Storms. Grieve later.
Azure stood guard in the doorway to the control building, holding the pack full of gemstones. Hopefully, those would be enough to get everyone to safety.
“Brightness Davar told me to clear everyone else out,” the highmarshal said. “Something’s wrong with the device.”
Adolin cursed under his breath and stepped inside. Shallan knelt on the ground before a mirror, looking at herself. Behind, Kaladin stepped in, then settled down on the floor, placing his back to the wall.
“Shallan,” Adolin said. “We need to go. Now.”
“But—”
“The city has fallen. Transfer the entire platform, not just the control building. We need to get as many people as we can to safety.”
“My men on the wall!” Azure said.
“They’re dead or routed,” Adolin said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“The king—”
“The king is dead. The queen has joined the enemy. I’m ordering our retreat, Azure.” Adolin locked gazes with the woman. “We gain nothing by dying here.”
She drew her lips to a line, but didn’t argue further.
“Adolin,” Shallan whispered, “the heart was a trick. I didn’t chase it off—it left on purpose. I think … I think the Voidbringers intentionally left Kaladin and his men alone after only a brief fight. They let us come here because the Oathgate is trapped.”
“How do you know?” Adolin asked.
Shallan cocked her head. “I’m speaking to her.”
“Her?”
“Sja-anat. The Taker of Secrets. She says that if we engage the device, we’ll be caught in a disaster.”
Adolin took a deep breath.
“Do it anyway,” he said.
* * *
Do it anyway.
Shallan understood the implication. How could they trust an ancient spren of Odium? Perhaps Shallan really had driven the black heart away, and—in a panic to keep the humans from escaping—Sja-anat was now stalling.
Shallan looked away from the pleading figure in the mirror. The others couldn’t see her—she’d confirmed this with Azure already.
“Pattern?” she whispered. “What do you think?”
“Mmmm…” he said quietly. “Lies. So many lies. I don’t know, Shallan. I cannot tell you.”
Kaladin slumped by the wall, staring sightlessly, as if he were dead inside. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him in such a state.
“Get ready.” Shallan stood up, summoning Pattern as a Blade.
Trust is not mine, said the figure in the mirror. You will not give my children a home. Not yet.
Shallan pushed the Blade into the lock. It melded to match Pattern’s shape.
I will show you, Sja-anat said. I will try. My promise is not strong, for I cannot know. But I will try.
“Try what?” Shallan asked.
Try not to kill you.
With those words haunting her, Shallan engaged the Oathgate.
86. That Others May Stand
My spren claims that recording this will be good for me, so here I go. Everyone says I will swear the Fourth Ideal soon, and in so doing, earn my armor. I simply don’t think that I can. Am I not supposed to want to help people?
Dalinar Kholin stood at attention, hands behind his back, one wrist gripping the other. He could see so far from his balcony at Urithiru—but it was endless miles of nothing. Clouds and rock. So much and so little, all at once.
“Dalinar,” Navani said, stepping up and resting her hands on his arm. “Please. At least come inside.”
They thought he was sick. They thought his collapse on the Oathgate platform had been caused by heart troubles, or fatigue. The surgeons had suggested rest. But if he stopped standing up straight, if he let it bow him down, he worried the memories would crush him.
The memories of what he’d done at the Rift.
The crying voices of children, begging for mercy.
He forced his emotions down. “What news,” he said, embarrassed by how his voice trembled.
“None,” Navani said. “Dalinar…”
Word had come from Kholinar via spanreed, one that somehow still worked. An assault on the palace, an attempt to reach the Oathgate.
Outside, the gathered Kholin, Aladar, and Roion armies clogged one of Urithiru’s Oathgate platforms, waiting to be taken to Kholinar to join the battle. But nothing happened. Time seeped away. It had been four hours since the first communication.
Dalinar closed his mouth, eyes ahead, and stared at the expanse. At attention, like a soldier. That was how he would wait. Even though he’d never really been a soldier. He’d commanded men, ordered recruits to stand in line, inspected ranks. But he himself … he’d skipped all of that. He’d waged war in a bloodthirsty riot, not a careful formation.
Navani sighed, patting him on the arm, then returned to their rooms to sit with Taravangian and a small collection of scribes and highprinces. Awaiting news from Kholinar.
Dalinar stood in the breeze, wishing he could empty his mind, rid himself of memories. Go back to being able to pretend he was a good man. Problem was, he’d given in to a kind of fancy, one everyone told about him. They said the Blackthorn had been a terror on the battlefield, but still honest. Dalinar Kholin, he would fight you fair, they said.
Evi’s cries, and the tears of murdered children, spoke the truth. Oh … oh, Almighty above. How could he live with this pain? So fresh, restored anew? But why pray? There was no Almighty watching. If there had been—and if he’d had a shred of justice to him—Honor would have long ago purged this world of the fraud that was Dalinar Kholin.
And I had the gall to condemn Amaram for killing one squad of men to gain a Shardblade. Dalinar had burned an entire city for less. Thousands upon thousands of people.
“Why did you bond me?” Dalinar whispered to the Stormfather. “Shouldn’t you have picked a man who was just?”
Just? Justice is what you brought to those people.
“That was not justice. That was a massacre.”
The Stormfather rumbled. I have burned and broken cities myself. I can see … yes, I see a difference now. I see pain now. I did not see it before the bond.
Would Dalinar lose his bond now, in exchange for making the Stormfather increasingly aware of human morality? Why had these cursed memories returned? Couldn’t he have continued for a little longer without them? Long enough to forge the coalition, to prepare the defense of humankind?
That was the coward’s route. Wishing for ignorance. The coward’s route he’d obviously taken—though he could not yet remember his visit to the Nightwatcher, he knew what he’d asked for. Relief from this awful burden. The ability to lie, to pretend he had not done such horrible things.
He turned away and walked back into his rooms. He didn’t know how he’d face this—bear this burden—but today, he needed to focus on the salvation of Kholinar. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make battle plans until he knew more about the city’s situation.