I'm really hoping you are right. But I' more thinking about how both Jasnah and Sarus are Elsecallers, and how the first thing we see Jasmah Soulcast in Way of Kings is a boulder into smoke.
Of Many Colors [Stormlight Archive/Lord of the Rings]
- Thread starter Lithos Maitreya
- Start date
- Crossover
I'm really hoping you are right. But I' more thinking about how both Jasnah and Sarus are Elsecallers, and how the first thing we see Jasmah Soulcast in Way of Kings is a boulder into smoke.
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
This possibility was brought up over on the SB thread too, but I think it's unlikely. Saurus wasn't a Radiant then, so shouldn't be able to Soulcast freeform.
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Yeah, could be a stretch. No Shadesmar either, unless he's repressing the memories. But aware or not, Sarus is not mortal, and evidence in the bboks makes it unclear whether one needs to have sworn any Ideals to Surgebind. Kalidan healed with Stormlight without the ideals, and was accidently causing things to stick to himself as far back as the slave wagon.
I haven't read far enough into the series to know if Jasnah had sworn to any of the ideals by the time of most of Way of Kings, but she certainly hadn't during Galivar's assassination. So I think it is possible.
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
Kaladin had Syl hanging around him by then though, and Jasnah similarly had Ivory around on the night Gavilar dies. Which also makes sense when you remember that humans on Roshar flat out can't Surgebind normally (although they had some unknown method of doing so on Ashyn). Perhaps a Spren forms their part of the Nahel bond when they choose a human, which gives them some ability to Surgebind, but only once they swear the First Ideal can they do so easily.
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35: Dullform
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
Not many of us survived those purges. Most who did crept into tunnels deep beneath the mountains, hiding like the worms for which Men named us.
Rlain didn't look up as Sarus sat down on the bunk beside his. He simply continued to slump there, the cot bending around him, eyes forward and gazing at nothing.
Rlain had taken dullform before, of course. Like every other Listener, he had spent shifts in the Hall of Art trying to attract spren to experiment with new forms in the early days of the war. It was why he had elected to take up this position as a spy—he had found that his mind seemed to work better than many of the others', when they failed to bond a spren and fell into dullform.
But the longest he had ever been in dullform before coming to the Alethi camp had been two weeks. He was now pushing a year and a half. And for the past few months of that, he hadn't even spoken to another Listener—not since he had been sent to the bridge crews. It wasn't possible for a bridgeman to clandestinely meet with another Listener scout.
Sometimes he wondered if he would wake up one morning and find that dullform had given way to slaveform. If he would find himself not Listener, but parshman. Maybe that was how the other singers had become the mindless thralls they were—maybe the spren had rejected them so completely, so utterly, that all of them had been trapped in dullform for so long that their minds simply… faded away.
The most terrifying part was that he couldn't even muster terror at the thought. Just a yawning, existential dread.
The only saving grace of this assignment was that there was no one who could hear the Rhythms here. So he didn't need to force himself to attune Peace or Resolve in moments like these. He could follow his natural inclinations. Right now, that inclination was to attune Anxiety.
Sometimes he even forced himself to enhance his own natural inclinations by attuning a rhythm whose associated negative emotion he was only barely feeling. Because even an awful Rhythm like Despair, Betrayal, or Pain was so, so much better than the horrible silence. Sometimes, Rlain lost the Rhythms entirely, as though the blanket constantly smothering his thoughts had closed up entirely around his ears. In those moments, the dread that he might be turning into a parshman clarified into a deep horror… but still with none of the sharp pressure, none of the push to act, that terror would have provided.
There was no instinct to act in dullform. Never. Any time Rlain did anything, he had to force himself to make the choice. All he ever really wanted to do was simply sit, like a stone in the bottom of a chasm, occasionally pushed hither or thither by the storm—the will and desires of others—but never his own volition.
Outside, the highstorm was passing. Rlain had forced himself not to attune any of the Rhythms or channel the emotions that would attract a spren for the duration. As much as he longed for it, craved to feel one of the forms again, to feel a spren pulsing within his gemheart, he couldn't. Mustn't.
"You aren't just acting, are you?" Sarus asked softly. His voice was low enough that none of the other men in the barracks, most of whom were laughing as they played a game with cards around Gadol's bunk. "I wondered how you managed to act like a parshman for so long, but it's not entirely an act, is it?"
"No," whispered Rlain. "Not entirely."
"What is it, then?" Sarus asked. "Are all Parshendi like you—do you just think differently from us?"
"We do, but not like this." Rlain very briefly debated whether to keep these secrets from Sarus, but, well, Sarus already knew the most important secret. It wasn't as though knowing about the existence of the forms would be any worse. Besides, if he couldn't trust Sarus he was both already dead and the reason all of the other scouts within the Alethi warcamps would join his fate.
He really needed to find a way to make contact with one of the others. It was just so hard to make himself do the long, frustrating, and risky legwork of finding them. He had known only about his own contact, Lashra, and the Listeners had only become a unified whole five short years ago, a year of which had seen him here, isolated and alone. He simply would not know the marbling of most, if any, of the other spies. And while he could probably identify most of them through the other, subtler markers distinguishing dullform from slaveform—size, volition, intellect—it would be difficult. More to the point, it would require diligence and focus, both of which were things Rlain found it very, very difficult to muster these days.
"Listeners bond to spren to take forms," he said once he remembered that he'd been speaking to Sarus, that he'd decided to say more.
"Bond to spren? Like the Radiants?"
"I believe it's similar. The spren involved are not sentient, however, like Archive or Syl. They are ordinary spren, and some of them can be tempted into a Listener's gemheart to grant them a form. Our forms grant us capabilities and skills, and affect our minds to some degree. When we bond no spren at all, we fall into dullform. This is what I am. A form of no skill, no aptitude. While in dullform, our thoughts are clouded. It makes it… easier, to be like the parshmen. Sometimes too easy."
He had attuned Anxiety again while he spoke. Sometimes, he thought Sarus could hear the Rhythms, if not as a Listener did, then at least as an echo. He seemed adept at detecting Rlain's emotions, sometimes more than Rlain himself was. "You're afraid you're becoming more like them? Permanently?"
"I am," Rlain admitted. "We do not know what turned the other singers into the parshmen."
"Turned the—then you're the same species? And they once had minds like yours, but somehow lost them?"
"So our songs tell us," said Rlain. "Generations ago, all singers served our gods, but we listeners chose to flee their service, to pursue freedom in isolation. Sometime between those days and now, the rest of the singers became parshmen. I do not know how, and I do not know why we were spared."
"Fascinating," murmured Sarus. "This all ties together somehow, I feel it. Nahel bonds, the singers becoming parshmen, the change in the Shardblades. What is the missing piece?"
"What missing piece?" Rlain asked, and then was surprised at himself. Sarus had a way of bringing out his self from behind the fog of dullform. It was usually hard to muster something like curiosity, but with Sarus it was easier.
Sarus clasped his hands thoughtfully. "Syl and Archive consider Shardblades abominations," he said. "But neither remembers exactly why. Syl believes something changed in the Knights Radiant, who were the original wielders of the Blades, to turn their once-noble weapons into something that is now so repulsive to the very spren who gave them their powers. I suspect that such a dramatic change must be the Recreance, or at least some part of whatever happened at the Recreance." He tilted his head upward slightly, eyes fixing upon the shutters over the window high on the wall. "Nahel bonds," he said to himself. "Transformations. The Radiants betraying their calling. The Recreance. The Shards. And now, the singers and the parshmen. There's a connection there. If the bond you form with lesser spren is qualitatively the same as the Nahel bond I share with Archive, which I suspect it is, then these events may all share a common thread."
"We had already parted from the rest of the singers by the time any of this happened," said Rlain. "The last songs we have which remember humans at all still sing of your Neshua Kadal, your Knights Radiant, as something that still existed. So that must have been before the Recreance, unless all our songs of that event were somehow lost."
"In fairness, even our written records of those times are littered with more chasms than the Plains," muttered Sarus. "To Damnation with the Hierocracy, and with the storming Sunmaker."
At that moment, the barracks door opened. Sarus glanced over, then stood up. Rlain followed his gaze to see that Kaladin was stomping inside. There was a thunderous scowl on his face.
"Oh, Storms," Sarus muttered. He gave Rlain a nod, then approached Kaladin.
"Back to your game, men," Kaladin said, waving at Gadol and the others and visibly trying and failing to suppress his scowl. "Still a few hours before shift change." Then he turned to Sarus.
"What happened?" Sarus asked, and Rlain found himself listening in.
"I talked to Dalinar," Kaladin said, voice quiet enough that even Rlain's singer ears could barely hear. "About Amaram."
"I take it by your expression that it didn't go well."
"No," Kaladin said grimly. "And all Syl can say about it is that I'm not supposed to be like this. Apparently, I'm 'not a Skybreaker.' Whatever that means."
"Hm. What did the highprince say?"
"He said he'd talk to Amaram." Kaladin bared his teeth. Rlain was startled. He'd never seen the captain like this, surly, grim, and practically vicious. "And then immediately chewed me out for insubordination."
"Insub—" Sarus cut himself off, eyes narrowing. "Wait. Chewed you out? What exactly did he say?"
"He said I walk a line between helpfulness and insubordination, and that I have 'a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder'. Then he sent me away and told me he'd use one of the Queen Dowager's guards as his escort for the night."
"Ah." Sarus' expression was odd. Rlain had never gotten the hang of reading human faces, even in more than a year among them. "I suspect he actually does intend to investigate."
"How the Damnation do you figure that?"
"Because his actions—look. If he thought that you accusing Amaram of the theft of a Shardblade and several murders was insubordinate, he wouldn't have said you were walking a line. No, Highprince Dalinar Kholin is… His mind doesn't work like yours or mine, or any darkeyes' can afford to, Kaladin. He doesn't approach conversation the way we do."
"What are you even talking about?"
"Listen, and I'll get to it—don't take this out on me. Highprince Dalinar is used to being the person who speaks while others listen. That he allows other people to express their thoughts at all is a testament to his character. But nonetheless, he is not easily derailed. I suspect, Kaladin, that his comments about insubordination would have come your way this evening even if you hadn't said a single word about Amaram. He wasn't talking about that at all, I don't think—he was talking about how you treat Prince Adolin and King Elhokar. It's just that, once he decided to speak to you about it, nothing short of a Parshendi assault was going to derail him. It wouldn't even occur to him that you might perceive his comment as referring to your accusation, because in his mind the two conversations are entirely separate."
There was silence for a moment. "Storms, it almost sounds reasonable when you lay it out like that," Kaladin said with a soft curse. "How do you do that? Come up with a whole narrative of what a man's thinking when you weren't even there for the conversation?"
"Your weapon is the spear, Kaladin," Sarus said. "I'm a decent spearman, but my weapon has always been my mind, and its tip has always been my ability to understand people. Highprince Dalinar is, comparatively speaking, a simple man, so long as you're able to let go of a few common assumptions." He sighed. "Storms. The Kholins seem almost determined to drive you away. First Prince Adolin's mistrust and open hostility, now this?"
"And you really don't think any of it's deliberate?"
"I'm quite certain it isn't. Both men are just storming idiots in a few key ways that happen to irritate you in particular. And you have a few rough edges that happen to rub exactly against Prince Adolin's weaknesses."
"Storms, Sarus. You're asking me to just trust that Dalinar's going to look into Amaram? When I know for a fact that every eyewitness is either dead or loyal to him, besides me?"
"You told Dalinar that?"
"Of course I did!"
"Then yes, I am asking exactly that. These things take time, Kaladin. Dalinar is trying to put down his sword and become a political actor, and we should all thank the Almighty that he's erring on the side of caution rather than trying to bowl over everyone in his path the way the Blackthorn once did on the battlefield. But the dun of that sphere is that we have to wait for results with something like this. Don't do anything rash."
Kaladin sighed, looking less angry now, but much more exhausted. "I won't."
"Good," Sarus said. He shook his head. "I'm going outside for a moment. I need to think."
"About this?" Kaladin asked dryly. "Me too."
"I'm fairly confident in my assessment, Kaladin," Sarus reassured. "Please. Just trust in what you know of Dalinar, and in my ability to read people. You've seen me in action a few times now."
"I have. I do." Kaladin shook his head. "I'm going to get some rest before shift change. You still willing to watch Prince Renarin in the morning?"
"Of course." Sarus saluted, then left the barrack.
Rlain watched Kaladin cross the room and fall into his customary seat by the hearth. He stared thoughtfully into the flames.
And, well, hearing about Kaladin apparently testing Dalinar's commitment in some way reminded Rlain of something he'd been meaning to do. It was risky, but he felt as though it was a risk worth taking.
Trying not to attune Anxiety for fear that Kaladin might somehow recognize it for what it was, Rlain approached him and squatted down beside him.
Kaladin blinked at him. "Shen?"
"Sir." Rlain stared at him for a moment, trying to get his foggy mind to put together the words the way he wanted them. Perhaps he should have discussed this with Sarus in advance—the lieutenant always knew how to make Kaladin understand others' perspectives, as he'd just done in their conversation about Dalinar. But, then, there was always a chance Sarus wouldn't approve of this.
After all, as much as Rlain liked him, as much as his presence helped stave off the fog of dullform, Sarus was still human, and Rlain was still technically his enemy.
"Is there something you wanted?" Kaladin prompted.
Rlain hesitated. But, in for a cremling, in for a chasmfiend. "Am I really Bridge Four?" he asked.
"Of course you are." Kaladin looked genuinely confused.
"Where is my spear?"
Kaladin blinked, then held Rlain's gaze. "What do you think would happen if I gave a parshman a spear, Shen?"
"I think," said Rlain, throwing caution, if not to the stormwind, then at least to a light spring breeze. "that I am not Bridge Four. I think I am Bridge Four's slave."
Kaladin let out a sharp breath. It took Rlain a moment to realize that the words seemed to have quite literally winded the captain like a blow to the stomach. "Shen," he said quietly. "I can't arm you. The lighteyes barely tolerate us as it is. I appreciate your help while we were scavenging; I know it was difficult for you to see what we did down there, sometimes."
Unconsciously, Rlain found himself attuning the Rhythm of the Lost. No you don't, he thought, but he wasn't angry. And that wasn't just the muting effect of dullform. He had been furious in the moment, furious enough that it had penetrated even through the fog over his thoughts, but now… he understood. He hated it, but he understood.
Better to desecrate corpses than to allow his friends to join them.
"You are a part of Bridge Four," Kaladin continued. "Storms know you've been through at least as much as any of us. You are one of us. But I can't give you a spear. Think of the storm it would cause."
Rlain heard everything the man was saying. And he acknowledged it was probably largely true. But… You're willing to be actively insubordinate against Dalinar's son, and to accuse one of his own personal friends of murder to his face, but you won't risk his ire just to give me a way to defend myself?
He welcomed the anger, the hurt, and allowed himself to attune Betrayal for just a moment before letting it fade into Pain. "A slave I am, then," he said, standing up and turning away from Kaladin. The captain—the human—let him go without another word.
Less than a minute later, before Rlain had done more than laid down in his bunk, Natam burst into the barrack. "The King!" he exclaimed, face red with exertion. He had clearly sprinted all the way to the barracks from wherever he had been stationed. Behind him, Rlain saw Sarus coming inside, looking curious and wary. "An assassin!"
Every man in the barrack jumped to his feet. Even Rlain rose.
"Battah's plucked eyelashes," swore Murk as Kaladin sprinted past Natam without waiting for another word. "What happened?"
"He's alive," Natam said hastily between gulps of air. "An attempt. He's unhurt."
Every other man in the barrack relaxed. Sarus sighed. "You couldn't have led with that?"
Natam might have flushed. He was already so red it was hard to tell. "Sorry, sir."
"No harm done," Sarus said. "Unless, of course, Kaladin trips and falls down a chasm on the way up to the palace, in which case I'm sure every one of us will hold you personally responsible." He grinned. "That was a joke."
"Ha, ha," said Natam dutifully. But somehow, despite the fact that no one had actually laughed, Sarus' words had broken the tension.
"Still," said Sarus, "I'd best follow him. Murk, you have command."
"Got it."
Sarus gave Rlain a quick nod, then turned and left the barrack, jogging after Kaladin. Rlain, seeing no reason to do anything else, laid down and tried to sleep.
If Sarus had remained, Rlain thought he would have liked to speak to him about his conversation with Kaladin. Would Sarus have disapproved of his desire to have a spear of his own? It wasn't as though he wanted to use it on the humans. Sarus would have seen that, surely. But, then again, Sarus was human, like Kaladin. He might not care about the Alethi armies and the war at large, but if there was even a small risk to Kaladin or the men?
Sarus would do exactly what he was doing now. Running out into the night just to make sure Kaladin didn't fall into a chasm. Leaving Rlain surrounded by men who didn't understand him, completely alone.
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35
Dullform
-x-x-x-
35
Dullform
-x-x-x-
Not many of us survived those purges. Most who did crept into tunnels deep beneath the mountains, hiding like the worms for which Men named us.
-x-x-x-
Rlain didn't look up as Sarus sat down on the bunk beside his. He simply continued to slump there, the cot bending around him, eyes forward and gazing at nothing.
Rlain had taken dullform before, of course. Like every other Listener, he had spent shifts in the Hall of Art trying to attract spren to experiment with new forms in the early days of the war. It was why he had elected to take up this position as a spy—he had found that his mind seemed to work better than many of the others', when they failed to bond a spren and fell into dullform.
But the longest he had ever been in dullform before coming to the Alethi camp had been two weeks. He was now pushing a year and a half. And for the past few months of that, he hadn't even spoken to another Listener—not since he had been sent to the bridge crews. It wasn't possible for a bridgeman to clandestinely meet with another Listener scout.
Sometimes he wondered if he would wake up one morning and find that dullform had given way to slaveform. If he would find himself not Listener, but parshman. Maybe that was how the other singers had become the mindless thralls they were—maybe the spren had rejected them so completely, so utterly, that all of them had been trapped in dullform for so long that their minds simply… faded away.
The most terrifying part was that he couldn't even muster terror at the thought. Just a yawning, existential dread.
The only saving grace of this assignment was that there was no one who could hear the Rhythms here. So he didn't need to force himself to attune Peace or Resolve in moments like these. He could follow his natural inclinations. Right now, that inclination was to attune Anxiety.
Sometimes he even forced himself to enhance his own natural inclinations by attuning a rhythm whose associated negative emotion he was only barely feeling. Because even an awful Rhythm like Despair, Betrayal, or Pain was so, so much better than the horrible silence. Sometimes, Rlain lost the Rhythms entirely, as though the blanket constantly smothering his thoughts had closed up entirely around his ears. In those moments, the dread that he might be turning into a parshman clarified into a deep horror… but still with none of the sharp pressure, none of the push to act, that terror would have provided.
There was no instinct to act in dullform. Never. Any time Rlain did anything, he had to force himself to make the choice. All he ever really wanted to do was simply sit, like a stone in the bottom of a chasm, occasionally pushed hither or thither by the storm—the will and desires of others—but never his own volition.
Outside, the highstorm was passing. Rlain had forced himself not to attune any of the Rhythms or channel the emotions that would attract a spren for the duration. As much as he longed for it, craved to feel one of the forms again, to feel a spren pulsing within his gemheart, he couldn't. Mustn't.
"You aren't just acting, are you?" Sarus asked softly. His voice was low enough that none of the other men in the barracks, most of whom were laughing as they played a game with cards around Gadol's bunk. "I wondered how you managed to act like a parshman for so long, but it's not entirely an act, is it?"
"No," whispered Rlain. "Not entirely."
"What is it, then?" Sarus asked. "Are all Parshendi like you—do you just think differently from us?"
"We do, but not like this." Rlain very briefly debated whether to keep these secrets from Sarus, but, well, Sarus already knew the most important secret. It wasn't as though knowing about the existence of the forms would be any worse. Besides, if he couldn't trust Sarus he was both already dead and the reason all of the other scouts within the Alethi warcamps would join his fate.
He really needed to find a way to make contact with one of the others. It was just so hard to make himself do the long, frustrating, and risky legwork of finding them. He had known only about his own contact, Lashra, and the Listeners had only become a unified whole five short years ago, a year of which had seen him here, isolated and alone. He simply would not know the marbling of most, if any, of the other spies. And while he could probably identify most of them through the other, subtler markers distinguishing dullform from slaveform—size, volition, intellect—it would be difficult. More to the point, it would require diligence and focus, both of which were things Rlain found it very, very difficult to muster these days.
"Listeners bond to spren to take forms," he said once he remembered that he'd been speaking to Sarus, that he'd decided to say more.
"Bond to spren? Like the Radiants?"
"I believe it's similar. The spren involved are not sentient, however, like Archive or Syl. They are ordinary spren, and some of them can be tempted into a Listener's gemheart to grant them a form. Our forms grant us capabilities and skills, and affect our minds to some degree. When we bond no spren at all, we fall into dullform. This is what I am. A form of no skill, no aptitude. While in dullform, our thoughts are clouded. It makes it… easier, to be like the parshmen. Sometimes too easy."
He had attuned Anxiety again while he spoke. Sometimes, he thought Sarus could hear the Rhythms, if not as a Listener did, then at least as an echo. He seemed adept at detecting Rlain's emotions, sometimes more than Rlain himself was. "You're afraid you're becoming more like them? Permanently?"
"I am," Rlain admitted. "We do not know what turned the other singers into the parshmen."
"Turned the—then you're the same species? And they once had minds like yours, but somehow lost them?"
"So our songs tell us," said Rlain. "Generations ago, all singers served our gods, but we listeners chose to flee their service, to pursue freedom in isolation. Sometime between those days and now, the rest of the singers became parshmen. I do not know how, and I do not know why we were spared."
"Fascinating," murmured Sarus. "This all ties together somehow, I feel it. Nahel bonds, the singers becoming parshmen, the change in the Shardblades. What is the missing piece?"
"What missing piece?" Rlain asked, and then was surprised at himself. Sarus had a way of bringing out his self from behind the fog of dullform. It was usually hard to muster something like curiosity, but with Sarus it was easier.
Sarus clasped his hands thoughtfully. "Syl and Archive consider Shardblades abominations," he said. "But neither remembers exactly why. Syl believes something changed in the Knights Radiant, who were the original wielders of the Blades, to turn their once-noble weapons into something that is now so repulsive to the very spren who gave them their powers. I suspect that such a dramatic change must be the Recreance, or at least some part of whatever happened at the Recreance." He tilted his head upward slightly, eyes fixing upon the shutters over the window high on the wall. "Nahel bonds," he said to himself. "Transformations. The Radiants betraying their calling. The Recreance. The Shards. And now, the singers and the parshmen. There's a connection there. If the bond you form with lesser spren is qualitatively the same as the Nahel bond I share with Archive, which I suspect it is, then these events may all share a common thread."
"We had already parted from the rest of the singers by the time any of this happened," said Rlain. "The last songs we have which remember humans at all still sing of your Neshua Kadal, your Knights Radiant, as something that still existed. So that must have been before the Recreance, unless all our songs of that event were somehow lost."
"In fairness, even our written records of those times are littered with more chasms than the Plains," muttered Sarus. "To Damnation with the Hierocracy, and with the storming Sunmaker."
At that moment, the barracks door opened. Sarus glanced over, then stood up. Rlain followed his gaze to see that Kaladin was stomping inside. There was a thunderous scowl on his face.
"Oh, Storms," Sarus muttered. He gave Rlain a nod, then approached Kaladin.
"Back to your game, men," Kaladin said, waving at Gadol and the others and visibly trying and failing to suppress his scowl. "Still a few hours before shift change." Then he turned to Sarus.
"What happened?" Sarus asked, and Rlain found himself listening in.
"I talked to Dalinar," Kaladin said, voice quiet enough that even Rlain's singer ears could barely hear. "About Amaram."
"I take it by your expression that it didn't go well."
"No," Kaladin said grimly. "And all Syl can say about it is that I'm not supposed to be like this. Apparently, I'm 'not a Skybreaker.' Whatever that means."
"Hm. What did the highprince say?"
"He said he'd talk to Amaram." Kaladin bared his teeth. Rlain was startled. He'd never seen the captain like this, surly, grim, and practically vicious. "And then immediately chewed me out for insubordination."
"Insub—" Sarus cut himself off, eyes narrowing. "Wait. Chewed you out? What exactly did he say?"
"He said I walk a line between helpfulness and insubordination, and that I have 'a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder'. Then he sent me away and told me he'd use one of the Queen Dowager's guards as his escort for the night."
"Ah." Sarus' expression was odd. Rlain had never gotten the hang of reading human faces, even in more than a year among them. "I suspect he actually does intend to investigate."
"How the Damnation do you figure that?"
"Because his actions—look. If he thought that you accusing Amaram of the theft of a Shardblade and several murders was insubordinate, he wouldn't have said you were walking a line. No, Highprince Dalinar Kholin is… His mind doesn't work like yours or mine, or any darkeyes' can afford to, Kaladin. He doesn't approach conversation the way we do."
"What are you even talking about?"
"Listen, and I'll get to it—don't take this out on me. Highprince Dalinar is used to being the person who speaks while others listen. That he allows other people to express their thoughts at all is a testament to his character. But nonetheless, he is not easily derailed. I suspect, Kaladin, that his comments about insubordination would have come your way this evening even if you hadn't said a single word about Amaram. He wasn't talking about that at all, I don't think—he was talking about how you treat Prince Adolin and King Elhokar. It's just that, once he decided to speak to you about it, nothing short of a Parshendi assault was going to derail him. It wouldn't even occur to him that you might perceive his comment as referring to your accusation, because in his mind the two conversations are entirely separate."
There was silence for a moment. "Storms, it almost sounds reasonable when you lay it out like that," Kaladin said with a soft curse. "How do you do that? Come up with a whole narrative of what a man's thinking when you weren't even there for the conversation?"
"Your weapon is the spear, Kaladin," Sarus said. "I'm a decent spearman, but my weapon has always been my mind, and its tip has always been my ability to understand people. Highprince Dalinar is, comparatively speaking, a simple man, so long as you're able to let go of a few common assumptions." He sighed. "Storms. The Kholins seem almost determined to drive you away. First Prince Adolin's mistrust and open hostility, now this?"
"And you really don't think any of it's deliberate?"
"I'm quite certain it isn't. Both men are just storming idiots in a few key ways that happen to irritate you in particular. And you have a few rough edges that happen to rub exactly against Prince Adolin's weaknesses."
"Storms, Sarus. You're asking me to just trust that Dalinar's going to look into Amaram? When I know for a fact that every eyewitness is either dead or loyal to him, besides me?"
"You told Dalinar that?"
"Of course I did!"
"Then yes, I am asking exactly that. These things take time, Kaladin. Dalinar is trying to put down his sword and become a political actor, and we should all thank the Almighty that he's erring on the side of caution rather than trying to bowl over everyone in his path the way the Blackthorn once did on the battlefield. But the dun of that sphere is that we have to wait for results with something like this. Don't do anything rash."
Kaladin sighed, looking less angry now, but much more exhausted. "I won't."
"Good," Sarus said. He shook his head. "I'm going outside for a moment. I need to think."
"About this?" Kaladin asked dryly. "Me too."
"I'm fairly confident in my assessment, Kaladin," Sarus reassured. "Please. Just trust in what you know of Dalinar, and in my ability to read people. You've seen me in action a few times now."
"I have. I do." Kaladin shook his head. "I'm going to get some rest before shift change. You still willing to watch Prince Renarin in the morning?"
"Of course." Sarus saluted, then left the barrack.
Rlain watched Kaladin cross the room and fall into his customary seat by the hearth. He stared thoughtfully into the flames.
And, well, hearing about Kaladin apparently testing Dalinar's commitment in some way reminded Rlain of something he'd been meaning to do. It was risky, but he felt as though it was a risk worth taking.
Trying not to attune Anxiety for fear that Kaladin might somehow recognize it for what it was, Rlain approached him and squatted down beside him.
Kaladin blinked at him. "Shen?"
"Sir." Rlain stared at him for a moment, trying to get his foggy mind to put together the words the way he wanted them. Perhaps he should have discussed this with Sarus in advance—the lieutenant always knew how to make Kaladin understand others' perspectives, as he'd just done in their conversation about Dalinar. But, then, there was always a chance Sarus wouldn't approve of this.
After all, as much as Rlain liked him, as much as his presence helped stave off the fog of dullform, Sarus was still human, and Rlain was still technically his enemy.
"Is there something you wanted?" Kaladin prompted.
Rlain hesitated. But, in for a cremling, in for a chasmfiend. "Am I really Bridge Four?" he asked.
"Of course you are." Kaladin looked genuinely confused.
"Where is my spear?"
Kaladin blinked, then held Rlain's gaze. "What do you think would happen if I gave a parshman a spear, Shen?"
"I think," said Rlain, throwing caution, if not to the stormwind, then at least to a light spring breeze. "that I am not Bridge Four. I think I am Bridge Four's slave."
Kaladin let out a sharp breath. It took Rlain a moment to realize that the words seemed to have quite literally winded the captain like a blow to the stomach. "Shen," he said quietly. "I can't arm you. The lighteyes barely tolerate us as it is. I appreciate your help while we were scavenging; I know it was difficult for you to see what we did down there, sometimes."
Unconsciously, Rlain found himself attuning the Rhythm of the Lost. No you don't, he thought, but he wasn't angry. And that wasn't just the muting effect of dullform. He had been furious in the moment, furious enough that it had penetrated even through the fog over his thoughts, but now… he understood. He hated it, but he understood.
Better to desecrate corpses than to allow his friends to join them.
"You are a part of Bridge Four," Kaladin continued. "Storms know you've been through at least as much as any of us. You are one of us. But I can't give you a spear. Think of the storm it would cause."
Rlain heard everything the man was saying. And he acknowledged it was probably largely true. But… You're willing to be actively insubordinate against Dalinar's son, and to accuse one of his own personal friends of murder to his face, but you won't risk his ire just to give me a way to defend myself?
He welcomed the anger, the hurt, and allowed himself to attune Betrayal for just a moment before letting it fade into Pain. "A slave I am, then," he said, standing up and turning away from Kaladin. The captain—the human—let him go without another word.
Less than a minute later, before Rlain had done more than laid down in his bunk, Natam burst into the barrack. "The King!" he exclaimed, face red with exertion. He had clearly sprinted all the way to the barracks from wherever he had been stationed. Behind him, Rlain saw Sarus coming inside, looking curious and wary. "An assassin!"
Every man in the barrack jumped to his feet. Even Rlain rose.
"Battah's plucked eyelashes," swore Murk as Kaladin sprinted past Natam without waiting for another word. "What happened?"
"He's alive," Natam said hastily between gulps of air. "An attempt. He's unhurt."
Every other man in the barrack relaxed. Sarus sighed. "You couldn't have led with that?"
Natam might have flushed. He was already so red it was hard to tell. "Sorry, sir."
"No harm done," Sarus said. "Unless, of course, Kaladin trips and falls down a chasm on the way up to the palace, in which case I'm sure every one of us will hold you personally responsible." He grinned. "That was a joke."
"Ha, ha," said Natam dutifully. But somehow, despite the fact that no one had actually laughed, Sarus' words had broken the tension.
"Still," said Sarus, "I'd best follow him. Murk, you have command."
"Got it."
Sarus gave Rlain a quick nod, then turned and left the barrack, jogging after Kaladin. Rlain, seeing no reason to do anything else, laid down and tried to sleep.
If Sarus had remained, Rlain thought he would have liked to speak to him about his conversation with Kaladin. Would Sarus have disapproved of his desire to have a spear of his own? It wasn't as though he wanted to use it on the humans. Sarus would have seen that, surely. But, then again, Sarus was human, like Kaladin. He might not care about the Alethi armies and the war at large, but if there was even a small risk to Kaladin or the men?
Sarus would do exactly what he was doing now. Running out into the night just to make sure Kaladin didn't fall into a chasm. Leaving Rlain surrounded by men who didn't understand him, completely alone.
deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
In canon, it eventually leads Kaladin to doing so, but it takes a fair while, so it's unclear whether Sarus has changed anything here.
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Namer
ᵘʷᵘ
- Location
- Bangladesh
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I don't think we've even come close to the downsides.
I feel like Sarus teaching Kaladin to be more politically savvy and to understand how Lighteyes think has the potential to detail his entire Words of Radiance character arc, and that means it's completely up in the air when he swears the Third Ideal. And given how quickly things move once the Everstorm hits, Kaladin being stuck in the Second Ideal post-Everstorm could be very bad.
My read on this is that Adonalsium was an amalgamation of small pieces of the Valar, and Honour picked up many of the pieces of Tulkas. But Morgoth was not around for the Shattering of Arda — he was thrust through the Doors of Night out of Arda. He's whole, but very much weakened. And thus, "The Doors of Night are open".
I think it's the inaccessibility of it all — that crucial worldbuilding and setting information are so strictly on a need-to-know basis between Sanderson and the readers. Settings that are popular with fanfiction have one thing in common: that the rules of the setting, regardless of complexity, are fully laid out early on. Meanwhile the Cosmere, nearly 20 years on (Elantris was published in 2005), still has crucial setting information Sanderson's keeping close to his chest.
It's painful when you want to be authentic. If you wrote a Stormlight fic before Oathbringer came out, for instance, you'd be making up major setting details yourself and probably get all the details of Shadesmar and the Parshendi-Odium relationship wrong.
Heck, I'm impressed @Lithos Maitreya is bold enough to do this and plan things far ahead when we still barely know anything about the Shattering or Yolen.
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
It's more than a little nervewracking. It helps that enough of the underlying magic of the Cosmere has been revealed that even if I know there will be new twists in Stormlight 5, I can predict how those twists may fit within the underlying mechanics.
This is, like all my crossovers, an AU. I try to be canon compliant as far as I can so that the readers feel grounded and familiar, and so that savvy readers have the information they need to make predictions and speculate intelligently. But things like the Shattering are far enough removed from the main thrust of the story that I don't need to worry about complying perfectly with them.
Writing Lord of the Rings fic has helped with this anxiety. The legendarium gets very internally contradictory when you get deep enough into the sources, because of the way Tolkien and his successors have iterated on the lore for decades. It's trained me to assess carefully what canonical information I need to adhere to, what can be safely played with, and what I don't actually need to be completely certain about. Writing Destiny, and more recently Elden Ring and Dark Souls, fanfic has also helped for the same reasons.
36: Trust
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
For myself, I fled south. That was a dangerous road, for it took me nearer to Gondor. I traveled by night, first following the Anduin with the Misty Mountain beneath my right wing. I then turned left, crossing over the vastness of the Greenwood in a single long flight, six days without landing.
Sarus found Kaladin slumped against a wall, catching his breath as he looked into the king's study. Inside, the whole Kholin family had gathered. Elhokar was seemingly berating the captain of the King's Guard, a soldier in Kholin blue named Idrin. Frustratingly, he seemed to be pointing out Kaladin as a better example of a guard—which would make integrating Bridge Four with the other soldiers even harder than it already was.
"Moash," called Kaladin between gasps of air. Sarus followed his gaze and saw that, yes, Moash was there among the others. Leyten and Malop were supposed to be here—it was their shift—but Moash had finished his shift watching Elhokar over an hour ago. "You're supposed to be back at the barrack."
"So are you," Moash pointed out.
Sarus narrowed his eyes at the man. No, Kaladin was not supposed to be asleep. True, Kaladin's shift had been slated to end at the same time Moash's did. And, true, Dalinar had dismissed him early. But Kaladin was captain of Bridge Four—of course he would come the moment they received word of an attempted assassination.
What was Moash doing here?
"Were you here when it happened?" Kaladin asked.
"I'd just left after my shift with the King's Guard." He beckoned. "Come see."
He led Sarus and Kaladin out onto the balcony. Sarus' eyes widened at the site. The iron railing had fallen out of its mountings and was now dangling over the edge, leaving the rain-slick stone of the balcony just one careless step from a hundred-foot drop onto the irregular rock of the Plains. Several other King's Guard members were examining the damage with sphere lamps, but they parted to give the three of them room to see.
"From what we can tell, the king came out here to think after the storm. Then…" Moash gestured at the torn railing, "this."
Kaladin knelt by the empty footings where the railing had been mounted. "The railing just pulled free?" he ran his finger along the opening, then examined the mortar dust that came free. "Could just be a flaw in the design."
"Captain, I was here when it happened," one of the guardsmen said. "It fell right out, barely a sound. He leans on that railing often, sir, and it's never done anything like that before."
"Hm." Kaladin stood and walked to another section of the railing, testing it with a push. It held. It didn't so much as budge. Sarus walked past him to examine the point where the railing had separated to allow one portion to fall while the rest held.
"Kaladin," he said, too quietly for the other guardsmen to hear, touching the perfectly smooth edge where the railing had been severed cleanly at a joint. "Look."
Kaladin followed his gaze. His expression hardened. He gave Sarus a nod, then turned and strode back inside to speak to Dalinar.
Sarus remained outside, on the balcony. "What was your name, again?" he asked the guard who had admitted to being present at the time.
"Lauck, sir."
Sarus grinned self-deprecatingly. "None of that 'sir' business," he said. "I lucked into this position. Captain Kaladin is deserving of all the respect he gets, but I'm just a man who happened to be next to him when he did incredible things."
Lauck huffed a soft laugh. "There are rumors all over camp about it," he said. "Is it true he single-handedly killed an entire Parshendi battalion?"
"I think by that point there wasn't enough organization left on the field to have battalions," Sarus said. "At least not that we could tell. But his spear tasted a great deal of their orange blood that day." He glanced over at the dangling railing. "How did His Majesty avoid falling, Lauck? And who else was on duty at the time?"
"Well, he caught himself on the railing where it's dangling there," said Lauck, pointing. "And then I came out and helped him back onto the balcony. As for who else was on duty, no one was inside the room with a view of things besides me. But two of your men—Leyten and Malop, I think?—were both stationed right outside the door, and Daletel, Tus, Velis, and Ameril were elsewhere in the palace."
"Where in the palace?"
"Daletel and Tus were stationed at the end of the corridor, by the northern stairwell. Velis and Ameril were patrolling the foyer."
"Excellent," said Sarus. "You don't happen to know who all was on the previous shift, do you? And where they were stationed?"
Lauck frowned, visibly trying to remember. "Melit, Draun, Brovash, Dake, Pevral, Gaen, and… one of your men, I think. Don't remember who. And I don't know where any of them were stationed, sorry. Someone would probably have been in here, though; I'd have thought they'd see something."
Moash. "Have there been any recent recruitments to the King's Guard?"
Lauck's eyes widened. "You don't think one of us did this somehow, do you?"
"No," Sarus quickly reassured him. "No, of course I don't. But…" he hesitated, making a show of looking over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. "You know how His Majesty can get, sometimes," he said. "He worries about assassins. Understandably, given what happened to his father. But if I can get enough information to explicitly clear everyone, it'll make all our jobs easier going forward. No one actually suspects any of you, it's just about reassuring His Majesty."
"Oh, that makes sense." Lauck looked relieved. "But no, no one joined the Guard recently. Everyone who was on duty today's been in the unit since… at least a year ago? I think the last man to join up was Pevral, and he signed on in Shash of last year."
"That'll be a relief to His Majesty, I'm sure," said Sarus, smiling at Lauck. "Thanks, Lauck. I'll go report that back to the Captain."
"Of course."
Sarus turned and went back inside, thoughtful. He approached Kaladin just in time to hear Dalinar saying, "The king is insisting that I put you in charge—" he stopped, glancing over Kaladin's shoulder at Sarus.
Kaladin followed his gaze. "Sarus," he said. "You find anything out?"
"Nothing immediately helpful," said Sarus, knowing that he couldn't make even the most oblique accusations within Dalinar's hearing. He saluted the highprince. "Did I hear right? Is Bridge Four being placed in charge of His Majesty's safety as well?"
Dalinar studied him for a long moment. Those pale blue eyes in that heavy-set face were, if not suspicious, then at least wary.
Sarus, for one glittering moment, hated the man. He had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Kaladin on the rock of the Tower. He had been there when they had pulled Dalinar through the line of Parshendi—Listeners, as Rlain called his people. Yet while Kaladin had quickly become one of Dalinar's most trusted confidantes, at least among his darkeyed servants and soldiers, Sarus was still deserving only of suspicion.
Then he remembered what happened to the last lighteyes who let him get close, and the hate turned to bile in his mouth.
"Yes," Dalinar finally said, seemingly deciding that Sarus could be trusted.
"I'm not ready," Kaladin said. "My men are stretched thin as it is, sir, and we still haven't got the other former bridgemen properly trained. Not even close."
"I know. But—you realize this was done on the inside?"
Kaladin nodded grimly. "Whoever it was had to have come from inside this chamber," he said.
"And men in the King's Guard might have had access to his armor, too, that day when his Plate broke months ago." Dalinar's face looked ghastly pale in the spherelight, like a specter haunting the Plains. "I don't know who I can trust these days. Can I trust you, Kaladin Stormblessed?"
"Yes, sir," said Kaladin firmly. "I swear it."
I told you, Sarus thought with some satisfaction. Dalinar was a man who trampled over any attempt to openly redirect his thoughts, but he was not angry with Kaladin. Not really. He saw Kaladin as a kindred spirit, an honorable man in a sea of madness and disdain. He would investigate Amaram. Whether he would find the truth, however, depended on more than just his willingness to trust Kaladin.
That, however, Sarus could probably find a way to help with.
"And you trust your men?" Dalinar asked.
"I do." There wasn't a trace of doubt in Kaladin's voice.
Damnation, thought Sarus.
"I'm going to relieve Idrin of his post and give him a command in my army," said Dalinar. "It will sate the king, and I'll make certain he knows he's not being punished. To help bolster your numbers, I'll ask him for his best men and assign them to you. But in the long run, I want only men from the bridge crews—men you trust, men who have ample reason to hate Sadeas and no part in warcamp politics—watching him. Choose carefully. I don't want to replace probably loyal men with easily-bought former thieves."
"Yes, sir. Sir—this wasn't the assassination attempt you were expecting, was it?"
"No. This wasn't the work of someone who knows what they're doing. If Sadeas—or worse, the man who killed my brother—decides to strike, things will go far worse for us. We need to make ready quickly, or the storm will rip us from the stone like weak rockbuds." Dalinar turned and left the room.
Kaladin turned to Sarus. "We need to rework the schedules," he said, looking and sounding suddenly exhausted. "We're not just going to be sending a few people alongside the King's Guard patrols. Now they're our patrols."
"Yes," Sarus said. An idea was forming in his head. A way to, hopefully, keep Elhokar safe from the traitor in their midst without forcing Kaladin to confront the possibility that one of his men might turn against them until Sarus at least had more real evidence.
A way which had the added benefit of giving Sarus the influence, the power, he so desperately craved.
"I can take charge of the patrols over the king," he said. "I know His Majesty rubs you the wrong way."
Kaladin grimaced. "Dalinar put me in charge of Elhokar's guard, though."
"He also made you a Captain," Sarus countered. "You have command of over a thousand men, now, even if most of them are still in training. He expects you to delegate. You have to delegate. You're being given responsibilities based, not on what you can do personally, but on what you can organize people into doing. I'm not saying you'll never have to watch His Majesty personally—you will, if only because you've impressed the king and he'll complain if he feels like you aren't giving his safety the attention it deserves. But I can take over most of the time."
Kaladin looked at him thoughtfully. Then he nodded. "Fine," he said. "I won't lie, it's a relief. You get along better with the lighteyes than I do."
"I think Dalinar would disagree," Sarus commented with a small smile, burying the poison deep.
"Dalinar's different. You said it yourself." Kaladin shook his head, looking out at the balcony, still dimly illuminated by the sphere lamps. "I don't like this," he said quietly. "I'm supposed to protect these people from threats I can't see, threats I barely understand. I don't even like some of these people, but they're putting me in charge of their survival?"
"Who better," Sarus asked softly, "than a Windrunner?"
Kaladin's lips twisted. It wasn't a happy expression. "I suppose," he said. "I'm going back to the barracks. You coming too?"
Sarus glanced around. Adolin had left, following his father, and so had Navani. Only Renarin and Elhokar remained. Renarin was standing in a corner, methodically wiping down his spectacles, carefully avoiding everyone's gazes. The king, meanwhile, seemed about to leave, beckoning his current guards—three of whom were of the original King's Guard, joined by Leyten and Malop. Renarin's only guard at the moment was Treff, who seemed to be on the verge of nodding off.
"I don't think I could sleep now anyway," Sarus said, turning back to Kaladin. "And I want to introduce myself to the king, see if he has anything he wants me to look at now. He'll be pleased to see the man you placed in charge of his guard taking initiative."
"I suppose," Kaladin said. "You planning to take this shift from someone?"
"I think so," Sarus said. "I really don't think I could sleep now, I slept some during the storm." He glanced over. "Treff, you want to head back to the barrack?"
Treff blinked at him, clearly barely awake. "Uh. I mean. It's my shift?"
"I'll take over." Sarus grinned at him. "Go, it's been an exciting night. Get some rest."
Treff shot Kaladin a glance, but Kaladin just nodded, looking amused. Treff shot Sarus a grateful smile, then scurried away.
"Get some rest," Sarus told Kaladin. "I'll see you at shift change."
Kaladin gave him a nod, then turned and left.
Sarus stood looking after him for a long moment, then turned just in time to see the king leaving the chamber. "Your Majesty!" he called.
Elhokar turned. "Yes?"
Sarus approached and bowed low. "Your Majesty, I am Sarus. One of Captain Kaladin's lieutenants, and the best of his spearmen. He's placed me in charge of your guard, so long as you're amenable to the appointment."
"He trusts you?" Elhokar asks suspiciously.
"He does," Sarus said. "He has returned to the barracks, but you can confirm with him in the morning."
"I will," Elhokar said stiffly. "So long as he and my uncle both approve, I accept your appointment."
A king shouldn't be looking to his uncle for approval, Sarus thought, but he didn't say anything. Apart from everything else, a king who was uncertain in his decisions was one Sarus could easily influence. "Before you retire for the evening," Sarus said, "I just wanted to ask if there was anything in particular you wanted me to investigate. Anyone you suspect, or any information that might be useful to an investigation."
Elhokar studied him with narrowed eyes. "You're really taking this seriously? You don't think it was just an accident?"
"I have no strong evidence whether or not it was an accident," said Sarus. "But this is your safety we're talking about, Your Majesty. It is my duty to assume the worst."
Elhokar tried—and failed—to hide his relief. "I'm glad to hear you think so," he said. "I don't know who could have done this. Several of the highprinces might think their positions would be improved by my death, whether rightly or wrongly. Highprince Sadeas… is at the top of the list." The king looked sad about that. Sarus wondered what his relationship to Sadeas had been before the man had left his uncle to die.
"I see," said Sarus. "I am not… welcome, in the Sadeas warcamp, to say the least. But I will see about employing people to investigate on my behalf. Please let me know if you think of anything else that may be useful for an investigation."
"I will," Elhokar promised. "It's good to have a guard who takes his duty seriously."
"I'm sure many of your guards take their duties seriously," said Sarus. "But most, I suspect, do not have my particular skills or temperament. Rest easy, Your Majesty—I will allow no harm to come to you."
"Good. Farewell… Sarus, was it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well."
Elhokar left, followed by his current guards. With him gone, Sarus turned and stood at attention just outside the room's doors, positioning himself so that he would be visible and identifiable from inside. Renarin stepped outside a moment later to join him. "That was impressive," he said quietly.
"Elhokar is not a complicated man. He fears for his safety, which is reasonable. He worries that this fear is cause for shame, and that makes him even more fearful that being a shameful king will make him an even larger target. His anxieties circle one another like axehounds. All I needed to do was relieve some of that tension."
"And now you're in charge of his guard," Renarin observed. "That'll be an opportunity for you, won't it?"
"So I hope."
Renarin shot him a sudden look. "You won't hurt him, will you?"
"I have no intention of doing so," Sarus said. "If I did, I certainly wouldn't be openly angling to take charge of his safety. Besides, if he dies, my best chance at improving my position dies with him."
Sarus might have no particular loyalty for Alethkar anymore. He certainly had no loyalty to the Listeners either, despite liking Rlain. But he found that for all his bitterness, he was loyal to Kaladin. To the rest of Bridge Four, Rlain included. And, of course, he was loyal to himself. As he always had been. Taking charge of Elhokar's guard would give him the ear of the king of Alethkar, and from there… well. Sarus didn't know what he would do with the influence that could win him, but that was no excuse not to seek it. If a man was trapped in a house of a thousand locked doors, not knowing where they led was no excuse not to reach for any keys he could see.
"Good," Renarin said. "He doesn't like me much, but he's still family."
Sarus smiled slightly. "I understand," he said quietly.
They stood for a time in companionable silence.
"Glys can come out, if he would like," Sarus said quietly. "It's not as though I would tell anyone about him. We're on the same plateau, you and I."
"Glys is… hesitant, around people," Renarin said slowly. "More even than me. I try not to push him."
"I can understand that." Sarus glanced at Renarin's chest where, yes, a red glow was emanating from his pocket. His lips twitched and he looked back out at the night.
"I should be going to bed," Renarin said. "It's been a long night."
"As your bodyguard, it would be my honor to escort you to your father's palace."
Renarin didn't smile, exactly, but he let out a soft, amused breath. "We're actually staying here, tonight," he said. "It… simplifies things, on nights like these."
"That does simplify things," said Sarus neutrally. "I would have expected more propriety from your father and the Queen Mother, however."
Renarin flushed. "They don't—it's not like that, he said. "It's just that none of us want to be riding between the warcamps at night, things being how they are."
"Ah, of course."
Once they reached Renarin's rooms and the prince bade him good night before closing the door, Sarus took a post just outside and leaned his shortspear on his shoulder.
"The Truthwatcher is an odd friend for you," Archive commented quietly, expanding on his shoulder until she was easily visible. "His… social skills are not. You are very different."
"That's part of it," Sarus admitted. "It's pleasant to have someone who listens without judgement. I can tell him the truth about my train of thought, largely without holding anything back. It's refreshing. I was something of a mentor to him when we were younger. He really has grown much better."
"Mm." She was silent for a moment. "Where does his mistspren hide?" she asked. "I did not see where he might have been."
"His breast pocket," Sarus said.
"Ah, then you saw the plants when we were standing still?"
Sarus frowned. "The plants?"
"That is how a mistspren appears on this side, if I recall. A shimmer of light, as if refracted through crystal. When stillness is, they grow plants of light. A mark of their nature as of Cultivation."
"That's not what Glys looks like. He's a red crystal, dripping motes of light upward."
Archive slowly turned to look at him. "That," she said, "is not what a mistspren should look like."
Sarus blinked. "What does that mean?"
"My knowledge is not," said Archive grimly. "But my suspicion is nothing good."
-x-x-x-
36
Trust
-x-x-x-
36
Trust
-x-x-x-
For myself, I fled south. That was a dangerous road, for it took me nearer to Gondor. I traveled by night, first following the Anduin with the Misty Mountain beneath my right wing. I then turned left, crossing over the vastness of the Greenwood in a single long flight, six days without landing.
-x-x-x-
Sarus found Kaladin slumped against a wall, catching his breath as he looked into the king's study. Inside, the whole Kholin family had gathered. Elhokar was seemingly berating the captain of the King's Guard, a soldier in Kholin blue named Idrin. Frustratingly, he seemed to be pointing out Kaladin as a better example of a guard—which would make integrating Bridge Four with the other soldiers even harder than it already was.
"Moash," called Kaladin between gasps of air. Sarus followed his gaze and saw that, yes, Moash was there among the others. Leyten and Malop were supposed to be here—it was their shift—but Moash had finished his shift watching Elhokar over an hour ago. "You're supposed to be back at the barrack."
"So are you," Moash pointed out.
Sarus narrowed his eyes at the man. No, Kaladin was not supposed to be asleep. True, Kaladin's shift had been slated to end at the same time Moash's did. And, true, Dalinar had dismissed him early. But Kaladin was captain of Bridge Four—of course he would come the moment they received word of an attempted assassination.
What was Moash doing here?
"Were you here when it happened?" Kaladin asked.
"I'd just left after my shift with the King's Guard." He beckoned. "Come see."
He led Sarus and Kaladin out onto the balcony. Sarus' eyes widened at the site. The iron railing had fallen out of its mountings and was now dangling over the edge, leaving the rain-slick stone of the balcony just one careless step from a hundred-foot drop onto the irregular rock of the Plains. Several other King's Guard members were examining the damage with sphere lamps, but they parted to give the three of them room to see.
"From what we can tell, the king came out here to think after the storm. Then…" Moash gestured at the torn railing, "this."
Kaladin knelt by the empty footings where the railing had been mounted. "The railing just pulled free?" he ran his finger along the opening, then examined the mortar dust that came free. "Could just be a flaw in the design."
"Captain, I was here when it happened," one of the guardsmen said. "It fell right out, barely a sound. He leans on that railing often, sir, and it's never done anything like that before."
"Hm." Kaladin stood and walked to another section of the railing, testing it with a push. It held. It didn't so much as budge. Sarus walked past him to examine the point where the railing had separated to allow one portion to fall while the rest held.
"Kaladin," he said, too quietly for the other guardsmen to hear, touching the perfectly smooth edge where the railing had been severed cleanly at a joint. "Look."
Kaladin followed his gaze. His expression hardened. He gave Sarus a nod, then turned and strode back inside to speak to Dalinar.
Sarus remained outside, on the balcony. "What was your name, again?" he asked the guard who had admitted to being present at the time.
"Lauck, sir."
Sarus grinned self-deprecatingly. "None of that 'sir' business," he said. "I lucked into this position. Captain Kaladin is deserving of all the respect he gets, but I'm just a man who happened to be next to him when he did incredible things."
Lauck huffed a soft laugh. "There are rumors all over camp about it," he said. "Is it true he single-handedly killed an entire Parshendi battalion?"
"I think by that point there wasn't enough organization left on the field to have battalions," Sarus said. "At least not that we could tell. But his spear tasted a great deal of their orange blood that day." He glanced over at the dangling railing. "How did His Majesty avoid falling, Lauck? And who else was on duty at the time?"
"Well, he caught himself on the railing where it's dangling there," said Lauck, pointing. "And then I came out and helped him back onto the balcony. As for who else was on duty, no one was inside the room with a view of things besides me. But two of your men—Leyten and Malop, I think?—were both stationed right outside the door, and Daletel, Tus, Velis, and Ameril were elsewhere in the palace."
"Where in the palace?"
"Daletel and Tus were stationed at the end of the corridor, by the northern stairwell. Velis and Ameril were patrolling the foyer."
"Excellent," said Sarus. "You don't happen to know who all was on the previous shift, do you? And where they were stationed?"
Lauck frowned, visibly trying to remember. "Melit, Draun, Brovash, Dake, Pevral, Gaen, and… one of your men, I think. Don't remember who. And I don't know where any of them were stationed, sorry. Someone would probably have been in here, though; I'd have thought they'd see something."
Moash. "Have there been any recent recruitments to the King's Guard?"
Lauck's eyes widened. "You don't think one of us did this somehow, do you?"
"No," Sarus quickly reassured him. "No, of course I don't. But…" he hesitated, making a show of looking over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. "You know how His Majesty can get, sometimes," he said. "He worries about assassins. Understandably, given what happened to his father. But if I can get enough information to explicitly clear everyone, it'll make all our jobs easier going forward. No one actually suspects any of you, it's just about reassuring His Majesty."
"Oh, that makes sense." Lauck looked relieved. "But no, no one joined the Guard recently. Everyone who was on duty today's been in the unit since… at least a year ago? I think the last man to join up was Pevral, and he signed on in Shash of last year."
"That'll be a relief to His Majesty, I'm sure," said Sarus, smiling at Lauck. "Thanks, Lauck. I'll go report that back to the Captain."
"Of course."
Sarus turned and went back inside, thoughtful. He approached Kaladin just in time to hear Dalinar saying, "The king is insisting that I put you in charge—" he stopped, glancing over Kaladin's shoulder at Sarus.
Kaladin followed his gaze. "Sarus," he said. "You find anything out?"
"Nothing immediately helpful," said Sarus, knowing that he couldn't make even the most oblique accusations within Dalinar's hearing. He saluted the highprince. "Did I hear right? Is Bridge Four being placed in charge of His Majesty's safety as well?"
Dalinar studied him for a long moment. Those pale blue eyes in that heavy-set face were, if not suspicious, then at least wary.
Sarus, for one glittering moment, hated the man. He had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Kaladin on the rock of the Tower. He had been there when they had pulled Dalinar through the line of Parshendi—Listeners, as Rlain called his people. Yet while Kaladin had quickly become one of Dalinar's most trusted confidantes, at least among his darkeyed servants and soldiers, Sarus was still deserving only of suspicion.
Then he remembered what happened to the last lighteyes who let him get close, and the hate turned to bile in his mouth.
"Yes," Dalinar finally said, seemingly deciding that Sarus could be trusted.
"I'm not ready," Kaladin said. "My men are stretched thin as it is, sir, and we still haven't got the other former bridgemen properly trained. Not even close."
"I know. But—you realize this was done on the inside?"
Kaladin nodded grimly. "Whoever it was had to have come from inside this chamber," he said.
"And men in the King's Guard might have had access to his armor, too, that day when his Plate broke months ago." Dalinar's face looked ghastly pale in the spherelight, like a specter haunting the Plains. "I don't know who I can trust these days. Can I trust you, Kaladin Stormblessed?"
"Yes, sir," said Kaladin firmly. "I swear it."
I told you, Sarus thought with some satisfaction. Dalinar was a man who trampled over any attempt to openly redirect his thoughts, but he was not angry with Kaladin. Not really. He saw Kaladin as a kindred spirit, an honorable man in a sea of madness and disdain. He would investigate Amaram. Whether he would find the truth, however, depended on more than just his willingness to trust Kaladin.
That, however, Sarus could probably find a way to help with.
"And you trust your men?" Dalinar asked.
"I do." There wasn't a trace of doubt in Kaladin's voice.
Damnation, thought Sarus.
"I'm going to relieve Idrin of his post and give him a command in my army," said Dalinar. "It will sate the king, and I'll make certain he knows he's not being punished. To help bolster your numbers, I'll ask him for his best men and assign them to you. But in the long run, I want only men from the bridge crews—men you trust, men who have ample reason to hate Sadeas and no part in warcamp politics—watching him. Choose carefully. I don't want to replace probably loyal men with easily-bought former thieves."
"Yes, sir. Sir—this wasn't the assassination attempt you were expecting, was it?"
"No. This wasn't the work of someone who knows what they're doing. If Sadeas—or worse, the man who killed my brother—decides to strike, things will go far worse for us. We need to make ready quickly, or the storm will rip us from the stone like weak rockbuds." Dalinar turned and left the room.
Kaladin turned to Sarus. "We need to rework the schedules," he said, looking and sounding suddenly exhausted. "We're not just going to be sending a few people alongside the King's Guard patrols. Now they're our patrols."
"Yes," Sarus said. An idea was forming in his head. A way to, hopefully, keep Elhokar safe from the traitor in their midst without forcing Kaladin to confront the possibility that one of his men might turn against them until Sarus at least had more real evidence.
A way which had the added benefit of giving Sarus the influence, the power, he so desperately craved.
"I can take charge of the patrols over the king," he said. "I know His Majesty rubs you the wrong way."
Kaladin grimaced. "Dalinar put me in charge of Elhokar's guard, though."
"He also made you a Captain," Sarus countered. "You have command of over a thousand men, now, even if most of them are still in training. He expects you to delegate. You have to delegate. You're being given responsibilities based, not on what you can do personally, but on what you can organize people into doing. I'm not saying you'll never have to watch His Majesty personally—you will, if only because you've impressed the king and he'll complain if he feels like you aren't giving his safety the attention it deserves. But I can take over most of the time."
Kaladin looked at him thoughtfully. Then he nodded. "Fine," he said. "I won't lie, it's a relief. You get along better with the lighteyes than I do."
"I think Dalinar would disagree," Sarus commented with a small smile, burying the poison deep.
"Dalinar's different. You said it yourself." Kaladin shook his head, looking out at the balcony, still dimly illuminated by the sphere lamps. "I don't like this," he said quietly. "I'm supposed to protect these people from threats I can't see, threats I barely understand. I don't even like some of these people, but they're putting me in charge of their survival?"
"Who better," Sarus asked softly, "than a Windrunner?"
Kaladin's lips twisted. It wasn't a happy expression. "I suppose," he said. "I'm going back to the barracks. You coming too?"
Sarus glanced around. Adolin had left, following his father, and so had Navani. Only Renarin and Elhokar remained. Renarin was standing in a corner, methodically wiping down his spectacles, carefully avoiding everyone's gazes. The king, meanwhile, seemed about to leave, beckoning his current guards—three of whom were of the original King's Guard, joined by Leyten and Malop. Renarin's only guard at the moment was Treff, who seemed to be on the verge of nodding off.
"I don't think I could sleep now anyway," Sarus said, turning back to Kaladin. "And I want to introduce myself to the king, see if he has anything he wants me to look at now. He'll be pleased to see the man you placed in charge of his guard taking initiative."
"I suppose," Kaladin said. "You planning to take this shift from someone?"
"I think so," Sarus said. "I really don't think I could sleep now, I slept some during the storm." He glanced over. "Treff, you want to head back to the barrack?"
Treff blinked at him, clearly barely awake. "Uh. I mean. It's my shift?"
"I'll take over." Sarus grinned at him. "Go, it's been an exciting night. Get some rest."
Treff shot Kaladin a glance, but Kaladin just nodded, looking amused. Treff shot Sarus a grateful smile, then scurried away.
"Get some rest," Sarus told Kaladin. "I'll see you at shift change."
Kaladin gave him a nod, then turned and left.
Sarus stood looking after him for a long moment, then turned just in time to see the king leaving the chamber. "Your Majesty!" he called.
Elhokar turned. "Yes?"
Sarus approached and bowed low. "Your Majesty, I am Sarus. One of Captain Kaladin's lieutenants, and the best of his spearmen. He's placed me in charge of your guard, so long as you're amenable to the appointment."
"He trusts you?" Elhokar asks suspiciously.
"He does," Sarus said. "He has returned to the barracks, but you can confirm with him in the morning."
"I will," Elhokar said stiffly. "So long as he and my uncle both approve, I accept your appointment."
A king shouldn't be looking to his uncle for approval, Sarus thought, but he didn't say anything. Apart from everything else, a king who was uncertain in his decisions was one Sarus could easily influence. "Before you retire for the evening," Sarus said, "I just wanted to ask if there was anything in particular you wanted me to investigate. Anyone you suspect, or any information that might be useful to an investigation."
Elhokar studied him with narrowed eyes. "You're really taking this seriously? You don't think it was just an accident?"
"I have no strong evidence whether or not it was an accident," said Sarus. "But this is your safety we're talking about, Your Majesty. It is my duty to assume the worst."
Elhokar tried—and failed—to hide his relief. "I'm glad to hear you think so," he said. "I don't know who could have done this. Several of the highprinces might think their positions would be improved by my death, whether rightly or wrongly. Highprince Sadeas… is at the top of the list." The king looked sad about that. Sarus wondered what his relationship to Sadeas had been before the man had left his uncle to die.
"I see," said Sarus. "I am not… welcome, in the Sadeas warcamp, to say the least. But I will see about employing people to investigate on my behalf. Please let me know if you think of anything else that may be useful for an investigation."
"I will," Elhokar promised. "It's good to have a guard who takes his duty seriously."
"I'm sure many of your guards take their duties seriously," said Sarus. "But most, I suspect, do not have my particular skills or temperament. Rest easy, Your Majesty—I will allow no harm to come to you."
"Good. Farewell… Sarus, was it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well."
Elhokar left, followed by his current guards. With him gone, Sarus turned and stood at attention just outside the room's doors, positioning himself so that he would be visible and identifiable from inside. Renarin stepped outside a moment later to join him. "That was impressive," he said quietly.
"Elhokar is not a complicated man. He fears for his safety, which is reasonable. He worries that this fear is cause for shame, and that makes him even more fearful that being a shameful king will make him an even larger target. His anxieties circle one another like axehounds. All I needed to do was relieve some of that tension."
"And now you're in charge of his guard," Renarin observed. "That'll be an opportunity for you, won't it?"
"So I hope."
Renarin shot him a sudden look. "You won't hurt him, will you?"
"I have no intention of doing so," Sarus said. "If I did, I certainly wouldn't be openly angling to take charge of his safety. Besides, if he dies, my best chance at improving my position dies with him."
Sarus might have no particular loyalty for Alethkar anymore. He certainly had no loyalty to the Listeners either, despite liking Rlain. But he found that for all his bitterness, he was loyal to Kaladin. To the rest of Bridge Four, Rlain included. And, of course, he was loyal to himself. As he always had been. Taking charge of Elhokar's guard would give him the ear of the king of Alethkar, and from there… well. Sarus didn't know what he would do with the influence that could win him, but that was no excuse not to seek it. If a man was trapped in a house of a thousand locked doors, not knowing where they led was no excuse not to reach for any keys he could see.
"Good," Renarin said. "He doesn't like me much, but he's still family."
Sarus smiled slightly. "I understand," he said quietly.
They stood for a time in companionable silence.
"Glys can come out, if he would like," Sarus said quietly. "It's not as though I would tell anyone about him. We're on the same plateau, you and I."
"Glys is… hesitant, around people," Renarin said slowly. "More even than me. I try not to push him."
"I can understand that." Sarus glanced at Renarin's chest where, yes, a red glow was emanating from his pocket. His lips twitched and he looked back out at the night.
"I should be going to bed," Renarin said. "It's been a long night."
"As your bodyguard, it would be my honor to escort you to your father's palace."
Renarin didn't smile, exactly, but he let out a soft, amused breath. "We're actually staying here, tonight," he said. "It… simplifies things, on nights like these."
"That does simplify things," said Sarus neutrally. "I would have expected more propriety from your father and the Queen Mother, however."
Renarin flushed. "They don't—it's not like that, he said. "It's just that none of us want to be riding between the warcamps at night, things being how they are."
"Ah, of course."
Once they reached Renarin's rooms and the prince bade him good night before closing the door, Sarus took a post just outside and leaned his shortspear on his shoulder.
"The Truthwatcher is an odd friend for you," Archive commented quietly, expanding on his shoulder until she was easily visible. "His… social skills are not. You are very different."
"That's part of it," Sarus admitted. "It's pleasant to have someone who listens without judgement. I can tell him the truth about my train of thought, largely without holding anything back. It's refreshing. I was something of a mentor to him when we were younger. He really has grown much better."
"Mm." She was silent for a moment. "Where does his mistspren hide?" she asked. "I did not see where he might have been."
"His breast pocket," Sarus said.
"Ah, then you saw the plants when we were standing still?"
Sarus frowned. "The plants?"
"That is how a mistspren appears on this side, if I recall. A shimmer of light, as if refracted through crystal. When stillness is, they grow plants of light. A mark of their nature as of Cultivation."
"That's not what Glys looks like. He's a red crystal, dripping motes of light upward."
Archive slowly turned to look at him. "That," she said, "is not what a mistspren should look like."
Sarus blinked. "What does that mean?"
"My knowledge is not," said Archive grimly. "But my suspicion is nothing good."
GiovanniBlasini
Transhumanist Nutcase from Niops IX
- Location
- San Diego, CA, USA, Sol III
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Ruh roh, Rhaggy...
Oh no. What horrors have you cooked up to unleash upon a poor, unsuspecting Cosmere, you fiend?
37: Truthwatcher
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
When at last I reached the Celduin, the River Running, on the far side of that dire forest, I collapsed in exhaustion. I consider it a stroke of incredible fortune that I was not killed there while I slept.
Renarin was almost exactly the same height as his brother. There was less than an inch difference between them. Nonetheless, Adolin always seemed to loom over him. Whether it was because of Shardplate lending him some extra, or because Sureblood was so much taller than Renarin's own horse—a respectable mare named Melial, but no Ryshadium.
It didn't normally bother Renarin. Adolin was always broader than he was, why shouldn't he be taller too? If anything, it just made sense. But somehow, today, having to crane his neck to see Adolin more than a foot above him on Sureblood irked him.
Several of Sarus' fellow former bridgemen were nearby, though they were on foot. Darkeyes weren't forbidden to ride horses—it wasn't like the reservation of swords for the lighteyed—but very few darkeyes ever had the opportunity to learn to ride. The rare beasts were simply too expensive.
Sarus himself was not here. He had not come on a plateau run since being freed, and Renarin couldn't blame him. He was honestly surprised any of the former bridgemen did, after the horrors they'd been forced to endure. But a few were usually willing to come with him. They never tried to guard Adolin—they refused to cross the final bridge into the battle, even those who came with the army, and Adolin was always among the first into the fray. But they took their duty to guard Renarin seriously.
He didn't resent it. After all, he was now a full Shardbearer, and training with Zahel in the sword. He could slip his guards any time he liked.
All he needed to do was join the battle. Summon his screaming Shardblade and attack. Kill.
"Damnation," Adolin said softly.
Renarin followed his gaze. The battle had already joined ahead of him. Roion and Ruthar's armies were already on the next plateau—and so were the Parshendi. Not only that, but the Parshendi seemed to be flanking the armies, cutting off a large portion of Roion's forces while driving Ruthar's back across their bridges.
"Jakamav is commanding that army," Adolin said. Jakamav was a Shardbearer under Roion, and a friend of Adolin's. Renarin had never much liked him, but Renarin didn't much like most Shardbearers, because most Shardbearers were consummate Alethi warriors, and consummate Alethi warriors tended not to like a man who barely knew which end of a sword to hold. If he could stop having fits long enough to grasp it.
"They're deploying larger forces," Renarin said. "Two armies at once would have overwhelmed whatever forces the Parshendi would commit before the Tower."
"They're mirroring us," Adolin agreed. "We've started sending more men on each assault, so they're doing the same. Our bridges move slower, so they have time to muster more of their forces, I'd guess."
"Then Sadeas must be beating them to the gemheart almost every run he makes," Renarin said quietly.
"Probably. Can't these bridges move any faster?"
Renarin shot a glance at the former bridgemen marching beside his horse, but none of them had looked in their direction at Adolin's comment. "Be careful what you wish for," he told his brother. "I'd rather have slow bridges than bridges like Sadeas."
Adolin sighed. "So would I. Jakamav can hold. He can. He knows what he's doing."
Renarin's heart clenched in sudden shame. Adolin was just worried about his friend, and Renarin was more concerned about whether he would offend their guards. "He does. You'll get there in time."
They were almost to the chasm now. Their strike force today was relatively small—House Kholin wasn't in rotation for plateau runs today, but Father wanted to show a spirit of cooperation, of unity, by sending smaller teams to plateaus near their warcamp to assist. But when the bridges were pulled by chulls, the only benefit to a smaller force was that it took less time to muster. It didn't actually make the run faster. The chulls moved at their own pace, and would not be hurried.
After what felt like hours—but couldn't have been more than five minutes—the chulls came to a halt at the edge of the chasm, and the heavy bridge dropped from its tower, swinging down and across the chasm. Adolin spurred Sureblood and sped into the battle without so much as a word to Renarin.
Renarin sighed as the soldiers around him all charged. In mere moments the only people left on the plateau were him, his guards, and a few surgeons setting up a rapid field hospital. Across the bridge, Adolin threw himself into the Parshendi line, his Blade arcing around him, sending Parshendi falling with burning eyes in the dozens. The rest of the force fell in behind him, delving into the Parshendi line like an arrowhead embedding into flesh.
Renarin dismounted from Melial, his gauntleted hand resting on her neck. He still felt odd in his father's Plate. The slate grey armor just didn't feel right on his body. It fit perfectly, of course—Plate was incredibly accommodating and easy to adjust to any body type—but even so it felt like wearing his father's clothes. He felt like a fraud in the armor, like people would look to it and think Dalinar Kholin, the Blackthorn, was coming to their aid, only to find that it was only weak little Renarin.
Clearmark for your thoughts? Glys said in Renarin's head.
Nothing important, Renarin said. You can come out, you know. Neither Sarus nor Kaladin is here.
I'm not risking it, said Glys.
It's hardly even a risk, Renarin coaxed. Sarus is the only person who's ever seen you when you were hiding, and he's always been strange.
Everybody's strange, if you spend enough time learning their quirks. No, Renarin, I'm staying in here. I'm glad you have this Plate now. How would you like to wear it all around the warcamp?
Why on Roshar would I do that?
Well, it's safer. But more importantly, the avastium alloy blocks those little lights that drip up from me. When I'm in your pocket, I start to get a tiny bit visible if you stand still for a few seconds.
No one's going to notice a few sparkles on my chest, Glys. And if they do, they'll assume it's sand or something.
Unless they know what they're looking for! Glys' voice was sharp, almost frantic. You can never be too careful, Renarin. They're probably hard to see in the daylight, but what about at night? What about indoors? What about during a highstorm?
Glys.
The spren fell silent. This had started happening ever since Sarus had unexpectedly seen Glys that day in the training grounds, a little over a week ago. Renarin hadn't known spren could be paranoid, but Glys seemed to be on the edge of panic all the time, especially whenever they were near any of the former bridgemen. Which, given that they were now Renarin's guards, was nearly all the time.
We can trust Sarus, Renarin reassured the mistspren. We can, Glys. He's a good man.
Even good men can be wrong, Glys said. In fact, it doesn't really make it any less likely. He's a Radiant, Renarin. That means he's dangerous.
I'm a Radiant too.
Yes, but… Glys trailed off.
But what? Renarin prompted.
Glys didn't answer.
Glys— Renarin was forced to turn his focus away from his spren when he heard one of the guards beside him curse softly. He blinked.
The Parshendi were attacking the rear guard. They were trying to take the bridge.
"Think they can hold the bridge?" one of the former bridgemen, Dunny, asked another.
"That rear guard's too small," said the one he'd spoken to, a man named Bisig. "They're going to get overrun. But that bridge is probably too heavy for the Parshendi to knock into the chasm even if they do."
That was true. Renarin had seen the Parshendi knock smaller bridges, like those these men had carried, into the chasms during battles, but never one of the heavy chull-pulled bridges his father employed. It would be all right. Maybe Adolin would have to fight through this smaller force on his way back from the battle if he had to retreat, but he would be able to do that without too much trouble. Adolin was one of the greatest warriors in Alethkar; it would take more than a few dozen Parshendi to stop him.
Suddenly, Renarin thought of the battle on the Tower. He thought of his brother and father, trapped on a plateau with no escape, slowly being whittled down until half the army was gone.
He couldn't let that happen here. Even though his hands were already shaking, even though he could already feel sweat beading on his brow, he couldn't let that happen here.
Before he could second-guess himself, he started running. The guards behind him let out a shout, and he heard them scrambling to catch up with him.
One of the Parshendi saw him approaching, and somehow communicated it to the rest of his squad. Several continued fighting the Kholin rearguard, but a dozen of them turned in his direction, raising their weapons.
Renarin gritted his teeth and thrust his hand out to the side. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. He was at the edge of the bridge. His boots thudded against the wood. Five. Six. Seven. Two of the Parshendi charged past the soldiers, weapons held to their sides as if they planned to strike him simultaneously from both sides. Eight. Nine. The first Parshendi swung.
Ten.
The Blade fell into Renarin's hand. He screamed, his voice joining with Glys' and with that of the cursed weapon in his hands as he swung. The Blade sheared through the Parshendi's weapon, and both Parshendi leapt back, their battle-song changing suddenly into a different melody, one sharper and more frantic than the one drifting over the rest of the battle.
Renarin raised his sword, hand shaking, and found that he couldn't move his legs. The screaming in his ears was too loud, the fear in the Parshendi's eyes too bright. There was too much. Too much too much too much—
One of the former bridgemen leapt out in front of him with a spear. Two more followed him into the battle. A fourth put his hand on Renarin's arm. "Come on back, lad," he said. It was an older man, compact of frame, with hair that was just starting to gray. Teft, Renarin noted, as if observing from a long way off. The man's name was Teft.
Renarin staggered back, away from the battle, and dismissed his Shardblade. The sudden silence in his head was thunderous.
His hands shook as he followed Teft back. A minute later, the three men who had leapt into battle to defend him—to defend a full Shardbearer—joined them.
"Here, lad," said Teft soothingly, leading Renarin to a boulder not far from Melial. "Have a seat. Rest up a bit."
Renarin's legs practically buckled as he sat down on the boulder, tugging off his helm and letting it fall to the rock by his feet. His hands shook in his lap, his gauntlets rattling on his fingers. Slowly, painfully slowly, they fell still. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.
"Any time, Brightlord," said Teft. Renarin almost asked if he would continue calling him 'lad.'
His eyes slid shut. I'm a failure.
No other Shardbearer has to deal with their weapon screaming, Renarin, said Glys quietly. It's not your fault.
How do you know?
I know why the weapon is screaming. It's not—
If you tell me it's something I can't know until I've sworn another ideal, I'm going to tell Teft about you right now.
A terrible silence fell between them. Renarin imagined he could feel Glys, frozen against his chest. Was he shaking in terror, just like Renarin had?
I'm sorry, whispered Renarin. I'm just—I'm so tired. I'm an Alethi who doesn't know how to fight. I'm a Shardbearer whose sword screams so loud he can't use it. I'm a Radiant who can't control the one Surge he uses. And I'm a Truthwatcher without any answers. I won't tell anyone about you. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking. But I can't keep accepting that I just have to be patient before I get any real answers. I can't fight, but I can seek the truth. I will seek the truth.
Suddenly a new voice whispered in his ear. A voice Renarin had heard once before. Soft, sultry, dissonant. These words, she said, are accepted.
Renarin breathed in sharply.
The Second Ideal of the Truthwatchers, whispered Glys. He sounded defeated.
I… Renarin didn't know what to say, but Glys kept going before he had to figure it out.
I'm sorry, Renarin. I'm—what have I been doing? I'm a mistspren. I'm supposed to be rewarding curiosity. Not hiding my secrets from you like a gambler hiding a card in his sleeve.
…Does this mean you'll give me answers?
Glys was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft. At once reverent and terrified. Her name is Sja-anat.
Who?
The one who enlightened me. I told you, remember, the night you swore the First Ideal? I'm not a normal mistspren. I'm an enlightened one.
What does that mean?
It means that I am of Odium.
Renarin blinked. And that means…?
Glys made a soft sound, like a cross between a sigh and a pained squeak. Okay. Let's start at the beginning.
Here in the Rosharan system there are three gods. Or there were. Long, long ago, there were only two—Honor and Cultivation. Every spren you've ever seen is a Splinter of their power—of one, the other, or a mixture of both. The only exception is me.
I'm a mistspren. Mistspren are born as a blend of Honor and Cultivation—mostly Cultivation, but we have our share of Honor, too. But I was curious. I wanted to learn more. I wanted to see the world in a different way. I wanted to see what it was like to be something else. So I sought out Sja-anat.
Sja-anat is one of the nine Unmade, incredibly powerful spren of the third god—Odium, the god of hate. He's the being behind the desolations. The creatures you call Voidbringers are his servants. Sja-anat has the unique ability to 'enlighten' spren of Honor and Cultivation. But she's not like the other Unmade. Most of them are mindless, just forces acting on the world. But she's not only sapient, she's kind. She could unmake spren, turning them into monsters, slaves to Odium's will. She doesn't. Instead, she sets us free. She only enlightens those who seek her out, who ask for it, who give their knowing, willing consent. I did, and I was transformed. I don't remember the time before that so well, but I remember everything after much clearer than any spren should, here in the Physical Realm.
But, Renarin, Glys' tone became pleading. The change wasn't just mental. I look different from other mistspren. If any other sapient spren, like Sarus' inkspren or whatever spren follows Kaladin around, catches a glimpse of me? They'll know right away, not only that I'm not a normal mistspren—they'll know I'm enlightened. They know I went to Sja-anat. And even though I know she didn't turn me into a slave to Odium, they don't.
Renarin suddenly understood. That's why you're afraid of them, he said. You're afraid they'll, what, kill you? Kill me?
Yes. Both.
Suddenly, Renarin heard a clatter nearby. He looked up to see Adolin approaching him. The battle had ended while he spoke with Glys. He felt nearly as exhausted as he imagined he would if he had fought it himself. "Hey," said Adolin. "Ready to head back?"
Renarin didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
Adolin frowned. "What's wrong?"
Renarin couldn't find the words, so he just averted his eyes, looking back down at the ground. He heard Teft pull Adolin aside, probably to explain what had happened. A moment later, Renarin felt his brother's hand on his shoulder.
"It's all right, Renarin," Adolin said.
Renarin shrugged.
Above him, Adolin sighed. "I have to go organize the withdrawal," he said. "I'll be back, all right?"
Renarin nodded, and Adolin patted him once more, then jogged off.
He's kind to you, Glys said. He sounded oddly wistful.
He is, Renarin agreed. Even when I don't deserve it.
You always deserve it. You certainly deserve better than I've been giving you. Do you have any more questions?
Just one. Why does my Shardblade scream?
Glys paused for a moment. I'm not going to make you promise not to tell Sarus this, he said. But I am going to ask you not to, for the same reason I asked you not to tell Elhokar about his Cryptic. It might drive a wedge between him and Archive, make it harder for her to trust him.
Then why aren't you making me promise? Renarin asked. You made me promise not to tell Elhokar.
Because I need to learn to trust you. Even if it's hard. Glys took a deep breath. They're spren, Renarin.
What?
The Shardblades. The Radiants of old didn't have Shardblades and spren. They had spren, and those spren could transform into Shardblades.
Renarin's brow furrowed. But then…
It came together suddenly in his head. He remembered Glys telling him about what would happen if Renarin broke his oaths. He remembered learning about the Radiants from the ardents as a child. About the Recreance. The day when the Knights Radiant had broken their oaths. All of their oaths.
That's what happens to a spren when their Radiant betrays their oath? Renarin asked, feeling his throat close up in sick horror. They turn into… into—
If their Radiant had sworn the Third Ideal, allowing them to summon the spren as a weapon? Yes.
…And if they hadn't sworn the Third Ideal?
Then they're trapped in the Cognitive Realm as a deadeye.
A deadeye?
It's what we call dead spren on the other side. Because their eyes are gone—like they were scratched out. They still walk around, you know—spren can't die, not the way humans and Parshendi can. If they can manifest as a Shardblade they usually just follow around whoever carries the weapon, waiting to be summoned into the Physical Realm to fight. They don't speak. They don't do anything. Just shuffle around, empty husks that used to be family or friends.
Renarin swallowed. That's horrible.
It is.
How could the Radiants do that? Renarin asked. To their partners—their friends?
That, Glys said softly, is one of the biggest questions on Roshar. What could have convinced all of the Radiants—hundreds of them—to kill their spren, all at once, in a single day? What happened on the Day of Recreance? What happened to our friends and family, our bravest, noblest souls? No one knows.
Renarin took a deep breath and stood up. Well, he said. We'll just have to find out, won't we?
Glys was silent for a long moment as Renarin started walking towards Melial. How?
Not sure yet, said Renarin. But I swore to seek the truth. I'll figure something out.
He mounted the horse and cantered off towards where the column was assembling. Melial fell into step beside Sureblood. "It wasn't a fit," Renarin said quietly when Adolin glanced his way.
Adolin smiled sympathetically. On anyone else, the look would be pitying, but Adolin didn't pity Renarin. He might not really understand him, but he valued him. Often more than Renarin deserved. "You don't really know how to fight yet, Renarin," he said. "Give it time. Zahel will have you fighting as well as anyone in Alethkar before too long."
"Right." Renarin snorted. "And you think I can be ready in forty-seven days?" That was how long was left before the countdown in his visions reached zero.
Adolin grimaced. "The numbers on the walls?"
Renarin nodded.
"Try not to think on those too much," Adolin said. "We don't know what they mean. It might be nothing. A practical joke."
"It isn't," said Renarin.
Don't expose us, warned Glys.
Adolin sighed. "The Shardbearer from the Tower was on the field today," he said.
That successfully changed the subject. "You fought him?"
"No, actually," Adolin said. "She—I think it might be a woman, it's hard to tell—cut open the chrysalis and was ready to run away. But when she saw me she asked to parley with Father."
"Parley? The Parshendi haven't been willing to talk since they assassinated Uncle Gavilar."
"Apparently, that was long ago, and times change."
Renarin frowned in confusion. "We're missing something."
"Probably," Adolin agreed. "But what better way to find out the truth than to show up to that parley? They'll send a messenger to set up a time."
-x-x-x-
37
Truthwatcher
-x-x-x-
37
Truthwatcher
-x-x-x-
When at last I reached the Celduin, the River Running, on the far side of that dire forest, I collapsed in exhaustion. I consider it a stroke of incredible fortune that I was not killed there while I slept.
-x-x-x-
Renarin was almost exactly the same height as his brother. There was less than an inch difference between them. Nonetheless, Adolin always seemed to loom over him. Whether it was because of Shardplate lending him some extra, or because Sureblood was so much taller than Renarin's own horse—a respectable mare named Melial, but no Ryshadium.
It didn't normally bother Renarin. Adolin was always broader than he was, why shouldn't he be taller too? If anything, it just made sense. But somehow, today, having to crane his neck to see Adolin more than a foot above him on Sureblood irked him.
Several of Sarus' fellow former bridgemen were nearby, though they were on foot. Darkeyes weren't forbidden to ride horses—it wasn't like the reservation of swords for the lighteyed—but very few darkeyes ever had the opportunity to learn to ride. The rare beasts were simply too expensive.
Sarus himself was not here. He had not come on a plateau run since being freed, and Renarin couldn't blame him. He was honestly surprised any of the former bridgemen did, after the horrors they'd been forced to endure. But a few were usually willing to come with him. They never tried to guard Adolin—they refused to cross the final bridge into the battle, even those who came with the army, and Adolin was always among the first into the fray. But they took their duty to guard Renarin seriously.
He didn't resent it. After all, he was now a full Shardbearer, and training with Zahel in the sword. He could slip his guards any time he liked.
All he needed to do was join the battle. Summon his screaming Shardblade and attack. Kill.
"Damnation," Adolin said softly.
Renarin followed his gaze. The battle had already joined ahead of him. Roion and Ruthar's armies were already on the next plateau—and so were the Parshendi. Not only that, but the Parshendi seemed to be flanking the armies, cutting off a large portion of Roion's forces while driving Ruthar's back across their bridges.
"Jakamav is commanding that army," Adolin said. Jakamav was a Shardbearer under Roion, and a friend of Adolin's. Renarin had never much liked him, but Renarin didn't much like most Shardbearers, because most Shardbearers were consummate Alethi warriors, and consummate Alethi warriors tended not to like a man who barely knew which end of a sword to hold. If he could stop having fits long enough to grasp it.
"They're deploying larger forces," Renarin said. "Two armies at once would have overwhelmed whatever forces the Parshendi would commit before the Tower."
"They're mirroring us," Adolin agreed. "We've started sending more men on each assault, so they're doing the same. Our bridges move slower, so they have time to muster more of their forces, I'd guess."
"Then Sadeas must be beating them to the gemheart almost every run he makes," Renarin said quietly.
"Probably. Can't these bridges move any faster?"
Renarin shot a glance at the former bridgemen marching beside his horse, but none of them had looked in their direction at Adolin's comment. "Be careful what you wish for," he told his brother. "I'd rather have slow bridges than bridges like Sadeas."
Adolin sighed. "So would I. Jakamav can hold. He can. He knows what he's doing."
Renarin's heart clenched in sudden shame. Adolin was just worried about his friend, and Renarin was more concerned about whether he would offend their guards. "He does. You'll get there in time."
They were almost to the chasm now. Their strike force today was relatively small—House Kholin wasn't in rotation for plateau runs today, but Father wanted to show a spirit of cooperation, of unity, by sending smaller teams to plateaus near their warcamp to assist. But when the bridges were pulled by chulls, the only benefit to a smaller force was that it took less time to muster. It didn't actually make the run faster. The chulls moved at their own pace, and would not be hurried.
After what felt like hours—but couldn't have been more than five minutes—the chulls came to a halt at the edge of the chasm, and the heavy bridge dropped from its tower, swinging down and across the chasm. Adolin spurred Sureblood and sped into the battle without so much as a word to Renarin.
Renarin sighed as the soldiers around him all charged. In mere moments the only people left on the plateau were him, his guards, and a few surgeons setting up a rapid field hospital. Across the bridge, Adolin threw himself into the Parshendi line, his Blade arcing around him, sending Parshendi falling with burning eyes in the dozens. The rest of the force fell in behind him, delving into the Parshendi line like an arrowhead embedding into flesh.
Renarin dismounted from Melial, his gauntleted hand resting on her neck. He still felt odd in his father's Plate. The slate grey armor just didn't feel right on his body. It fit perfectly, of course—Plate was incredibly accommodating and easy to adjust to any body type—but even so it felt like wearing his father's clothes. He felt like a fraud in the armor, like people would look to it and think Dalinar Kholin, the Blackthorn, was coming to their aid, only to find that it was only weak little Renarin.
Clearmark for your thoughts? Glys said in Renarin's head.
Nothing important, Renarin said. You can come out, you know. Neither Sarus nor Kaladin is here.
I'm not risking it, said Glys.
It's hardly even a risk, Renarin coaxed. Sarus is the only person who's ever seen you when you were hiding, and he's always been strange.
Everybody's strange, if you spend enough time learning their quirks. No, Renarin, I'm staying in here. I'm glad you have this Plate now. How would you like to wear it all around the warcamp?
Why on Roshar would I do that?
Well, it's safer. But more importantly, the avastium alloy blocks those little lights that drip up from me. When I'm in your pocket, I start to get a tiny bit visible if you stand still for a few seconds.
No one's going to notice a few sparkles on my chest, Glys. And if they do, they'll assume it's sand or something.
Unless they know what they're looking for! Glys' voice was sharp, almost frantic. You can never be too careful, Renarin. They're probably hard to see in the daylight, but what about at night? What about indoors? What about during a highstorm?
Glys.
The spren fell silent. This had started happening ever since Sarus had unexpectedly seen Glys that day in the training grounds, a little over a week ago. Renarin hadn't known spren could be paranoid, but Glys seemed to be on the edge of panic all the time, especially whenever they were near any of the former bridgemen. Which, given that they were now Renarin's guards, was nearly all the time.
We can trust Sarus, Renarin reassured the mistspren. We can, Glys. He's a good man.
Even good men can be wrong, Glys said. In fact, it doesn't really make it any less likely. He's a Radiant, Renarin. That means he's dangerous.
I'm a Radiant too.
Yes, but… Glys trailed off.
But what? Renarin prompted.
Glys didn't answer.
Glys— Renarin was forced to turn his focus away from his spren when he heard one of the guards beside him curse softly. He blinked.
The Parshendi were attacking the rear guard. They were trying to take the bridge.
"Think they can hold the bridge?" one of the former bridgemen, Dunny, asked another.
"That rear guard's too small," said the one he'd spoken to, a man named Bisig. "They're going to get overrun. But that bridge is probably too heavy for the Parshendi to knock into the chasm even if they do."
That was true. Renarin had seen the Parshendi knock smaller bridges, like those these men had carried, into the chasms during battles, but never one of the heavy chull-pulled bridges his father employed. It would be all right. Maybe Adolin would have to fight through this smaller force on his way back from the battle if he had to retreat, but he would be able to do that without too much trouble. Adolin was one of the greatest warriors in Alethkar; it would take more than a few dozen Parshendi to stop him.
Suddenly, Renarin thought of the battle on the Tower. He thought of his brother and father, trapped on a plateau with no escape, slowly being whittled down until half the army was gone.
He couldn't let that happen here. Even though his hands were already shaking, even though he could already feel sweat beading on his brow, he couldn't let that happen here.
Before he could second-guess himself, he started running. The guards behind him let out a shout, and he heard them scrambling to catch up with him.
One of the Parshendi saw him approaching, and somehow communicated it to the rest of his squad. Several continued fighting the Kholin rearguard, but a dozen of them turned in his direction, raising their weapons.
Renarin gritted his teeth and thrust his hand out to the side. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Four. He was at the edge of the bridge. His boots thudded against the wood. Five. Six. Seven. Two of the Parshendi charged past the soldiers, weapons held to their sides as if they planned to strike him simultaneously from both sides. Eight. Nine. The first Parshendi swung.
Ten.
The Blade fell into Renarin's hand. He screamed, his voice joining with Glys' and with that of the cursed weapon in his hands as he swung. The Blade sheared through the Parshendi's weapon, and both Parshendi leapt back, their battle-song changing suddenly into a different melody, one sharper and more frantic than the one drifting over the rest of the battle.
Renarin raised his sword, hand shaking, and found that he couldn't move his legs. The screaming in his ears was too loud, the fear in the Parshendi's eyes too bright. There was too much. Too much too much too much—
One of the former bridgemen leapt out in front of him with a spear. Two more followed him into the battle. A fourth put his hand on Renarin's arm. "Come on back, lad," he said. It was an older man, compact of frame, with hair that was just starting to gray. Teft, Renarin noted, as if observing from a long way off. The man's name was Teft.
Renarin staggered back, away from the battle, and dismissed his Shardblade. The sudden silence in his head was thunderous.
His hands shook as he followed Teft back. A minute later, the three men who had leapt into battle to defend him—to defend a full Shardbearer—joined them.
"Here, lad," said Teft soothingly, leading Renarin to a boulder not far from Melial. "Have a seat. Rest up a bit."
Renarin's legs practically buckled as he sat down on the boulder, tugging off his helm and letting it fall to the rock by his feet. His hands shook in his lap, his gauntlets rattling on his fingers. Slowly, painfully slowly, they fell still. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.
"Any time, Brightlord," said Teft. Renarin almost asked if he would continue calling him 'lad.'
His eyes slid shut. I'm a failure.
No other Shardbearer has to deal with their weapon screaming, Renarin, said Glys quietly. It's not your fault.
How do you know?
I know why the weapon is screaming. It's not—
If you tell me it's something I can't know until I've sworn another ideal, I'm going to tell Teft about you right now.
A terrible silence fell between them. Renarin imagined he could feel Glys, frozen against his chest. Was he shaking in terror, just like Renarin had?
I'm sorry, whispered Renarin. I'm just—I'm so tired. I'm an Alethi who doesn't know how to fight. I'm a Shardbearer whose sword screams so loud he can't use it. I'm a Radiant who can't control the one Surge he uses. And I'm a Truthwatcher without any answers. I won't tell anyone about you. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking. But I can't keep accepting that I just have to be patient before I get any real answers. I can't fight, but I can seek the truth. I will seek the truth.
Suddenly a new voice whispered in his ear. A voice Renarin had heard once before. Soft, sultry, dissonant. These words, she said, are accepted.
Renarin breathed in sharply.
The Second Ideal of the Truthwatchers, whispered Glys. He sounded defeated.
I… Renarin didn't know what to say, but Glys kept going before he had to figure it out.
I'm sorry, Renarin. I'm—what have I been doing? I'm a mistspren. I'm supposed to be rewarding curiosity. Not hiding my secrets from you like a gambler hiding a card in his sleeve.
…Does this mean you'll give me answers?
Glys was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft. At once reverent and terrified. Her name is Sja-anat.
Who?
The one who enlightened me. I told you, remember, the night you swore the First Ideal? I'm not a normal mistspren. I'm an enlightened one.
What does that mean?
It means that I am of Odium.
Renarin blinked. And that means…?
Glys made a soft sound, like a cross between a sigh and a pained squeak. Okay. Let's start at the beginning.
Here in the Rosharan system there are three gods. Or there were. Long, long ago, there were only two—Honor and Cultivation. Every spren you've ever seen is a Splinter of their power—of one, the other, or a mixture of both. The only exception is me.
I'm a mistspren. Mistspren are born as a blend of Honor and Cultivation—mostly Cultivation, but we have our share of Honor, too. But I was curious. I wanted to learn more. I wanted to see the world in a different way. I wanted to see what it was like to be something else. So I sought out Sja-anat.
Sja-anat is one of the nine Unmade, incredibly powerful spren of the third god—Odium, the god of hate. He's the being behind the desolations. The creatures you call Voidbringers are his servants. Sja-anat has the unique ability to 'enlighten' spren of Honor and Cultivation. But she's not like the other Unmade. Most of them are mindless, just forces acting on the world. But she's not only sapient, she's kind. She could unmake spren, turning them into monsters, slaves to Odium's will. She doesn't. Instead, she sets us free. She only enlightens those who seek her out, who ask for it, who give their knowing, willing consent. I did, and I was transformed. I don't remember the time before that so well, but I remember everything after much clearer than any spren should, here in the Physical Realm.
But, Renarin, Glys' tone became pleading. The change wasn't just mental. I look different from other mistspren. If any other sapient spren, like Sarus' inkspren or whatever spren follows Kaladin around, catches a glimpse of me? They'll know right away, not only that I'm not a normal mistspren—they'll know I'm enlightened. They know I went to Sja-anat. And even though I know she didn't turn me into a slave to Odium, they don't.
Renarin suddenly understood. That's why you're afraid of them, he said. You're afraid they'll, what, kill you? Kill me?
Yes. Both.
Suddenly, Renarin heard a clatter nearby. He looked up to see Adolin approaching him. The battle had ended while he spoke with Glys. He felt nearly as exhausted as he imagined he would if he had fought it himself. "Hey," said Adolin. "Ready to head back?"
Renarin didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
Adolin frowned. "What's wrong?"
Renarin couldn't find the words, so he just averted his eyes, looking back down at the ground. He heard Teft pull Adolin aside, probably to explain what had happened. A moment later, Renarin felt his brother's hand on his shoulder.
"It's all right, Renarin," Adolin said.
Renarin shrugged.
Above him, Adolin sighed. "I have to go organize the withdrawal," he said. "I'll be back, all right?"
Renarin nodded, and Adolin patted him once more, then jogged off.
He's kind to you, Glys said. He sounded oddly wistful.
He is, Renarin agreed. Even when I don't deserve it.
You always deserve it. You certainly deserve better than I've been giving you. Do you have any more questions?
Just one. Why does my Shardblade scream?
Glys paused for a moment. I'm not going to make you promise not to tell Sarus this, he said. But I am going to ask you not to, for the same reason I asked you not to tell Elhokar about his Cryptic. It might drive a wedge between him and Archive, make it harder for her to trust him.
Then why aren't you making me promise? Renarin asked. You made me promise not to tell Elhokar.
Because I need to learn to trust you. Even if it's hard. Glys took a deep breath. They're spren, Renarin.
What?
The Shardblades. The Radiants of old didn't have Shardblades and spren. They had spren, and those spren could transform into Shardblades.
Renarin's brow furrowed. But then…
It came together suddenly in his head. He remembered Glys telling him about what would happen if Renarin broke his oaths. He remembered learning about the Radiants from the ardents as a child. About the Recreance. The day when the Knights Radiant had broken their oaths. All of their oaths.
That's what happens to a spren when their Radiant betrays their oath? Renarin asked, feeling his throat close up in sick horror. They turn into… into—
If their Radiant had sworn the Third Ideal, allowing them to summon the spren as a weapon? Yes.
…And if they hadn't sworn the Third Ideal?
Then they're trapped in the Cognitive Realm as a deadeye.
A deadeye?
It's what we call dead spren on the other side. Because their eyes are gone—like they were scratched out. They still walk around, you know—spren can't die, not the way humans and Parshendi can. If they can manifest as a Shardblade they usually just follow around whoever carries the weapon, waiting to be summoned into the Physical Realm to fight. They don't speak. They don't do anything. Just shuffle around, empty husks that used to be family or friends.
Renarin swallowed. That's horrible.
It is.
How could the Radiants do that? Renarin asked. To their partners—their friends?
That, Glys said softly, is one of the biggest questions on Roshar. What could have convinced all of the Radiants—hundreds of them—to kill their spren, all at once, in a single day? What happened on the Day of Recreance? What happened to our friends and family, our bravest, noblest souls? No one knows.
Renarin took a deep breath and stood up. Well, he said. We'll just have to find out, won't we?
Glys was silent for a long moment as Renarin started walking towards Melial. How?
Not sure yet, said Renarin. But I swore to seek the truth. I'll figure something out.
He mounted the horse and cantered off towards where the column was assembling. Melial fell into step beside Sureblood. "It wasn't a fit," Renarin said quietly when Adolin glanced his way.
Adolin smiled sympathetically. On anyone else, the look would be pitying, but Adolin didn't pity Renarin. He might not really understand him, but he valued him. Often more than Renarin deserved. "You don't really know how to fight yet, Renarin," he said. "Give it time. Zahel will have you fighting as well as anyone in Alethkar before too long."
"Right." Renarin snorted. "And you think I can be ready in forty-seven days?" That was how long was left before the countdown in his visions reached zero.
Adolin grimaced. "The numbers on the walls?"
Renarin nodded.
"Try not to think on those too much," Adolin said. "We don't know what they mean. It might be nothing. A practical joke."
"It isn't," said Renarin.
Don't expose us, warned Glys.
Adolin sighed. "The Shardbearer from the Tower was on the field today," he said.
That successfully changed the subject. "You fought him?"
"No, actually," Adolin said. "She—I think it might be a woman, it's hard to tell—cut open the chrysalis and was ready to run away. But when she saw me she asked to parley with Father."
"Parley? The Parshendi haven't been willing to talk since they assassinated Uncle Gavilar."
"Apparently, that was long ago, and times change."
Renarin frowned in confusion. "We're missing something."
"Probably," Adolin agreed. "But what better way to find out the truth than to show up to that parley? They'll send a messenger to set up a time."
38: The Only Prize
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
The Dwarves of Erebor, the Men of Dale, and the Avari of the reclaimed Greenwood were all hunting me, though I was at least safe from Gondor this far from their hunting bands. But somehow none happened upon me, though I slept for three days uninterrupted.
"Husband?"
Torol looked away from his window overlooking the Sadeas warcamp and gave Ialai a smile. "Wife."
She didn't smile back. Her expression was grim. "Elhokar has just relieved two-thirds of the King's Guard from their commissions."
He blinked at her. "That… Well, I suppose the boy's paranoia is getting worse. A good thing for us."
"No. Not a good thing. Torol, they have been replaced by your bridgemen."
Torol felt his face freeze. His heart suddenly thundered in his ears. "You cannot be serious," he said softly.
"As serious as an execution, love." Ialai flung herself down onto the couch nearest the door, a plush thing upholstered in an Azish style, whose green fabric perfectly matched the rest of the opulent sitting room. "And you can surely guess just which bridgeman has apparently been placed in command of the rotation."
"No."
"Yes. The man who killed our daughter has just been promoted to squadleader of the King's Guard."
Torol sank slowly into a seat across from his wife. "This might be a good thing," he said slowly. "If it comes to assassination, we may be able to eliminate both Elhokar and the boy with one action. And make the death of the darkeyes look like nothing more than collateral damage."
"Yes, we could do that," Ialai said stiffly. "But it was you who argued that assassination was an inelegant approach to take. If we assassinate Elhokar, it will be almost impossible to avoid suspicion falling on ourselves. And if it does—or worse, if our involvement is proven—we will give Dalinar the perfect grounds to rally the entire rest of the kingdom against us. You are a great warrior, Torol, especially now you have that Blade—but even you can't stand against nine other highprincedoms."
"It wouldn't be nine other highprincedoms. I'm sure we could maintain alliances with one or two others."
"How strong would those alliances be? No one wants to be on the losing side of a civil war, Torol. How much do you think we'll be able to trust anyone who claims to stand with us?"
Torol didn't have an answer for that. He turned back to the window, teeth gritted.
"And if the boy guards Elhokar correctly, it will only grow harder to destroy him," said Ialai darkly. "You remember him. You remember just how good he was at ingratiating himself with those above his station. Ardents. Officers. Even our daughter."
"I remember."
"We cannot allow him to gain such a foothold with the king. He will only grow more trusted, and once Elhokar can afford to dedicate more peacetime resources to his own safety, that will make him practically untouchable."
"It won't be that dire," said Torol, forcing the words out through his clenched teeth. "No matter how intricate a web of manipulation the boy weaves around Elhokar, the fact remains that he is a darkeyes, one who has been a slave—sas nahn. Even if he's free now, that blemish on his rank will not go away. Elhokar was raised by Gavilar and grew up in the Kholinar court. He understands the importance of nahn and dahn. He will never completely trust the boy."
"Tailiah was raised by us," Ialai said. "By me. Yet she trusted him."
"Yes." Torol let the self-recrimination, the hate, surge upward in him. He remembered the night he had been woken by the cries of a babe beneath his windowsill. He remembered deciding to allow him to stay. How different might the world have been if that boy had not been there that night? Or if he had held true to rank and sent him away? "And that was my fault. I allowed him to stay. I allowed Tailiah to interact with him. She was a child when they first became playmates—she could not be blamed for not understanding. I should never have allowed it."
Silence fell in the sitting room for a while. "I could have prevented it, too," Ialai said finally. "I should have. She was my daughter. You trusted me to raise her into a proper brightlady of Alethkar. I should have argued against letting a darkeyed boy have influence in her life."
"We both should have known better."
"Yes. We should have." She stood and crossed the room, stepping up beside him and threading her fingers with his. "What shall we do?"
"Can we afford to have the boy killed? If we're exposed, if we are even suspected, we'll be the laughingstock of the highprinces. Wasting the resources for an assassination on a darkeyed boy? One who guarded the king? We'll look ridiculous."
"There might be a middle ground," Ialai said slowly. "What if we made it look like a threat against the king? If we can acquire the guard rotation, we can send assassins after the king during the boy's shift—with instructions, not to kill Elhokar, but to slaughter all of his guards to send a message."
Torol raised an eyebrow. For a moment he was silent, trying to guess how Elhokar might react to something like that. His paranoia would blossom into true obsession, of course. In the fullness of time he might go truly mad. Jumping at shadows and thrusting his blade into every corner, expecting betrayal from everyone around him. In the short term, that might well be to Torol's benefit. If Elhokar would be driven to distrust everyone, including Dalinar, that might be all Torol needed.
But it was also possible that Elhokar would come to rely even more heavily on Dalinar, if he was convinced that Torol was responsible for the assassins. And if that happened, it might be cause enough for Elhokar, even in the middle of the war with the Parshendi, to order the other princedoms into open war against him. That would both fracture the kingdom and probably get both Torol and Ialai killed and replaced with some lesser house.
"No," said Torol quietly. "It could work in our favor. But I don't think it will. The risk is too great."
"Then what?"
Before Torol could answer, the horns ran out to call him to a plateau run. Reluctantly, he tugged his fingers from Ialai's grip. "I don't know," he admitted. "We'll continue this discussion when I return, all right?"
"I'll be here," said Ialai quietly. "Thinking. Be careful, husband."
"I am a full Shardbearer," said Torol as he left the room. "I don't need caution."
Torol had not had a Shardblade long, but as he swept it through four Parshendi in a single swing, he felt as though he had been born to it. Their eyes burned out like embers in their heads, and they fell dead at his feet.
And then it was over. He looked around, the Thrill humming in his veins like a drumbeat in his ears, but there were no more of the creatures anywhere near him. The last stragglers were fleeing the plateau, leaping over the chasm to escape his army. As he had many times before, he had to fight down the momentary temptation to call his bridgemen to give chase. They're too fast, he told himself, the Thrill baying at his heels like an excitable hound. We wouldn't be able to catch up, and all we would achieve would be leaving this gemheart for Hatham and Roion to retrieve, profiting off our labor.
The Thrill settled. It remained curled about him, but it stopped trying to push him to attack, to hunt, to kill. It yielded to him.
He let out a satisfied sigh, resting Oathbringer against his shoulder. He dug his heels into his horse, and Nomar bore him towards the chasmfiend chrysalis. They had beaten the Parshendi to the plateau today, and had finished cutting open the chrysalis just before the enemy arrived. Torol saw the gemheart glittering inside, exposed in the gash his men had cut into the chitin.
He slid from his horse's back, bent down, and reached in with both hands. His gauntleted fingers closed against the stone nearly the size of his head. He pulled, and the Shardplate enhanced his strength. With a sickly, wet sound, like a limb being ripped from its socket, the gemheart tore free of the flesh. He held it aloft, dripping with orange blood. A cheer rose up from the army around him, and Torol's eyes slid shut, gemheart in one hand, Oathbringer in the other, and reveled in it.
Then the Thrill leached away, as it always did, and he was left empty. He sighed and dismissed Oathbringer. As it dissipated into mist, he opened his eyes to see Meridas Amaram approaching him, honor guard flanking him. They fanned out to join his own soldiers, moving with an efficiency that Torol couldn't help but envy. His own men were simply not as well-trained, and it was a source of constant annoyance.
Amaram pulled off the helm of his green and gold Shardplate. His square chin was set in displeasure. "You realize your maneuver here failed today?"
"How so?" Torol asked, lips twisting in amusement.
Amaram pointed at where Hatham and Roion's banners were approaching from the plateaus to the west. Today, according to Dalinar and Elhokar's new rotating schedule, those two were supposed to be on duty to retrieve gemhearts. "We needed to arrive, retrieve the gemheart, and leave before the others arrived. Then you could have claimed you didn't realize today wasn't your rotation. The arrival of the other armies removes that deniability."
"You assume I care about deniability." Torol passed Amaram, mounting his horse again. Amaram followed suit.
"I'm duty-bound to follow you into battle, Brightlord, but don't mistake me. I don't approve of this. We should be trying to bridge the differences between us and the Kholins, not widening them."
"Don't give me that," said Torol, rolling his eyes and nudging Nomar towards the western edge of the plateau. "Dalinar may buy your noble act, but like recognizes like."
Amaram sighed. "Yes. So understand that, when I tell you that Alethkar needs to be united to face what is coming, I am not merely playing at nobility. I'm serious."
"So am I. Alethkar will be united." Torol reined in his horse at the edge of the plateau, watching the other armies approach. "By blood and steel."
"Highprince Sadeas!" called a soldier behind him. "Shall we make ready to attack?"
"No," Torol answered. "Make ready to return to the warcamp."
"Do you ever worry?" Amaram asked quietly, voice barely audible over the orders being barked behind them. "Wonder? About the course you've chosen, the actions it demands?"
"No," Torol lied. Something moved in the corner of his vision, but when he glanced to the side there was nothing there. "No," he said again, turning back to Amaram, "I've come to accept the world as it is. Brutal, callous, cruel, pitiless. Ours is a hard world, and we must be hard men to master it. You know this."
"I do," Amaram acknowledged, holding Torol's gaze. "But you seem to revel in it. And you didn't, once."
"No," Torol agreed. "I didn't. I have received an education." Then he turned and spurred his horse away and across one of the bridges. "Latharil!" he called, spotting his general among a knot of officers. "Order the men to turn towards our camp, then come with me!"
Latharil saluted and shouted orders, then spurred his horse to join Torol. Amaram joined the army as it began marching back across the plateaus while Torol and Latharil turned towards the approaching armies. They came to a halt coming to a halt on the edge of the chasm just as Hatham and Roion began crossing onto the plateau on its other side.
Hatham rode ahead of his army, his massive Ryshadium making Torol burn with envy. "Sadeas?" he called. "What is this? What have you done?"
Torol hefted the gemheart and threw it across the chasm. With his strength enhanced by his Plate, it sailed across easily and bounced slightly on the rock at the Ryshadium's hooves. "I was bored," he called back. "I thought I'd save you the trouble. Enjoy your prize."
Then he turned and cantered back towards his army. Latharil kept pace with him. "Shall I tell the men that we won't be having a celebration when we return?" he asked quietly.
"Certainly not," Torol said. "They won a victory today, and they deserve to drink and feast as well as ever. Gemhearts are not the only prize to be won on these Plains, Latharil."
"Yes, Brightlord."
Torol glanced up at the sun, still rising towards its zenith. If the army made haste, he might be able to arrive at the warcamps in time to change and reach the dueling grounds for Adolin Kholin's next duel. Torol had heard the boy had embarrassed himself at the last one, and didn't want to miss it if it happened again.
Torol slipped into his box at the arena beside Ialai, who was already there. "I wasn't sure you'd be here," he murmured into her ear.
She smiled at him. "Of course. After Adolin's performance last time? I couldn't miss it."
"I suppose not," Torol said, resting his hand momentarily on hers beneath the long sleeve of her havah. "The duel hasn't started yet?"
"Not quite. Both contestants have arrived and their armorers have gone to prepare them." She shot him a shrewd look. "I heard you gave away the gemheart you won today."
Torol grinned. "Threw it right at Hatham's feet."
"As if you didn't care about it at all," said Ialai appreciatively. "Very well done. That will undermine Dalinar's claim that we oppose him out of base greed."
"And it will demonstrate that my faster bridge crews continue to be superior to Dalinar's." Torol scanned the crowd. "This duel shouldn't be happening," he said. "You've been speaking to the Shardbearers' wives?"
"Yes," Ialai said. "But duelists aren't a particularly dependable lot. Every single one of them wants to be the man who brought down Adolin Kholin. Hotheaded and proud, all of them."
"Dalinar's plan cannot be allowed to work," Torol said. While Dalinar's goal—to win control over enough of Alethkar's shards to be able to bring the other highprinces in line—was obvious to anyone paying attention, actually acknowledging it was politically fraught. If Torol made it clear that his Shardbearers were not to accept Adolin's challenges because he was afraid they would lose, he all but guaranteed that they would disobey. And then they would lose, and Dalinar would win.
"I know," Ialai said. "It won't."
Before she could continue, Adolin stepped out onto the sand. A moment later, his opponent, a Shardbearer under Ruthar named Eranniv, left his own arming room. Eranniv's Shardplate was, in Torol's opinion, one of the ugliest suits in Alethkar—polished in its natural slate-grey color, like Dalinar's, except that he'd painted the breastplate jet-black.
The judge called for the duel to begin, and Adolin summoned his Blade. Eranniv only bore armor, so his Blade was one of the king's. As such, he had walked out with it, since it was not bound to him and could not be summoned and dismissed at will.
As they circled one another, Ialai continued quietly. "This is just culling the most foolish Shardbearers," she said. "Those with enough sense to see what Dalinar and Adolin are doing will not be so easily persuaded."
"Unless enough stupid Shardbearers lose to Adolin to make it seem cowardly to refuse to do so. It's not the Alethi way to refuse to fight, Ialai."
"I'll continue to investigate other ways to prevent these duels. Oh, speaking of investigations—I found out the source of that disturbance in Elhokar's quarters two weeks ago. It appears the event coincided perfectly with the replacement of his previous guards."
"Oh? Don't leave me in suspense."
"An assassination attempt," Ialai said. "A crude one—someone sabotaged his balcony in the hopes that he would fall to the rocks below. It apparently came near to working."
Torol found, almost to his surprise, that he did still pity Elhokar a little. Hearing that he had nearly died to assassins gave him no joy. True, he knew the boy would have to die eventually—his weakness was driving Alethkar to crumble—but the thought wasn't a happy one. "Not so crude, if it nearly worked."
"Nearly is a very large distinction in an assassination, husband."
"True. Who ordered it, do you think?"
"Hard to say," Ialai said. "I'm sure it wasn't Ruthar or Aladar. They're both yours."
"And Roion's too much of a coward. Thanadal?"
"That's my best guess right now. But I'll keep looking."
A thought suddenly occurred to Torol. "You don't think the boy could have done it himself?" he asked. "If he was promoted to leader of the King's Guard that night…"
Ialai suddenly frowned. "I hadn't considered that. And I should have."
"See if you can find out where my former bridgemen were that night. If he had an opportunity, and thought he could manipulate Elhokar into promoting him, he would certainly take it." Torol's face twisted. "It wouldn't be the first time he was careless with the life of one of his betters."
Ialai made a tiny, pained noise. "No," she whispered. "It wouldn't be."
Torol looked over at Elhokar's box. His eyes found a head of hair going prematurely white. The boy's dark grey eyes were fixed on the duel below. Torol gritted his teeth against the hate and pain, forcing himself to look back down at the action.
"My ability to investigate has been hamstrung by Dalinar's being named Highprince of War," Ialai said. "Every time we openly engage in any sort of espionage, especially when we invoke your authority, it only cements Dalinar's authority over the war."
"It was a masterstroke," Torol acknowledged. "I wonder which of them came up with the idea?"
"We know Dalinar initially suggested it," Ialai said. "He may not have even realized it would interfere with us when he insisted after the Tower. He may have simply been tired of letting Elhokar make poor decisions."
That, Torol could believe. "Do you have a plan for how to work around him?"
"The beginnings of one. Dalinar is overreaching. His soldiers are patrolling between the warcamps and in the outer markets. Shouldn't those sorts of scouts and defenses be your duty?"
"The markets, at least, are the purview of the Highprince of Commerce, which Elhokar hasn't appointed." Torol frowned. "But, as Highprince of Information, I should have been informed the moment an attempt was made on the king's life. I wasn't. There's a weakness there to exploit."
"Dalinar's ambition?"
"It's not ambition, not exactly. Dalinar doesn't necessarily desire more power. He simply has difficulty letting other people have it. He never trusts anyone to do their job. He didn't come to me with a problem that was under my purview even as he claims that all parts of the kingdom should work together. We know why he didn't, of course, but to the rest of the kingdom? That is the weakness." Torol looked Ialai in the eye. "If we simply sow rumors that Dalinar is ambitious and power-hungry, we will only win over those who already fear his authority and are inclined to resist him anyway. But if we frame him as self-contradictory? Hypocritical? Unreliable? That, Ialai, is how we win over his allies."
"Ah," Ialai said softly. "I'll begin spreading rumors. You, meanwhile, should resign your post in protest."
"Not just yet," said Torol, smiling. "I want to time it right. Ideally, I'd like to resign just before Dalinar feels he has to allow me to do my job. It will put him further off balance."
"Elegant," Ialai said. She frowned down at the battle below. "This is taking too long. Why isn't Eranniv finishing him? Adolin's nearly lost his second piece of armor."
Sadeas frowned at the duel. Adolin boasted so often about his skill. Torol had at least expected a better showing than this. The boy's gauntlet had already shattered. Adolin should be better than this.
…Adolin was better than this. Torol had seen him on the battlefield. He was faking.
Torol grinned. "That's almost clever."
"What is?"
"Adolin's fighting beneath his capacity," Torol said. "Trying to bait other prideful duelists into bouts of their own. He's trying to make this duel look as close as he can."
As if on cue, Adolin made a final 'lucky' blow, shattering Eranniv's helm. The crowd cheered, and Eranniv stormed off, shouting about Adolin's luck. His armor would be removed in the preparatory room and presented to Adolin.
"Another victory for Adolin," said Ialai. "I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."
"No," said Torol slowly. "No… Hotheaded and proud, you said. Adolin, like many other young duelists, is both of those things. We can use that."
"How?"
"I'm not certain yet," Torol said softly, watching the boy leave the arena. "But stop discouraging people from fighting him. Don't encourage them, either. I want to see how things develop."
"Don't observe for too long," Ialai warned. "We can't let House Kholin win too many Shards or they will become unstoppable."
"I know, love."
She glanced around. "Any thoughts on what we discussed before the battle?" she asked.
"Much the same," said Torol unhappily. "Especially until we know the details of that assassination attempt. We need to bide our time."
-x-x-x-
38
The Only Prize
-x-x-x-
38
The Only Prize
-x-x-x-
The Dwarves of Erebor, the Men of Dale, and the Avari of the reclaimed Greenwood were all hunting me, though I was at least safe from Gondor this far from their hunting bands. But somehow none happened upon me, though I slept for three days uninterrupted.
-x-x-x-
"Husband?"
Torol looked away from his window overlooking the Sadeas warcamp and gave Ialai a smile. "Wife."
She didn't smile back. Her expression was grim. "Elhokar has just relieved two-thirds of the King's Guard from their commissions."
He blinked at her. "That… Well, I suppose the boy's paranoia is getting worse. A good thing for us."
"No. Not a good thing. Torol, they have been replaced by your bridgemen."
Torol felt his face freeze. His heart suddenly thundered in his ears. "You cannot be serious," he said softly.
"As serious as an execution, love." Ialai flung herself down onto the couch nearest the door, a plush thing upholstered in an Azish style, whose green fabric perfectly matched the rest of the opulent sitting room. "And you can surely guess just which bridgeman has apparently been placed in command of the rotation."
"No."
"Yes. The man who killed our daughter has just been promoted to squadleader of the King's Guard."
Torol sank slowly into a seat across from his wife. "This might be a good thing," he said slowly. "If it comes to assassination, we may be able to eliminate both Elhokar and the boy with one action. And make the death of the darkeyes look like nothing more than collateral damage."
"Yes, we could do that," Ialai said stiffly. "But it was you who argued that assassination was an inelegant approach to take. If we assassinate Elhokar, it will be almost impossible to avoid suspicion falling on ourselves. And if it does—or worse, if our involvement is proven—we will give Dalinar the perfect grounds to rally the entire rest of the kingdom against us. You are a great warrior, Torol, especially now you have that Blade—but even you can't stand against nine other highprincedoms."
"It wouldn't be nine other highprincedoms. I'm sure we could maintain alliances with one or two others."
"How strong would those alliances be? No one wants to be on the losing side of a civil war, Torol. How much do you think we'll be able to trust anyone who claims to stand with us?"
Torol didn't have an answer for that. He turned back to the window, teeth gritted.
"And if the boy guards Elhokar correctly, it will only grow harder to destroy him," said Ialai darkly. "You remember him. You remember just how good he was at ingratiating himself with those above his station. Ardents. Officers. Even our daughter."
"I remember."
"We cannot allow him to gain such a foothold with the king. He will only grow more trusted, and once Elhokar can afford to dedicate more peacetime resources to his own safety, that will make him practically untouchable."
"It won't be that dire," said Torol, forcing the words out through his clenched teeth. "No matter how intricate a web of manipulation the boy weaves around Elhokar, the fact remains that he is a darkeyes, one who has been a slave—sas nahn. Even if he's free now, that blemish on his rank will not go away. Elhokar was raised by Gavilar and grew up in the Kholinar court. He understands the importance of nahn and dahn. He will never completely trust the boy."
"Tailiah was raised by us," Ialai said. "By me. Yet she trusted him."
"Yes." Torol let the self-recrimination, the hate, surge upward in him. He remembered the night he had been woken by the cries of a babe beneath his windowsill. He remembered deciding to allow him to stay. How different might the world have been if that boy had not been there that night? Or if he had held true to rank and sent him away? "And that was my fault. I allowed him to stay. I allowed Tailiah to interact with him. She was a child when they first became playmates—she could not be blamed for not understanding. I should never have allowed it."
Silence fell in the sitting room for a while. "I could have prevented it, too," Ialai said finally. "I should have. She was my daughter. You trusted me to raise her into a proper brightlady of Alethkar. I should have argued against letting a darkeyed boy have influence in her life."
"We both should have known better."
"Yes. We should have." She stood and crossed the room, stepping up beside him and threading her fingers with his. "What shall we do?"
"Can we afford to have the boy killed? If we're exposed, if we are even suspected, we'll be the laughingstock of the highprinces. Wasting the resources for an assassination on a darkeyed boy? One who guarded the king? We'll look ridiculous."
"There might be a middle ground," Ialai said slowly. "What if we made it look like a threat against the king? If we can acquire the guard rotation, we can send assassins after the king during the boy's shift—with instructions, not to kill Elhokar, but to slaughter all of his guards to send a message."
Torol raised an eyebrow. For a moment he was silent, trying to guess how Elhokar might react to something like that. His paranoia would blossom into true obsession, of course. In the fullness of time he might go truly mad. Jumping at shadows and thrusting his blade into every corner, expecting betrayal from everyone around him. In the short term, that might well be to Torol's benefit. If Elhokar would be driven to distrust everyone, including Dalinar, that might be all Torol needed.
But it was also possible that Elhokar would come to rely even more heavily on Dalinar, if he was convinced that Torol was responsible for the assassins. And if that happened, it might be cause enough for Elhokar, even in the middle of the war with the Parshendi, to order the other princedoms into open war against him. That would both fracture the kingdom and probably get both Torol and Ialai killed and replaced with some lesser house.
"No," said Torol quietly. "It could work in our favor. But I don't think it will. The risk is too great."
"Then what?"
Before Torol could answer, the horns ran out to call him to a plateau run. Reluctantly, he tugged his fingers from Ialai's grip. "I don't know," he admitted. "We'll continue this discussion when I return, all right?"
"I'll be here," said Ialai quietly. "Thinking. Be careful, husband."
"I am a full Shardbearer," said Torol as he left the room. "I don't need caution."
-x-x-x-
Torol had not had a Shardblade long, but as he swept it through four Parshendi in a single swing, he felt as though he had been born to it. Their eyes burned out like embers in their heads, and they fell dead at his feet.
And then it was over. He looked around, the Thrill humming in his veins like a drumbeat in his ears, but there were no more of the creatures anywhere near him. The last stragglers were fleeing the plateau, leaping over the chasm to escape his army. As he had many times before, he had to fight down the momentary temptation to call his bridgemen to give chase. They're too fast, he told himself, the Thrill baying at his heels like an excitable hound. We wouldn't be able to catch up, and all we would achieve would be leaving this gemheart for Hatham and Roion to retrieve, profiting off our labor.
The Thrill settled. It remained curled about him, but it stopped trying to push him to attack, to hunt, to kill. It yielded to him.
He let out a satisfied sigh, resting Oathbringer against his shoulder. He dug his heels into his horse, and Nomar bore him towards the chasmfiend chrysalis. They had beaten the Parshendi to the plateau today, and had finished cutting open the chrysalis just before the enemy arrived. Torol saw the gemheart glittering inside, exposed in the gash his men had cut into the chitin.
He slid from his horse's back, bent down, and reached in with both hands. His gauntleted fingers closed against the stone nearly the size of his head. He pulled, and the Shardplate enhanced his strength. With a sickly, wet sound, like a limb being ripped from its socket, the gemheart tore free of the flesh. He held it aloft, dripping with orange blood. A cheer rose up from the army around him, and Torol's eyes slid shut, gemheart in one hand, Oathbringer in the other, and reveled in it.
Then the Thrill leached away, as it always did, and he was left empty. He sighed and dismissed Oathbringer. As it dissipated into mist, he opened his eyes to see Meridas Amaram approaching him, honor guard flanking him. They fanned out to join his own soldiers, moving with an efficiency that Torol couldn't help but envy. His own men were simply not as well-trained, and it was a source of constant annoyance.
Amaram pulled off the helm of his green and gold Shardplate. His square chin was set in displeasure. "You realize your maneuver here failed today?"
"How so?" Torol asked, lips twisting in amusement.
Amaram pointed at where Hatham and Roion's banners were approaching from the plateaus to the west. Today, according to Dalinar and Elhokar's new rotating schedule, those two were supposed to be on duty to retrieve gemhearts. "We needed to arrive, retrieve the gemheart, and leave before the others arrived. Then you could have claimed you didn't realize today wasn't your rotation. The arrival of the other armies removes that deniability."
"You assume I care about deniability." Torol passed Amaram, mounting his horse again. Amaram followed suit.
"I'm duty-bound to follow you into battle, Brightlord, but don't mistake me. I don't approve of this. We should be trying to bridge the differences between us and the Kholins, not widening them."
"Don't give me that," said Torol, rolling his eyes and nudging Nomar towards the western edge of the plateau. "Dalinar may buy your noble act, but like recognizes like."
Amaram sighed. "Yes. So understand that, when I tell you that Alethkar needs to be united to face what is coming, I am not merely playing at nobility. I'm serious."
"So am I. Alethkar will be united." Torol reined in his horse at the edge of the plateau, watching the other armies approach. "By blood and steel."
"Highprince Sadeas!" called a soldier behind him. "Shall we make ready to attack?"
"No," Torol answered. "Make ready to return to the warcamp."
"Do you ever worry?" Amaram asked quietly, voice barely audible over the orders being barked behind them. "Wonder? About the course you've chosen, the actions it demands?"
"No," Torol lied. Something moved in the corner of his vision, but when he glanced to the side there was nothing there. "No," he said again, turning back to Amaram, "I've come to accept the world as it is. Brutal, callous, cruel, pitiless. Ours is a hard world, and we must be hard men to master it. You know this."
"I do," Amaram acknowledged, holding Torol's gaze. "But you seem to revel in it. And you didn't, once."
"No," Torol agreed. "I didn't. I have received an education." Then he turned and spurred his horse away and across one of the bridges. "Latharil!" he called, spotting his general among a knot of officers. "Order the men to turn towards our camp, then come with me!"
Latharil saluted and shouted orders, then spurred his horse to join Torol. Amaram joined the army as it began marching back across the plateaus while Torol and Latharil turned towards the approaching armies. They came to a halt coming to a halt on the edge of the chasm just as Hatham and Roion began crossing onto the plateau on its other side.
Hatham rode ahead of his army, his massive Ryshadium making Torol burn with envy. "Sadeas?" he called. "What is this? What have you done?"
Torol hefted the gemheart and threw it across the chasm. With his strength enhanced by his Plate, it sailed across easily and bounced slightly on the rock at the Ryshadium's hooves. "I was bored," he called back. "I thought I'd save you the trouble. Enjoy your prize."
Then he turned and cantered back towards his army. Latharil kept pace with him. "Shall I tell the men that we won't be having a celebration when we return?" he asked quietly.
"Certainly not," Torol said. "They won a victory today, and they deserve to drink and feast as well as ever. Gemhearts are not the only prize to be won on these Plains, Latharil."
"Yes, Brightlord."
Torol glanced up at the sun, still rising towards its zenith. If the army made haste, he might be able to arrive at the warcamps in time to change and reach the dueling grounds for Adolin Kholin's next duel. Torol had heard the boy had embarrassed himself at the last one, and didn't want to miss it if it happened again.
-x-x-x-
Torol slipped into his box at the arena beside Ialai, who was already there. "I wasn't sure you'd be here," he murmured into her ear.
She smiled at him. "Of course. After Adolin's performance last time? I couldn't miss it."
"I suppose not," Torol said, resting his hand momentarily on hers beneath the long sleeve of her havah. "The duel hasn't started yet?"
"Not quite. Both contestants have arrived and their armorers have gone to prepare them." She shot him a shrewd look. "I heard you gave away the gemheart you won today."
Torol grinned. "Threw it right at Hatham's feet."
"As if you didn't care about it at all," said Ialai appreciatively. "Very well done. That will undermine Dalinar's claim that we oppose him out of base greed."
"And it will demonstrate that my faster bridge crews continue to be superior to Dalinar's." Torol scanned the crowd. "This duel shouldn't be happening," he said. "You've been speaking to the Shardbearers' wives?"
"Yes," Ialai said. "But duelists aren't a particularly dependable lot. Every single one of them wants to be the man who brought down Adolin Kholin. Hotheaded and proud, all of them."
"Dalinar's plan cannot be allowed to work," Torol said. While Dalinar's goal—to win control over enough of Alethkar's shards to be able to bring the other highprinces in line—was obvious to anyone paying attention, actually acknowledging it was politically fraught. If Torol made it clear that his Shardbearers were not to accept Adolin's challenges because he was afraid they would lose, he all but guaranteed that they would disobey. And then they would lose, and Dalinar would win.
"I know," Ialai said. "It won't."
Before she could continue, Adolin stepped out onto the sand. A moment later, his opponent, a Shardbearer under Ruthar named Eranniv, left his own arming room. Eranniv's Shardplate was, in Torol's opinion, one of the ugliest suits in Alethkar—polished in its natural slate-grey color, like Dalinar's, except that he'd painted the breastplate jet-black.
The judge called for the duel to begin, and Adolin summoned his Blade. Eranniv only bore armor, so his Blade was one of the king's. As such, he had walked out with it, since it was not bound to him and could not be summoned and dismissed at will.
As they circled one another, Ialai continued quietly. "This is just culling the most foolish Shardbearers," she said. "Those with enough sense to see what Dalinar and Adolin are doing will not be so easily persuaded."
"Unless enough stupid Shardbearers lose to Adolin to make it seem cowardly to refuse to do so. It's not the Alethi way to refuse to fight, Ialai."
"I'll continue to investigate other ways to prevent these duels. Oh, speaking of investigations—I found out the source of that disturbance in Elhokar's quarters two weeks ago. It appears the event coincided perfectly with the replacement of his previous guards."
"Oh? Don't leave me in suspense."
"An assassination attempt," Ialai said. "A crude one—someone sabotaged his balcony in the hopes that he would fall to the rocks below. It apparently came near to working."
Torol found, almost to his surprise, that he did still pity Elhokar a little. Hearing that he had nearly died to assassins gave him no joy. True, he knew the boy would have to die eventually—his weakness was driving Alethkar to crumble—but the thought wasn't a happy one. "Not so crude, if it nearly worked."
"Nearly is a very large distinction in an assassination, husband."
"True. Who ordered it, do you think?"
"Hard to say," Ialai said. "I'm sure it wasn't Ruthar or Aladar. They're both yours."
"And Roion's too much of a coward. Thanadal?"
"That's my best guess right now. But I'll keep looking."
A thought suddenly occurred to Torol. "You don't think the boy could have done it himself?" he asked. "If he was promoted to leader of the King's Guard that night…"
Ialai suddenly frowned. "I hadn't considered that. And I should have."
"See if you can find out where my former bridgemen were that night. If he had an opportunity, and thought he could manipulate Elhokar into promoting him, he would certainly take it." Torol's face twisted. "It wouldn't be the first time he was careless with the life of one of his betters."
Ialai made a tiny, pained noise. "No," she whispered. "It wouldn't be."
Torol looked over at Elhokar's box. His eyes found a head of hair going prematurely white. The boy's dark grey eyes were fixed on the duel below. Torol gritted his teeth against the hate and pain, forcing himself to look back down at the action.
"My ability to investigate has been hamstrung by Dalinar's being named Highprince of War," Ialai said. "Every time we openly engage in any sort of espionage, especially when we invoke your authority, it only cements Dalinar's authority over the war."
"It was a masterstroke," Torol acknowledged. "I wonder which of them came up with the idea?"
"We know Dalinar initially suggested it," Ialai said. "He may not have even realized it would interfere with us when he insisted after the Tower. He may have simply been tired of letting Elhokar make poor decisions."
That, Torol could believe. "Do you have a plan for how to work around him?"
"The beginnings of one. Dalinar is overreaching. His soldiers are patrolling between the warcamps and in the outer markets. Shouldn't those sorts of scouts and defenses be your duty?"
"The markets, at least, are the purview of the Highprince of Commerce, which Elhokar hasn't appointed." Torol frowned. "But, as Highprince of Information, I should have been informed the moment an attempt was made on the king's life. I wasn't. There's a weakness there to exploit."
"Dalinar's ambition?"
"It's not ambition, not exactly. Dalinar doesn't necessarily desire more power. He simply has difficulty letting other people have it. He never trusts anyone to do their job. He didn't come to me with a problem that was under my purview even as he claims that all parts of the kingdom should work together. We know why he didn't, of course, but to the rest of the kingdom? That is the weakness." Torol looked Ialai in the eye. "If we simply sow rumors that Dalinar is ambitious and power-hungry, we will only win over those who already fear his authority and are inclined to resist him anyway. But if we frame him as self-contradictory? Hypocritical? Unreliable? That, Ialai, is how we win over his allies."
"Ah," Ialai said softly. "I'll begin spreading rumors. You, meanwhile, should resign your post in protest."
"Not just yet," said Torol, smiling. "I want to time it right. Ideally, I'd like to resign just before Dalinar feels he has to allow me to do my job. It will put him further off balance."
"Elegant," Ialai said. She frowned down at the battle below. "This is taking too long. Why isn't Eranniv finishing him? Adolin's nearly lost his second piece of armor."
Sadeas frowned at the duel. Adolin boasted so often about his skill. Torol had at least expected a better showing than this. The boy's gauntlet had already shattered. Adolin should be better than this.
…Adolin was better than this. Torol had seen him on the battlefield. He was faking.
Torol grinned. "That's almost clever."
"What is?"
"Adolin's fighting beneath his capacity," Torol said. "Trying to bait other prideful duelists into bouts of their own. He's trying to make this duel look as close as he can."
As if on cue, Adolin made a final 'lucky' blow, shattering Eranniv's helm. The crowd cheered, and Eranniv stormed off, shouting about Adolin's luck. His armor would be removed in the preparatory room and presented to Adolin.
"Another victory for Adolin," said Ialai. "I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."
"No," said Torol slowly. "No… Hotheaded and proud, you said. Adolin, like many other young duelists, is both of those things. We can use that."
"How?"
"I'm not certain yet," Torol said softly, watching the boy leave the arena. "But stop discouraging people from fighting him. Don't encourage them, either. I want to see how things develop."
"Don't observe for too long," Ialai warned. "We can't let House Kholin win too many Shards or they will become unstoppable."
"I know, love."
She glanced around. "Any thoughts on what we discussed before the battle?" she asked.
"Much the same," said Torol unhappily. "Especially until we know the details of that assassination attempt. We need to bide our time."
IronLucario2012
<Verified Pokémon> <Licensed Mech Pilot>
- Location
- Ireland
Very interesting to see more of Torol's POV.
Also, congratulations, you've successfully replicated the Sanderson feeling of "I know so much and yet so little about this incredibly important piece of backstory and I need to know more!" that made Shallan's (and later Dalinar's, during Oathbringer) sections so compelling for me.
Also, congratulations, you've successfully replicated the Sanderson feeling of "I know so much and yet so little about this incredibly important piece of backstory and I need to know more!" that made Shallan's (and later Dalinar's, during Oathbringer) sections so compelling for me.
39: Love and Be Loved
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
Then I turned south and east, following the Celduin towards the Sea of Rhûn and the Ered Rhûn upon its western shores. And there I, like the rest of my surviving kin, crept into the dark and did my best to survive.
"You take to this well, boy."
Sarus snapped his spear back to his side and spun, giving Sergeant Palas a crisp salute. "Thank you, sir."
The stern man gave him a short nod before moving on to the other drilling recruits.
Sarus had only started training with the cadets a few brief months ago, despite having selected his Calling fully two years ago now. Despite the sanctity of the age, ten was deemed too young to begin training with live weapons among grown men. Twelve was the convention, and so, at twelve, Sarus had joined the guard of Castle Sadaras as a new cadet.
He returned to his drilling, driving his spear forward again and again, carefully noting which muscles began to burn as he pushed them to move the weapon faster, strike with more force. When he noticed that one of the muscles he was using extensively was stopping the force of the blow so that the spear didn't fly out of his hands, he ended the drill.
"Cadet Sarus!" Sergeant Palas approached him. His face was set into the same hard, stern expression he always wore while overseeing the recruits, but Sarus could tell the man liked him. He was a simple person—all he wanted in a trainee was someone who took the training seriously, who understood that the glory of battle would never come without preparation. And that was something Sarus didn't even have to fake.
"Sir." Sarus snapped a salute to the man.
"Why have you stopped drilling?"
"I believe I am overtraining the technique in the air, sir. I think I'm building a bad habit of holding back at the end of the strike because there's no target to stop the motion. I humbly request a target, sir."
Palas' eyes narrowed. "Identify for me the muscle you believe you're overusing."
Sarus had been drilling a sidelong strike from overhead, where he stood almost sideways relative to his target and thrust the spear over his head with both hands. Most of the forward force came from his rear arm, but it was the front arm that was being used to slow the weapon at the end. He pointed at the muscle on the underside of the upper arm of his left hand. "This one, sir."
Sergeant Palas watched him silently for a moment. Sarus was thankful that there weren't many recruits in the field today. There was no active draft, so the only people training here, other than Sarus, were people who genuinely wanted to be soldiers. While some of the nearest shot him sour looks for questioning the sergeant, most were focused on their own drilling.
It didn't matter. He wasn't trying to win their approval.
"Very well," said Palas finally. "Cadets, cease drilling!"
It took some of the recruits a few moments to heed the command, but soon they all stood at attention.
"We'll go to the range," Palas ordered. "The archers shouldn't be training there now. We can use their targets, and I'll get the quartermaster to have targets made for our use." He shot Sarus a look. "Will that satisfy you, boy?"
Sarus didn't let his expression shift. Palas wasn't actually upset with him. He just felt it was necessary not to show favoritism, and so when he gave Sarus what he wanted, he had to make it seem backhanded and reluctant. Sarus was fine with that. After all, Palas acting unreasonable implicitly meant he was favoring Sarus, underneath the bluster. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Palas nodded sharply and turned on his heel. "Cadets, fall in!"
"Welcome home, Sarus," his mother called from their small, private kitchen as he stepped inside their sitting room.
He breathed in through his nose as he closed the door behind him, relishing the peppery scent. "Is that dinner for us?"
"There was some chicken in the pantry that was starting to turn," she said. "I rescued it for our use. I hope you won't report me to the highprince, brave guardsman."
"I will accept a second helping as bribery," Sarus joked, hanging his training spear upon the small rack beside the door. He passed through the sitting room into the kitchen, watching his mother bustling over a small pot bubbling with broth.
"I certainly hope you'll have a second helping," she said, shooting him a look. "This chicken won't last forever. I'm even going to have a helping, even though I'm spicing it for you."
"How scandalous."
"How practical. Also, selfish. It's not every day I get to eat chicken fit for a highprince, even if it is a bit too old to be served to them now. Go, sit down. It'll be ready in a few minutes."
He obeyed, returning to the sitting room and pulling a chair up to the small table. His mother joined him with the chicken and a small sweetbread before long. "How was training?" she asked.
"Fine," he said. "Sergeant Palas likes me. Despite his best efforts."
"Of course he does. I'm sure you didn't give him a choice."
He grinned. "You know me so well. Any news from the kitchens?"
"Brightness Ialai is apparently squabbling with the wife of one of the vintners whose wine we stock in the pantry." His mother rolled her eyes. "We've been instructed to source an alternative sapphire. Not too much, just enough for Her Ladyship's next few parties."
"Just enough to send a message?"
"Exactly."
A brief quiet fell between them as Sarus' mother served the both of them. A larger helping of chicken for him, and a larger helping of sweetbread for her. He cut himself a bite immediately. She hesitated, watching him. "Are you certain you're ready to enter the Guard?" she finally asked.
He paused between bites. "Yes."
"House Sadeas has enemies, Sarus," she said softly.
"Of course it does. They wouldn't need a Guard, otherwise."
"Not just enemies in general. There's rumor of rebellion stirring in the west part of the highprincedom."
He'd heard as much over the past several months. "Good. It's an opportunity for achievement."
She grimaced, and he understood. "You're twelve, Sarus! You're too young to go out and fight armies. You could die."
"Or I could achieve glory." He reached across the table and took her hand. "Mother, the things I want can't be achieved without risk. And I want them. I can't settle as an ordinary servant to the highprince and his family. I admire that you can, but it would drive me mad. I don't intend to get myself killed as a boy on a battlefield for men. But I do intend to ensure that, when I become a man, I am ready to step onto that battlefield."
She met his eyes. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
Sarus had almost managed to drift off to sleep when he heard the shutters of his window being pushed aside. He opened his eyes and sat up as Tailiah slipped inside, dark cloak covering her white nightgown.
"Hey, Sarus," she said, closing the window behind her and shooting him a smile.
"Tailiah. You don't usually come this late." It was already well past second moonrise. "Is something wrong?"
She hesitated a moment before shaking her head. "No, nothing's wrong. Mother just held me up."
"Held you up past second moonrise? I'd have thought she'd want you in bed by now."
Tailiah grimaced. "…Adolin is coming to visit again."
"Ah." Sarus was sympathetic to Tailiah's situation, but he had to admit he didn't understand it. "Do you want me to try and run interference for you?" Sarus asked. "I can't promise anything, but if Renarin comes with him I might be able to—"
"No," said Tailiah with a quick shake of her head. "No, I can handle Adolin. It's not like I hate his company or anything. It's just the… implications that bother me."
Sarus nodded slowly. "I understand."
"Do you?" Her face looked conflicted in the dim spherelight. "I've thought about talking to him about this, you know."
Sarus blinked and caught himself drawing back slightly. "Really? Why?"
"Because I really think he might try to help, in his way," said Tailiah. "He's kind, Sarus. Kinder than I am. But he's also a bit of an idiot. Even if he tried to help, he might make things worse. But that doesn't mean I want to—to lead him on like this. He can do so much better than me. He and I have been informally courting for years now. In that time he could have had tens of causals and opportunities if his family hadn't been wasting his time with me."
"Tailiah, you're the one trapped with him. Not the other way around."
"I think it might be both," she said quietly. "Adolin's just too sweet and stupid to see the ropes." She looked up at him for a long moment. "I'm starting to think everyone's trapped," she whispered. "All of us, holding one another down, trying to force each other into roles we don't want and didn't ask for. Just like I'm doing with you."
Sarus frowned at her. "Tailiah, I don't mind doing this. If I can get Shards of my own, I'll be happy to use them to get you out of your situation with Adolin."
"I don't understand how that can be true," she admitted. "You're talking about being trapped in a loveless marriage, Sarus. How can you not mind that?"
This was what Sarus didn't understand. He understood the desire to be loved. It was one of the most fundamental desires people had. It wasn't something he often had occasion to use, but when those opportunities presented themselves there was seldom a more reliable way to get what he wanted.
But the desire, not to be loved, but to love? To shackle oneself down in such a fundamental way, tying one's very soul to that of another person? To willingly open oneself to the manipulations of anyone who had access to the object of one's affection? That, Sarus could not understand. He could see it, certainly, could understand that it existed and make educated guesses and plans based on that information. But he couldn't imagine ever feeling like that himself.
Which was, of course, why he was willing to be Tailiah's way out of her inevitable betrothal to Adolin. What did it matter to him if he were in a sham of a marriage, where his wife mostly wanted to avoid dealing with other men? It just meant he was responsible for less in the partnership.
"I think any marriage I'm in will eventually degrade to a loveless one, Tailiah," he said. "At least this way you and I both know what we're getting into."
Suddenly her arms were around him. "No," she said firmly. "No, Sarus. You're not destined to be trapped in a loveless marriage. You deserve better. You—"
Sarus put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. "It's not that I'm worried about being loved, Tailiah," he said. "I'm confident that with some effort and practice I could get a woman of suitable station quite infatuated. But eventually, she would be bound to realize that I didn't love her back."
"But what if you did?"
"I don't want to. I don't even understand why you do."
She blinked at him. She didn't seem to have any idea what to say for a long moment. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Bitterness shot through him like poison from a blade. "I don't need your pity," he snapped. "I am what I am. Isn't that exactly what you want for yourself?"
She turned her face away. "You're right. I'm—I shouldn't…" She trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself.
The bile slid from Sarus' tongue, leaving only the taste of ashes. "I don't need a marriage bed or a devoted wife, Tailiah. All I want is respect and the power to choose my own fate. You used to want the same things."
"I still do."
"Well, I might be able to help you get the freedom you want without compromising mine. So let me."
"Okay. Thank you, Sarus."
"You're welcome."
She shot him a brittle smile. "I should get back before Mother checks in on me," she said. "Good night."
"Sleep well, Tailiah."
She slipped from his room, shuttering the windows behind her. He stood in the gloom for several minutes, his bed empty beside him, thinking of the girl who had been his best friend for their entire lives, and wondering when they had grown so far apart.
He didn't want what she wanted. And he wanted the best for her. He wanted her to have the things she wanted to have, and he had no desire to have them for himself.
So why did he feel envious?
-x-x-x-
39
Love and Be Loved
-x-x-x-
39
Love and Be Loved
-x-x-x-
Then I turned south and east, following the Celduin towards the Sea of Rhûn and the Ered Rhûn upon its western shores. And there I, like the rest of my surviving kin, crept into the dark and did my best to survive.
-x-x-x-
Eight Years Ago
Eight Years Ago
"You take to this well, boy."
Sarus snapped his spear back to his side and spun, giving Sergeant Palas a crisp salute. "Thank you, sir."
The stern man gave him a short nod before moving on to the other drilling recruits.
Sarus had only started training with the cadets a few brief months ago, despite having selected his Calling fully two years ago now. Despite the sanctity of the age, ten was deemed too young to begin training with live weapons among grown men. Twelve was the convention, and so, at twelve, Sarus had joined the guard of Castle Sadaras as a new cadet.
He returned to his drilling, driving his spear forward again and again, carefully noting which muscles began to burn as he pushed them to move the weapon faster, strike with more force. When he noticed that one of the muscles he was using extensively was stopping the force of the blow so that the spear didn't fly out of his hands, he ended the drill.
"Cadet Sarus!" Sergeant Palas approached him. His face was set into the same hard, stern expression he always wore while overseeing the recruits, but Sarus could tell the man liked him. He was a simple person—all he wanted in a trainee was someone who took the training seriously, who understood that the glory of battle would never come without preparation. And that was something Sarus didn't even have to fake.
"Sir." Sarus snapped a salute to the man.
"Why have you stopped drilling?"
"I believe I am overtraining the technique in the air, sir. I think I'm building a bad habit of holding back at the end of the strike because there's no target to stop the motion. I humbly request a target, sir."
Palas' eyes narrowed. "Identify for me the muscle you believe you're overusing."
Sarus had been drilling a sidelong strike from overhead, where he stood almost sideways relative to his target and thrust the spear over his head with both hands. Most of the forward force came from his rear arm, but it was the front arm that was being used to slow the weapon at the end. He pointed at the muscle on the underside of the upper arm of his left hand. "This one, sir."
Sergeant Palas watched him silently for a moment. Sarus was thankful that there weren't many recruits in the field today. There was no active draft, so the only people training here, other than Sarus, were people who genuinely wanted to be soldiers. While some of the nearest shot him sour looks for questioning the sergeant, most were focused on their own drilling.
It didn't matter. He wasn't trying to win their approval.
"Very well," said Palas finally. "Cadets, cease drilling!"
It took some of the recruits a few moments to heed the command, but soon they all stood at attention.
"We'll go to the range," Palas ordered. "The archers shouldn't be training there now. We can use their targets, and I'll get the quartermaster to have targets made for our use." He shot Sarus a look. "Will that satisfy you, boy?"
Sarus didn't let his expression shift. Palas wasn't actually upset with him. He just felt it was necessary not to show favoritism, and so when he gave Sarus what he wanted, he had to make it seem backhanded and reluctant. Sarus was fine with that. After all, Palas acting unreasonable implicitly meant he was favoring Sarus, underneath the bluster. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Palas nodded sharply and turned on his heel. "Cadets, fall in!"
-x-x-x-
"Welcome home, Sarus," his mother called from their small, private kitchen as he stepped inside their sitting room.
He breathed in through his nose as he closed the door behind him, relishing the peppery scent. "Is that dinner for us?"
"There was some chicken in the pantry that was starting to turn," she said. "I rescued it for our use. I hope you won't report me to the highprince, brave guardsman."
"I will accept a second helping as bribery," Sarus joked, hanging his training spear upon the small rack beside the door. He passed through the sitting room into the kitchen, watching his mother bustling over a small pot bubbling with broth.
"I certainly hope you'll have a second helping," she said, shooting him a look. "This chicken won't last forever. I'm even going to have a helping, even though I'm spicing it for you."
"How scandalous."
"How practical. Also, selfish. It's not every day I get to eat chicken fit for a highprince, even if it is a bit too old to be served to them now. Go, sit down. It'll be ready in a few minutes."
He obeyed, returning to the sitting room and pulling a chair up to the small table. His mother joined him with the chicken and a small sweetbread before long. "How was training?" she asked.
"Fine," he said. "Sergeant Palas likes me. Despite his best efforts."
"Of course he does. I'm sure you didn't give him a choice."
He grinned. "You know me so well. Any news from the kitchens?"
"Brightness Ialai is apparently squabbling with the wife of one of the vintners whose wine we stock in the pantry." His mother rolled her eyes. "We've been instructed to source an alternative sapphire. Not too much, just enough for Her Ladyship's next few parties."
"Just enough to send a message?"
"Exactly."
A brief quiet fell between them as Sarus' mother served the both of them. A larger helping of chicken for him, and a larger helping of sweetbread for her. He cut himself a bite immediately. She hesitated, watching him. "Are you certain you're ready to enter the Guard?" she finally asked.
He paused between bites. "Yes."
"House Sadeas has enemies, Sarus," she said softly.
"Of course it does. They wouldn't need a Guard, otherwise."
"Not just enemies in general. There's rumor of rebellion stirring in the west part of the highprincedom."
He'd heard as much over the past several months. "Good. It's an opportunity for achievement."
She grimaced, and he understood. "You're twelve, Sarus! You're too young to go out and fight armies. You could die."
"Or I could achieve glory." He reached across the table and took her hand. "Mother, the things I want can't be achieved without risk. And I want them. I can't settle as an ordinary servant to the highprince and his family. I admire that you can, but it would drive me mad. I don't intend to get myself killed as a boy on a battlefield for men. But I do intend to ensure that, when I become a man, I am ready to step onto that battlefield."
She met his eyes. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
-x-x-x-
Sarus had almost managed to drift off to sleep when he heard the shutters of his window being pushed aside. He opened his eyes and sat up as Tailiah slipped inside, dark cloak covering her white nightgown.
"Hey, Sarus," she said, closing the window behind her and shooting him a smile.
"Tailiah. You don't usually come this late." It was already well past second moonrise. "Is something wrong?"
She hesitated a moment before shaking her head. "No, nothing's wrong. Mother just held me up."
"Held you up past second moonrise? I'd have thought she'd want you in bed by now."
Tailiah grimaced. "…Adolin is coming to visit again."
"Ah." Sarus was sympathetic to Tailiah's situation, but he had to admit he didn't understand it. "Do you want me to try and run interference for you?" Sarus asked. "I can't promise anything, but if Renarin comes with him I might be able to—"
"No," said Tailiah with a quick shake of her head. "No, I can handle Adolin. It's not like I hate his company or anything. It's just the… implications that bother me."
Sarus nodded slowly. "I understand."
"Do you?" Her face looked conflicted in the dim spherelight. "I've thought about talking to him about this, you know."
Sarus blinked and caught himself drawing back slightly. "Really? Why?"
"Because I really think he might try to help, in his way," said Tailiah. "He's kind, Sarus. Kinder than I am. But he's also a bit of an idiot. Even if he tried to help, he might make things worse. But that doesn't mean I want to—to lead him on like this. He can do so much better than me. He and I have been informally courting for years now. In that time he could have had tens of causals and opportunities if his family hadn't been wasting his time with me."
"Tailiah, you're the one trapped with him. Not the other way around."
"I think it might be both," she said quietly. "Adolin's just too sweet and stupid to see the ropes." She looked up at him for a long moment. "I'm starting to think everyone's trapped," she whispered. "All of us, holding one another down, trying to force each other into roles we don't want and didn't ask for. Just like I'm doing with you."
Sarus frowned at her. "Tailiah, I don't mind doing this. If I can get Shards of my own, I'll be happy to use them to get you out of your situation with Adolin."
"I don't understand how that can be true," she admitted. "You're talking about being trapped in a loveless marriage, Sarus. How can you not mind that?"
This was what Sarus didn't understand. He understood the desire to be loved. It was one of the most fundamental desires people had. It wasn't something he often had occasion to use, but when those opportunities presented themselves there was seldom a more reliable way to get what he wanted.
But the desire, not to be loved, but to love? To shackle oneself down in such a fundamental way, tying one's very soul to that of another person? To willingly open oneself to the manipulations of anyone who had access to the object of one's affection? That, Sarus could not understand. He could see it, certainly, could understand that it existed and make educated guesses and plans based on that information. But he couldn't imagine ever feeling like that himself.
Which was, of course, why he was willing to be Tailiah's way out of her inevitable betrothal to Adolin. What did it matter to him if he were in a sham of a marriage, where his wife mostly wanted to avoid dealing with other men? It just meant he was responsible for less in the partnership.
"I think any marriage I'm in will eventually degrade to a loveless one, Tailiah," he said. "At least this way you and I both know what we're getting into."
Suddenly her arms were around him. "No," she said firmly. "No, Sarus. You're not destined to be trapped in a loveless marriage. You deserve better. You—"
Sarus put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. "It's not that I'm worried about being loved, Tailiah," he said. "I'm confident that with some effort and practice I could get a woman of suitable station quite infatuated. But eventually, she would be bound to realize that I didn't love her back."
"But what if you did?"
"I don't want to. I don't even understand why you do."
She blinked at him. She didn't seem to have any idea what to say for a long moment. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Bitterness shot through him like poison from a blade. "I don't need your pity," he snapped. "I am what I am. Isn't that exactly what you want for yourself?"
She turned her face away. "You're right. I'm—I shouldn't…" She trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself.
The bile slid from Sarus' tongue, leaving only the taste of ashes. "I don't need a marriage bed or a devoted wife, Tailiah. All I want is respect and the power to choose my own fate. You used to want the same things."
"I still do."
"Well, I might be able to help you get the freedom you want without compromising mine. So let me."
"Okay. Thank you, Sarus."
"You're welcome."
She shot him a brittle smile. "I should get back before Mother checks in on me," she said. "Good night."
"Sleep well, Tailiah."
She slipped from his room, shuttering the windows behind her. He stood in the gloom for several minutes, his bed empty beside him, thinking of the girl who had been his best friend for their entire lives, and wondering when they had grown so far apart.
He didn't want what she wanted. And he wanted the best for her. He wanted her to have the things she wanted to have, and he had no desire to have them for himself.
So why did he feel envious?
- Location
- Book Fort
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Hm. Aromantic or too hurt to risk trusting again?
A lovely update ^.^
GiovanniBlasini
Transhumanist Nutcase from Niops IX
- Location
- San Diego, CA, USA, Sol III
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm guessing the parts of his persona that are still Maiar-shaped are as deeply aromantic as my autocorrect is annoying.
- Location
- Sufficient Velocity, at the moment
Definitely personal. Beyond evidence of the Maiar getting into relationships in the Legendarium (Melian coming immediately to mind), a Maiar becoming romantically involved with a human is rather important in the story before this one in the series.