Strunkriidiisk
THE LEGEND
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Of Many Colors [Stormlight Archive/Lord of the Rings]
- Thread starter Lithos Maitreya
- Start date
- Crossover
68: Something of Worth
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
I helped gather the Dawnshards. I provided the dragonsteel to house them. I helped forge them into the Shatterer.
Sarus leaned back against the wall of the barracks, staring out at the curtains of rain falling over the quiet warcamp. He half expected an attack to come from Sadeas or Ruthar, with most of the army off attacking the Parshendi. So far, no such attack had come. But he was alert to the possibility.
It felt like Sarus was always alert these days. Alert to the risk of an attack from Sadeas. Alert to any sign of a man meeting Moash's description of Graves. Alert to the possibility that the assassins might try something subtler than a direct assault with their Shardbearer. Alert to the risk of inflaming Elhokar's paranoia.
He was doing his best to keep the guard rotations irregular. If Kaladin was in charge of the same shift watching over Elhokar each day, it would be all too easy for the conspirators to plan their attack around one of his shifts, or at the shift where neither Kaladin nor Sarus were on duty. So Sarus ensured that those shifts were never at the same time more than two days in a row. He didn't know whether the conspirators would feel confident that Kaladin's imprisonment would have made him willing to stand aside if they attempted to kill Elhokar—he wasn't even sure whether Kaladin was still willing to stand aside if they made an attempt—but it was something he would have considered, at least, if he were them.
So even though it was currently Kaladin's shift, even though Sarus should probably be sleeping, preparing for his own shift in a few hours—he was taking two five-hour shifts a day, to maximize how often he felt confident in Elhokar's safety, and to maximize the odds that he would be there to seize Graves' Shards if and when the attack did come—here he was. Standing outside the barracks, watching the rain, unable to rest.
"Sarus?"
He blinked and glanced over. "Leyten?" he asked. "Has something happened?" Leyten was meant to be on shift with Kaladin.
"I was just about to ask you that!" Leyten said, coming over, his spear leaning casually on his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be watching the king?"
"It's… it's Kaladin's shift now."
Leyten blinked. "Kaladin said you'd changed today's rota," he said. "That you were hoping to take both daylight shifts today and get a full night's sleep for once."
Kaladin said… "You're joking," Sarus breathed. "You can't be serious."
Leyten leaned away from him. "Uh… no? Sarus, what's wrong?"
Sarus started laughing. "Get the others," he managed, his words sloppy and his hand on Leyten's shoulder. "Then—ha!—follow me!" He kept laughing as he ran past Leyten, as the Weeping rain soaked through his uniform, as he sprinted across the warcamp toward the palace.
"What is it?" Archive demanded, still a mere speck on his shoulder. "Why is your amusement?"
Sarus didn't answer, still chortling between ragged gasps for breath.
"Amusement should not be," Archive admonished. "Kaladin lied. Could it be that he is—"
Sarus rounded a corner and was faced by two men in Bridge Four uniforms. They were not men of Bridge Four. They stared at him with wide eyes and pale faces, their spears shaking in their hands. Sarus wondered what they saw—the near-mythical Shardbreaker, running towards them in the moments before an attempt on King Elhokar's life, cackling like a madman.
He finally got his laughter under control. "It was a good—ha!—a good plan," he told them. "Truly, it was. Ha ha! But it's over now. So I would like to suggest that you run."
They looked at him mutely, their spears shaking in their grip.
"I would like to," he said. "But, unfortunately, ha, I can't let you bring warning to the other conspirators. Otherwise, they might just try again. So—ha!—I hope you're willing to die for your cause. Because you are about to."
"Please—" one of them began, but by the time the word had fully left his lips Sarus had already closed the distance between them. His shortspear buried itself in the man's gut, even as his leg came up and thudded into the other man's groin. They both went down, and a moment later the second man was also bleeding out from a spear to the throat.
The door opened. Elhokar stared at him as he straightened up and saluted, still chuckling between breaths. "Your Majesty," he said.
"What is this, Sarus?" he asked, eyes darting from Sarus to the dying men at his feet.
Before Sarus could answer, the man he'd stabbed in the gut let out a rattling cough. "All the nobility of the wind," he choked, eyes wide and unseeing. "All the honor of the sky. Not enough. Never enough. I am his, his, his…" His head fell back and to the side, and he was dead.
"Hm," Sarus said. "Not the first time I've heard men say cryptic things as they die, but this one… do you think they see the future, Your Majesty? As they die?"
"The future is forbidden," Elhokar said immediately. "Storms, Sarus—Captain—what is happening? Aren't these your men?"
"I'm afraid not," Sarus said. "There are assassins on their way to kill you. These were plants, intending to allow it."
Elhokar stared at him, shaking. "Damnation," he murmured. "What should I do? Is there somewhere safe I can go?"
"Yes, of course," Sarus said, still chuckling occasionally. "Behind me."
"What is so funny about this situation?" Elhokar demanded.
"Oh, it's… difficult to explain, Your Majesty," Sarus said. "I just—"
"Damnation." The voice came from down the hall. "What are you doing here, Sarus?"
Sarus turned, and another cackle escaped him. There, having just rounded the corner Sarus himself had turned a moment ago, were two men. One wore unpainted grey Shardplate.
The other was Kaladin.
Even as they stared at one another, several other men came up behind them, stopping when they saw the standoff before them. A ribbon of blue light wove between the conspirators, darting towards Sarus. A giggle in a girlish voice emerged from it as it orbited his head. For a moment, it shifted into the familiar shape of a girl composed of blue light.
"I'm laughing too," Syl informed Sarus, a too-bright smile on her face. "Otherwise, I'll…" she trailed off, glancing at something on the other side of the hall, and then she turned into a ribbon of light again and darted away—unable to even hold on to her mind long enough to finish the thought. She bounced past Elhokar, who could only stare.
Kaladin let out a shuddering breath. "Stand aside, Sarus," he implored. "Please."
"Absolutely not," Sarus said, still smiling widely, even if he was no longer laughing. "Why on Roshar would I step aside now, when I've been trying so very hard to be in this exact place?"
Kaladin stared at him. "Alethkar deserves better than him as king."
"Alethkar is a nation of pillagers and murderers," Sarus said. "A country where the only true law is that of the sword. A country where death is the only true monarch. I assure you, my dear friend, it does not deserve better."
"We can make it better," said the Shardbearer beside Kaladin. "We can improve things. Highprince Dalinar will bring this kingdom into a new Silver Epoch."
"Ah, yes. The honorable Blackthorn. The man who put Rathalas to the torch, who threatened his own king with death to force him to obey. Yes, I can see how he would make Alethkar a less violent and brutal kingdom."
"Uncle Dalinar would be a better king than me," Elhokar whispered, quietly enough that only Sarus could hear. "Just look at this. Even the former head of my own guard, the man honorable enough to jump into a dueling arena to save my cousins—even he is willing to kill me just to get me off this throne."
"Oh, certainly, Highprince Dalinar likely would be a better monarch than you," Sarus said easily, and Elhokar flinched. "That's not in question. But that's not why darling Kaladin is doing this, is it?" He grinned across the corridor at the man, shash brand starkly red against his pale skin. "No, no. Elhokar has been a poor king for five years, as long as either of us has been in the warcamps. He's even been improving, lately. But he also imprisoned you. He took the wind from you. And—" he broke off cackling again, his eyes filling with tears of mirth.
"What's so funny?" the Shardbearer demanded. "Look, Shardbreaker, you might be strange and powerful, but there's only one of you. We have you outnumbered, and Captain Kaladin has fought Shardbearers more than once and won."
Sarus wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'll get to you," he told Graves—for who else could the Shardbearer be? "But you want to know what's funny? Is it not obvious?"
"No," Elhokar said quietly, and there was something wounded in his tone. Betrayed. "Why are you laughing, Sarus? You're… you're frightening me."
"Do you have any idea," Sarus said to Kaladin, ignoring everyone else, "what it's been like? You and I are two facets of the same gemstone. Both of us spent longer in the bridge crews than anyone else. Both of us survived through means we did not at the time understand. Both of us… well, you understand. And yet. And yet."
"And yet what?" Kaladin whispered.
Sarus bared his teeth. He felt as if his flesh might burst into flame—so much rage and bitterness and spite was rising to the surface all at once. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to get the men to so much as listen to me? Let alone to obey me as their captain? Do you have any idea how carefully I had to maneuver things to make sure they didn't break you out the moment you were jailed, or mutiny in favor of you the moment you were out of prison? Do you have any idea what it is like, Kaladin, not to be naturally beloved? To be the sort of person who naturally makes people wary, who people don't naturally trust? Of course you don't. How could you? You're Kaladin Stormblessed, beloved of man and God alike."
"Do you really think that?" Kaladin snapped, suddenly standing up straight and glaring at him. "Do you really think I'm that enviable? Everyone I ever tried to protect before being shipped down here is dead! My squad! My fellow slaves! My brother! And it's his fault Tien is dead!" He thrust an accusing finger in Elhokar's direction. "How many more innocent children have to die, Sarus? How many more people does he get to put in danger or allow to die through his selfishness and incompetence?"
"There it is!" Sarus exclaimed. "This isn't about principle at all! It's about vengeance! About lashing out at a man you feel is responsible for your pain!"
"So what if it is!?"
"So you're just the same as I am!" Sarus laughed in bitter triumph. "I've never envied your circumstances, Kaladin. I've envied your nature. I've envied that you're the sort of man who can be beaten down, over and over, and still rise up so tall that you can't help lift other men up beside you. Whereas I? I'm a wretch! I'm a parcel of bitterness and hate, held together with little more than spite! Everything I do, I do for myself! Do you think I was sincere when I gave the men that speech about how Elhokar had to be defended or Alethkar would descend into civil war? Of course not! Alethkar can burn in Damnation for all I care! But I needed the men to fall in line! I needed to preserve my position! I needed access!"
"My Elsecaller—" Archive began from his shoulder.
"Don't you dare start!" Sarus bellowed at her, heedless of all the eyes and ears watching her. "Five years, I've gone without a storming answer! Five years I've gone without any storming idea what in Damnation happened that night! My best friend, my only friend, turned to smoke under my fingertips! Finally, I have an answer, my dear Inkspren. Finally I know! Did it never occur to you how dangerous the Soulcasting you, a spren barely able to think when you first entered the Physical Realm, would offer to a man who had no idea it was even in his hands? Of course it didn't. Of course you didn't consider who might die because of your storming Surgebinding!"
She was silent and still on his shoulder.
"And you!" He rounded on Kaladin again. "What was it you swore? I will protect those who cannot protect themselves? Not so easy now, is it? Not so easy, when the man who needs your protection is one who has wrought so much of your own pain! What does it matter that Elhokar was barely taught the very basics of rulership by a father who never intended to let him get this far? What does it matter that his esteemed Uncle, whom you practically worship, barely allows him to use the privy without his consent and prior approval? What does it matter that he's a prospective Radiant, just like you and me?" Behind him, Sarus heard Elhokar mutter something, but he ignored the man in favor of continuing to scream in Kaladin's direction. "It doesn't! Of course it doesn't! Because you're still hurting! Because even knowing that he's trying, knowing that the only thing he wants in the world is to be better, to be worthy of the legacy he's inherited, doesn't change the fact that he is still the man who got your brother killed! So stop lying to yourself that this is about principle, Lieutenant Kaladin. This isn't even about your brother. Your brother is dead, just like Tailiah, and Dabbid, and everyone else who has died under your watch and mine. No, this is about you. Your pain. Your suffering. Your vengeance. In the end, for all your charisma, for all you make the men around you want to be better—in the end, Stormblessed, you are just. Like. Me."
A terrible silence fell. Behind Sarus, he could hear Elhokar hyperventilating. Kaladin stared at him, dark eyes so wide that they were ringed with white.
"Enough," said Graves hoarsely. "Enough, Shardbreaker. You're outnumbered. Stand aside."
"You're right," Kaladin said suddenly, dropping his spear with a clatter. His voice sounded rough, almost choked, as if he was holding back tears. "You're right about me, Sarus. About why I'm doing this. Of course you're right." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "And that's not good enough."
That brought Sarus up short. "What?"
"Alleviating my own pain, my own need for vengeance… it might have been reason enough to break an oath, before," Kaladin said. "When I was a slave, or when I was just a soldier. But I'm not." He straightened. "And Elhokar's death, just to soothe my own pain, is not worth Syl's life."
"You're joking," Sarus said, his hands shaking on his spear. "You can't be serious."
"I am a Knight Radiant of the Order of Windrunners," Kaladin said. "And I will protect even those I hate, so long as it is right."
For a moment, the corridor was silent. Then light exploded from Kaladin, streaming outward in brilliant sky blue, sending the other conspirators staggering back. Syl streamed back towards him in a ribbon of brilliant blue light. She flowed between his hands, elongating, solidifying. In a moment he held a spear of brilliant silver—a living Shardspear, the weapon of a Knight Radiant.
"Storms!" Graves exclaimed. "What—Kaladin, what is—"
"Go away, Graves," Kaladin said, turning on his heel and pointing his weapon, his Sylspear, at the Shardbearer. "Turn around, and walk away. I don't want to kill you—I believe that you really are here for your principles, and I don't want to kill you for them. But I can't let you kill the king. I swore an oath to protect him. This is what that means. I'm sorry."
"Don't you dare," Sarus snapped, stalking forward. "You may have decided that the beauty of your principles is worth painting over your pain for another day, Kaladin, but I have waited too storming long to let another set of Shards slip away from me."
"I was not in the Physical Realm." Archive's voice no longer came from his shoulder. She had jumped off during his tirade, and as he glanced back he saw that she had grown to her full size, standing beside Elhokar, watching Sarus with a strange, sad expression on her face. Elhokar was staring at her in a mixture of awe and terror.
"What?" he asked.
"I was not in the Physical Realm," she repeated. "When your friend vanished in smoke. I had not yet crossed over."
"Your memory is flawed," Sarus snapped. "We know this. You told me yourself."
"If our Nahel bond had not progressed to the point that I would be cognizant of my own existence, then it cannot have progressed to the point that it would give you Soulcasting," she said.
"I'm unusual," he growled. "I generate my own Stormlight. I hear the Rhythms as Rlain speaks them. I see spren even when they're trying to hide. Why should this be any different?"
"Because I remember the day I first saw you," she said. "Because I remember the first glimpse I caught of my Elsecaller. And you were already here. Already on these Plains. Already a bridgeman."
He stopped. "You're lying," he said. "You have to be."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "But the answer you think you have found… is not."
"Then what is?" Sarus demanded.
"I know not." She took a deep breath. "But this is, Sarus. You are not a 'wretch.' You are occasionally wretched. You are not a bundle of bitterness and hate held together by spite. You are occasionally hateful, bitter, and spiteful. These are not the same thing. You are not defined by your lowest point. You are not even defined by your highest. You are defined, my Elsecaller, by the mountaintops to which you aspire."
"Enough of this," Graves said suddenly, and Sarus heard the stamp of his Plated boot on the stone floor as he stepped forward.
"No, you be quiet," Sarus snapped at him without looking, lacing his voice with power. Graves froze, Shardplate creaking. "I'll deal with you later." He turned back to Archive. "I am so storming tired of aspiring all the time. Has it never occurred to you, Archive, that maybe I don't want to be constantly growing? Maybe I want to be happy where I am! Maybe I want to enjoy my victories instead of constantly striving to ensure the next one! Maybe I want to rest sometimes! When am I enough, Archive? When am I enough!?"
She looked him in the eye, looking terribly sad. "Were you happy," she asked, "when you thought Kaladin had fallen to your level? When you laughed as you ran to this hall, were you happy? Was that the peace you have sought? Were you enough then, Sarus?"
"If that wasn't enough, Archive, then what is? Certainly nowhere you can define. Growth is everything to you, just as honor is everything to Syl. You don't have it in you to stop pushing me to keep reaching."
"Oh, my Elsecaller," she murmured. "Don't you see that this contradiction is not? That these are not opposites? Yes, I want you to keep reaching. I want you to grow. I want you, each day, to be more than you were the day before. But that does not mean you are not enough. It does not mean that you, as you are now, are unworthy. Of course not. I came to you, Sarus, because you were enough. Because I saw in you the core of an Elsecaller—the core of my Elsecaller. And no matter how many times you fail, how many calls you refuse, how many wrong turns you take, that core will always be, as long as you are. And as long as that is, I will remain beside you. I will try to help you succeed, to answer the call, to make the right turn, but not because you are not enough if you do not do these things. It is because you are enough that I care at all."
Sarus' hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists. "And if I take that Shardblade right now?" he asked. "If I renounce our Nahel bond? Will that be enough to destroy your valuation of me? Will I then cease to be enough for you?"
"Captain—" Elhokar began, voice shaking.
"Hush," Sarus ordered, his eyes still fixed on Archive. Elhokar obediently fell silent.
"If you renounce our Nahel bond," Archive said, "I will die. But I will die hoping, praying to Honor who is dead and Cultivation who is not, that even in my absence, you will still find a way to rise. Because you are my Elsecaller, Sarus. You will always be my Elsecaller, no matter what happens between us."
"You're enough for Moash," came a small voice beside his ear. He turned to see Syl seated on air beside his head, watching him. "You're enough for Murk, and Teft, and Rock, and Rlain. You're enough for me and Kaladin. I'm sorry we didn't make you feel like it. I'm sorry I didn't see that you were hurting—or if I did see, that I didn't understand why."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he looked back at Archive. "It really wasn't you, was it?" he asked. "You weren't there. Whatever happened to Tailiah… it wasn't you."
"No," Archive said. "I am sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" he asked. "It means I don't have a reason to kill you."
"But it means you still have no answer," she said. "And I can see how that hurts you. I wish your pain was not. But no—it was not me."
Sarus stared at her for a long moment. Then—"Brightlord Graves," he said in a voice that rasped painfully against the inside of his throat. "I suggest you unbond your Shardblade and surrender to my custody. Otherwise, I will be forced to kill you."
There was a brief silence. Then Graves spoke. "I suppose you'll have to kill me, then."
Sarus turned, meeting his eyes. He felt raw, like flesh scraped bloody against rock. He felt exhausted, too, and grimy, as if he had just gotten back from an eight-hour bridge run. "You know something," he said. "Something you do not want to come out in interrogation."
Graves didn't answer.
"I could probably force you to speak," Sarus said. "But I don't know if I could force you to speak the truth. So I suppose I should take you prisoner."
"You can't take a Shardbearer prisoner," Kaladin said. "He'll just cut through whatever cell you put him in."
"Not without some imagination," Sarus said. "But he would find it difficult to wield his Blade, I suspect, without functioning arms."
Graves paled.
"One way or another, I intend to learn whatever you are trying to keep secret," Sarus told him. "So do us both a favor, and unbond that Shardblade."
Graves was silent for a long moment. Then he held out his Blade, and the gemstone in the pommel flashed as he unbonded it. He dropped it, and it clattered to the stone at his feet, the tip slicing a section off the stone.
"Good," Sarus said, stepping forward. The conspirators all watched him, frozen in place, as he leaned down and picked up the Blade.
It screamed in his head. It surprised him a little, perhaps, but it felt muted. Distant. Compared to everything else, it really didn't matter.
He turned and walked back to the king. He held out the Blade, hilt first. "Here," he said. "I suppose I don't need it."
With shaking hands, Elhokar reached out and took the Blade. "Captain," he began, but Sarus was already turning away, meeting Archive's eyes.
It should have been difficult to read her expression, behind the strange oily texture of her ink-black skin, to see her thoughts behind the flat, dark orbs of her eyes. It wasn't. He could see in her face joy and relief—not for herself and her own life, but for him. He could see her empathy, and her total lack of pity.
Even in his youth, he did not think he had ever had someone look at him with such selfless affection. Tailiah had been dear to him—but if he had held a knife to Tailiah's throat, he did not think she would have been able to think first of his pain, and only distantly of her own life. And yet, that was exactly what Archive had done. It made him want to crawl away and hide.
But he resisted the impulse. For a long moment he stared at Archive. His brain felt as though it was operating in a fog. It took him a moment to put words to the idea which had blossomed in the last few minutes. The understanding which had finally come. But eventually he did. "I will learn to accept… that there is something of worth within me."
She smiled at him, and he felt the rush of power even before she spoke. When she did, it was in a tone of mingled joy and sorrow. "These words are accepted, my Elsecaller."
"Sarus," Elhokar said, suddenly drawing himself up—like the bulb of a rockbud, rising after the storm had passed, fully aware that it would hide again at the first strong gale. "What in Damnation is going on? What was that about me being a Radiant? Is that a spren? Is it—"
"I'd recommend you enter your chambers and lock the door," Sarus said, ignoring the king's questions. "Allow no one entrance until Kaladin or I return."
"What?" Kaladin asked. "Where are we going?"
"Today is the end of the countdown," Sarus said. It was something he had been peripherally aware of for the past several days—but now, with Graves neutralized, it had become a priority. More to the point, some instinct—an instinct which had been present before, but which he found easier to heed now that he had sworn his Second Ideal, now that the sudden infusion of Stormlight set his whole body thrumming. "The numbers that have been scratched on Highprince Dalinar's wall during and after his visions. Today is where that number reaches zero. I suspect we are needed on the Plains."
"Yes," Syl murmured. "I can feel it. Him. Odium comes."
"There you are then," Sarus said. "Well, Windrunner? Do you think you can fly us there?"
Kaladin swallowed. "I can try."
"Excellent." Sarus looked past the conspirators, at the eight men of Bridge Four—both his and Kaladin's squads, led by Leyten—who had finally arrived. Before Leyten could say a word, he ordered them, "Please take these men into custody. And help Brightlord Graves out of his Plate. You," he told Graves, threading power into his voice once more, "will cooperate."
Graves nodded grimly.
Sarus turned back to Kaladin. "Well, Windrunner?" he said. "Shall we?"
He held out a hand. Kaladin nodded and took it.
Time to go to the battle, Sarus thought. To the center of the Shattered Plains. Just as he thought the words, he and Kaladin were gone, leaving only a sudden gust of wind and a splash of rainfall in their place.
-x-x-x-
68
Something of Worth
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68
Something of Worth
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I helped gather the Dawnshards. I provided the dragonsteel to house them. I helped forge them into the Shatterer.
-x-x-x-
Sarus leaned back against the wall of the barracks, staring out at the curtains of rain falling over the quiet warcamp. He half expected an attack to come from Sadeas or Ruthar, with most of the army off attacking the Parshendi. So far, no such attack had come. But he was alert to the possibility.
It felt like Sarus was always alert these days. Alert to the risk of an attack from Sadeas. Alert to any sign of a man meeting Moash's description of Graves. Alert to the possibility that the assassins might try something subtler than a direct assault with their Shardbearer. Alert to the risk of inflaming Elhokar's paranoia.
He was doing his best to keep the guard rotations irregular. If Kaladin was in charge of the same shift watching over Elhokar each day, it would be all too easy for the conspirators to plan their attack around one of his shifts, or at the shift where neither Kaladin nor Sarus were on duty. So Sarus ensured that those shifts were never at the same time more than two days in a row. He didn't know whether the conspirators would feel confident that Kaladin's imprisonment would have made him willing to stand aside if they attempted to kill Elhokar—he wasn't even sure whether Kaladin was still willing to stand aside if they made an attempt—but it was something he would have considered, at least, if he were them.
So even though it was currently Kaladin's shift, even though Sarus should probably be sleeping, preparing for his own shift in a few hours—he was taking two five-hour shifts a day, to maximize how often he felt confident in Elhokar's safety, and to maximize the odds that he would be there to seize Graves' Shards if and when the attack did come—here he was. Standing outside the barracks, watching the rain, unable to rest.
"Sarus?"
He blinked and glanced over. "Leyten?" he asked. "Has something happened?" Leyten was meant to be on shift with Kaladin.
"I was just about to ask you that!" Leyten said, coming over, his spear leaning casually on his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be watching the king?"
"It's… it's Kaladin's shift now."
Leyten blinked. "Kaladin said you'd changed today's rota," he said. "That you were hoping to take both daylight shifts today and get a full night's sleep for once."
Kaladin said… "You're joking," Sarus breathed. "You can't be serious."
Leyten leaned away from him. "Uh… no? Sarus, what's wrong?"
Sarus started laughing. "Get the others," he managed, his words sloppy and his hand on Leyten's shoulder. "Then—ha!—follow me!" He kept laughing as he ran past Leyten, as the Weeping rain soaked through his uniform, as he sprinted across the warcamp toward the palace.
"What is it?" Archive demanded, still a mere speck on his shoulder. "Why is your amusement?"
Sarus didn't answer, still chortling between ragged gasps for breath.
"Amusement should not be," Archive admonished. "Kaladin lied. Could it be that he is—"
Sarus rounded a corner and was faced by two men in Bridge Four uniforms. They were not men of Bridge Four. They stared at him with wide eyes and pale faces, their spears shaking in their hands. Sarus wondered what they saw—the near-mythical Shardbreaker, running towards them in the moments before an attempt on King Elhokar's life, cackling like a madman.
He finally got his laughter under control. "It was a good—ha!—a good plan," he told them. "Truly, it was. Ha ha! But it's over now. So I would like to suggest that you run."
They looked at him mutely, their spears shaking in their grip.
"I would like to," he said. "But, unfortunately, ha, I can't let you bring warning to the other conspirators. Otherwise, they might just try again. So—ha!—I hope you're willing to die for your cause. Because you are about to."
"Please—" one of them began, but by the time the word had fully left his lips Sarus had already closed the distance between them. His shortspear buried itself in the man's gut, even as his leg came up and thudded into the other man's groin. They both went down, and a moment later the second man was also bleeding out from a spear to the throat.
The door opened. Elhokar stared at him as he straightened up and saluted, still chuckling between breaths. "Your Majesty," he said.
"What is this, Sarus?" he asked, eyes darting from Sarus to the dying men at his feet.
Before Sarus could answer, the man he'd stabbed in the gut let out a rattling cough. "All the nobility of the wind," he choked, eyes wide and unseeing. "All the honor of the sky. Not enough. Never enough. I am his, his, his…" His head fell back and to the side, and he was dead.
"Hm," Sarus said. "Not the first time I've heard men say cryptic things as they die, but this one… do you think they see the future, Your Majesty? As they die?"
"The future is forbidden," Elhokar said immediately. "Storms, Sarus—Captain—what is happening? Aren't these your men?"
"I'm afraid not," Sarus said. "There are assassins on their way to kill you. These were plants, intending to allow it."
Elhokar stared at him, shaking. "Damnation," he murmured. "What should I do? Is there somewhere safe I can go?"
"Yes, of course," Sarus said, still chuckling occasionally. "Behind me."
"What is so funny about this situation?" Elhokar demanded.
"Oh, it's… difficult to explain, Your Majesty," Sarus said. "I just—"
"Damnation." The voice came from down the hall. "What are you doing here, Sarus?"
Sarus turned, and another cackle escaped him. There, having just rounded the corner Sarus himself had turned a moment ago, were two men. One wore unpainted grey Shardplate.
The other was Kaladin.
Even as they stared at one another, several other men came up behind them, stopping when they saw the standoff before them. A ribbon of blue light wove between the conspirators, darting towards Sarus. A giggle in a girlish voice emerged from it as it orbited his head. For a moment, it shifted into the familiar shape of a girl composed of blue light.
"I'm laughing too," Syl informed Sarus, a too-bright smile on her face. "Otherwise, I'll…" she trailed off, glancing at something on the other side of the hall, and then she turned into a ribbon of light again and darted away—unable to even hold on to her mind long enough to finish the thought. She bounced past Elhokar, who could only stare.
Kaladin let out a shuddering breath. "Stand aside, Sarus," he implored. "Please."
"Absolutely not," Sarus said, still smiling widely, even if he was no longer laughing. "Why on Roshar would I step aside now, when I've been trying so very hard to be in this exact place?"
Kaladin stared at him. "Alethkar deserves better than him as king."
"Alethkar is a nation of pillagers and murderers," Sarus said. "A country where the only true law is that of the sword. A country where death is the only true monarch. I assure you, my dear friend, it does not deserve better."
"We can make it better," said the Shardbearer beside Kaladin. "We can improve things. Highprince Dalinar will bring this kingdom into a new Silver Epoch."
"Ah, yes. The honorable Blackthorn. The man who put Rathalas to the torch, who threatened his own king with death to force him to obey. Yes, I can see how he would make Alethkar a less violent and brutal kingdom."
"Uncle Dalinar would be a better king than me," Elhokar whispered, quietly enough that only Sarus could hear. "Just look at this. Even the former head of my own guard, the man honorable enough to jump into a dueling arena to save my cousins—even he is willing to kill me just to get me off this throne."
"Oh, certainly, Highprince Dalinar likely would be a better monarch than you," Sarus said easily, and Elhokar flinched. "That's not in question. But that's not why darling Kaladin is doing this, is it?" He grinned across the corridor at the man, shash brand starkly red against his pale skin. "No, no. Elhokar has been a poor king for five years, as long as either of us has been in the warcamps. He's even been improving, lately. But he also imprisoned you. He took the wind from you. And—" he broke off cackling again, his eyes filling with tears of mirth.
"What's so funny?" the Shardbearer demanded. "Look, Shardbreaker, you might be strange and powerful, but there's only one of you. We have you outnumbered, and Captain Kaladin has fought Shardbearers more than once and won."
Sarus wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'll get to you," he told Graves—for who else could the Shardbearer be? "But you want to know what's funny? Is it not obvious?"
"No," Elhokar said quietly, and there was something wounded in his tone. Betrayed. "Why are you laughing, Sarus? You're… you're frightening me."
"Do you have any idea," Sarus said to Kaladin, ignoring everyone else, "what it's been like? You and I are two facets of the same gemstone. Both of us spent longer in the bridge crews than anyone else. Both of us survived through means we did not at the time understand. Both of us… well, you understand. And yet. And yet."
"And yet what?" Kaladin whispered.
Sarus bared his teeth. He felt as if his flesh might burst into flame—so much rage and bitterness and spite was rising to the surface all at once. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to get the men to so much as listen to me? Let alone to obey me as their captain? Do you have any idea how carefully I had to maneuver things to make sure they didn't break you out the moment you were jailed, or mutiny in favor of you the moment you were out of prison? Do you have any idea what it is like, Kaladin, not to be naturally beloved? To be the sort of person who naturally makes people wary, who people don't naturally trust? Of course you don't. How could you? You're Kaladin Stormblessed, beloved of man and God alike."
"Do you really think that?" Kaladin snapped, suddenly standing up straight and glaring at him. "Do you really think I'm that enviable? Everyone I ever tried to protect before being shipped down here is dead! My squad! My fellow slaves! My brother! And it's his fault Tien is dead!" He thrust an accusing finger in Elhokar's direction. "How many more innocent children have to die, Sarus? How many more people does he get to put in danger or allow to die through his selfishness and incompetence?"
"There it is!" Sarus exclaimed. "This isn't about principle at all! It's about vengeance! About lashing out at a man you feel is responsible for your pain!"
"So what if it is!?"
"So you're just the same as I am!" Sarus laughed in bitter triumph. "I've never envied your circumstances, Kaladin. I've envied your nature. I've envied that you're the sort of man who can be beaten down, over and over, and still rise up so tall that you can't help lift other men up beside you. Whereas I? I'm a wretch! I'm a parcel of bitterness and hate, held together with little more than spite! Everything I do, I do for myself! Do you think I was sincere when I gave the men that speech about how Elhokar had to be defended or Alethkar would descend into civil war? Of course not! Alethkar can burn in Damnation for all I care! But I needed the men to fall in line! I needed to preserve my position! I needed access!"
"My Elsecaller—" Archive began from his shoulder.
"Don't you dare start!" Sarus bellowed at her, heedless of all the eyes and ears watching her. "Five years, I've gone without a storming answer! Five years I've gone without any storming idea what in Damnation happened that night! My best friend, my only friend, turned to smoke under my fingertips! Finally, I have an answer, my dear Inkspren. Finally I know! Did it never occur to you how dangerous the Soulcasting you, a spren barely able to think when you first entered the Physical Realm, would offer to a man who had no idea it was even in his hands? Of course it didn't. Of course you didn't consider who might die because of your storming Surgebinding!"
She was silent and still on his shoulder.
"And you!" He rounded on Kaladin again. "What was it you swore? I will protect those who cannot protect themselves? Not so easy now, is it? Not so easy, when the man who needs your protection is one who has wrought so much of your own pain! What does it matter that Elhokar was barely taught the very basics of rulership by a father who never intended to let him get this far? What does it matter that his esteemed Uncle, whom you practically worship, barely allows him to use the privy without his consent and prior approval? What does it matter that he's a prospective Radiant, just like you and me?" Behind him, Sarus heard Elhokar mutter something, but he ignored the man in favor of continuing to scream in Kaladin's direction. "It doesn't! Of course it doesn't! Because you're still hurting! Because even knowing that he's trying, knowing that the only thing he wants in the world is to be better, to be worthy of the legacy he's inherited, doesn't change the fact that he is still the man who got your brother killed! So stop lying to yourself that this is about principle, Lieutenant Kaladin. This isn't even about your brother. Your brother is dead, just like Tailiah, and Dabbid, and everyone else who has died under your watch and mine. No, this is about you. Your pain. Your suffering. Your vengeance. In the end, for all your charisma, for all you make the men around you want to be better—in the end, Stormblessed, you are just. Like. Me."
A terrible silence fell. Behind Sarus, he could hear Elhokar hyperventilating. Kaladin stared at him, dark eyes so wide that they were ringed with white.
"Enough," said Graves hoarsely. "Enough, Shardbreaker. You're outnumbered. Stand aside."
"You're right," Kaladin said suddenly, dropping his spear with a clatter. His voice sounded rough, almost choked, as if he was holding back tears. "You're right about me, Sarus. About why I'm doing this. Of course you're right." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "And that's not good enough."
That brought Sarus up short. "What?"
"Alleviating my own pain, my own need for vengeance… it might have been reason enough to break an oath, before," Kaladin said. "When I was a slave, or when I was just a soldier. But I'm not." He straightened. "And Elhokar's death, just to soothe my own pain, is not worth Syl's life."
"You're joking," Sarus said, his hands shaking on his spear. "You can't be serious."
"I am a Knight Radiant of the Order of Windrunners," Kaladin said. "And I will protect even those I hate, so long as it is right."
For a moment, the corridor was silent. Then light exploded from Kaladin, streaming outward in brilliant sky blue, sending the other conspirators staggering back. Syl streamed back towards him in a ribbon of brilliant blue light. She flowed between his hands, elongating, solidifying. In a moment he held a spear of brilliant silver—a living Shardspear, the weapon of a Knight Radiant.
"Storms!" Graves exclaimed. "What—Kaladin, what is—"
"Go away, Graves," Kaladin said, turning on his heel and pointing his weapon, his Sylspear, at the Shardbearer. "Turn around, and walk away. I don't want to kill you—I believe that you really are here for your principles, and I don't want to kill you for them. But I can't let you kill the king. I swore an oath to protect him. This is what that means. I'm sorry."
"Don't you dare," Sarus snapped, stalking forward. "You may have decided that the beauty of your principles is worth painting over your pain for another day, Kaladin, but I have waited too storming long to let another set of Shards slip away from me."
"I was not in the Physical Realm." Archive's voice no longer came from his shoulder. She had jumped off during his tirade, and as he glanced back he saw that she had grown to her full size, standing beside Elhokar, watching Sarus with a strange, sad expression on her face. Elhokar was staring at her in a mixture of awe and terror.
"What?" he asked.
"I was not in the Physical Realm," she repeated. "When your friend vanished in smoke. I had not yet crossed over."
"Your memory is flawed," Sarus snapped. "We know this. You told me yourself."
"If our Nahel bond had not progressed to the point that I would be cognizant of my own existence, then it cannot have progressed to the point that it would give you Soulcasting," she said.
"I'm unusual," he growled. "I generate my own Stormlight. I hear the Rhythms as Rlain speaks them. I see spren even when they're trying to hide. Why should this be any different?"
"Because I remember the day I first saw you," she said. "Because I remember the first glimpse I caught of my Elsecaller. And you were already here. Already on these Plains. Already a bridgeman."
He stopped. "You're lying," he said. "You have to be."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "But the answer you think you have found… is not."
"Then what is?" Sarus demanded.
"I know not." She took a deep breath. "But this is, Sarus. You are not a 'wretch.' You are occasionally wretched. You are not a bundle of bitterness and hate held together by spite. You are occasionally hateful, bitter, and spiteful. These are not the same thing. You are not defined by your lowest point. You are not even defined by your highest. You are defined, my Elsecaller, by the mountaintops to which you aspire."
"Enough of this," Graves said suddenly, and Sarus heard the stamp of his Plated boot on the stone floor as he stepped forward.
"No, you be quiet," Sarus snapped at him without looking, lacing his voice with power. Graves froze, Shardplate creaking. "I'll deal with you later." He turned back to Archive. "I am so storming tired of aspiring all the time. Has it never occurred to you, Archive, that maybe I don't want to be constantly growing? Maybe I want to be happy where I am! Maybe I want to enjoy my victories instead of constantly striving to ensure the next one! Maybe I want to rest sometimes! When am I enough, Archive? When am I enough!?"
She looked him in the eye, looking terribly sad. "Were you happy," she asked, "when you thought Kaladin had fallen to your level? When you laughed as you ran to this hall, were you happy? Was that the peace you have sought? Were you enough then, Sarus?"
"If that wasn't enough, Archive, then what is? Certainly nowhere you can define. Growth is everything to you, just as honor is everything to Syl. You don't have it in you to stop pushing me to keep reaching."
"Oh, my Elsecaller," she murmured. "Don't you see that this contradiction is not? That these are not opposites? Yes, I want you to keep reaching. I want you to grow. I want you, each day, to be more than you were the day before. But that does not mean you are not enough. It does not mean that you, as you are now, are unworthy. Of course not. I came to you, Sarus, because you were enough. Because I saw in you the core of an Elsecaller—the core of my Elsecaller. And no matter how many times you fail, how many calls you refuse, how many wrong turns you take, that core will always be, as long as you are. And as long as that is, I will remain beside you. I will try to help you succeed, to answer the call, to make the right turn, but not because you are not enough if you do not do these things. It is because you are enough that I care at all."
Sarus' hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists. "And if I take that Shardblade right now?" he asked. "If I renounce our Nahel bond? Will that be enough to destroy your valuation of me? Will I then cease to be enough for you?"
"Captain—" Elhokar began, voice shaking.
"Hush," Sarus ordered, his eyes still fixed on Archive. Elhokar obediently fell silent.
"If you renounce our Nahel bond," Archive said, "I will die. But I will die hoping, praying to Honor who is dead and Cultivation who is not, that even in my absence, you will still find a way to rise. Because you are my Elsecaller, Sarus. You will always be my Elsecaller, no matter what happens between us."
"You're enough for Moash," came a small voice beside his ear. He turned to see Syl seated on air beside his head, watching him. "You're enough for Murk, and Teft, and Rock, and Rlain. You're enough for me and Kaladin. I'm sorry we didn't make you feel like it. I'm sorry I didn't see that you were hurting—or if I did see, that I didn't understand why."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he looked back at Archive. "It really wasn't you, was it?" he asked. "You weren't there. Whatever happened to Tailiah… it wasn't you."
"No," Archive said. "I am sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" he asked. "It means I don't have a reason to kill you."
"But it means you still have no answer," she said. "And I can see how that hurts you. I wish your pain was not. But no—it was not me."
Sarus stared at her for a long moment. Then—"Brightlord Graves," he said in a voice that rasped painfully against the inside of his throat. "I suggest you unbond your Shardblade and surrender to my custody. Otherwise, I will be forced to kill you."
There was a brief silence. Then Graves spoke. "I suppose you'll have to kill me, then."
Sarus turned, meeting his eyes. He felt raw, like flesh scraped bloody against rock. He felt exhausted, too, and grimy, as if he had just gotten back from an eight-hour bridge run. "You know something," he said. "Something you do not want to come out in interrogation."
Graves didn't answer.
"I could probably force you to speak," Sarus said. "But I don't know if I could force you to speak the truth. So I suppose I should take you prisoner."
"You can't take a Shardbearer prisoner," Kaladin said. "He'll just cut through whatever cell you put him in."
"Not without some imagination," Sarus said. "But he would find it difficult to wield his Blade, I suspect, without functioning arms."
Graves paled.
"One way or another, I intend to learn whatever you are trying to keep secret," Sarus told him. "So do us both a favor, and unbond that Shardblade."
Graves was silent for a long moment. Then he held out his Blade, and the gemstone in the pommel flashed as he unbonded it. He dropped it, and it clattered to the stone at his feet, the tip slicing a section off the stone.
"Good," Sarus said, stepping forward. The conspirators all watched him, frozen in place, as he leaned down and picked up the Blade.
It screamed in his head. It surprised him a little, perhaps, but it felt muted. Distant. Compared to everything else, it really didn't matter.
He turned and walked back to the king. He held out the Blade, hilt first. "Here," he said. "I suppose I don't need it."
With shaking hands, Elhokar reached out and took the Blade. "Captain," he began, but Sarus was already turning away, meeting Archive's eyes.
It should have been difficult to read her expression, behind the strange oily texture of her ink-black skin, to see her thoughts behind the flat, dark orbs of her eyes. It wasn't. He could see in her face joy and relief—not for herself and her own life, but for him. He could see her empathy, and her total lack of pity.
Even in his youth, he did not think he had ever had someone look at him with such selfless affection. Tailiah had been dear to him—but if he had held a knife to Tailiah's throat, he did not think she would have been able to think first of his pain, and only distantly of her own life. And yet, that was exactly what Archive had done. It made him want to crawl away and hide.
But he resisted the impulse. For a long moment he stared at Archive. His brain felt as though it was operating in a fog. It took him a moment to put words to the idea which had blossomed in the last few minutes. The understanding which had finally come. But eventually he did. "I will learn to accept… that there is something of worth within me."
She smiled at him, and he felt the rush of power even before she spoke. When she did, it was in a tone of mingled joy and sorrow. "These words are accepted, my Elsecaller."
"Sarus," Elhokar said, suddenly drawing himself up—like the bulb of a rockbud, rising after the storm had passed, fully aware that it would hide again at the first strong gale. "What in Damnation is going on? What was that about me being a Radiant? Is that a spren? Is it—"
"I'd recommend you enter your chambers and lock the door," Sarus said, ignoring the king's questions. "Allow no one entrance until Kaladin or I return."
"What?" Kaladin asked. "Where are we going?"
"Today is the end of the countdown," Sarus said. It was something he had been peripherally aware of for the past several days—but now, with Graves neutralized, it had become a priority. More to the point, some instinct—an instinct which had been present before, but which he found easier to heed now that he had sworn his Second Ideal, now that the sudden infusion of Stormlight set his whole body thrumming. "The numbers that have been scratched on Highprince Dalinar's wall during and after his visions. Today is where that number reaches zero. I suspect we are needed on the Plains."
"Yes," Syl murmured. "I can feel it. Him. Odium comes."
"There you are then," Sarus said. "Well, Windrunner? Do you think you can fly us there?"
Kaladin swallowed. "I can try."
"Excellent." Sarus looked past the conspirators, at the eight men of Bridge Four—both his and Kaladin's squads, led by Leyten—who had finally arrived. Before Leyten could say a word, he ordered them, "Please take these men into custody. And help Brightlord Graves out of his Plate. You," he told Graves, threading power into his voice once more, "will cooperate."
Graves nodded grimly.
Sarus turned back to Kaladin. "Well, Windrunner?" he said. "Shall we?"
He held out a hand. Kaladin nodded and took it.
Time to go to the battle, Sarus thought. To the center of the Shattered Plains. Just as he thought the words, he and Kaladin were gone, leaving only a sudden gust of wind and a splash of rainfall in their place.
- Location
- A bed
Yeeessss. Communication!
Can't wait to see how much ass the two of them kick.
Also cannon is officially dead.
Can't wait to see how much ass the two of them kick.
Also cannon is officially dead.
- Location
- United States
Goddamn. Finally everything comes out...and finally Sarus learns to accept that he has worth. It's not a resolution, not an ending, there's still more to do...but it's so very satisfying.
Legitimately, I think this might be one of my favorite chapters of anything I've ever read. The sheer emotion you packed into Sarus during his breakdown, aaaaaa. It's incredible.
Legitimately, I think this might be one of my favorite chapters of anything I've ever read. The sheer emotion you packed into Sarus during his breakdown, aaaaaa. It's incredible.
IronLucario2012
<Verified Pokémon> <Licensed Mech Pilot>
- Location
- Ireland
The sheer catharsis packed into this chapter is seriously impressive.
And while Kaladin may have ended up in a similar place by a darker route to canon, Elhokar now has advance warning of being a potential radiant, examples of radiants to follow, and plenty of time to himself to think about it and talk if his Cryptic is around. Can hardly wait to see how that shakes out, especially combined with the possibility that Eshonai will live and be a radiant as well instead of the spren ending up with Venli afterwards.
And while Kaladin may have ended up in a similar place by a darker route to canon, Elhokar now has advance warning of being a potential radiant, examples of radiants to follow, and plenty of time to himself to think about it and talk if his Cryptic is around. Can hardly wait to see how that shakes out, especially combined with the possibility that Eshonai will live and be a radiant as well instead of the spren ending up with Venli afterwards.
PurpLexed
The girl(!) in the Snow
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- She/Her
You managed to capture that essense of catharsis that Sanderson manages to pack so well into his books; the climactic moment where all that emotiom rushes in and crystalizes. This was an excellent chapter, so happy to see it come to this point.
69: The Rising Wind
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
I did not do this because I crave the power that Adonalsium's fragments will offer. Others may take up those mantles, if we succeed.
Rlain clenched his fist, feeling the red lightning arcing down in a thrill of power. He relaxed his fingers, then clenched them again. Over and over, feeling the rush as he flexed in time to the Rhythm of Withdrawal.
Ruash and Anla had locked him away in a sheltered house not far from the battlefield. They had chained his leg to the building's foundations and left him there until Venli could see to him. He could still hear the faint echoes of the Rhythm of Storms resounding from thousands of throats outside. And, just on the edge of hearing, he could detect the slow rising of the wind.
The stormspren in his gemheart was silent at last. He had done all he could, now, and both he and the invader in his mind knew it. All that remained was to see what would come of it. He had little hope—the song had begun, and even if Eshonai decided to stop it, spreading those orders in the middle of the battle would be nearly impossible.
That hadn't… occurred to him, when he had made the decision to seek her out on the plateau after missing her in her tent. In hindsight, it was obvious. He should have sought her out at once, found her before word had spread of the coming battle, before the Listeners had all been assembled and ready to begin singing.
Just one more way his mind had betrayed him.
The door to the house creaked open, allowing the whistle of the rising wind and the patter of the thickening rain to grow louder for a moment before Eshonai shut it behind her again. She stopped just inside, red eyes watching him, Shardplate slick with rain.
"How goes the battle?" he asked to the Rhythm of Withdrawal.
She hummed momentarily, attuning Withdrawal as well, before speaking. "Many are dying," she said. "Listener and Alethi alike. It is exhilarating."
"Of course," Rlain said. "Bloodshed has always been a thrilling and desirable thing, hasn't it?"
She flinched visibly. Her fists clenched, arcing red lightning down her arms. "I want to ignore you," she said softly.
"And I want to be ignored," Rlain admitted. "You see it too, don't you? This Form of Power—it influences us. More than influences us—it controls us. Controls our feelings. Dictates what gives us joy and what gives us sorrow. What makes us angry and what calms us. Not much calms me now."
Eshonai stared at him for a long moment. Then she bent and sat on the floor beside him. "I didn't notice," she whispered. "Or perhaps… perhaps it did not let me notice. I remember being afraid as the transformation overtook me. I think I even remember the voice of the Rider of Storms as the stormspren came. But when the storm passed I felt so powerful. So… certain. I was exactly where I was meant to be, doing exactly what needed to be done. This war was the crucible that would forge me, and all Listeners, into what we were always meant to become."
"Yes," Rlain murmured. "But meant by whom?"
Eshonai didn't answer. They sat there together for a few minutes, listening to the Rhythm of Storms echoing outside, listening to the wind rise.
Then Rlain clenched his fist. Lightning arced. "No more idleness," he said. "Our idleness serves the gods. Eshonai, why did you come here? What are you hoping to find?"
"I want to understand," she said. "No—I need to understand. You said the spren which has been following me—the one I have been trying to drive away—is trying to make me into a Neshua Kadal?"
"That is my suspicion," he said. "It may not be able to speak yet. As I understand it, these spren have difficulty thinking without a strong bond to their Radiant. It may be little more than instinct for now. But it is determined. You sought to reject it and yet it follows you regardless. I cannot see why, unless it is more than a mundane spren."
She looked at him, red eyes smoldering. "What does it want from me?" she asked. "Why me? Why now?"
"I don't know why it would choose you," Rlain said, and was surprised at the surge of envy that rose in him. Was that the stormspren in his gemheart, or was that truly him? "But what it wants, Eshonai, is that you should speak the words—the First Ideal of the Knights Radiant. It is an oath that bonds spren to Radiant."
"And what is this Ideal?"
He hesitated—in large part because the words of the First Ideal practically leapt to his tongue, a telltale sign that perhaps speaking them would not be wise. "I do not think I am supposed to tell you," he said. "I recall something A—something a spren I encountered in the warcamps said. About how the spren must trust that the Radiant means the words. The Neshua Kadal I encountered among the humans discovered the words, for the most part. I worry that if I tell you, your spren will not trust that you mean them."
"But how am I meant to discover them?" Eshonai asked despairingly. "I can barely even hear the old Rhythms anymore. The Rhythm of Peace sounds like screaming in my ears! How am I meant to hear words forgotten centuries ago when I cannot even hear songs I have known my entire life?"
"Let me think," he said.
I have leverage, came a thought into his mind. She wants the words from me. I can bargain them for freedom.
His immediate reaction, as with all impulses he recognized as coming from the stormspren in his gemheart, was to ignore and deny the thought. But this time he wasn't sure. The stormspren might want him free for its own reasons—but he did want to be free. "Cut me loose?" he asked.
She hesitated.
"I am on your side," he said—and it was true, the fact that the stormspren and he were in accord this once notwithstanding. "Please, Eshonai. You cannot in one breath speak of wishing to understand the Radiants and in another keep me prisoner in the name of the gods."
She sighed, then thrust out a hand and summoned her Shardblade in a misty condensation. It sheared through the chain binding him to the house's foundations as easily as a highstorm blew an unsecured pallet into a chasm.
"Thank you," he said as she helped him to his feet, still thinking about what she had said.
She was right about the Ideal. Sarus had found the words in a moment of great emotional upheaval, of triumph and need. But those emotions could not naturally come to her—not now, with a stormspren in her gemheart manipulating her feelings. Surely a spren would understand that?
"Even if the words do not come from the same place as the Rhythms," he said slowly, speaking aloud to the old Rhythm of Consideration, "you could not be expected to find them while in stormform. The spren in your gemheart has too much control. Your emotions, your thoughts, cannot properly align. That you are here at all, asking, shows as much commitment as any spren has a right to expect."
"You think so?" she asked. But he wasn't truly speaking for her benefit.
Over her shoulder, a sphere of misty white light rose up just out of her view. It bobbed up and down in a gesture resembling a nod.
"I do," he said, glancing at the spren only very briefly before looking back at her. "The words are: Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination."
She didn't speak them at once. Instead she looked at him, humming to Withdrawal, red eyes thoughtful. Then with some difficulty she turned to the Rhythm of Consideration, coming into harmony with Rlain. "What do they mean?" she asked. "I should understand them before I say them, at least."
"Why don't you tell me?" he asked softly.
She blinked. Behind her eyes, he could see her mind working, fighting against the influence of her stormspren. "Life before death," she whispered. "My mother was with the dissidents, you know? Those Thude fled with. I would have killed her, Rlain. Because I could afford no refusal, no dissent from the transformation to stormform. I would have killed my own mother in service to the gods, and been certain that I was right to do it."
"I know," he said.
"Strength before weakness?" She laughed bitterly. "I knew this was wrong. I knew that to take a Form of Power was to invite disaster, and I took it anyway. Dalinar Kholin would have made peace with us, if I had just waited another two weeks before I transformed. But Venli was so determined. She knew, I'm certain of it. She knew what this would do to me. And I was too blind, too weak, to see it. And now because of my weakness, the gods will return."
"Perhaps," Rlain said.
"So how could any spren trust that I would mean these words?"
"Journey before destination," Rlain said.
She blinked at him. "What?"
"One of the Radiants I knew," he told her, "refused to even speak when I met him. He had been hurt so badly, for so long, that he had lost his voice. And yet, when he found it again, his spren accepted him gladly. Another Radiant was a slave who had failed to help everyone he had ever tried to protect. But when he spoke the words, his spren was beside him. Not because they were unaware of these humans' flaws and failures—but because they were overcoming them. Journey before destination, Eshonai."
She stared at him, red eyes wide. "Life before death," she whispered. "Strength before weakness. Journey before destination."
For a moment, the house was silent. Even the Rhythm outside seemed muted here, as if the song of the gods could not pierce this quietude.
Then Eshonai threw her head back and screamed in agony. Red lightning arced down her arms, across her chest, along the ridges of her brow. Rlain threw himself back as a bolt of it struck mere inches away from where he had been seated. Her body jerked and shuddered in the throes of a seizure.
The spren over her shoulder sailed up, orbiting around her, and then dove. It sank into her chest, passing through her skin with as little resistance as a Shardblade. Eshonai's agonized screaming continued for a long moment, and then, with a boom like a thunderclap, the ridges of carapace emerging from her flesh shattered. A few, such as those on her brow, sent sprays of shrapnel soaring as they broke. Most, however, were sealed inside her Shardplate, and Rlain could hear them impacting the inside of the armor. Her skin split as the bone protrusions fell away, and orange blood slid down her body in rivulets, emerging from the narrow gaps between the separate components of her Plate. The red lightning around her coalesced into the form of a tiny spren like a tiny thunderhead of dark smoke, crackling with lightning and glowing red. It darted out a window and away from the house before Rlain could do more than process its presence.
Then Eshonai fell silent, slumped on the ground, shuddering slightly in the aftershocks of her agony. He stared at her, hands shaking, red lightning jittering between his fingers.
I could kill her, came a thought in the back of his mind. I have more power in one hand than she does in her whole body. I could kill her right now.
If that was why the stormspren wanted him free, he would have rather stayed in chains. Fortunately, he could accept the impulse to freedom, and reject the one to violence. He crushed the infiltrating idea with a revulsion that even the intruder could not suppress. Instead, he knelt beside her. "Eshonai?" he whispered, stuttering to the new Rhythm of Panic. "Are you… alive?"
She stirred, pushing herself slowly up on shaking arms. She looked up at him, then started, drawing back away from him. A few beats of the Rhythm of the Terrors escaped her as she, in dullform, stared up at his red eyes. Then she stopped, and attuned Hope instead. "Rlain?" she whispered. "Rlain, is that you?"
"Of course it's me," he said to Reconciliation, forcing himself to use an old Rhythm. "Are you all right, Eshonai? You just…" he paused, struggling to find the words to describe what had just happened.
"It hurt," she murmured. "It hurt terribly. But it's all right now. I feel better. The spren is here, I can feel her. She is… clearing the corruption away. Dispelling the stormspren was only the start—I think it will be some time before I can truly trust my own mind again."
"But you're free," he said, attuning Joy. "Eshonai, I'm so happy for you."
She stared at him. "And you're still trapped in stormform," she whispered. "How can we get you out of it, Rlain? What can we do?"
He shook his head. "Nothing, for now," he said. "But that's all right. I came back to try and save the Listeners, Eshonai—and even if I couldn't save everyone, I have saved you. And Thude escaped with more. I'm sure he's gotten them somewhere safe."
"It's not enough," Eshonai said, standing up and attuning Resolve. "The Rhythm of Storms is almost done. The gods will return in a matter of minutes. We have to do what we can to stop them—to stop Venli. Come, we have work to do."
As she left the house, he moved to follow her, then paused. For an instant, he thought he saw something move in the shadows behind her. A glint of amber light, as if of topaz spheres in the dark. For an instant, they looked like eyes, peering at him from a shadowy corner.
They vanished. He stared where they had been for a long, long moment.
"Rlain?" Eshonai called from outside.
He shook himself. "I am coming," he said to Resolve, and followed her out.
-x-x-x-
69
The Rising Wind
-x-x-x-
69
The Rising Wind
-x-x-x-
I did not do this because I crave the power that Adonalsium's fragments will offer. Others may take up those mantles, if we succeed.
-x-x-x-
Rlain clenched his fist, feeling the red lightning arcing down in a thrill of power. He relaxed his fingers, then clenched them again. Over and over, feeling the rush as he flexed in time to the Rhythm of Withdrawal.
Ruash and Anla had locked him away in a sheltered house not far from the battlefield. They had chained his leg to the building's foundations and left him there until Venli could see to him. He could still hear the faint echoes of the Rhythm of Storms resounding from thousands of throats outside. And, just on the edge of hearing, he could detect the slow rising of the wind.
The stormspren in his gemheart was silent at last. He had done all he could, now, and both he and the invader in his mind knew it. All that remained was to see what would come of it. He had little hope—the song had begun, and even if Eshonai decided to stop it, spreading those orders in the middle of the battle would be nearly impossible.
That hadn't… occurred to him, when he had made the decision to seek her out on the plateau after missing her in her tent. In hindsight, it was obvious. He should have sought her out at once, found her before word had spread of the coming battle, before the Listeners had all been assembled and ready to begin singing.
Just one more way his mind had betrayed him.
The door to the house creaked open, allowing the whistle of the rising wind and the patter of the thickening rain to grow louder for a moment before Eshonai shut it behind her again. She stopped just inside, red eyes watching him, Shardplate slick with rain.
"How goes the battle?" he asked to the Rhythm of Withdrawal.
She hummed momentarily, attuning Withdrawal as well, before speaking. "Many are dying," she said. "Listener and Alethi alike. It is exhilarating."
"Of course," Rlain said. "Bloodshed has always been a thrilling and desirable thing, hasn't it?"
She flinched visibly. Her fists clenched, arcing red lightning down her arms. "I want to ignore you," she said softly.
"And I want to be ignored," Rlain admitted. "You see it too, don't you? This Form of Power—it influences us. More than influences us—it controls us. Controls our feelings. Dictates what gives us joy and what gives us sorrow. What makes us angry and what calms us. Not much calms me now."
Eshonai stared at him for a long moment. Then she bent and sat on the floor beside him. "I didn't notice," she whispered. "Or perhaps… perhaps it did not let me notice. I remember being afraid as the transformation overtook me. I think I even remember the voice of the Rider of Storms as the stormspren came. But when the storm passed I felt so powerful. So… certain. I was exactly where I was meant to be, doing exactly what needed to be done. This war was the crucible that would forge me, and all Listeners, into what we were always meant to become."
"Yes," Rlain murmured. "But meant by whom?"
Eshonai didn't answer. They sat there together for a few minutes, listening to the Rhythm of Storms echoing outside, listening to the wind rise.
Then Rlain clenched his fist. Lightning arced. "No more idleness," he said. "Our idleness serves the gods. Eshonai, why did you come here? What are you hoping to find?"
"I want to understand," she said. "No—I need to understand. You said the spren which has been following me—the one I have been trying to drive away—is trying to make me into a Neshua Kadal?"
"That is my suspicion," he said. "It may not be able to speak yet. As I understand it, these spren have difficulty thinking without a strong bond to their Radiant. It may be little more than instinct for now. But it is determined. You sought to reject it and yet it follows you regardless. I cannot see why, unless it is more than a mundane spren."
She looked at him, red eyes smoldering. "What does it want from me?" she asked. "Why me? Why now?"
"I don't know why it would choose you," Rlain said, and was surprised at the surge of envy that rose in him. Was that the stormspren in his gemheart, or was that truly him? "But what it wants, Eshonai, is that you should speak the words—the First Ideal of the Knights Radiant. It is an oath that bonds spren to Radiant."
"And what is this Ideal?"
He hesitated—in large part because the words of the First Ideal practically leapt to his tongue, a telltale sign that perhaps speaking them would not be wise. "I do not think I am supposed to tell you," he said. "I recall something A—something a spren I encountered in the warcamps said. About how the spren must trust that the Radiant means the words. The Neshua Kadal I encountered among the humans discovered the words, for the most part. I worry that if I tell you, your spren will not trust that you mean them."
"But how am I meant to discover them?" Eshonai asked despairingly. "I can barely even hear the old Rhythms anymore. The Rhythm of Peace sounds like screaming in my ears! How am I meant to hear words forgotten centuries ago when I cannot even hear songs I have known my entire life?"
"Let me think," he said.
I have leverage, came a thought into his mind. She wants the words from me. I can bargain them for freedom.
His immediate reaction, as with all impulses he recognized as coming from the stormspren in his gemheart, was to ignore and deny the thought. But this time he wasn't sure. The stormspren might want him free for its own reasons—but he did want to be free. "Cut me loose?" he asked.
She hesitated.
"I am on your side," he said—and it was true, the fact that the stormspren and he were in accord this once notwithstanding. "Please, Eshonai. You cannot in one breath speak of wishing to understand the Radiants and in another keep me prisoner in the name of the gods."
She sighed, then thrust out a hand and summoned her Shardblade in a misty condensation. It sheared through the chain binding him to the house's foundations as easily as a highstorm blew an unsecured pallet into a chasm.
"Thank you," he said as she helped him to his feet, still thinking about what she had said.
She was right about the Ideal. Sarus had found the words in a moment of great emotional upheaval, of triumph and need. But those emotions could not naturally come to her—not now, with a stormspren in her gemheart manipulating her feelings. Surely a spren would understand that?
"Even if the words do not come from the same place as the Rhythms," he said slowly, speaking aloud to the old Rhythm of Consideration, "you could not be expected to find them while in stormform. The spren in your gemheart has too much control. Your emotions, your thoughts, cannot properly align. That you are here at all, asking, shows as much commitment as any spren has a right to expect."
"You think so?" she asked. But he wasn't truly speaking for her benefit.
Over her shoulder, a sphere of misty white light rose up just out of her view. It bobbed up and down in a gesture resembling a nod.
"I do," he said, glancing at the spren only very briefly before looking back at her. "The words are: Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination."
She didn't speak them at once. Instead she looked at him, humming to Withdrawal, red eyes thoughtful. Then with some difficulty she turned to the Rhythm of Consideration, coming into harmony with Rlain. "What do they mean?" she asked. "I should understand them before I say them, at least."
"Why don't you tell me?" he asked softly.
She blinked. Behind her eyes, he could see her mind working, fighting against the influence of her stormspren. "Life before death," she whispered. "My mother was with the dissidents, you know? Those Thude fled with. I would have killed her, Rlain. Because I could afford no refusal, no dissent from the transformation to stormform. I would have killed my own mother in service to the gods, and been certain that I was right to do it."
"I know," he said.
"Strength before weakness?" She laughed bitterly. "I knew this was wrong. I knew that to take a Form of Power was to invite disaster, and I took it anyway. Dalinar Kholin would have made peace with us, if I had just waited another two weeks before I transformed. But Venli was so determined. She knew, I'm certain of it. She knew what this would do to me. And I was too blind, too weak, to see it. And now because of my weakness, the gods will return."
"Perhaps," Rlain said.
"So how could any spren trust that I would mean these words?"
"Journey before destination," Rlain said.
She blinked at him. "What?"
"One of the Radiants I knew," he told her, "refused to even speak when I met him. He had been hurt so badly, for so long, that he had lost his voice. And yet, when he found it again, his spren accepted him gladly. Another Radiant was a slave who had failed to help everyone he had ever tried to protect. But when he spoke the words, his spren was beside him. Not because they were unaware of these humans' flaws and failures—but because they were overcoming them. Journey before destination, Eshonai."
She stared at him, red eyes wide. "Life before death," she whispered. "Strength before weakness. Journey before destination."
For a moment, the house was silent. Even the Rhythm outside seemed muted here, as if the song of the gods could not pierce this quietude.
Then Eshonai threw her head back and screamed in agony. Red lightning arced down her arms, across her chest, along the ridges of her brow. Rlain threw himself back as a bolt of it struck mere inches away from where he had been seated. Her body jerked and shuddered in the throes of a seizure.
The spren over her shoulder sailed up, orbiting around her, and then dove. It sank into her chest, passing through her skin with as little resistance as a Shardblade. Eshonai's agonized screaming continued for a long moment, and then, with a boom like a thunderclap, the ridges of carapace emerging from her flesh shattered. A few, such as those on her brow, sent sprays of shrapnel soaring as they broke. Most, however, were sealed inside her Shardplate, and Rlain could hear them impacting the inside of the armor. Her skin split as the bone protrusions fell away, and orange blood slid down her body in rivulets, emerging from the narrow gaps between the separate components of her Plate. The red lightning around her coalesced into the form of a tiny spren like a tiny thunderhead of dark smoke, crackling with lightning and glowing red. It darted out a window and away from the house before Rlain could do more than process its presence.
Then Eshonai fell silent, slumped on the ground, shuddering slightly in the aftershocks of her agony. He stared at her, hands shaking, red lightning jittering between his fingers.
I could kill her, came a thought in the back of his mind. I have more power in one hand than she does in her whole body. I could kill her right now.
If that was why the stormspren wanted him free, he would have rather stayed in chains. Fortunately, he could accept the impulse to freedom, and reject the one to violence. He crushed the infiltrating idea with a revulsion that even the intruder could not suppress. Instead, he knelt beside her. "Eshonai?" he whispered, stuttering to the new Rhythm of Panic. "Are you… alive?"
She stirred, pushing herself slowly up on shaking arms. She looked up at him, then started, drawing back away from him. A few beats of the Rhythm of the Terrors escaped her as she, in dullform, stared up at his red eyes. Then she stopped, and attuned Hope instead. "Rlain?" she whispered. "Rlain, is that you?"
"Of course it's me," he said to Reconciliation, forcing himself to use an old Rhythm. "Are you all right, Eshonai? You just…" he paused, struggling to find the words to describe what had just happened.
"It hurt," she murmured. "It hurt terribly. But it's all right now. I feel better. The spren is here, I can feel her. She is… clearing the corruption away. Dispelling the stormspren was only the start—I think it will be some time before I can truly trust my own mind again."
"But you're free," he said, attuning Joy. "Eshonai, I'm so happy for you."
She stared at him. "And you're still trapped in stormform," she whispered. "How can we get you out of it, Rlain? What can we do?"
He shook his head. "Nothing, for now," he said. "But that's all right. I came back to try and save the Listeners, Eshonai—and even if I couldn't save everyone, I have saved you. And Thude escaped with more. I'm sure he's gotten them somewhere safe."
"It's not enough," Eshonai said, standing up and attuning Resolve. "The Rhythm of Storms is almost done. The gods will return in a matter of minutes. We have to do what we can to stop them—to stop Venli. Come, we have work to do."
As she left the house, he moved to follow her, then paused. For an instant, he thought he saw something move in the shadows behind her. A glint of amber light, as if of topaz spheres in the dark. For an instant, they looked like eyes, peering at him from a shadowy corner.
They vanished. He stared where they had been for a long, long moment.
"Rlain?" Eshonai called from outside.
He shook himself. "I am coming," he said to Resolve, and followed her out.
- Location
- A bed
Flap Flap go the butterflies.
I wonder what Rlain will do?
I wonder what Rlain will do?
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Unfortunately, the next chapter isn't going to be ready by Monday. It's a big one. There's a chance it'll even be split. But I've been busy, and it looks like I will be busy all weekend.
Chapter 73 is the final chapter of Part 2, for anyone curious. Unless I split 70, in which case that becomes 74.
Chapter 73 is the final chapter of Part 2, for anyone curious. Unless I split 70, in which case that becomes 74.
IronLucario2012
<Verified Pokémon> <Licensed Mech Pilot>
- Location
- Ireland
Makes sense for it to be a bigger-than-usual chapter considering the point the narrative is at! And if you're busy, you're busy. This is a nice bonus thing you're giving us for free, not any kind of obligation that would be more important than whatever you were/are busy with, so it's totally understandable that that other stuff takes priority.
Hope whatever you're busy with goes well, and I'm looking forward to the next chapter - presumably on the Monday after this coming one?
Hope whatever you're busy with goes well, and I'm looking forward to the next chapter - presumably on the Monday after this coming one?
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Should be, yeah. And yeah, everything's going well. Just work.
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
I was so certain I'd have time to finish this chapter. It is fully drafted... But it needs rewrites, and I've been very busy with a friend's wedding this weekend. Couple that with the fact that I currently do not have my PC because I'm halfway through a rebuild, and I just can't get the rewrites done in time for the editors to look it over. I hate postponing two weeks in a row, but I don't think I have a choice if I want to post a good chapter. Sorry!
70: The Everstorm
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
Indeed, if we do succeed, I would rather stay as far from Adonalsium's shards as possible. Koravellium may believe herself the equal of an Ainu, to wield the Song so directly, but I am humbler.
For one glittering instant, Sarus hung suspended in a place of shimmering light and lilting music. His skin was warm, and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and carded through his white beard. A field of stars glittered before him, connected by threads of silver and gold. Where his hand met Kaladin's, he could see the intersection of threads between a pale blue star and one which seemed to shift through every color imaginable, all in that one moment.
Then Roshar reasserted itself, and Sarus was surrounded by the frantic sound of battle.
"What the—!" Kaladin dove away from him as a surprised Parshendi swiped at the two of them with an axe. The blade passed between them, and Kaladin's Sylspear came up and buried itself in the warrior's chest. As the Parshendi died, red lightning arced in a sudden burst from the falling corpse, crackling through the puddles around him.
"How did we get here?" Kaladin shouted. A moment later, Sarus felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sarus?"
Sarus blinked and shook his head as the last echoes of that strange music faded from his hearing. "Yes?"
"How did we get here?"
"I have no idea," Sarus said, noting the Parshendi beginning to encircle them. They had clearly been surprised by the sudden appearance of two humans behind their lines, but they were recovering quickly. "Surgebinding? I'm supposed to have a Surge of Transportation."
"That was not the Surge of an Elsecaller," Archive said from Sarus' shoulder, though he could not remember her approaching him after their conversation in the hallway. "Whatever it was, it did not come from our Nahel bond."
Sarus shrugged. "No time for that now!" He spun and buried his spear in an approaching warrior. Her song was cut off with a gurgle, but the rest of the army around them continued the dissonant melody.
"We need to find Dalinar!" Kaladin shouted as the Parshendi began to close in on them, surrounding them with axes and polearms. "We can't be far from the battle lines!"
"Agreed," Sarus said, drawing himself up to his full height and squinting as he looked over the Parshendi armies. He caught a glimpse of Kholin blue only a short distance from them. "This way."
They fought their way through the Parshendi lines, Sarus driving his spear through the Parshendi carapace with force enough to shatter bone, Kaladin simply scything through them with his new Sylspear. After what felt like several minutes of combat, the Parshendi gave way quite suddenly to put them face-to-face with a man in painted blue Shardplate. As each Parshendi died, red lightning darted from his body down into the rock at his feet.
"Prince Adolin," Sarus said, thrusting the butt of his spear backward to push away a Parshendi approaching his rear.
"Captain Sarus? Kaladin?" Adolin paused between precise, sweeping blows in masterful Windstance. "What is—is that a Shardblade?"
"Sort of," Kaladin said. "Where's Dalinar?"
Adolin gestured somewhere behind him. "He's commanding the battle from the plateau behind us! Renarin is—look out!" He swung his Blade, burning out the eyes of a Parshendi warrior halfway through an attack at Kaladin.
Sarus and Kaladin moved as one, taking posts to either side of Adolin and turning to face the enemy. "Where do you need us, Your Highness?" Sarus asked.
"Give me space!" Adolin ordered the soldiers to their sides. As the lines closed ahead of them, the featureless visor of his helm turned to Sarus and Kaladin. "I don't know," he said, frustration evident in every syllable. "Storms, we were supposed to get reinforcement from Roion's spearmen half an hour ago, but they never came. I have no idea what's going on back at the command tent."
"If you haven't gotten your reinforcements, do you need us for support?" Kaladin asked.
"We could use the help," Adolin admitted. "But we are surviving here. I'm more worried about…" He trailed off, pointing with his Shardblade. "You might not be able to see from here, but almost half the Parshendi aren't even joining the battle. They're just singing, and—"
His words were cut off by a sudden boom. Red lightning struck down suddenly not far from them, and Sarus heard a man scream in sudden agony, before falling deathly silent.
"And that," Adolin continued grimly. "I think they're summoning that storm, but they don't seem to be able to control it. It kills indiscriminately—mostly us, but that's more because they seem more resistant to the lightning than we are. A Parshendi turncoat claims they're trying to call back their gods."
Turncoat? "What is this turncoat's name?" Sarus asked.
"Thude, why?"
"No matter for now," Sarus said. I hope Rlain is all right.
Adolin shook his head. "I could use the help here," he said. "But my father would have a clearer picture of what the battle needs." He looked up, past the Parshendi line, at the singers in the distant city. "I could use all the Shardbearers I can get… I have a plan."
"A plan?" Sarus asked.
"We need to stop the Parshendi in the back from finishing their song," Adolin said. "I think I can get us behind them. But more Shardbearers will make it faster."
Sarus and Kaladin looked at each other. In a moment, Sarus made his decision. "Kaladin, you stay here with the Prince," he said. "I will go to Highprince Dalinar and see what he needs."
Kaladin nodded. "Stay safe."
"This is a battle, Lieutenant," Sarus said. "If I'm staying safe, I'm not doing my job."
Inside the pavilion, surrounded by scholars and artifabrians busily working on strange equipment of metal and gemstones, Dalinar sat on a chair as a surgeon tended to a wound in his side. Navani stood beside the highprince, occasionally glancing away to give instructions to one of the artifabrians. As Sarus entered, another bustled out, armed with a glowing fabrial and accompanied by a troop of archers. Sarus had seen their work already—these new fabrials appeared to be using the Surge of Gravitation to draw the heavy rainfall away from the bowstrings, allowing the archers to do their work even in the rising storm.
"Highprince Dalinar," Sarus called as he approached.
Both Dalinar and Navani turned as he approached, though the surgeon remained focused on his labor. "Captain?" the highprince asked in a voice that rasped with pain and heavy use. "What in Damnation are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back at the warcamp defending the king?"
"The king has been defended," Sarus said. "The assassins finally acted, and Lieutenant Kaladin and I stopped them. His Majesty will be watched constantly by the rest of the guards until I return."
Dalinar let out a breath. "So there were still assassins."
"Yes. Kaladin has joined Prince Adolin at the front. I came here to see whether you had any greater need of me."
Dalinar hesitated, looking at Navani. "The battle is going poorly," he admitted. "We're losing on our flanks, Roion's forces are routed. Our center is holding, even pushing back the Parshendi line… but too slowly. Far too slowly."
"Prince Adolin said that their song was summoning that storm?" Sarus said, gesturing westward in the direction where, outside the tent, he knew dark clouds were gathering.
"Yes," Dalinar said grimly. "And according to our intelligence, once they finish singing, that storm will be unleashed. None of us knows exactly what will happen then, but they're keeping at least half their forces off the battlefield, purely for the purpose of singing that song. Whatever that storm is going to do, they clearly think it will win them the battle, perhaps even the war."
"Adolin had a plan to stop their singing," Sarus said. "I believe he managed to flank them—I caught a glimpse perhaps ten minutes ago. But the singing Parshendi were relocating. I believe they left a few to fend his force off while the rest withdrew."
"Damnation." Dalinar sighed. "Hopefully Adolin bought us some time, at least."
"That's all I can do for now," the surgeon said suddenly as she straightened and stepped away from Dalinar's side. "Please, Highprince. Stay away from the front lines."
"Yes, yes, I know," Dalinar said, standing. "Navani, I should return to the command tent—see if General Khal has any more news."
"I'll join you," Navani said, gesturing to one of her scribes, who began packing up a case of intricate metal-and-gemstone machines. "In case you need any of my fabrials."
Dalinar nodded at her, then turned to Sarus. "Captain, you can come with me as well. We'll have more current information there."
"Yes, Brightlord," Sarus said.
"And you can explain how you got here so quickly, when it took the army nearly two weeks to cross the plains."
"It's a rather long—" Sarus began.
"Dalinar!" Highprince Obodar Roion rushed into the pavilion. "It's a bloodbath out there! We're dead!"
Dalinar let out a low growl deep in his chest, one which momentarily reminded Sarus of the man's fearsome reputation as the Blackthorn. He stepped forward, grabbed Roion by the lapel of his red uniform, and dragged him outside. Sarus followed.
The outside of the pavilion offered a view of the next chasm. Sarus immediately saw that Roion's soldiers in red were rapidly draining off of it, stampeding towards the bridges, chased by Parshendi with red eyes and weapons which crackled with lightning. Fortunately, in the rain, they could not field their archers, so they were slowly forming up on the edge of the plateau. Sarus suspected they were looking for a gap narrow enough for them to leap across.
"Control yourself, Brightlord," Dalinar snapped, bodily pulling Roion to face him. "Adolin has won his plateau. I haven't had word from Aladar recently, but last I heard his forces were holding. Not all is as dire as it seems."
"But—" Roion began, but even as he started speaking, another voice echoed around them.
It should not end this way.
Dalinar shoved Roion away, suddenly looking up into the sky with fury in his face. "Answer me!" he demanded. "Can you even hear me?"
I can.
"Finally!" Dalinar exclaimed. "Are you the Almighty?"
I said I am not, Child of Honor.
"Then what are you?"
I am that which brings Light and Darkness.
"The Stormfather," Dalinar said, even as Sarus recognized the obscure Vorin title. "Are you a Herald?"
No.
"Then are you a spren or a god?"
Both.
"Is he truly speaking with the Stormfather?" Archive asked in a low voice from Sarus' shoulder, barely audible over the hammering rain.
"Yes," Sarus replied. "I can hear it. Him. Is the Stormfather also the spren of a Knight Radiant?"
"I believe so."
Dalinar was still speaking. "Why speak to me? What is happening?"
They call for a storm. My opposite.
"How do we stop it?"
You don't.
"Oh, good," Sarus said aloud, stepping forward.
Every eye turned to him. In a prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck, he even felt the weight of the Stormfather's attention.
"I thought," he said, "that we would only have to contend with one hysterical brightlord. Apparently we have two."
Dalinar glowered. "Captain—"
"Not you," Sarus said to him. Then he looked up at the sky, at the rain falling and the wind rising. "Stormfather. If you intend to give up, by all means do so quietly."
For a moment there was silence save for the rain and the distant song of the Parshendi. How can you hear me? the Stormfather asked.
"Does the answer to that question really matter now?" Sarus asked. "If you will not help us deal with the enemy's storm, then at least do us the courtesy of not distracting our commander. Thank you."
Who are you?
Sarus ignored him, turning to Dalinar. "Brightlord. If he intends to be unhelpful, we have no need to heed him. What should we do?"
Dalinar stared at him for a long moment. "To the command tent," he said. "Roion, you come too. Now!"
As they marched, Dalinar grabbed Sarus by the shoulder, keeping them in step with one another. Navani and Roion both followed behind them. Sarus was keenly aware of their ears listening. "Are you what I've been looking for?" he asked. "A Radiant?"
"Yes," Sarus said. The time for secrets had passed. "Now, at least."
"And Lieutenant Kaladin as well, I'm guessing."
"I'd rather not inform on secrets others keep, Brightlord."
"And if I ordered you to tell me?"
"Are you?" Sarus challenged.
Before Dalinar could answer, a familiar voice called out from somewhere off to Sarus' right. "Brightlord Dalinar!"
They all—Roion included—turned. A man in a Kholin blue uniform with a Bridge Four patch on the shoulder was running—several men, in fact. The one who had spoken was Peet. "Word from—Captain!?"
"Peet," Sarus said. "Explanations later. What news?"
Peet blinked a few times before shaking his head and continuing. "Word from Brightness Shallan! She said to tell you to order all your armies onto the circular plateau. That if they didn't come, they'd be lost."
"Then she believes the circular plateau is the location of the pathway to Urithiru?" Dalinar asked. "Has she managed to open it?"
"Not when I left, sir! She was still investigating. But she was insistent that we can't face what's coming. Two highstorms."
"How could there be two?" Navani demanded. "And during the Weeping?"
"I have no idea, Brightness," Peet said. "That's what she said. A highstorm and something else—she called it an Everstorm—going the other direction. She said they'd clash right at the battlefield."
Before Dalinar could reply, the command tent ahead of them suddenly ripped itself loose from the pegs holding it to the rock, sailing past them. The generals who had been inside started as they were suddenly drenched.
"Storms," Dalinar said, jogging past Sarus towards the officers. "I need an update!"
"Brightlord!" said one—a commander. Sarus thought his name was Cael. "Highprince Aladar has won his plateau! The Parshendi there are routed!"
"Really?"
"Yes sir! The singing Parshendi didn't even fight back, his messenger said! Even with Roion's plateau lost, we've won the day!"
"If the singers didn't fight back," Sarus said softly, "it was because they thought their duties done."
Dalinar looked at him. "You're sure of that?"
"Look," Sarus said, pointing west. Dalinar looked—and saw, as Sarus did, the approaching storm front, unnaturally dark and crackling with red lightning and the fury of an angry god.
Dalinar took a deep breath. "Cael, send orders immediately to General Khal, my son, and Highprince Aladar. Tell them to converge all their forces on a plateau to the southeast, perfectly round. If they do not make haste, they are going to die."
"Sir?"
"Go!" Dalinar exclaimed. "Now!"
Cael saluted, barked orders to a couple of scouts nearby, and sprinted off.
"And me?" Roion asked.
"Same orders to you and your forces," Dalinar said. "Go—unless you want this bloodbath to turn into a massacre."
Roion paled and turned, running towards his soldiers without another word.
"Captain, with me," Dalinar ordered, already jogging away. "I have questions."
"I may have answers." But even as Sarus jogged after the highprince, his focus was slipping. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, on the oncoming Everstorm. It was loud—loud enough that he could hear it, even from more than a mile away. It roared like a caged beast set free, a cacophony of discordant noise like the braying of a thousand instruments all out of key with one another. The sound, faint and distant as it was, felt like a physical thing, like a wall pressing against him.
"Captain?"
Sarus realized he had stopped, staring at the Everstorm. "Yes, Brightlord?"
"Have you heard a word I've said, son?"
"No," Sarus said truthfully. "Does that storm look like it's speeding up to you?"
Dalinar followed his gaze. His eyes narrowed, then widened. "Yes."
It is, came the deep, grim voice of the Stormfather. He is pushing more of his power in the world, faster than I thought possible. His storm will reach you before mine. I am sorry.
"What does it matter?" Dalinar demanded. "Your highstorm would have killed us anyway!"
"Brightlord," Sarus said. "You should get to that plateau. Get away from here, as fast as you can."
"Do we even have time?" Dalinar asked.
"I will buy whatever time I can," Sarus said.
"How?"
Before Sarus could reply, a shout came from one of the other former bridgemen. "Parshendi!"
Sarus turned. Two Parshendi had somehow gotten past the army, likely by leaping over a chasm left unattended in the chaos. One of them—one Sarus recognized immediately as Rlain, despite the red eyes and ridged carapace—crossed his wrists in the Bridge Four salute. Though he wore the same form as the enemy warriors, Sarus noted that his red-and-black marbling was unchanged. "Lieutenant!" he shouted.
"Rlain!" Sarus called back. "That form doesn't much suit you!"
Rlain bared his flat teeth in something that might have been a grin. It was difficult to tell, at this distance and with red lightning arcing between ridges of the Listener's carapace. "Agreed! I come to offer my surrender!"
Sarus nodded. "Peet," he said, "take these two into custody and get them to safety with the rest of our men."
Peet was staring at Rlain. "Is that really—"
"Yes," Sarus said. "I can't stay. Move, all of you!"
"And what will you do?" Dalinar asked.
"Hold back the storm."
Two minutes later, Sarus planted his spear at the top of a small hill, staring westward at the approaching Everstorm. It would be here in a matter of seconds.
The weight of it was already pressing down on him. It had been growing since he had first seen it on the horizon—a physical force, beating against him, like the wind but not the wind, for the wind had not yet arrived. A wall of power—one which he could move through freely, but one which he was constantly aware of.
And, he hoped, one he could stop moving freely through.
"This should not be," Archive said from his shoulder, shouting to be heard over the gale. It wasn't the true stormwind—not yet—but it was still thunderous. "If you can do this, it does not come from our bond!"
"I gathered that much!" Sarus shouted back, watching as the storm swept over the plateau ahead of him. Glancing back, he saw that the army was starting to cross the bridge and enter that circular plateau. They entered a hole cut into the side in shifts, a few dozen at a time. Wherever they were going, it was making room for the next shift.
"I do not like this, my Elsecaller!" Archive said. "Neither of us yet understands your limits! You are placing yourself in the path of a god!"
"I'm aware!"
"He will kill you!"
"He will try!"
"Sarus—"
But they were out of time. Sarus raised his hands, and as the storm struck him, he pushed back.
The weight, already present, suddenly became immense. Immeasurable. The wind died, the clouds halted. The world fell silent. Distantly, Sarus felt the rock cracking under his feet. He could hear something behind him—voices, maybe, saying something indistinct, but he could spare no attention to them. All his focus was bent on the weight of the Everstorm—and heavier still, the attention of the god behind it.
What have we here? said a voice that filled Sarus with a primal, profound terror.
"I defy you," Sarus mumbled, the words dropping from lips that refused to cooperate.
I can see that. The voice sounded amused, as if watching a small animal snapping at the heels of a greatshell. I think I recognize you. Weren't you one of Aulë's? The name sent a shock of recognition through Sarus' spine, though he had no memory of why. What was your name again?
Cu— the woman in Sarus' vision had called out to him. It was the beginning of a name he had never heard, but which he knew to his bones belonged to him.
Now what would one of Aulë's be doing here? the god asked thoughtfully. Invention should still be halfway across the Cosmere. I'd know if it was in the system. And yet—yes, some of its Investiture is here. Through you. Fascinating.
Archive was screaming in his ears, but he could no longer hear her. He couldn't hear anything but that voice in the sky, that god which knew him by a name he couldn't remember. "I defy you!" he screamed at the Everstorm, his voice breaking with terror and exertion. "You shall not pass me!"
Oh, little Maia, Odium said. You really think you can stop me?
Red lightning arced down—not one bolt, but nine. They struck Sarus in unison, and agony turned the world white.
Then his vision cleared. He hung suspended over a sea of black beads. In the west, a dim white sun cast pale light over the world. Clouds streamed in straight lines from it, spreading outward in a starburst of white in the dark, starless sky.
All around him were red-eyed creatures with marbled skin in red, white, and black. Parshendi, but not as he knew them. Their forms were incredibly varied, and every one watched him with eyes that burned with ancient hate. They formed a ring around him—around him and the figure across from him.
Odium was clad in armor that resembled black Shardplate. Smoke billowed constantly from it, wreathing him in shadow. His own red eyes danced with mingled mirth and barely contained fury. On his brow was a golden crown, bearing three depressions, as if it had once contained large gemstones which had been removed.
"I remember your name now," he said, and his voice echoed all around Sarus as if the very air were speaking. Yet despite the pain still searing through Sarus' body, he sounded almost casual, as if he were a lighteyes speaking to a subordinate. "Curumo, wasn't it?"
At once, Sarus knew it was.
"It's not quite the reunion I would have chosen," Odium said. "Why would they send you, of all people? You don't matter. Why not someone who has a chance to stop me? Tulkas, or perhaps Ulmo. Not some Maia I barely remember."
"And yet I am holding you back," Sarus said, the words falling out of his mouth like iron weights. He could still feel the weight of the Everstorm—though his mind was no longer on that plateau, his body still was.
Odium's eyes flashed with rage, but his mouth chuckled. "So you are, so you are. Not for long, to be sure, but it's impressive nonetheless."
He stepped forward, faster than Sarus could react. His hand snapped out, and the back of his gauntlet struck Sarus across the cheek. Somehow, the blow was as painful as the lightning as it sent Sarus sprawling. He caught himself on air, still hanging above that sea of beads, breathing heavily.
"All for nothing, of course," Odium said. "An Ainu, even a Maia like you, needs to be manually factored into my foresight, you know. All the predictions in the world could be thrown off by an agent of the Song that I didn't see coming. But only if they made an effort. Only if they threw the future into a configuration I hadn't foreseen. Which, I'm sorry to say, you have not done."
"Meaning?" Sarus asked, forcing himself back to his feet on shaking legs. He looked up and met the dark god's red eyes.
"Meaning," Odium said, "that even though you've been on Roshar for—what, twenty years?—you've changed nothing. You've done nothing. Look."
He gestured, and golden light burst from him. It encircled the two of them, Sarus and Odium, forming into images, into moving visions of the world, stained-glass windows into the past.
He saw Archive telling Kaladin the words of the First Ideal on the rooftop of the barracks as a highstorm approached. He saw himself speaking his first words in years as he guided Kaladin to the Second. He saw himself leading the men of Bridge Four through training and through their duties as guards.
He saw himself turning away as Kaladin was imprisoned. He saw Kaladin's eyes pass over him as he offered the Shards to Moash. He saw Kaladin turn to face Graves beside him.
He saw Tailiah vanish into smoke under his fingertips.
Then, one by one, he vanished from these visions. He saw Archive disappear from the rooftop, yet Kaladin survived the storm anyway. He saw Kaladin find his honor even in Sarus' absence, speaking the Second Ideal as he turned to save Dalinar on the Tower. He saw Bridge Four grow into good soldiers and great men under different officers, all of them inspired by Kaladin even without Sarus there.
Without Sarus, Kaladin was still imprisoned. Without Sarus, Kaladin still offered his Shards to Moash. Without Sarus, Kaladin still found his oaths and returned to Elhokar's defense at the last moment.
Without Sarus, Tailiah still died. The only difference was that, without Sarus, her father had a body to bury.
"It's all right," said Odium softly. "You don't remember, do you? You don't remember what you are, why you can do the things you can. You weren't sent here as an agent to stop me. You found yourself here by, at best, accident. At worst, punishment." A smirk played across his lips. "There is a certain halo of Discord about you. Once, I suspect, you did serve one of mine."
Sarus' hands were shaking. "What is this?" he asked hoarsely.
"This is what my prophecies showed me," Odium said. "Roshar as I expected to find it. As you can see, I didn't know you would be here. And yet, other than that detail, everything has gone exactly as I foresaw."
"Because I've made no difference," Sarus whispered, staring at Tailiah's corpse, heart pierced by an arrow. "Because everything I've ever done has either been a failure, or completely unnecessary."
"It's not your fault," Odium said gently—soothingly. "You couldn't have seen any of this coming. You don't have foresight. You didn't know I was coming, nor could you have guessed what I predicted. Your failure to change the course of history was a failure of circumstance, a lack of information. Not a lack of power, or a lack of will."
"I'm still holding you back," Sarus protested weakly. "Right now—this place, it's not real, is it? My body is still on that hill, still holding back the storm. I can still feel the lightning."
"I imagine that's quite painful," said Odium dryly. "And it wouldn't be quite accurate to say this isn't real. This is the Cognitive Realm, just as real as the Physical. But yes. For now, you are still holding back my storm. And as I said, that is impressive. But let's not delude ourselves." He stepped forward, closed his fist—and, quite suddenly, Sarus couldn't breathe through the gauntlet around his throat. "You can delay me. You cannot hope to stop me."
Sarus scrabbled against the god's hand, choking.
"But I don't want to kill you," Odium said. He released Sarus, who fell at his feet, coughing and gasping for breath. "I will, certainly. But I don't want to. You have so much potential, little Maia—untapped, as yet, through no fault of your own. I can help you with that. I can show you how to direct that potential. How to channel it where it will make a difference. Together we can carve a path into the future that neither of us could achieve separately."
Sarus looked up at him, massaging his throat. Below the god's red eyes, his mouth was curved into a kindly smile. But those eyes were pitiless.
"You want this," murmured the god. "I can see it in your eyes. Behold." He gestured, and the halo of golden light around them formed once more into images. Sarus saw himself, armed with Shards at the head of an army of men and Parshendi, an army vaster than that of any highprince. He saw himself seated in an ornate throne as hundreds prostrated themselves before him. He watched as he bestowed Shardblades to the men of Bridge Four while lighteyes looked on with envy.
He saw Torol and Ialai Sadeas kneeling at his feet, a complex mixture of envy, hatred, pride, and regret in their faces.
"All this and more," Odium whispered. But that wasn't the god's name, not really. No, Sarus knew this creature's name, the name it had been given at the dawn of time, in a past Sarus could not remember but which Curumo should. "Everything you could want. The brightest future you can imagine. All you have to do is take my hand, and together we will make it so."
He reached down, holding out a gauntleted hand in invitation. Sarus stared at it, at the interlocking plates of his fingers. Desire surged up in him—for he did want these things. He had always wanted these things. He had always felt that he was destined for more than the small, cheap life that his dark eyes decreed for him. And now it was offered to him freely. All he had to do was take the hand of Melkor, He Who Arises in Might, and he could have it all.
He looked up, meeting Melkor's burning gaze. Then he closed his eyes, found the connection to his body back on the Shattered Plains, and let the weight of the storm slip past him.
In the Physical Realm, Sarus' body fell, insensate, and the Everstorm roared past.
-x-x-x-
70
The Everstorm
-x-x-x-
70
The Everstorm
-x-x-x-
Indeed, if we do succeed, I would rather stay as far from Adonalsium's shards as possible. Koravellium may believe herself the equal of an Ainu, to wield the Song so directly, but I am humbler.
-x-x-x-
For one glittering instant, Sarus hung suspended in a place of shimmering light and lilting music. His skin was warm, and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and carded through his white beard. A field of stars glittered before him, connected by threads of silver and gold. Where his hand met Kaladin's, he could see the intersection of threads between a pale blue star and one which seemed to shift through every color imaginable, all in that one moment.
Then Roshar reasserted itself, and Sarus was surrounded by the frantic sound of battle.
"What the—!" Kaladin dove away from him as a surprised Parshendi swiped at the two of them with an axe. The blade passed between them, and Kaladin's Sylspear came up and buried itself in the warrior's chest. As the Parshendi died, red lightning arced in a sudden burst from the falling corpse, crackling through the puddles around him.
"How did we get here?" Kaladin shouted. A moment later, Sarus felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sarus?"
Sarus blinked and shook his head as the last echoes of that strange music faded from his hearing. "Yes?"
"How did we get here?"
"I have no idea," Sarus said, noting the Parshendi beginning to encircle them. They had clearly been surprised by the sudden appearance of two humans behind their lines, but they were recovering quickly. "Surgebinding? I'm supposed to have a Surge of Transportation."
"That was not the Surge of an Elsecaller," Archive said from Sarus' shoulder, though he could not remember her approaching him after their conversation in the hallway. "Whatever it was, it did not come from our Nahel bond."
Sarus shrugged. "No time for that now!" He spun and buried his spear in an approaching warrior. Her song was cut off with a gurgle, but the rest of the army around them continued the dissonant melody.
"We need to find Dalinar!" Kaladin shouted as the Parshendi began to close in on them, surrounding them with axes and polearms. "We can't be far from the battle lines!"
"Agreed," Sarus said, drawing himself up to his full height and squinting as he looked over the Parshendi armies. He caught a glimpse of Kholin blue only a short distance from them. "This way."
They fought their way through the Parshendi lines, Sarus driving his spear through the Parshendi carapace with force enough to shatter bone, Kaladin simply scything through them with his new Sylspear. After what felt like several minutes of combat, the Parshendi gave way quite suddenly to put them face-to-face with a man in painted blue Shardplate. As each Parshendi died, red lightning darted from his body down into the rock at his feet.
"Prince Adolin," Sarus said, thrusting the butt of his spear backward to push away a Parshendi approaching his rear.
"Captain Sarus? Kaladin?" Adolin paused between precise, sweeping blows in masterful Windstance. "What is—is that a Shardblade?"
"Sort of," Kaladin said. "Where's Dalinar?"
Adolin gestured somewhere behind him. "He's commanding the battle from the plateau behind us! Renarin is—look out!" He swung his Blade, burning out the eyes of a Parshendi warrior halfway through an attack at Kaladin.
Sarus and Kaladin moved as one, taking posts to either side of Adolin and turning to face the enemy. "Where do you need us, Your Highness?" Sarus asked.
"Give me space!" Adolin ordered the soldiers to their sides. As the lines closed ahead of them, the featureless visor of his helm turned to Sarus and Kaladin. "I don't know," he said, frustration evident in every syllable. "Storms, we were supposed to get reinforcement from Roion's spearmen half an hour ago, but they never came. I have no idea what's going on back at the command tent."
"If you haven't gotten your reinforcements, do you need us for support?" Kaladin asked.
"We could use the help," Adolin admitted. "But we are surviving here. I'm more worried about…" He trailed off, pointing with his Shardblade. "You might not be able to see from here, but almost half the Parshendi aren't even joining the battle. They're just singing, and—"
His words were cut off by a sudden boom. Red lightning struck down suddenly not far from them, and Sarus heard a man scream in sudden agony, before falling deathly silent.
"And that," Adolin continued grimly. "I think they're summoning that storm, but they don't seem to be able to control it. It kills indiscriminately—mostly us, but that's more because they seem more resistant to the lightning than we are. A Parshendi turncoat claims they're trying to call back their gods."
Turncoat? "What is this turncoat's name?" Sarus asked.
"Thude, why?"
"No matter for now," Sarus said. I hope Rlain is all right.
Adolin shook his head. "I could use the help here," he said. "But my father would have a clearer picture of what the battle needs." He looked up, past the Parshendi line, at the singers in the distant city. "I could use all the Shardbearers I can get… I have a plan."
"A plan?" Sarus asked.
"We need to stop the Parshendi in the back from finishing their song," Adolin said. "I think I can get us behind them. But more Shardbearers will make it faster."
Sarus and Kaladin looked at each other. In a moment, Sarus made his decision. "Kaladin, you stay here with the Prince," he said. "I will go to Highprince Dalinar and see what he needs."
Kaladin nodded. "Stay safe."
"This is a battle, Lieutenant," Sarus said. "If I'm staying safe, I'm not doing my job."
-x-x-x-
Inside the pavilion, surrounded by scholars and artifabrians busily working on strange equipment of metal and gemstones, Dalinar sat on a chair as a surgeon tended to a wound in his side. Navani stood beside the highprince, occasionally glancing away to give instructions to one of the artifabrians. As Sarus entered, another bustled out, armed with a glowing fabrial and accompanied by a troop of archers. Sarus had seen their work already—these new fabrials appeared to be using the Surge of Gravitation to draw the heavy rainfall away from the bowstrings, allowing the archers to do their work even in the rising storm.
"Highprince Dalinar," Sarus called as he approached.
Both Dalinar and Navani turned as he approached, though the surgeon remained focused on his labor. "Captain?" the highprince asked in a voice that rasped with pain and heavy use. "What in Damnation are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back at the warcamp defending the king?"
"The king has been defended," Sarus said. "The assassins finally acted, and Lieutenant Kaladin and I stopped them. His Majesty will be watched constantly by the rest of the guards until I return."
Dalinar let out a breath. "So there were still assassins."
"Yes. Kaladin has joined Prince Adolin at the front. I came here to see whether you had any greater need of me."
Dalinar hesitated, looking at Navani. "The battle is going poorly," he admitted. "We're losing on our flanks, Roion's forces are routed. Our center is holding, even pushing back the Parshendi line… but too slowly. Far too slowly."
"Prince Adolin said that their song was summoning that storm?" Sarus said, gesturing westward in the direction where, outside the tent, he knew dark clouds were gathering.
"Yes," Dalinar said grimly. "And according to our intelligence, once they finish singing, that storm will be unleashed. None of us knows exactly what will happen then, but they're keeping at least half their forces off the battlefield, purely for the purpose of singing that song. Whatever that storm is going to do, they clearly think it will win them the battle, perhaps even the war."
"Adolin had a plan to stop their singing," Sarus said. "I believe he managed to flank them—I caught a glimpse perhaps ten minutes ago. But the singing Parshendi were relocating. I believe they left a few to fend his force off while the rest withdrew."
"Damnation." Dalinar sighed. "Hopefully Adolin bought us some time, at least."
"That's all I can do for now," the surgeon said suddenly as she straightened and stepped away from Dalinar's side. "Please, Highprince. Stay away from the front lines."
"Yes, yes, I know," Dalinar said, standing. "Navani, I should return to the command tent—see if General Khal has any more news."
"I'll join you," Navani said, gesturing to one of her scribes, who began packing up a case of intricate metal-and-gemstone machines. "In case you need any of my fabrials."
Dalinar nodded at her, then turned to Sarus. "Captain, you can come with me as well. We'll have more current information there."
"Yes, Brightlord," Sarus said.
"And you can explain how you got here so quickly, when it took the army nearly two weeks to cross the plains."
"It's a rather long—" Sarus began.
"Dalinar!" Highprince Obodar Roion rushed into the pavilion. "It's a bloodbath out there! We're dead!"
Dalinar let out a low growl deep in his chest, one which momentarily reminded Sarus of the man's fearsome reputation as the Blackthorn. He stepped forward, grabbed Roion by the lapel of his red uniform, and dragged him outside. Sarus followed.
The outside of the pavilion offered a view of the next chasm. Sarus immediately saw that Roion's soldiers in red were rapidly draining off of it, stampeding towards the bridges, chased by Parshendi with red eyes and weapons which crackled with lightning. Fortunately, in the rain, they could not field their archers, so they were slowly forming up on the edge of the plateau. Sarus suspected they were looking for a gap narrow enough for them to leap across.
"Control yourself, Brightlord," Dalinar snapped, bodily pulling Roion to face him. "Adolin has won his plateau. I haven't had word from Aladar recently, but last I heard his forces were holding. Not all is as dire as it seems."
"But—" Roion began, but even as he started speaking, another voice echoed around them.
It should not end this way.
Dalinar shoved Roion away, suddenly looking up into the sky with fury in his face. "Answer me!" he demanded. "Can you even hear me?"
I can.
"Finally!" Dalinar exclaimed. "Are you the Almighty?"
I said I am not, Child of Honor.
"Then what are you?"
I am that which brings Light and Darkness.
"The Stormfather," Dalinar said, even as Sarus recognized the obscure Vorin title. "Are you a Herald?"
No.
"Then are you a spren or a god?"
Both.
"Is he truly speaking with the Stormfather?" Archive asked in a low voice from Sarus' shoulder, barely audible over the hammering rain.
"Yes," Sarus replied. "I can hear it. Him. Is the Stormfather also the spren of a Knight Radiant?"
"I believe so."
Dalinar was still speaking. "Why speak to me? What is happening?"
They call for a storm. My opposite.
"How do we stop it?"
You don't.
"Oh, good," Sarus said aloud, stepping forward.
Every eye turned to him. In a prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck, he even felt the weight of the Stormfather's attention.
"I thought," he said, "that we would only have to contend with one hysterical brightlord. Apparently we have two."
Dalinar glowered. "Captain—"
"Not you," Sarus said to him. Then he looked up at the sky, at the rain falling and the wind rising. "Stormfather. If you intend to give up, by all means do so quietly."
For a moment there was silence save for the rain and the distant song of the Parshendi. How can you hear me? the Stormfather asked.
"Does the answer to that question really matter now?" Sarus asked. "If you will not help us deal with the enemy's storm, then at least do us the courtesy of not distracting our commander. Thank you."
Who are you?
Sarus ignored him, turning to Dalinar. "Brightlord. If he intends to be unhelpful, we have no need to heed him. What should we do?"
Dalinar stared at him for a long moment. "To the command tent," he said. "Roion, you come too. Now!"
As they marched, Dalinar grabbed Sarus by the shoulder, keeping them in step with one another. Navani and Roion both followed behind them. Sarus was keenly aware of their ears listening. "Are you what I've been looking for?" he asked. "A Radiant?"
"Yes," Sarus said. The time for secrets had passed. "Now, at least."
"And Lieutenant Kaladin as well, I'm guessing."
"I'd rather not inform on secrets others keep, Brightlord."
"And if I ordered you to tell me?"
"Are you?" Sarus challenged.
Before Dalinar could answer, a familiar voice called out from somewhere off to Sarus' right. "Brightlord Dalinar!"
They all—Roion included—turned. A man in a Kholin blue uniform with a Bridge Four patch on the shoulder was running—several men, in fact. The one who had spoken was Peet. "Word from—Captain!?"
"Peet," Sarus said. "Explanations later. What news?"
Peet blinked a few times before shaking his head and continuing. "Word from Brightness Shallan! She said to tell you to order all your armies onto the circular plateau. That if they didn't come, they'd be lost."
"Then she believes the circular plateau is the location of the pathway to Urithiru?" Dalinar asked. "Has she managed to open it?"
"Not when I left, sir! She was still investigating. But she was insistent that we can't face what's coming. Two highstorms."
"How could there be two?" Navani demanded. "And during the Weeping?"
"I have no idea, Brightness," Peet said. "That's what she said. A highstorm and something else—she called it an Everstorm—going the other direction. She said they'd clash right at the battlefield."
Before Dalinar could reply, the command tent ahead of them suddenly ripped itself loose from the pegs holding it to the rock, sailing past them. The generals who had been inside started as they were suddenly drenched.
"Storms," Dalinar said, jogging past Sarus towards the officers. "I need an update!"
"Brightlord!" said one—a commander. Sarus thought his name was Cael. "Highprince Aladar has won his plateau! The Parshendi there are routed!"
"Really?"
"Yes sir! The singing Parshendi didn't even fight back, his messenger said! Even with Roion's plateau lost, we've won the day!"
"If the singers didn't fight back," Sarus said softly, "it was because they thought their duties done."
Dalinar looked at him. "You're sure of that?"
"Look," Sarus said, pointing west. Dalinar looked—and saw, as Sarus did, the approaching storm front, unnaturally dark and crackling with red lightning and the fury of an angry god.
Dalinar took a deep breath. "Cael, send orders immediately to General Khal, my son, and Highprince Aladar. Tell them to converge all their forces on a plateau to the southeast, perfectly round. If they do not make haste, they are going to die."
"Sir?"
"Go!" Dalinar exclaimed. "Now!"
Cael saluted, barked orders to a couple of scouts nearby, and sprinted off.
"And me?" Roion asked.
"Same orders to you and your forces," Dalinar said. "Go—unless you want this bloodbath to turn into a massacre."
Roion paled and turned, running towards his soldiers without another word.
"Captain, with me," Dalinar ordered, already jogging away. "I have questions."
"I may have answers." But even as Sarus jogged after the highprince, his focus was slipping. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, on the oncoming Everstorm. It was loud—loud enough that he could hear it, even from more than a mile away. It roared like a caged beast set free, a cacophony of discordant noise like the braying of a thousand instruments all out of key with one another. The sound, faint and distant as it was, felt like a physical thing, like a wall pressing against him.
"Captain?"
Sarus realized he had stopped, staring at the Everstorm. "Yes, Brightlord?"
"Have you heard a word I've said, son?"
"No," Sarus said truthfully. "Does that storm look like it's speeding up to you?"
Dalinar followed his gaze. His eyes narrowed, then widened. "Yes."
It is, came the deep, grim voice of the Stormfather. He is pushing more of his power in the world, faster than I thought possible. His storm will reach you before mine. I am sorry.
"What does it matter?" Dalinar demanded. "Your highstorm would have killed us anyway!"
"Brightlord," Sarus said. "You should get to that plateau. Get away from here, as fast as you can."
"Do we even have time?" Dalinar asked.
"I will buy whatever time I can," Sarus said.
"How?"
Before Sarus could reply, a shout came from one of the other former bridgemen. "Parshendi!"
Sarus turned. Two Parshendi had somehow gotten past the army, likely by leaping over a chasm left unattended in the chaos. One of them—one Sarus recognized immediately as Rlain, despite the red eyes and ridged carapace—crossed his wrists in the Bridge Four salute. Though he wore the same form as the enemy warriors, Sarus noted that his red-and-black marbling was unchanged. "Lieutenant!" he shouted.
"Rlain!" Sarus called back. "That form doesn't much suit you!"
Rlain bared his flat teeth in something that might have been a grin. It was difficult to tell, at this distance and with red lightning arcing between ridges of the Listener's carapace. "Agreed! I come to offer my surrender!"
Sarus nodded. "Peet," he said, "take these two into custody and get them to safety with the rest of our men."
Peet was staring at Rlain. "Is that really—"
"Yes," Sarus said. "I can't stay. Move, all of you!"
"And what will you do?" Dalinar asked.
"Hold back the storm."
-x-x-x-
Two minutes later, Sarus planted his spear at the top of a small hill, staring westward at the approaching Everstorm. It would be here in a matter of seconds.
The weight of it was already pressing down on him. It had been growing since he had first seen it on the horizon—a physical force, beating against him, like the wind but not the wind, for the wind had not yet arrived. A wall of power—one which he could move through freely, but one which he was constantly aware of.
And, he hoped, one he could stop moving freely through.
"This should not be," Archive said from his shoulder, shouting to be heard over the gale. It wasn't the true stormwind—not yet—but it was still thunderous. "If you can do this, it does not come from our bond!"
"I gathered that much!" Sarus shouted back, watching as the storm swept over the plateau ahead of him. Glancing back, he saw that the army was starting to cross the bridge and enter that circular plateau. They entered a hole cut into the side in shifts, a few dozen at a time. Wherever they were going, it was making room for the next shift.
"I do not like this, my Elsecaller!" Archive said. "Neither of us yet understands your limits! You are placing yourself in the path of a god!"
"I'm aware!"
"He will kill you!"
"He will try!"
"Sarus—"
But they were out of time. Sarus raised his hands, and as the storm struck him, he pushed back.
The weight, already present, suddenly became immense. Immeasurable. The wind died, the clouds halted. The world fell silent. Distantly, Sarus felt the rock cracking under his feet. He could hear something behind him—voices, maybe, saying something indistinct, but he could spare no attention to them. All his focus was bent on the weight of the Everstorm—and heavier still, the attention of the god behind it.
What have we here? said a voice that filled Sarus with a primal, profound terror.
"I defy you," Sarus mumbled, the words dropping from lips that refused to cooperate.
I can see that. The voice sounded amused, as if watching a small animal snapping at the heels of a greatshell. I think I recognize you. Weren't you one of Aulë's? The name sent a shock of recognition through Sarus' spine, though he had no memory of why. What was your name again?
Cu— the woman in Sarus' vision had called out to him. It was the beginning of a name he had never heard, but which he knew to his bones belonged to him.
Now what would one of Aulë's be doing here? the god asked thoughtfully. Invention should still be halfway across the Cosmere. I'd know if it was in the system. And yet—yes, some of its Investiture is here. Through you. Fascinating.
Archive was screaming in his ears, but he could no longer hear her. He couldn't hear anything but that voice in the sky, that god which knew him by a name he couldn't remember. "I defy you!" he screamed at the Everstorm, his voice breaking with terror and exertion. "You shall not pass me!"
Oh, little Maia, Odium said. You really think you can stop me?
Red lightning arced down—not one bolt, but nine. They struck Sarus in unison, and agony turned the world white.
Then his vision cleared. He hung suspended over a sea of black beads. In the west, a dim white sun cast pale light over the world. Clouds streamed in straight lines from it, spreading outward in a starburst of white in the dark, starless sky.
All around him were red-eyed creatures with marbled skin in red, white, and black. Parshendi, but not as he knew them. Their forms were incredibly varied, and every one watched him with eyes that burned with ancient hate. They formed a ring around him—around him and the figure across from him.
Odium was clad in armor that resembled black Shardplate. Smoke billowed constantly from it, wreathing him in shadow. His own red eyes danced with mingled mirth and barely contained fury. On his brow was a golden crown, bearing three depressions, as if it had once contained large gemstones which had been removed.
"I remember your name now," he said, and his voice echoed all around Sarus as if the very air were speaking. Yet despite the pain still searing through Sarus' body, he sounded almost casual, as if he were a lighteyes speaking to a subordinate. "Curumo, wasn't it?"
At once, Sarus knew it was.
"It's not quite the reunion I would have chosen," Odium said. "Why would they send you, of all people? You don't matter. Why not someone who has a chance to stop me? Tulkas, or perhaps Ulmo. Not some Maia I barely remember."
"And yet I am holding you back," Sarus said, the words falling out of his mouth like iron weights. He could still feel the weight of the Everstorm—though his mind was no longer on that plateau, his body still was.
Odium's eyes flashed with rage, but his mouth chuckled. "So you are, so you are. Not for long, to be sure, but it's impressive nonetheless."
He stepped forward, faster than Sarus could react. His hand snapped out, and the back of his gauntlet struck Sarus across the cheek. Somehow, the blow was as painful as the lightning as it sent Sarus sprawling. He caught himself on air, still hanging above that sea of beads, breathing heavily.
"All for nothing, of course," Odium said. "An Ainu, even a Maia like you, needs to be manually factored into my foresight, you know. All the predictions in the world could be thrown off by an agent of the Song that I didn't see coming. But only if they made an effort. Only if they threw the future into a configuration I hadn't foreseen. Which, I'm sorry to say, you have not done."
"Meaning?" Sarus asked, forcing himself back to his feet on shaking legs. He looked up and met the dark god's red eyes.
"Meaning," Odium said, "that even though you've been on Roshar for—what, twenty years?—you've changed nothing. You've done nothing. Look."
He gestured, and golden light burst from him. It encircled the two of them, Sarus and Odium, forming into images, into moving visions of the world, stained-glass windows into the past.
He saw Archive telling Kaladin the words of the First Ideal on the rooftop of the barracks as a highstorm approached. He saw himself speaking his first words in years as he guided Kaladin to the Second. He saw himself leading the men of Bridge Four through training and through their duties as guards.
He saw himself turning away as Kaladin was imprisoned. He saw Kaladin's eyes pass over him as he offered the Shards to Moash. He saw Kaladin turn to face Graves beside him.
He saw Tailiah vanish into smoke under his fingertips.
Then, one by one, he vanished from these visions. He saw Archive disappear from the rooftop, yet Kaladin survived the storm anyway. He saw Kaladin find his honor even in Sarus' absence, speaking the Second Ideal as he turned to save Dalinar on the Tower. He saw Bridge Four grow into good soldiers and great men under different officers, all of them inspired by Kaladin even without Sarus there.
Without Sarus, Kaladin was still imprisoned. Without Sarus, Kaladin still offered his Shards to Moash. Without Sarus, Kaladin still found his oaths and returned to Elhokar's defense at the last moment.
Without Sarus, Tailiah still died. The only difference was that, without Sarus, her father had a body to bury.
"It's all right," said Odium softly. "You don't remember, do you? You don't remember what you are, why you can do the things you can. You weren't sent here as an agent to stop me. You found yourself here by, at best, accident. At worst, punishment." A smirk played across his lips. "There is a certain halo of Discord about you. Once, I suspect, you did serve one of mine."
Sarus' hands were shaking. "What is this?" he asked hoarsely.
"This is what my prophecies showed me," Odium said. "Roshar as I expected to find it. As you can see, I didn't know you would be here. And yet, other than that detail, everything has gone exactly as I foresaw."
"Because I've made no difference," Sarus whispered, staring at Tailiah's corpse, heart pierced by an arrow. "Because everything I've ever done has either been a failure, or completely unnecessary."
"It's not your fault," Odium said gently—soothingly. "You couldn't have seen any of this coming. You don't have foresight. You didn't know I was coming, nor could you have guessed what I predicted. Your failure to change the course of history was a failure of circumstance, a lack of information. Not a lack of power, or a lack of will."
"I'm still holding you back," Sarus protested weakly. "Right now—this place, it's not real, is it? My body is still on that hill, still holding back the storm. I can still feel the lightning."
"I imagine that's quite painful," said Odium dryly. "And it wouldn't be quite accurate to say this isn't real. This is the Cognitive Realm, just as real as the Physical. But yes. For now, you are still holding back my storm. And as I said, that is impressive. But let's not delude ourselves." He stepped forward, closed his fist—and, quite suddenly, Sarus couldn't breathe through the gauntlet around his throat. "You can delay me. You cannot hope to stop me."
Sarus scrabbled against the god's hand, choking.
"But I don't want to kill you," Odium said. He released Sarus, who fell at his feet, coughing and gasping for breath. "I will, certainly. But I don't want to. You have so much potential, little Maia—untapped, as yet, through no fault of your own. I can help you with that. I can show you how to direct that potential. How to channel it where it will make a difference. Together we can carve a path into the future that neither of us could achieve separately."
Sarus looked up at him, massaging his throat. Below the god's red eyes, his mouth was curved into a kindly smile. But those eyes were pitiless.
"You want this," murmured the god. "I can see it in your eyes. Behold." He gestured, and the halo of golden light around them formed once more into images. Sarus saw himself, armed with Shards at the head of an army of men and Parshendi, an army vaster than that of any highprince. He saw himself seated in an ornate throne as hundreds prostrated themselves before him. He watched as he bestowed Shardblades to the men of Bridge Four while lighteyes looked on with envy.
He saw Torol and Ialai Sadeas kneeling at his feet, a complex mixture of envy, hatred, pride, and regret in their faces.
"All this and more," Odium whispered. But that wasn't the god's name, not really. No, Sarus knew this creature's name, the name it had been given at the dawn of time, in a past Sarus could not remember but which Curumo should. "Everything you could want. The brightest future you can imagine. All you have to do is take my hand, and together we will make it so."
He reached down, holding out a gauntleted hand in invitation. Sarus stared at it, at the interlocking plates of his fingers. Desire surged up in him—for he did want these things. He had always wanted these things. He had always felt that he was destined for more than the small, cheap life that his dark eyes decreed for him. And now it was offered to him freely. All he had to do was take the hand of Melkor, He Who Arises in Might, and he could have it all.
He looked up, meeting Melkor's burning gaze. Then he closed his eyes, found the connection to his body back on the Shattered Plains, and let the weight of the storm slip past him.
In the Physical Realm, Sarus' body fell, insensate, and the Everstorm roared past.
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deathofrats0808
Don’t think of it as dying; just as leaving early
- Location
- Earth
Ah, interesting. This looks (to me) to perhaps be the start of something of an equivalent of the Sauron phase of Ringmaker. I'm curious to see if Sarus will fall as deep in to darkness and if he does, what pulls him back.
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Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Oh, hm. It appears the ending was more ambiguous than I intended. To be entirely clear: Sarus did not take Melkor's hand. He took something like a middle ground—not dying to hold back the Everstorm, but not accepting Melkor's offer either. He'll discuss why in his next chapter, which is 73.
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
That's more than a lampshade. To give you a peek behind the curtain...
This scene. This scene was one of the first things I developed for this story. I've drafted it in my head a dozen times and it still took two weeks of rewriting to make it ready to post. When I started posting this story, I was very clear that there would be a long period—at the time, my estimate was 50 chapters, because at that point I had finished outlining Part 1 at 25 chapters—where the divergences from canon would be limited. Not absent, but not totally off the rails either. This scene was why. I had this idea that a central theme of the first two parts of this story, of the story as a whole, would be this idea that Sarus wasn't changing things because he was held back by fear, by bitterness, by envy. That once he let go of those things—as Archive would put it, grew past them—only then was he able to make real sweeping changes to the world. And confronting him with how little he had changed in this scene was meant to be the moment when that turn happened.
Now it's here. I made it. And I have to say: totally not worth it. Like, I think this chapter is great. I think the confrontation with Melkor is great. But I did sort of pin 250,000 words on this with the idea that this one scene would retroactively make all of the slow build, all of the stations of canon, all of the shit we've already seen suddenly completely justified and actually cool. And, like, nah. Not really. I still like the fic, I don't regret writing it, but I do wish I could go back and tell myself 'Hey, that idea you have? Cool idea, this is way too much to be justified by it. Maybe if you can pare The Way of Kings and Words of Radiance combined down to, like, ten chapters at most.'
On the plus side, I have no reason to hold back anymore! There is one more small development planned that cleaves close to canon, but after that we're all the way off the rails. (And that one development is a totally separate thing with entirely different reasons for it.)
- Location
- Boston
I'll be honest - I enjoyed this fic, but I 100% agree. Also, most fanfic writers who try something like this don't make it nearly this far. That said, I am super excited to see what happens now!
71: Blood on the Flagstones
Lithos Maitreya
Character Witness
- Location
- United States
Thanks to Elran and @BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
No, I did all of this because I prefer life over death. Better an uncertain death tomorrow than a certain one once the Well of Crystal is corrupted, and the Cosmere is consumed by Silence.
Sarus raised his head slowly when he heard the hinges of his cell door creak open. His jailer, a burly darkeyes, stood over him, keys in hand. "Get up, boy."
Sarus stood, stretching out his stiff legs.
"Follow," the jailer said.
Sarus followed. As soon as he stepped out of the cell, four armed guards took their places around him, far enough to be difficult to reach with his fists, but near enough to strike him with their spears.
He was led out of the jail into a familiar corridor. He had walked this path a hundred times before, though he'd never been through the door he'd just left. He was led to the right and out into the front courtyard of Sadaras.
There were no servants bustling about, no ardents walking sedately as they saw to their duties. There were only soldiers and guards, standing stiff and grim-faced in the evening twilight. However, outside the gates, he caught a glimpse of one soldier leading a familiar horse by the reins. It was Nomar, Highprince Sadeas' war charger.
It wasn't a surprise. Sarus had expected to be left in his cell until the highprince returned. Until he could judge and punish Sarus personally. That was the man's way.
They entered the castle's great doors. The hall behind them had once been a throne room, before Alethkar was unified. Now it was just a long, ornate room, richly decorated, with two grand chairs which were distinctly not thrones in the back. In those two non-thrones were seated the highprince and his wife. Sadeas was still clad in riding clothes, still flecked with the dust of the road, while Ialai was dressed in dark mourning garb. Her right hand gripped her husband's left on the conjoined arms of their two chairs, tight enough that even all the way across the hall Sarus could see her white knuckles, as if Torol Sadeas' hand were the only real thing on Roshar. She glared down at Sarus in hollow accusation.
Sarus was led forward towards the center of the room. Then a guard put a hand on each shoulder and pushed him to his knees. Sarus did not resist, kneeling before the last survivors of House Sadeas.
"Boy," said Torol Sadeas. His voice was unlike Sarus had ever heard it before. He had heard the Highprince in joy and in rage, in hate and in love, in amusement and in disgust. He had never heard the man broken, before. His voice was hoarse, and though it did not shake, it was not entirely steady either. In his face, Sarus saw no expression at all—only a mask, so thick and stiff that he doubted even the man himself knew just what was behind it.
"Brightlord," Sarus croaked. It was the first word he had spoken in more than a week.
"What happened to my daughter?"
Sarus looked down at the flagstones between him and Tailiah's father. "I don't know."
He half expected Ialai to fling accusations at him, but she was silent. So were the guards. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then the Highprince broke the quiet. "My wife tells me you Soulcast her into smoke."
"I have no Soulcaster," Sarus said, "and wouldn't know what to do with it if I did. But I do not deny the facts, Brightlord. I tried to save Brightness Tailiah—"
"Keep her name out of your mouth," Ialai Sadeas hissed at him in a voice that shuddered with grief and fury.
Sarus bowed his head in acquiescence. "I had overheard talk in the warcamp of a conspiracy to assassinate your family, Brightlord," he said. "I believed your wife and daughter to be in imminent danger, so I stole a horse and rode for Sadaras. I arrived in time to interrupt the assassins. I tried to push the princess out of the way of an arrow. But somehow, when I touched her… she vanished into foul-smelling smoke. I have no explanation. Only what I saw."
The room was silent again. It stretched, growing taut as a bowstring being pulled. "This conspiracy you overheard," the Highprince finally said. "Who were the participants?"
"I saw two men discussing it," Sarus said, looking up to meet Highprince Sadeas' gaze. "I believe they were in league with the rebels—one mentioned bringing your wrath on their army's heads even if their assassins succeeded. I did not recognize one, but the other was Captain Yarel, to whom I was an aide. I also heard the other man mention a name, Paleran."
Torol Sadeas nodded slowly. "I believe you," he said. "It is a better explanation than any I have come up with. It's undeniable that there were assassins in the castle. It's undeniable that you fought against them—my wife is witness to that. Watchmen at the warcamp report seeing you flee the warcamp with a horse that very day. I will investigate Captain Yarel and this 'Paleran', whether he is a rebel or another traitor within my own army."
"Thank you, Brightlord," Sarus said. But somehow, he felt no relief. Not yet.
His hesitation was borne out when Sadeas smiled at him. It was not a joyful expression. "Why thank me?" he asked. "I did not say you were free."
Sarus looked him in the eye for a long moment. Then he turned his gaze down to the flagstones again.
"I believe that you were here to prevent the assassination," Sadeas said. "I believe that you do not understand whatever it was you did to my daughter. But that does not change the fact that you did it. Does it?"
Sarus didn't answer.
"Answer me, boy." Sadeas' voice was quiet and sharp as a dagger in the night.
"I do not know what happened," Sarus said.
"No, you do not know what you did. But you and I both do know that whatever it was, you did it." Sadeas' voice had risen—not a shout, not yet, but only just controlled. "And to be honest, I don't much care what exactly you did. You did it. That is enough for me to know."
"I didn't mean to," Sarus whispered.
Sadeas laughed. It was a sharp, agonized sound. "What in Damnation does that matter?" he demanded. "My daughter is dead! I don't even have a body to bury, you wretched little worm! And whatever you intended, that is your doing!"
"Then take your vengeance," Sarus said quietly, "and have done. I have no more information to give you. I have told you all I know."
"You want to have this over with? You want me to just take your head and go on my merry way? No, boy. Oh, no. Tailiah is dead!" Sadeas' voice cracked on the word. "And I have to live with that! I have to go on living with that! I have to go to war with that! With the knowledge that my daughter, my heir, the best thing I have ever brought into the world, is gone forever!"
Sarus' eyes itched. It took him a moment to realize that there were tears in them. He knew that what he was about to say would do nothing to comfort the man—how could it? How could anything?—but it was all he could do. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry!?" Sadeas' voice was positively shrill, now. "No, boy. No you're not. Not yet. But you will be. Bring her out!"
Sarus blinked. Then he turned his head at the sound of a side door opening. The moment he saw what was on the other side, he knew what was about to happen.
Two guards pushed Sarus' mother into the room. She struggled against them, her face pale, her eyes red. But when they fell on Sarus, her expression brightened. "Sarus!" she called. "Oh, Sarus, I've been so worried! Are you—"
"Silence," Sadeas snapped. "Gag her. Now."
One guard struck Sarus' mother in the stomach. As she gasped, the wind knocked from her, the other shoved a cloth gag into her mouth.
It was only when he heard the shout above him that Sarus realized he had started to rise. All four of his guards and his jailer jumped on him, pressing down on him, and still he nearly freed himself. Nearly. He stared at his mother as she was dragged towards the Highprince's chair, straining against the men holding him, before looking up at the man himself. "She has served you loyally for decades!" he shouted at Sadeas. "She has nothing to do with this! She is innocent!"
Torol Sadeas looked down at him, completely ignoring the woman as she was brought to her knees at his feet, her face turned toward Sarus. "Do you know what your name comes from?" he asked. "It's been on my mind ever since Ialai sent word to Kholinar by spanreed. This woman named you in my honor. Sadas Rusuh. Courage and Generosity. No, boy, she is not innocent. She is the reason the man who killed my daughter lived past infancy."
"She had no idea this would happen! None of us had any idea this would happen! She is blameless, Brightlord! Please!"
Sadeas' eyes were pale abysses, void of all pity. "I know. This isn't her punishment. It's yours." He stood up and drew his side-sword from its scabbard at his hip.
Sarus looked away from him and met his mother's gaze. Her eyes were wide and terrified. "Please," he whispered. "Please, anything else. Torture me. Have me strung up. Flay me alive. But let her go."
"I would have rather you do any of these to me than kill my daughter," Sadeas said. "But it's my daughter who is dead. The punishment should always outstrip the severity of the crime. No punishment could possibly surpass your crime, boy—but I will do my best."
He stepped down from his raised seat, extended his sword, and laid it gently against Sarus' mother's throat. She froze, shaking in abject terror. "Ungag her," he instructed one of the guards holding her down. "She should have the chance to speak her last words."
The guard saluted quickly before reaching down and tearing the gag out of the woman's mouth. She gasped, eyes meeting her son's. "Sarus—"
The sword slashed through her throat with hardly any resistance. Whatever she had been intending to say, it cut off with a gurgle as she fell. She struggled weakly for a few moments, eyes filling with tears as she looked up Sarus. Then she fell still, and those eyes glazed over in death. Her blood pooled beneath her, spreading in a red tide over the flagstones.
Sarus realized he was screaming. He also realized he had torn free of the four men holding him down. He had almost reached the highprince before the two guards who had been holding his mother down caught him and pushed him back long enough for the other four guards to catch up. Even all six of them weren't enough to stop Sarus entirely, but when four more joined them, that was sufficient to force Sarus back to his knees.
Through it all, Torol Sadeas just stared down at him, eyes hooded, blood dripping from the sword in his hand.
"That will do as a beginning," he said. "But I've never been much for commensurate punishment, boy. Your death will be slower. Much slower. There is a war coming to Alethkar, and I already have ideas for how you can serve me. You will die, and you will die screaming. But before then, you can join me in surviving in a world that all light has abandoned."
"If there is any justice in the world," Sarus hissed, "you will die screaming, too. You will die knowing everything you have ever tried to do has failed, and that all of it is your fault."
"It already has," Sadeas said softly. "And it already is." He gestured to the guards. "Beat him. I want him more bruise than man by the time he returns to his cell."
Sarus fought them. He struck out with fists and elbows, feet and knees. Any man unfortunate enough to draw near his mouth, he bit. More guards joined them, but for a moment he almost thought he might break away from them, break through their line and reach the man who had slaughtered his mother for no reason other than to hurt him.
Then his boot slipped. He had just a moment to register that he had been tripped by the pool of his own mother's blood as he fell, before he hit the ground, sending up a smattering of crimson droplets. Then the men fell upon him, and the world descended into darkness and pain.
-x-x-x-
71
Blood on the Flagstones
-x-x-x-
71
Blood on the Flagstones
-x-x-x-
No, I did all of this because I prefer life over death. Better an uncertain death tomorrow than a certain one once the Well of Crystal is corrupted, and the Cosmere is consumed by Silence.
-x-x-x-
Six Years Ago
Six Years Ago
Sarus raised his head slowly when he heard the hinges of his cell door creak open. His jailer, a burly darkeyes, stood over him, keys in hand. "Get up, boy."
Sarus stood, stretching out his stiff legs.
"Follow," the jailer said.
Sarus followed. As soon as he stepped out of the cell, four armed guards took their places around him, far enough to be difficult to reach with his fists, but near enough to strike him with their spears.
He was led out of the jail into a familiar corridor. He had walked this path a hundred times before, though he'd never been through the door he'd just left. He was led to the right and out into the front courtyard of Sadaras.
There were no servants bustling about, no ardents walking sedately as they saw to their duties. There were only soldiers and guards, standing stiff and grim-faced in the evening twilight. However, outside the gates, he caught a glimpse of one soldier leading a familiar horse by the reins. It was Nomar, Highprince Sadeas' war charger.
It wasn't a surprise. Sarus had expected to be left in his cell until the highprince returned. Until he could judge and punish Sarus personally. That was the man's way.
They entered the castle's great doors. The hall behind them had once been a throne room, before Alethkar was unified. Now it was just a long, ornate room, richly decorated, with two grand chairs which were distinctly not thrones in the back. In those two non-thrones were seated the highprince and his wife. Sadeas was still clad in riding clothes, still flecked with the dust of the road, while Ialai was dressed in dark mourning garb. Her right hand gripped her husband's left on the conjoined arms of their two chairs, tight enough that even all the way across the hall Sarus could see her white knuckles, as if Torol Sadeas' hand were the only real thing on Roshar. She glared down at Sarus in hollow accusation.
Sarus was led forward towards the center of the room. Then a guard put a hand on each shoulder and pushed him to his knees. Sarus did not resist, kneeling before the last survivors of House Sadeas.
"Boy," said Torol Sadeas. His voice was unlike Sarus had ever heard it before. He had heard the Highprince in joy and in rage, in hate and in love, in amusement and in disgust. He had never heard the man broken, before. His voice was hoarse, and though it did not shake, it was not entirely steady either. In his face, Sarus saw no expression at all—only a mask, so thick and stiff that he doubted even the man himself knew just what was behind it.
"Brightlord," Sarus croaked. It was the first word he had spoken in more than a week.
"What happened to my daughter?"
Sarus looked down at the flagstones between him and Tailiah's father. "I don't know."
He half expected Ialai to fling accusations at him, but she was silent. So were the guards. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then the Highprince broke the quiet. "My wife tells me you Soulcast her into smoke."
"I have no Soulcaster," Sarus said, "and wouldn't know what to do with it if I did. But I do not deny the facts, Brightlord. I tried to save Brightness Tailiah—"
"Keep her name out of your mouth," Ialai Sadeas hissed at him in a voice that shuddered with grief and fury.
Sarus bowed his head in acquiescence. "I had overheard talk in the warcamp of a conspiracy to assassinate your family, Brightlord," he said. "I believed your wife and daughter to be in imminent danger, so I stole a horse and rode for Sadaras. I arrived in time to interrupt the assassins. I tried to push the princess out of the way of an arrow. But somehow, when I touched her… she vanished into foul-smelling smoke. I have no explanation. Only what I saw."
The room was silent again. It stretched, growing taut as a bowstring being pulled. "This conspiracy you overheard," the Highprince finally said. "Who were the participants?"
"I saw two men discussing it," Sarus said, looking up to meet Highprince Sadeas' gaze. "I believe they were in league with the rebels—one mentioned bringing your wrath on their army's heads even if their assassins succeeded. I did not recognize one, but the other was Captain Yarel, to whom I was an aide. I also heard the other man mention a name, Paleran."
Torol Sadeas nodded slowly. "I believe you," he said. "It is a better explanation than any I have come up with. It's undeniable that there were assassins in the castle. It's undeniable that you fought against them—my wife is witness to that. Watchmen at the warcamp report seeing you flee the warcamp with a horse that very day. I will investigate Captain Yarel and this 'Paleran', whether he is a rebel or another traitor within my own army."
"Thank you, Brightlord," Sarus said. But somehow, he felt no relief. Not yet.
His hesitation was borne out when Sadeas smiled at him. It was not a joyful expression. "Why thank me?" he asked. "I did not say you were free."
Sarus looked him in the eye for a long moment. Then he turned his gaze down to the flagstones again.
"I believe that you were here to prevent the assassination," Sadeas said. "I believe that you do not understand whatever it was you did to my daughter. But that does not change the fact that you did it. Does it?"
Sarus didn't answer.
"Answer me, boy." Sadeas' voice was quiet and sharp as a dagger in the night.
"I do not know what happened," Sarus said.
"No, you do not know what you did. But you and I both do know that whatever it was, you did it." Sadeas' voice had risen—not a shout, not yet, but only just controlled. "And to be honest, I don't much care what exactly you did. You did it. That is enough for me to know."
"I didn't mean to," Sarus whispered.
Sadeas laughed. It was a sharp, agonized sound. "What in Damnation does that matter?" he demanded. "My daughter is dead! I don't even have a body to bury, you wretched little worm! And whatever you intended, that is your doing!"
"Then take your vengeance," Sarus said quietly, "and have done. I have no more information to give you. I have told you all I know."
"You want to have this over with? You want me to just take your head and go on my merry way? No, boy. Oh, no. Tailiah is dead!" Sadeas' voice cracked on the word. "And I have to live with that! I have to go on living with that! I have to go to war with that! With the knowledge that my daughter, my heir, the best thing I have ever brought into the world, is gone forever!"
Sarus' eyes itched. It took him a moment to realize that there were tears in them. He knew that what he was about to say would do nothing to comfort the man—how could it? How could anything?—but it was all he could do. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry!?" Sadeas' voice was positively shrill, now. "No, boy. No you're not. Not yet. But you will be. Bring her out!"
Sarus blinked. Then he turned his head at the sound of a side door opening. The moment he saw what was on the other side, he knew what was about to happen.
Two guards pushed Sarus' mother into the room. She struggled against them, her face pale, her eyes red. But when they fell on Sarus, her expression brightened. "Sarus!" she called. "Oh, Sarus, I've been so worried! Are you—"
"Silence," Sadeas snapped. "Gag her. Now."
One guard struck Sarus' mother in the stomach. As she gasped, the wind knocked from her, the other shoved a cloth gag into her mouth.
It was only when he heard the shout above him that Sarus realized he had started to rise. All four of his guards and his jailer jumped on him, pressing down on him, and still he nearly freed himself. Nearly. He stared at his mother as she was dragged towards the Highprince's chair, straining against the men holding him, before looking up at the man himself. "She has served you loyally for decades!" he shouted at Sadeas. "She has nothing to do with this! She is innocent!"
Torol Sadeas looked down at him, completely ignoring the woman as she was brought to her knees at his feet, her face turned toward Sarus. "Do you know what your name comes from?" he asked. "It's been on my mind ever since Ialai sent word to Kholinar by spanreed. This woman named you in my honor. Sadas Rusuh. Courage and Generosity. No, boy, she is not innocent. She is the reason the man who killed my daughter lived past infancy."
"She had no idea this would happen! None of us had any idea this would happen! She is blameless, Brightlord! Please!"
Sadeas' eyes were pale abysses, void of all pity. "I know. This isn't her punishment. It's yours." He stood up and drew his side-sword from its scabbard at his hip.
Sarus looked away from him and met his mother's gaze. Her eyes were wide and terrified. "Please," he whispered. "Please, anything else. Torture me. Have me strung up. Flay me alive. But let her go."
"I would have rather you do any of these to me than kill my daughter," Sadeas said. "But it's my daughter who is dead. The punishment should always outstrip the severity of the crime. No punishment could possibly surpass your crime, boy—but I will do my best."
He stepped down from his raised seat, extended his sword, and laid it gently against Sarus' mother's throat. She froze, shaking in abject terror. "Ungag her," he instructed one of the guards holding her down. "She should have the chance to speak her last words."
The guard saluted quickly before reaching down and tearing the gag out of the woman's mouth. She gasped, eyes meeting her son's. "Sarus—"
The sword slashed through her throat with hardly any resistance. Whatever she had been intending to say, it cut off with a gurgle as she fell. She struggled weakly for a few moments, eyes filling with tears as she looked up Sarus. Then she fell still, and those eyes glazed over in death. Her blood pooled beneath her, spreading in a red tide over the flagstones.
Sarus realized he was screaming. He also realized he had torn free of the four men holding him down. He had almost reached the highprince before the two guards who had been holding his mother down caught him and pushed him back long enough for the other four guards to catch up. Even all six of them weren't enough to stop Sarus entirely, but when four more joined them, that was sufficient to force Sarus back to his knees.
Through it all, Torol Sadeas just stared down at him, eyes hooded, blood dripping from the sword in his hand.
"That will do as a beginning," he said. "But I've never been much for commensurate punishment, boy. Your death will be slower. Much slower. There is a war coming to Alethkar, and I already have ideas for how you can serve me. You will die, and you will die screaming. But before then, you can join me in surviving in a world that all light has abandoned."
"If there is any justice in the world," Sarus hissed, "you will die screaming, too. You will die knowing everything you have ever tried to do has failed, and that all of it is your fault."
"It already has," Sadeas said softly. "And it already is." He gestured to the guards. "Beat him. I want him more bruise than man by the time he returns to his cell."
Sarus fought them. He struck out with fists and elbows, feet and knees. Any man unfortunate enough to draw near his mouth, he bit. More guards joined them, but for a moment he almost thought he might break away from them, break through their line and reach the man who had slaughtered his mother for no reason other than to hurt him.
Then his boot slipped. He had just a moment to register that he had been tripped by the pool of his own mother's blood as he fell, before he hit the ground, sending up a smattering of crimson droplets. Then the men fell upon him, and the world descended into darkness and pain.
- Location
- A bed
You have done a good job of convincing me of how much Sadeas sucks. I h ate that I can understand where he is coming from.
- Location
- United States
That is just brutal. No wonder Sarus was convinced for so long that he had done it, after something like that.