blues with no further adornment.
"I don't recognize those Shardbearers," Kaladin commented.
"They aren't Shardbearers," said the ardent with a roll of her eyes. "They're practicing with the King's Blades."
"Elhokar lets other people use his Shards?" Kaladin asked, raising an eyebrow.
"His Majesty does, yes," Sarus said, before the ardent could get too annoyed with Kaladin's attitude. My friend, you really need to cultivate better habits if we're going to continue working in such close proximity to lighteyes. "One of the many traditions that keeps Alethkar in control of more Shards than any other nation on Roshar. It allows men who do not yet have their own Shards to train with them, either for battle against Shardbearers or, more often, for duels. As a rule, the second-in-command of a Shardbearer is always familiar with his superior's Blade. Just in case."
"Makes sense. The king has two Blades, then?"
"One was King Gavilar's."
"It is kept for this exact purpose," said the ardent, "though His Majesty has hinted that he may one day give his father's Blade to a worthy warrior."
Kaladin nodded with a sort of snide appreciation. "Good way to trick men into training," he said. "Tempt them with the possibility of being given a Shard if they're disciplined."
Sarus passed his hand over his eyes, then turned to the ardent, who looked genuinely affronted. "Is there a procedure for darkeyed men to train against Blades?" he asked, trying to distract her from his pathologically disrespectful superior. "We have been assigned to fill the… recently vacated positions within the Cobalt Guard. It seems all too likely that anyone with designs on Highprince Kholin or His Majesty may be so armed."
Her pursed lips loosened just slightly as she considered him. "There is no such tradition," she said, though she didn't seem as affronted by the question as by Kaladin's flagrant impertinence. "You would have to ask one of His Majesty's advisors to suggest the idea."
"Could you perhaps bring it before the Devotary of Jezerezeh?" Sarus asked, with a disarming smile. That was the branch of the ardentia dedicated specifically to advising monarchs in all the Vorin kingdoms. One of their members would certainly have Elhokar's ear.
She seemed pleased to see that, even if Kaladin himself were an uncultured brute with no knowledge of Alethi traditions, at least this man knew something of them. "I will ask Ardent Meletam," she said, before turning and walking away, taking the rest of the ardents with her.
Sarus allowed his smile to fall as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Kaladin," he said. "My friend, my brother. You may have a captain's knots on your soldier, but that does not mean you can disrespect the king in front of half the ardentia."
"Disrespect the—oh." Kaladin blinked, visibly going back through the conversation in his head. "You're right. Sorry."
Sarus nodded once and let the matter drop. "The princes should be arriving before too long," he said instead.
"Assuming they bother to be on time."
"You saw Prince Adolin's duel. Did that seem to you like the performance of a man who shirks his training?"
Kaladin sighed. "No, it didn't. Doesn't mean I have to like him."
"Of course it doesn't. But you can acknowledge a man's strengths without believing they outweigh his flaws. Adolin Kholin is an accomplished duelist, a charismatic figurehead, and—for a man in his position—relatively principled. He also happens to be something of an idiot, vain as a four-color chicken, and prouder than Ishi'Elin. We can acknowledge the flaws without lying to ourselves about the virtues."
"This isn't about Adolin."
Sarus raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think I'm talking about, then, Kaladin?"
Kaladin didn't answer.
"I'm not talking about anyone specific. Generally, it is possible—and necessary—to acknowledge the strengths, as well as the weaknesses, of potential enemies and rivals. I'm sure you know this. But you must make it second-nature if you are to be a leader among lighteyes."
Kaladin shot him a look. "You were more than just a house servant," he said.
Sarus took a deep breath to keep himself from visibly flinching. "I was." Kaladin wouldn't pry, he knew, but he needed the man to believe that he knew what he was talking about. Kaladin would never be a maneuverer and manipulator like Sarus was. Like Tailiah had been. But he needed to learn the very basics or all of Bridge Four might suffer for it. "My best friend was second dahn."
Kaladin nodded once. Then the exact number seemed to sink in, and he whirled on Sarus. "Second dahn?" he hissed.
"Yes."
"Who in Damnation—"
"Tailiah Sadeas," said Sarus, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Kaladin stared at him with wide eyes. Sarus could practically see the questions running through his head. Which only made it more admirable when he visibly bundled them up and buried them at the expression on Sarus' face. They stood in silence for a moment, Kaladin watching him, wrestling down his curiosity, while Sarus stared out at the Plains.
Then Kaladin spoke. "I was a squadleader in Amaram's army," he said, following Sarus' gaze.
Sarus didn't turn to look at him. They stood there, shoulder to shoulders, eyes fixed upon the past.
"A Shardbearer came after him in a battle," Kaladin continued hoarsely. "My men and I were close enough to help. I ordered them to go that way. Every other squad was just trying to get out of the way, but we went towards the Shardbearer. He killed almost my whole squad. Sixteen men, dead in two blows. I managed to kill him before he got Amaram. They tried to give me his Shardblade but I… I couldn't. I didn't want it. That thing killed sixteen of the best men I knew. I gave it to one of the last four members of my squad."
"Ah," said Sarus.
"You want to know how Amaram repaid me?"
"I already do." Sarus could see it as clear as if Meridas Amaram were whispering the words directly into his ears. We need skilled Shardbearers. We need people who know how to use the weapons. Gifted people. It would be one thing if the man who killed a Shardbearer with nothing but a spear took up the Blade with no prior training. But an untested darkeyes? Those resources can be better allocated elsewhere. They can be better allocated to me.
Certainly, Amaram would have wanted the Blade and Plate for himself even if Kaladin hadn't rejected them. But men like him…
Amaram, Sarus realized, was not like Torol Sadeas. Sadeas knew himself nearly as well as anyone Sarus had ever known. Sadeas knew exactly what a cremling he was. If a darkeyed spearman had saved him from a Shardbearer, that spearman wouldn't have even had the chance to reject the Blade, and not a single darkeyed witness would have survived the experience.
But Amaram had, if Sarus had to guess, managed to delude himself nearly as much as he deluded the people around him. Killing the man who had saved his life would have broken his own belief in himself. It would have been a bridge too far. He could not simply do whatever he wanted without sparing it a second thought, because he was neither good enough to desire honor and justice nor evil enough to enjoy cutting them open and watching them bleed.
But he was pathetic enough to close his eyes and strike out with the knife anyway.
"Not every lighteyes is a monster, Kaladin," said Sarus quietly.
"I know," Kaladin said. "It's just hard to believe it, sometimes. Tailiah was better?"
"Tailiah was incredible. You might have hated her, or you might have loved her. It would have depended entirely on how she wanted you to feel."
"Huh."
"The princes are," said Archive suddenly, her voice soft enough that only the two of them—and Syl, who stood looking sadly down at Kaladin above their heads—could hear her.
Sarus and Kaladin turned. It was true—Adolin and Renarin were entering the field. Renarin's Blade was in his hand. Only a day had passed since Adolin's duel, so the blade had not yet had time to bind to its new wielder, which meant Renarin could not yet dismiss and summon it at will. The two princes were followed by Murk's squad. As they approached, Murk saluted them. "Captain."
Kaladin saluted back. "You and your squad are dismissed for the afternoon, Murk," he said. "We'll take it from here."
"Sir." Murk gestured to his men, and they turned and left the training ground.
Kaladin turned to Adolin. "The area is as secure as we can make it, Brightlord. My men and I will keep an eye out while you spar."
Adolin grunted without looking at Kaladin, instead surveying the field himself. Sarus caught Renarin's eye. There was a tension in the younger prince's face, as if he were trying to ignore a sore muscle or irritated rash.
"Sarus," Kaladin said, turning to him. "I want you by the water barrels, there. I'll take a post over by those fences."
"Understood, Captain," said Sarus with a crisp salute.
Kaladin nodded and turned to go towards his post.
"Bridgeman," Adolin called, forestalling him.
Not bridgemen, Sarus thought, and suddenly all of the years-old resentment he'd once held against Adolin Kholin, all the bitterness, envy, and impotent rage, came back in a rush. He wrestled them back down, but he knew Renarin had seen the way his eyes must have flashed and gone dark. Not anymore.
"You've decided to start using proper titles for people?" Adolin continued, not sparing Sarus a glance. "Didn't you call my father 'sir'?"
Kaladin turned back, his expression wooden. "He's in my direct chain of command."
"And I'm not?"
"No."
"Then if I give you an order, you don't intend to obey?"
"I'll comply with requests within reason, Brightlord," said Kaladin. "But if you want someone to shine your boots, you'll have to get someone else—"
Sarus cleared his throat, having successfully buried his sudden rush of fury. "What Captain Kaladin means," he said, "is that he cannot obey any commands of yours if they countermand Highprince Kholin's prior orders to protect you and your brother from any potential threat, Brightlord. He cannot promise to obey any command that might put our own mission at risk."
"Oh, is that what he means," Adolin said sarcastically, and oh, why had Sarus said anything? Now the young man's glare was on him. Not a position he wanted to be in.
But as he met Adolin's eyes, he suddenly realized that Adolin had no idea how this exchange felt from a darkeyes' perspective. He had no idea what it was like to be on the receiving end of an expression like that from someone who could kill you on a whim and suffer not one significant consequence.
Paradoxically, that made Sarus feel better. Because although it threw Adolin's sheer privilege into sharp relief, it also meant that he had no intention of actually harming any of them on a whim. He simply didn't think in those terms. If he hurt them, it would be out of thoughtlessness, not malice. And Sarus was more than capable of doing enough thinking for both sides of the conversation.
He thought back on what he knew of Adolin. Tailiah had always called him kind, if somewhat dim. She had said that he treated his servants with respect, even if that respect was sometimes tempered with entitlement.
Sarus… could use that.
"Yes, Brightlord," he said, holding the prince's gaze. "I humbly ask your indulgence, sir—if I may, Captain Kaladin and the rest of your new guards, myself included, were until recently bridgemen, and in many cases slaves, to Highprince Sadeas. Many of us have, to put it mildly, some difficulty adjusting to serving a house like Kholin, whose members would not sooner see us dead than smiling."
The words struck Adolin somewhere unarmored. Sarus saw the way his suspicion—did not die, but was suppressed behind layers of guilt and sympathy. "I… suppose I can understand that," he said. He shot Kaladin a look. "I still don't like you," he said flatly. "But… you did save my life. And my father's. And I suppose you took on some terrible risks to do it. I'll do my best to work with you if you do your best to stay out of my way."
Kaladin looked practically flabbergasted. But he had the presence of mind to nod. "I think I can agree to that much."
"Good," said Adolin. "Come on, Renarin, let's go find Zahel."
Sarus met Renarin's eyes again as the prince followed his brother towards where the two men were still practicing (badly, if Sarus was any judge) with the king's Shardblades. Renarin was smiling, slightly, although the expression seemed a little pale. Sarus noticed as he passed that the younger man's knuckles were white on the hilt of his Blade.
"How in Damnation did you do that?" Kaladin asked, staring after the princes with something like wonder.
"Tailiah knew Adolin when we were all younger, so I had a head start," said Sarus quietly. "But the principle is simple. If you know how a person's mind works, you can find the right words to say. If you find the right words to say, you can get them to do nearly anything."
"Sounds callous," Syl commented softly.
"I disagree," countered Archive. "The important part is not that manipulation is. It is that humans cannot be manipulated into anything. Only nearly anything. Honor lives in the difference."
"Hm." Syl watched the two princes approach the head ardent. They bowed formally to her before beginning to speak. "Hang on, isn't she a slave? One their father owns?"
"Technically, yes," said Sarus. "But the ardentia walk a very complex line between power and servitude."
"Humans don't make sense."
"Neither do spren," Archive said dryly.
"Honorspren make sense," said Syl primly.
"A disagreement is."
Syl snorted. "I don't like them," she said. "Either one of them. Renarin or Adolin."
"You don't like anyone who carries Shards," Kaladin said.
"Exactly."
"Why not?" Sarus asked curiously.
"She called the Blades abominations before," Kaladin said. "But the Radiants carried them, didn't they? So were they wrong, too?"
"Of course not," Syl said, looking down at Kaladin like he had just asked if the sky was red. "The Shards weren't abominations back then."
"Then what changed?"
"The knights changed," murmured Syl, looking sad.
"So it's not that the Blades are abominations themselves," Kaladin said, sounding bitterly triumphant. "It's that the wrong people are carrying them."
"No," said Archive. "Your biases are. Your prejudices are. You are not listening, Kaladin."
Kaladin blinked over at the speck on Sarus' shoulder. "What? What does Syl mean, then?"
"If Adolin lost his Shards in the duel yesterday," Archive said, "Syl's approval would immediately be."
"He could stand to be humbled some," Kaladin said.
Archive sighed in exasperation. "Your ears are," she said. "Why do you insist on not using them?"
"You're saying," said Sarus, interjecting before the squabbling could really start, "that something fundamental changed about the Shards. Something that had to do with the Radiants."
"There is a reason you are my Elsecaller," said Archive.
But you didn't come here for me, Sarus thought, then tried to bury the hurt.
"But what could have changed about the Shards?" Kaladin asked. "Besides, Syl said the Knights Radiant changed. Well, the Shards aren't being held by Knights Radiant anymore. So how does that even matter now?"
Sarus stared at Syl. He felt as though he was dangling just below the answer to that very question, searching for one more handhold to climb the rest of the way. Radiants are bonded to spren. Radiants bore Shardblades. Radiants betrayed their calling at the Recreance. Shardblades are abominations now. The Radiants changed, and somehow that changed their Shards.
The Recreance was the heart of it, he was certain. But what exactly had happened at the Recreance? He didn't know. He doubted Archive or Syl even remembered.
"Who's that?" Kaladin asked suddenly.
Sarus followed his gaze. There was a man standing in the shadows of the wall, leaning on the wooden railing, watching the princes. There was something about him… Sarus frowned, narrowing his eyes.
Was the air… different around the man? It almost looked like the very colors of the red stone around his feet were somehow more vibrant.
"What about him?" Syl asked.
"He's watching the princelings," Kaladin said.
"Do me a favor," said Sarus. "Never call them that within their hearing."
Kaladin grinned.
"So is everyone else," Syl pointed out.
"He's different." Kaladin glanced at Sarus. "You see it, right? You have an instinct for people."
"There's… something odd about him. Be careful."
"Sure," Kaladin said. "I'm always careful."
"That's not encouraging." But Sarus followed Kaladin as he approached the man.
As they drew near, Kaladin's foot scraped against a patch of sand upon the stone. The man immediately spun towards them, and Kaladin, startled, leveled his spear. Then, after a long moment, he lowered it. "Sorry," he said, making Sarus wince at his painfully affected tone of childish innocence. "I'm a little jumpy. First few weeks on the job."
"Right," said the man dryly. He looked past Kaladin at Sarus, then back again. Then he turned away and looked back at the princes. "You're the bridgemen. The ones who saved the highprince."
"Former bridgemen," said Sarus stiffly. He had to accept it from Adolin Kholin. He did not have to accept it from an ardent, no matter how odd of one.
"You don't need to worry. I'm not going to hurt your Damnation prince," said the man. Sarus couldn't even begin to place his accent—which was odd, given that he and Tailiah had made accents and foreign customs something of a study. And who used Damnation that way, anyway? It was grammatically wrong, using the noun Damnation like an adjective. It was almost as though… as though the man were translating the words he was saying directly into Alethi from a different language, word by word, without worrying too much about the differences in grammatical rules. He also wore the simple tunic and trousers of an ardent, but his hair was long rather than shaved close, and his beard was similarly unkempt.
"He's not our prince," said Kaladin stiffly. "Just our responsibility. You're a soldier, aren't you? Or ex-soldier."
"Yeah," said the man. "They call me Zahel."
"The princes were looking for you," Sarus observed. That the princes knew this man suggested they didn't need to fear him. Still, he found himself wary.
"They would be," he said. "I'm one of the swordmasters. One of the better ones. The boy—Renarin—he never practiced much, so he needs one. They probably want me to choose him."
"Choose him?" Kaladin asked.
"Swordmasters have to choose their apprentices," said Sarus. "Although I imagine that choice isn't entirely free when it's the highprince's son as the apprentice in question."
Zahel grunted.
"Swordmaster Zahel!" called Adolin, noticing them. "You're not sitting with the others!"
Sarus looked over and saw that, yes, several of the ardents—mostly the ones who looked well-trained and physically fit—were seated in a small ring near the princes.
Zahel sighed. "You're not wrong," he told Sarus dryly. "I'll try not to hurt the boy." He turned and jogged over.
"Why didn't Renarin ever train when he was younger?" Kaladin asked. He sounded like he was talking mostly to himself, but Sarus answered.
"Health issues," he said. "Renarin suffered from what the lighteyes called a 'blood sickness.' Seizures."
"Ah." Kaladin grimaced. "Seems like something his bodyguards should already have known about."
"It's common knowledge among the lighteyes," Sarus said. "I assume it didn't occur to them that the new darkeyed guards wouldn't already know."
Kaladin grumbled something inaudible. "Odd man," he commented, looking where Zahel was sitting down among the other ardents.
"Extremely," agreed Sarus. "But probably harmless, if the Kholins trust him to teach their sons to use Shards. Still, we'll keep an eye on him."
"Two eyes," Kaladin said. He nodded to Sarus. "Get over to the barrels, there," he said, pointing. "I'll see you in a few hours, when they're done training."
Sarus saluted and jogged off.
Two hours later, Sarus watched a sweating Renarin stab his Shardblade into the ground, looking like a towel that had been wrung out a little too vigorously. The moment the Blade was securely in the rock, he tore his hand away like a child pulling his hand from a hot pan. He bowed stiffly to Zahel, then said something to Adolin and picked up his Blade again. Then he started moving towards the water barrels.
…Directly towards Sarus.
Sarus kept his expression serene as Renarin stopped beside one of the barrels and poured himself a cup with the attached spigot. "Hello, Sarus," said the prince quietly.
"Renarin."
Renarin straightened and drank from his cup. "I've been trying to get you alone for weeks," he said. "I didn't… I know how much you value the ability to control who knows what about you."
Sarus' heart suddenly surged with affection for the younger man, who even all these years later still not only remembered Sarus, but remembered him well enough to know without being told how carefully he liked to tread around lighteyes. "I appreciate it," he said softly. He glanced towards the gate, where Kaladin was gathering with the other members of Bridge Four as Adolin prepared to leave. He gestured, pointing at Sarus, then at Renarin.
Excellent. Sarus saluted over at the captain. "I have, it seems, just been assigned as your bodyguard until such time as you rejoin your family," he said. "So we have a few minutes."
"Good," said Renarin with a sigh, stabbing his Blade back into the rock. He looked over to watch Kaladin and the rest of the guards following Adolin out of the training ground.
"Is he gone?" The voice emerged quite suddenly from somewhere under Renarin's Plate. Before Sarus could do more than blink, the voice continued, "Oh, thank Cultivation."
And then something emerged from the collar of Renarin's plate. It was a spren, clearly, but like none Sarus had ever seen before. Its body looked like an irregular, vaguely star-shaped chunk of red crystal, and motes of light dripped from it like glittering water, only they sailed upwards to disappear into the empty sky. Something about it felt odd to Sarus, as though it didn't sit quite right in his vision, its edges fuzzing slightly, though somehow not diminishing its clarity in any way.
Sarus blinked at it, staring for a long moment, before he managed to realize through his astonishment that this spren probably believed itself invisible and hurriedly looking back at Renarin.
Unfortunately, the damage was done. "Damnation," the spren cursed, and dove back into Renarin's Plate.
Renarin blinked, looking at Sarus. His eyes widened. "Wait—"
Sarus very quickly took stock. He could play dumb. Or he could pretend to be nothing more than what Rock was, clear-sighted but unaware of the implications. Or he could be open with Renarin. His instincts rebelled at the thought. Sarus didn't trust people, as a rule, not if he had any other choice.
…Except, Renarin had done his best not to reveal anything about Sarus' past before they'd had a chance to speak directly. Even more than five years after the last time they'd spoken, he still remembered Sarus's proclivities and cared about them enough to indulge him like this. It would have been so easy for the third-dahn son of a highprince to simply come up to one of his bodyguards and demand answers. Renarin had not done so.
In exchange… maybe Sarus owed him a little trust. And, more to the point, Renarin had proven willing to keep secrets. Letting him in on more would go a long way to tying them together in Renarin's mind. Extend a little trust, gain a little influence. Offer some information, claim some affection.
"You're a Radiant, then," Sarus said softly.
They were all silent for a long moment. Then Archive chuckled and expanded on Sarus' shoulder, remaining small enough to be hidden from anyone else in the field, but large enough to be visible to them. "Your luck is," she told Sarus. "To meet a fellow Radiant in an old friend… yes. Your fortune is."
Renarin stared at Archive, fascinated. "You too?" he asked Sarus. "You're also—"
"I am," Sarus confirmed. "This is Archive, an inkspren."
"A pleasure," Renarin said, nodding respectfully, though his eyes remained unerringly fixed on the spren. Then he turned them on Sarus. "Forgive Glys if he doesn't come out. He's… shy."
"Glys?" asked Archive, cocking her head. "What sort of spren is he? I do not recognize the name."
"He's a mistspren," said Renarin.
"Then you are a Truthwatcher," Archive said. "An order that, I believe, worked well with the Elsecallers of old."
"Is that what you are?" Renarin asked Sarus. "An Elsecaller?"
"It is," said Sarus.
"What are your Surges?"
"Transformation and Transportation," said Archive.
"Yours?" Sarus asked.
"Illumination and Progression," Renarin said. "Wow. I knew there had to be a story behind how you ended up on Sadeas' bridge crews of all things, but I didn't expect this."
Sarus' face fell. "Archive had nothing to do with that," he said. "I only met her a few months ago, long after I arrived here."
"Months?" Renarin blinked. "I thought most bridgemen in Sadeas' crews died in a matter of weeks. How long were you here?"
"Five years," said Sarus darkly. "Since the war began."
"Since the—" Renarin stopped, staring at him. "What happened?"
Sarus tried to smile wryly. It emerged as a grimace. "Tailiah died. And I—" The damning words I killed her caught in his throat, so he said obliquely, "it was my fault."
He still didn't understand what had happened that night. But the fact was that one minute Tailiah had been there, wide-eyed and afraid…
…And the next, there had been only smoke.
-x-x-x-
34
In Memory
-x-x-x-
34
In Memory
-x-x-x-
I have long since forgotten most of the Black Speech. It fell into disuse among the dragons during the early Third Age, and I rarely heard more than a few words of it after the Withered Heath was emptied in the early years of the Fourth Age, when the full might of Gondor renewed fell upon us.
-x-x-x-
"You know," Moash said, looking around the training grounds with a critical eye. "I always thought this place would be… I don't know. Better. It looks the same as where the darkeyes practice."
"There are different sorts of training areas," Sarus commented, remembering the spearmen's lists in the courtyards of Castle Sadaras, the duelists' salles, the archers' range. "But out here on the Plains, even the lighteyes have to, in some small ways, rough it with the rest of us."
Moash shot him a look as they both followed Kaladin, along with Drehy, Leyten, and three members of the original Cobalt Guard. Kaladin had been given command over most of the survivors from among Dalinar's bodyguards. To Sarus' surprise, all of them—even the four surviving lighteyes—had accepted the captain's authority without complaint. Sarus hadn't yet learned all their names, though he suspected Kaladin had. The three with them today were darkeyed, however, and had started slowly assimilating into Bridge Four. They had even sewn Bridge Four patches into the left shoulder of their uniforms, to match the glyphs of the Cobalt Guard on their right.
"You know an awful lot about how lighteyes live," Moash commented, his eyes hooded with suspicion.
"I was raised in closer proximity to them than most," said Sarus evenly, trying not to think too hard about what he was saying. "The wealthiest lighteyes have darkeyed house servants. My mother was a maid when I was born and became a cook when I was a child. We had a small suite within the servants' quarters. I saw more of lighteyed society than many lighteyes do, I suspect."
"Huh. Can't imagine that was much fun."
Sarus shrugged noncommittally, thinking of green eyes in the dark. "It had its moments, as any childhood does." He turned his gaze to follow a small knot of ardents bustling in their direction. Their leader was a woman in her mid-thirties, if Sarus had to guess. Her eyes were a deep blue, barely bright enough to qualify as light.
"This," she said sharply as she reached them, "is the lighteyes training ground. What business do you have here?"
"Captain Kaladin, Bridge Four," said Kaladin, without even looking at her. He was scanning the ground, his spear on his shoulder, a thoughtful scowl on his face.
"Captain?" one of the ardents scoffed. "Darkeyes—" One of the others shushed him before he could finish embarrassing himself.
"Moash," Kaladin said, ignoring them. "See those rockbuds up on top of the wall there?"
"Yes."
"They're cultivated, so there's a way up. I want you up there, keeping an eye on things. Shout if you see any trouble brewing."
Sarus narrowed his eyes at the wall along the edge of the training ground. His eyes were keener than most, he knew. Kaladin hadn't seen the tip of the railing running along a stairwell rising up along the inside of the northern side of the wall, almost hidden from this angle, but Sarus could clearly make it out. He turned to the ardents. "Do one of you happen to have the key?" he asked politely.
"I have," said the woman at the front of the group stiffly.
"Great," said Kaladin. "You can let him in."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "And what danger do you expect to find here?"
"I see a lot of weapons, including two Shardblades. A lot of people moving in and out, with no one monitoring who except to check their eyes. You're right, I'm sure nothing could possibly go wrong."
Sarus carefully kept his lips from twitching as the ardent sighed and passed her key to an assistant.
Kaladin turned back to the rest of the group, though his eyes kept scanning the edges of the field for good vantage points. "Drehy, you head up onto that boulder there. Leyten, head over to that corner, back to the wall. Ahis, over by that building. Morel, on that hill over there. Veslin, by the gate. Sarus, with me."
All five men saluted and jogged off. Kaladin himself remained standing near the center of the field, watching the two men practicing with their Shards. Both wore Plate, and both suits were painted in simple Kholin blues with no further adornment.
"I don't recognize those Shardbearers," Kaladin commented.
"They aren't Shardbearers," said the ardent with a roll of her eyes. "They're practicing with the King's Blades."
"Elhokar lets other people use his Shards?" Kaladin asked, raising an eyebrow.
"His Majesty does, yes," Sarus said, before the ardent could get too annoyed with Kaladin's attitude. My friend, you really need to cultivate better habits if we're going to continue working in such close proximity to lighteyes. "One of the many traditions that keeps Alethkar in control of more Shards than any other nation on Roshar. It allows men who do not yet have their own Shards to train with them, either for battle against Shardbearers or, more often, for duels. As a rule, the second-in-command of a Shardbearer is always familiar with his superior's Blade. Just in case."
"Makes sense. The king has two Blades, then?"
"One was King Gavilar's."
"It is kept for this exact purpose," said the ardent, "though His Majesty has hinted that he may one day give his father's Blade to a worthy warrior."
Kaladin nodded with a sort of snide appreciation. "Good way to trick men into training," he said. "Tempt them with the possibility of being given a Shard if they're disciplined."
Sarus passed his hand over his eyes, then turned to the ardent, who looked genuinely affronted. "Is there a procedure for darkeyed men to train against Blades?" he asked, trying to distract her from his pathologically disrespectful superior. "We have been assigned to fill the… recently vacated positions within the Cobalt Guard. It seems all too likely that anyone with designs on Highprince Kholin or His Majesty may be so armed."
Her pursed lips loosened just slightly as she considered him. "There is no such tradition," she said, though she didn't seem as affronted by the question as by Kaladin's flagrant impertinence. "You would have to ask one of His Majesty's advisors to suggest the idea."
"Could you perhaps bring it before the Devotary of Jezerezeh?" Sarus asked, with a disarming smile. That was the branch of the ardentia dedicated specifically to advising monarchs in all the Vorin kingdoms. One of their members would certainly have Elhokar's ear.
She seemed pleased to see that, even if Kaladin himself were an uncultured brute with no knowledge of Alethi traditions, at least this man knew something of them. "I will ask Ardent Meletam," she said, before turning and walking away, taking the rest of the ardents with her.
Sarus allowed his smile to fall as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Kaladin," he said. "My friend, my brother. You may have a captain's knots on your soldier, but that does not mean you can disrespect the king in front of half the ardentia."
"Disrespect the—oh." Kaladin blinked, visibly going back through the conversation in his head. "You're right. Sorry."
Sarus nodded once and let the matter drop. "The princes should be arriving before too long," he said instead.
"Assuming they bother to be on time."
"You saw Prince Adolin's duel. Did that seem to you like the performance of a man who shirks his training?"
Kaladin sighed. "No, it didn't. Doesn't mean I have to like him."
"Of course it doesn't. But you can acknowledge a man's strengths without believing they outweigh his flaws. Adolin Kholin is an accomplished duelist, a charismatic figurehead, and—for a man in his position—relatively principled. He also happens to be something of an idiot, vain as a four-color chicken, and prouder than Ishi'Elin. We can acknowledge the flaws without lying to ourselves about the virtues."
"This isn't about Adolin."
Sarus raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think I'm talking about, then, Kaladin?"
Kaladin didn't answer.
"I'm not talking about anyone specific. Generally, it is possible—and necessary—to acknowledge the strengths, as well as the weaknesses, of potential enemies and rivals. I'm sure you know this. But you must make it second-nature if you are to be a leader among lighteyes."
Kaladin shot him a look. "You were more than just a house servant," he said.
Sarus took a deep breath to keep himself from visibly flinching. "I was." Kaladin wouldn't pry, he knew, but he needed the man to believe that he knew what he was talking about. Kaladin would never be a maneuverer and manipulator like Sarus was. Like Tailiah had been. But he needed to learn the very basics or all of Bridge Four might suffer for it. "My best friend was second dahn."
Kaladin nodded once. Then the exact number seemed to sink in, and he whirled on Sarus. "Second dahn?" he hissed.
"Yes."
"Who in Damnation—"
"Tailiah Sadeas," said Sarus, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Kaladin stared at him with wide eyes. Sarus could practically see the questions running through his head. Which only made it more admirable when he visibly bundled them up and buried them at the expression on Sarus' face. They stood in silence for a moment, Kaladin watching him, wrestling down his curiosity, while Sarus stared out at the Plains.
Then Kaladin spoke. "I was a squadleader in Amaram's army," he said, following Sarus' gaze.
Sarus didn't turn to look at him. They stood there, shoulder to shoulders, eyes fixed upon the past.
"A Shardbearer came after him in a battle," Kaladin continued hoarsely. "My men and I were close enough to help. I ordered them to go that way. Every other squad was just trying to get out of the way, but we went towards the Shardbearer. He killed almost my whole squad. Sixteen men, dead in two blows. I managed to kill him before he got Amaram. They tried to give me his Shardblade but I… I couldn't. I didn't want it. That thing killed sixteen of the best men I knew. I gave it to one of the last four members of my squad."
"Ah," said Sarus.
"You want to know how Amaram repaid me?"
"I already do." Sarus could see it as clear as if Meridas Amaram were whispering the words directly into his ears. We need skilled Shardbearers. We need people who know how to use the weapons. Gifted people. It would be one thing if the man who killed a Shardbearer with nothing but a spear took up the Blade with no prior training. But an untested darkeyes? Those resources can be better allocated elsewhere. They can be better allocated to me.
Certainly, Amaram would have wanted the Blade and Plate for himself even if Kaladin hadn't rejected them. But men like him…
Amaram, Sarus realized, was not like Torol Sadeas. Sadeas knew himself nearly as well as anyone Sarus had ever known. Sadeas knew exactly what a cremling he was. If a darkeyed spearman had saved him from a Shardbearer, that spearman wouldn't have even had the chance to reject the Blade, and not a single darkeyed witness would have survived the experience.
But Amaram had, if Sarus had to guess, managed to delude himself nearly as much as he deluded the people around him. Killing the man who had saved his life would have broken his own belief in himself. It would have been a bridge too far. He could not simply do whatever he wanted without sparing it a second thought, because he was neither good enough to desire honor and justice nor evil enough to enjoy cutting them open and watching them bleed.
But he was pathetic enough to close his eyes and strike out with the knife anyway.
"Not every lighteyes is a monster, Kaladin," said Sarus quietly.
"I know," Kaladin said. "It's just hard to believe it, sometimes. Tailiah was better?"
"Tailiah was incredible. You might have hated her, or you might have loved her. It would have depended entirely on how she wanted you to feel."
"Huh."
"The princes are," said Archive suddenly, her voice soft enough that only the two of them—and Syl, who stood looking sadly down at Kaladin above their heads—could hear her.
Sarus and Kaladin turned. It was true—Adolin and Renarin were entering the field. Renarin's Blade was in his hand. Only a day had passed since Adolin's duel, so the blade had not yet had time to bind to its new wielder, which meant Renarin could not yet dismiss and summon it at will. The two princes were followed by Murk's squad. As they approached, Murk saluted them. "Captain."
Kaladin saluted back. "You and your squad are dismissed for the afternoon, Murk," he said. "We'll take it from here."
"Sir." Murk gestured to his men, and they turned and left the training ground.
Kaladin turned to Adolin. "The area is as secure as we can make it, Brightlord. My men and I will keep an eye out while you spar."
Adolin grunted without looking at Kaladin, instead surveying the field himself. Sarus caught Renarin's eye. There was a tension in the younger prince's face, as if he were trying to ignore a sore muscle or irritated rash.
"Sarus," Kaladin said, turning to him. "I want you by the water barrels, there. I'll take a post over by those fences."
"Understood, Captain," said Sarus with a crisp salute.
Kaladin nodded and turned to go towards his post.
"Bridgeman," Adolin called, forestalling him.
Not bridgemen, Sarus thought, and suddenly all of the years-old resentment he'd once held against Adolin Kholin, all the bitterness, envy, and impotent rage, came back in a rush. He wrestled them back down, but he knew Renarin had seen the way his eyes must have flashed and gone dark. Not anymore.
"You've decided to start using proper titles for people?" Adolin continued, not sparing Sarus a glance. "Didn't you call my father 'sir'?"
Kaladin turned back, his expression wooden. "He's in my direct chain of command."
"And I'm not?"
"No."
"Then if I give you an order, you don't intend to obey?"
"I'll comply with requests within reason, Brightlord," said Kaladin. "But if you want someone to shine your boots, you'll have to get someone else—"
Sarus cleared his throat, having successfully buried his sudden rush of fury. "What Captain Kaladin means," he said, "is that he cannot obey any commands of yours if they countermand Highprince Kholin's prior orders to protect you and your brother from any potential threat, Brightlord. He cannot promise to obey any command that might put our own mission at risk."
"Oh, is that what he means," Adolin said sarcastically, and oh, why had Sarus said anything? Now the young man's glare was on him. Not a position he wanted to be in.
But as he met Adolin's eyes, he suddenly realized that Adolin had no idea how this exchange felt from a darkeyes' perspective. He had no idea what it was like to be on the receiving end of an expression like that from someone who could kill you on a whim and suffer not one significant consequence.
Paradoxically, that made Sarus feel better. Because although it threw Adolin's sheer privilege into sharp relief, it also meant that he had no intention of actually harming any of them on a whim. He simply didn't think in those terms. If he hurt them, it would be out of thoughtlessness, not malice. And Sarus was more than capable of doing enough thinking for both sides of the conversation.
He thought back on what he knew of Adolin. Tailiah had always called him kind, if somewhat dim. She had said that he treated his servants with respect, even if that respect was sometimes tempered with entitlement.
Sarus… could use that.
"Yes, Brightlord," he said, holding the prince's gaze. "I humbly ask your indulgence, sir—if I may, Captain Kaladin and the rest of your new guards, myself included, were until recently bridgemen, and in many cases slaves, to Highprince Sadeas. Many of us have, to put it mildly, some difficulty adjusting to serving a house like Kholin, whose members would not sooner see us dead than smiling."
The words struck Adolin somewhere unarmored. Sarus saw the way his suspicion—did not die, but was suppressed behind layers of guilt and sympathy. "I… suppose I can understand that," he said. He shot Kaladin a look. "I still don't like you," he said flatly. "But… you did save my life. And my father's. And I suppose you took on some terrible risks to do it. I'll do my best to work with you if you do your best to stay out of my way."
Kaladin looked practically flabbergasted. But he had the presence of mind to nod. "I think I can agree to that much."
"Good," said Adolin. "Come on, Renarin, let's go find Zahel."
Sarus met Renarin's eyes again as the prince followed his brother towards where the two men were still practicing (badly, if Sarus was any judge) with the king's Shardblades. Renarin was smiling, slightly, although the expression seemed a little pale. Sarus noticed as he passed that the younger man's knuckles were white on the hilt of his Blade.
"How in Damnation did you do that?" Kaladin asked, staring after the princes with something like wonder.
"Tailiah knew Adolin when we were all younger, so I had a head start," said Sarus quietly. "But the principle is simple. If you know how a person's mind works, you can find the right words to say. If you find the right words to say, you can get them to do nearly anything."
"Sounds callous," Syl commented softly.
"I disagree," countered Archive. "The important part is not that manipulation is. It is that humans cannot be manipulated into anything. Only nearly anything. Honor lives in the difference."
"Hm." Syl watched the two princes approach the head ardent. They bowed formally to her before beginning to speak. "Hang on, isn't she a slave? One their father owns?"
"Technically, yes," said Sarus. "But the ardentia walk a very complex line between power and servitude."
"Humans don't make sense."
"Neither do spren," Archive said dryly.
"Honorspren make sense," said Syl primly.
"A disagreement is."
Syl snorted. "I don't like them," she said. "Either one of them. Renarin or Adolin."
"You don't like anyone who carries Shards," Kaladin said.
"Exactly."
"Why not?" Sarus asked curiously.
"She called the Blades abominations before," Kaladin said. "But the Radiants carried them, didn't they? So were they wrong, too?"
"Of course not," Syl said, looking down at Kaladin like he had just asked if the sky was red. "The Shards weren't abominations back then."
"Then what changed?"
"The knights changed," murmured Syl, looking sad.
"So it's not that the Blades are abominations themselves," Kaladin said, sounding bitterly triumphant. "It's that the wrong people are carrying them."
"No," said Archive. "Your biases are. Your prejudices are. You are not listening, Kaladin."
Kaladin blinked over at the speck on Sarus' shoulder. "What? What does Syl mean, then?"
"If Adolin lost his Shards in the duel yesterday," Archive said, "Syl's approval would immediately be."
"He could stand to be humbled some," Kaladin said.
Archive sighed in exasperation. "Your ears are," she said. "Why do you insist on not using them?"
"You're saying," said Sarus, interjecting before the squabbling could really start, "that something fundamental changed about the Shards. Something that had to do with the Radiants."
"There is a reason you are my Elsecaller," said Archive.
But you didn't come here for me, Sarus thought, then tried to bury the hurt.
"But what could have changed about the Shards?" Kaladin asked. "Besides, Syl said the Knights Radiant changed. Well, the Shards aren't being held by Knights Radiant anymore. So how does that even matter now?"
Sarus stared at Syl. He felt as though he was dangling just below the answer to that very question, searching for one more handhold to climb the rest of the way. Radiants are bonded to spren. Radiants bore Shardblades. Radiants betrayed their calling at the Recreance. Shardblades are abominations now. The Radiants changed, and somehow that changed their Shards.
The Recreance was the heart of it, he was certain. But what exactly had happened at the Recreance? He didn't know. He doubted Archive or Syl even remembered.
"Who's that?" Kaladin asked suddenly.
Sarus followed his gaze. There was a man standing in the shadows of the wall, leaning on the wooden railing, watching the princes. There was something about him… Sarus frowned, narrowing his eyes.
Was the air… different around the man? It almost looked like the very colors of the red stone around his feet were somehow more vibrant.
"What about him?" Syl asked.
"He's watching the princelings," Kaladin said.
"Do me a favor," said Sarus. "Never call them that within their hearing."
Kaladin grinned.
"So is everyone else," Syl pointed out.
"He's different." Kaladin glanced at Sarus. "You see it, right? You have an instinct for people."
"There's… something odd about him. Be careful."
"Sure," Kaladin said. "I'm always careful."
"That's not encouraging." But Sarus followed Kaladin as he approached the man.
As they drew near, Kaladin's foot scraped against a patch of sand upon the stone. The man immediately spun towards them, and Kaladin, startled, leveled his spear. Then, after a long moment, he lowered it. "Sorry," he said, making Sarus wince at his painfully affected tone of childish innocence. "I'm a little jumpy. First few weeks on the job."
"Right," said the man dryly. He looked past Kaladin at Sarus, then back again. Then he turned away and looked back at the princes. "You're the bridgemen. The ones who saved the highprince."
"Former bridgemen," said Sarus stiffly. He had to accept it from Adolin Kholin. He did not have to accept it from an ardent, no matter how odd of one.
"You don't need to worry. I'm not going to hurt your Damnation prince," said the man. Sarus couldn't even begin to place his accent—which was odd, given that he and Tailiah had made accents and foreign customs something of a study. And who used Damnation that way, anyway? It was grammatically wrong, using the noun Damnation like an adjective. It was almost as though… as though the man were translating the words he was saying directly into Alethi from a different language, word by word, without worrying too much about the differences in grammatical rules. He also wore the simple tunic and trousers of an ardent, but his hair was long rather than shaved close, and his beard was similarly unkempt.
"He's not our prince," said Kaladin stiffly. "Just our responsibility. You're a soldier, aren't you? Or ex-soldier."
"Yeah," said the man. "They call me Zahel."
"The princes were looking for you," Sarus observed. That the princes knew this man suggested they didn't need to fear him. Still, he found himself wary.
"They would be," he said. "I'm one of the swordmasters. One of the better ones. The boy—Renarin—he never practiced much, so he needs one. They probably want me to choose him."
"Choose him?" Kaladin asked.
"Swordmasters have to choose their apprentices," said Sarus. "Although I imagine that choice isn't entirely free when it's the highprince's son as the apprentice in question."
Zahel grunted.
"Swordmaster Zahel!" called Adolin, noticing them. "You're not sitting with the others!"
Sarus looked over and saw that, yes, several of the ardents—mostly the ones who looked well-trained and physically fit—were seated in a small ring near the princes.
Zahel sighed. "You're not wrong," he told Sarus dryly. "I'll try not to hurt the boy." He turned and jogged over.
"Why didn't Renarin ever train when he was younger?" Kaladin asked. He sounded like he was talking mostly to himself, but Sarus answered.
"Health issues," he said. "Renarin suffered from what the lighteyes called a 'blood sickness.' Seizures."
"Ah." Kaladin grimaced. "Seems like something his bodyguards should already have known about."
"It's common knowledge among the lighteyes," Sarus said. "I assume it didn't occur to them that the new darkeyed guards wouldn't already know."
Kaladin grumbled something inaudible. "Odd man," he commented, looking where Zahel was sitting down among the other ardents.
"Extremely," agreed Sarus. "But probably harmless, if the Kholins trust him to teach their sons to use Shards. Still, we'll keep an eye on him."
"Two eyes," Kaladin said. He nodded to Sarus. "Get over to the barrels, there," he said, pointing. "I'll see you in a few hours, when they're done training."
Sarus saluted and jogged off.
-x-x-x-
Two hours later, Sarus watched a sweating Renarin stab his Shardblade into the ground, looking like a towel that had been wrung out a little too vigorously. The moment the Blade was securely in the rock, he tore his hand away like a child pulling his hand from a hot pan. He bowed stiffly to Zahel, then said something to Adolin and picked up his Blade again. Then he started moving towards the water barrels.
…Directly towards Sarus.
Sarus kept his expression serene as Renarin stopped beside one of the barrels and poured himself a cup with the attached spigot. "Hello, Sarus," said the prince quietly.
"Renarin."
Renarin straightened and drank from his cup. "I've been trying to get you alone for weeks," he said. "I didn't… I know how much you value the ability to control who knows what about you."
Sarus' heart suddenly surged with affection for the younger man, who even all these years later still not only remembered Sarus, but remembered him well enough to know without being told how carefully he liked to tread around lighteyes. "I appreciate it," he said softly. He glanced towards the gate, where Kaladin was gathering with the other members of Bridge Four as Adolin prepared to leave. He gestured, pointing at Sarus, then at Renarin.
Excellent. Sarus saluted over at the captain. "I have, it seems, just been assigned as your bodyguard until such time as you rejoin your family," he said. "So we have a few minutes."
"Good," said Renarin with a sigh, stabbing his Blade back into the rock. He looked over to watch Kaladin and the rest of the guards following Adolin out of the training ground.
"Is he gone?" The voice emerged quite suddenly from somewhere under Renarin's Plate. Before Sarus could do more than blink, the voice continued, "Oh, thank Cultivation."
And then something emerged from the collar of Renarin's plate. It was a spren, clearly, but like none Sarus had ever seen before. Its body looked like an irregular, vaguely star-shaped chunk of red crystal, and motes of light dripped from it like glittering water, only they sailed upwards to disappear into the empty sky. Something about it felt odd to Sarus, as though it didn't sit quite right in his vision, its edges fuzzing slightly, though somehow not diminishing its clarity in any way.
Sarus blinked at it, staring for a long moment, before he managed to realize through his astonishment that this spren probably believed itself invisible and hurriedly looking back at Renarin.
Unfortunately, the damage was done. "Damnation," the spren cursed, and dove back into Renarin's Plate.
Renarin blinked, looking at Sarus. His eyes widened. "Wait—"
Sarus very quickly took stock. He could play dumb. Or he could pretend to be nothing more than what Rock was, clear-sighted but unaware of the implications. Or he could be open with Renarin. His instincts rebelled at the thought. Sarus didn't trust people, as a rule, not if he had any other choice.
…Except, Renarin had done his best not to reveal anything about Sarus' past before they'd had a chance to speak directly. Even more than five years after the last time they'd spoken, he still remembered Sarus's proclivities and cared about them enough to indulge him like this. It would have been so easy for the third-dahn son of a highprince to simply come up to one of his bodyguards and demand answers. Renarin had not done so.
In exchange… maybe Sarus owed him a little trust. And, more to the point, Renarin had proven willing to keep secrets. Letting him in on more would go a long way to tying them together in Renarin's mind. Extend a little trust, gain a little influence. Offer some information, claim some affection.
"You're a Radiant, then," Sarus said softly.
They were all silent for a long moment. Then Archive chuckled and expanded on Sarus' shoulder, remaining small enough to be hidden from anyone else in the field, but large enough to be visible to them. "Your luck is," she told Sarus. "To meet a fellow Radiant in an old friend… yes. Your fortune is."
Renarin stared at Archive, fascinated. "You too?" he asked Sarus. "You're also—"
"I am," Sarus confirmed. "This is Archive, an inkspren."
"A pleasure," Renarin said, nodding respectfully, though his eyes remained unerringly fixed on the spren. Then he turned them on Sarus. "Forgive Glys if he doesn't come out. He's… shy."
"Glys?" asked Archive, cocking her head. "What sort of spren is he? I do not recognize the name."
"He's a mistspren," said Renarin.
"Then you are a Truthwatcher," Archive said. "An order that, I believe, worked well with the Elsecallers of old."
"Is that what you are?" Renarin asked Sarus. "An Elsecaller?"
"It is," said Sarus.
"What are your Surges?"
"Transformation and Transportation," said Archive.
"Yours?" Sarus asked.
"Illumination and Progression," Renarin said. "Wow. I knew there had to be a story behind how you ended up on Sadeas' bridge crews of all things, but I didn't expect this."
Sarus' face fell. "Archive had nothing to do with that," he said. "I only met her a few months ago, long after I arrived here."
"Months?" Renarin blinked. "I thought most bridgemen in Sadeas' crews died in a matter of weeks. How long were you here?"
"Five years," said Sarus darkly. "Since the war began."
"Since the—" Renarin stopped, staring at him. "What happened?"
Sarus tried to smile wryly. It emerged as a grimace. "Tailiah died. And I—" The damning words I killed her caught in his throat, so he said obliquely, "it was my fault."
He still didn't understand what had happened that night. But the fact was that one minute Tailiah had been there, wide-eyed and afraid…
…And the next, there had been only smoke.
You tease! Give us the Tailiah reveal!
All around great perspective from Sarus. I really like how he interacts with Renarin and Kaladin.
All around great perspective from Sarus. I really like how he interacts with Renarin and Kaladin.
Strunkriidiisk
THE LEGEND
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Smoke, huh.
So no body?
So no body?