Words of Radiance

Shallan dismissed the Shardblade. “Do not speak of what you saw here to the others,” she told Vathah and his men. Though they promised quickly, she doubted that would hold for long. Shardblades were near-mythical objects, and a woman holding one? Rumors would spread. Just what she needed.

You’re alive because of that cursed thing, she thought to herself. Again. Stop complaining.

She took the spanreed up and changed the paper, then set it with its point at the corner. After a moment, Tyn’s distant accomplice started writing again.

Your benefactors on the Amydlatn job wish to meet with you, the pen wrote. It seems that the Ghostbloods have something else for you to do. Would you like me to arrange a meeting with them in the warcamps?

The pen stopped in place, waiting for a response. What had the spanreed said above? That these people—Tyn’s benefactors, the Ghostbloods—had found the information they sought… information about a city.

Urithiru. The people who had killed Jasnah, the people who threatened her family, were searching for the city too. Shallan stared at the paper and its words for an extended moment as Vathah and his men began pulling clothing out of Tyn’s trunk, knocking on its sides to find anything hidden.

Would you like me to arrange a meeting with them…

Shallan took the spanreed, switched the fabrial’s setting, then wrote a single word.

Yes.

THE END OF

Part Two

Interludes

I-5. The Rider of Storms

In the city of Narak, people closed up windows tightly as night approached and the storm loomed. They stuffed rags under doors, shoved bracing boards into position, pounded large, square blocks of wood into windows.

Eshonai did not join in the preparations, but stood outside Thude’s dwelling, listening to his report—he’d just returned from meeting with the Alethi, arranging a parley to discuss peace. She had wanted to send someone earlier, but the Five had deliberated and complained until Eshonai wanted to throttle the lot of them. At least they’d finally agreed to let her send a messenger.

“Seven days,” Thude said. “The meeting will happen on a neutral plateau.”

“Did you see him?” Eshonai asked, eager. “The Blackthorn?”

Thude shook his head.

“What of the other one?” Eshonai asked. “The Surgebinder?”

“No sign of him either.” Thude looked troubled. He looked eastward. “You’d better go. I can give you more details after the storm is done.”

Eshonai nodded, resting her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” Thude said to Resolve.

“To all of us,” she replied as he shut the door, leaving her alone in a dark, seemingly empty city. Eshonai checked the stormshield on her back, then took the sphere with Venli’s captive spren from her pocket and attuned the Rhythm of Resolve.

The time had come. She ran toward the storm.

Resolve was a stately beat with a steady, rising sense of import and power. She left Narak, and reaching the first chasm, she jumped. Only warform had the strength for such leaps; for the workers to reach outer plateaus and grow food, they used rope bridges that were pulled back and stowed before each storm.

She landed in full stride, her footsteps falling to the beat of Resolve. The stormwall appeared in the distance, barely visible in the darkness. Winds rose, pushing against her, as if to hold her back. Above, windspren zipped and danced in the air. They were heralds of what was to come.

Eshonai jumped two more chasms, then slowed, striding up to the top of a low hill. The stormwall now dominated the night sky, advancing at a terrible pace. The enormous sheet of darkness mingled debris with rain, a banner of water, rock, dust, and fallen plants. Eshonai unhooked the large shield on her back.

For the listeners, there was a certain romanticism to going out in the storm. Yes, the storms were terrible—but every listener would have to spend a number of nights out in them, alone. The songs said that someone seeking a new form would be protected. She wasn’t certain if this was fancy or fact, but the songs didn’t prevent most listeners from hiding in a cleft of rock to avoid the stormwall, then coming out once it had passed.

Eshonai preferred a shield. It felt more like facing the Rider straight on. This one, the soul of the storm, was the one the humans called Stormfather—and he was not one of her people’s gods. In fact, the songs named him a traitor—a spren who had chosen to protect humans instead of the listeners.

Still, her people respected him. He would kill any who did not respect him.