“It was only recently, even by your reckoning, that the Ancient Daughter was rediscovered. Asleep. So, in answer to your question, yes, Sylphrena is both old and young. Old of form, but young of mind. She is not ready to deal with humans, and certainly not ready for a bond. I wouldn’t trust myself with one of those.”
“You think we’re too changeable, don’t you? That we can’t keep our oaths.”
“I’m no highspren,” the captain spat. “I can see that the variety of humankind is what gives you strength. Your ability to change your minds, to go against what you once thought, can be a great advantage. But your bond is dangerous, without Honor. There will not be enough checks upon your power—you risk disaster.”
“How?”
Notum shook his head, then looked away, off into the distance. “I cannot answer. You should not have bonded Sylphrena, either way. She is too precious to the Stormfather.”
“Regardless,” Kaladin said, “you’re about half a year too late. So you might as well accept it.”
“Not too late. Killing you would free her—though it would be painful for her. There are other ways, at least until the Final Ideal is sworn.”
“I can’t imagine you’d be willing to kill a man for this,” Kaladin said. “Tell me truthfully. Is there honor in that, Notum?”
He looked away, as if ashamed.
“You know Syl shouldn’t be locked away like this,” Kaladin said softly. “You’re an honorspren too, Notum. You must know how she feels.”
The captain didn’t speak.
Finally, Kaladin gritted his teeth and strode off. The captain didn’t demand that Kaladin go down below, so he took up a position at the very front of the high deck, hanging out over the bow.
With one hand on the flagpole, Kaladin rested a boot on the low railing, overlooking the sea of beads. He wore his uniform today, since he’d been able to wash it the previous night. Honor’s Path had good accommodations for humans, including a device that made a great deal of water. The design—if not the vessel itself—probably stretched back centuries to when Radiants traveled Shadesmar with their spren.
Beneath him, the ship creaked as sailors shifted her heading. To the left, he could see land. Longbrow’s Straits—on the other side of which they’d find Thaylen City. Tantalizingly close.
Technically, he was no longer Dalinar’s bodyguard. But storms, during the Weeping, Kaladin had nearly abandoned his duty. The thought of Dalinar needing him now—while Kaladin was trapped and unable to help—brought a pain that was almost physical. He’d failed so many people in his life.…
Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination. Together, these Words formed the First Ideal of the Windrunners. He’d said them, but he wasn’t certain he understood them.
The Second Ideal made more direct sense. I will protect those who cannot protect themselves. Straightforward, yes … but overwhelming. The world was a place of suffering. Was he really supposed to try to prevent it all?
I will protect even those I hate, so long as it is right. The Third Ideal meant standing up for anyone, if needed. But who decided what was “right”? Which side was he supposed to protect?
The Fourth Ideal was unknown to him, but the closer he drew to it, the more frightened he became. What would it demand of him?
Something crystallized in the air beside him, a line of light like a pinprick in the air that trailed a long, soft luminescence. A mistspren sailor near him gasped, then nudged his companion. She whispered something in awe, then both scrambled away.
What have I done now?
A second pinprick of light appeared near him, spinning, coordinated with the other. They made spiral trails in the air. He’d have called them spren, but they weren’t any he’d seen before. Besides, spren on this side didn’t seem to vanish and appear—they were always here, weren’t they?
K-Kaladin? a voice whispered in his head.
“Syl?” he whispered.
What are you doing? It was rare that he heard her directly in his mind.
“Standing on the deck. What’s happened?”
Nothing. I can just … feel your mind right now. Stronger than usual. They let you out?
“Yes. I’ve tried to get them to set you free.”
They’re stubborn. It’s an honorspren trait which I, fortunately, escaped.
“Syl. What is the Fourth Ideal?”
You know you have to figure that out on your own, silly.
“It’s going to be hard, isn’t it?”
Yes. You’re close.
He leaned forward, watching the mandras float beneath them. A small flock of gloryspren zipped past. They took a moment to fly up and spin about him before heading to the south, faster than the ship.
The strange pinpricks of light continued to whirl around him. Sailors gathered behind, making a ruckus until the captain pushed through and gaped.
“What are they?” Kaladin asked, nodding toward the pinpricks of light.
“Windspren.”
“Oh.” They did remind him a little of the way windspren would fly on gusts of wind. “They’re common. Why is everyone so upset?”
“They’re not common on this side,” the captain said. “They live on your side, almost completely. I … I’ve never seen them before. They’re beautiful.”
Perhaps I haven’t been giving Notum enough credit, Kaladin thought. Perhaps he would listen to a different kind of plea.
“Captain,” Kaladin said. “I have taken an oath, as a Windrunner, to protect. And the Bondsmith who leads us is in danger.”
“Bondsmith?” the captain asked. “Which one?”
“Dalinar Kholin.”
“No. Which Bondsmith, of the three?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kaladin said. “But his spren is the Stormfather. I told you I’d spoken to him.”
It seemed, from the captain’s aghast expression, that perhaps Kaladin should have mentioned this fact earlier.
“I must keep my oath,” Kaladin said. “I need you to let Syl go, then take us to a place where we can transfer between realms.”
“I’ve sworn an oath myself,” the captain said. “To Honor, and to the truths we follow.”
“Honor is dead,” Kaladin said. “But the Bondsmith is not. You say that you can see how human variety gives us strength—well, I challenge you to do the same. See beyond the letter of your rules. You must understand that my need to defend the Bondsmith is more important than your need to deliver Syl—especially considering that the Stormfather is well aware of her location.”
The captain glanced at the windspren, which were still spinning about Kaladin, leaving trails that drifted the entire length of the ship before fading.
“I will consider,” the captain said.
Adolin stopped at the top of the steps, just behind Shallan.
Kaladin, the storming bridgeman, stood at the bow of the ship, surrounded by glowing lines of light. They illuminated his heroic figure—determined, undaunted, one hand on the prow’s flagpole, wearing his crisp Wall Guard uniform. The ship’s spren gazed upon him as if he were a storming Herald come to announce the reclamation of the Tranquiline Halls.