Words of Radiance

The others left him, even Mrall. They shut the small door, and Taravangian sat down on the stool beside the corpse. He had no intention of saying any sort of prayer, but he did want a moment. Alone. To think.

It had worked. Just as the Diagram instructed, Taravangian was king of Jah Keved. He had taken the first major step toward unifying the world, as Gavilar had insisted would need to happen if they were to survive.

That was, at least, what the visions had proclaimed. Visions Gavilar had confided in him six years ago, the night of the Alethi king’s death. Gavilar had seen visions of the Almighty, who was also now dead, and of a coming storm.

Unite them.

“I am doing my best, Gavilar,” Taravangian whispered. “I am sorry that I need to kill your brother.”

That would not be the only sin upon his head when this was done. Not by a faint breeze or a stormwind.

He wished, once again, that this day had been a day of brilliance. Then he wouldn’t have felt so guilty.

Part Five: Winds Alight

76. The Hidden Blade

They will come you cannot stop their oaths look for those who survive when they should not that pattern will be your clue.

From the Diagram, Coda of the Northwest Bottom Corner: paragraph 3

You have killed her…

Kaladin couldn’t sleep.

He knew he should

sleep. He lay in his dark barrack room, surrounded by familiar stone, comfortable for the first time in days. A soft pillow, a mattress as good as the one he’d had back home in Hearthstone.

His body felt wrung out, like a rag after the washing was done. He’d survived the chasms and brought Shallan home safely. Now he needed to sleep and heal.

You have killed her…

He sat up in his bed, and felt a wave of dizziness. He gritted his teeth and let it pass. His leg wound throbbed inside his bandage. The camp surgeons had done a good job with that; his father would have been pleased.

The camp outside felt too quiet. After showering him with praise and enthusiasm, the men of Bridge Four had gone to join the army for its expedition, along with all of the other bridge crews, who would be carrying bridges for the army. Only a small force from Bridge Four would remain behind to guard the king.

Kaladin reached out in the darkness, feeling beside the wall until he found his spear. He took hold, then propped himself up and stood. The leg flared with immediate pain, and he gritted his teeth, but it wasn’t so bad. He’d taken fathom bark for the pain, and it was working. He’d refused the firemoss the surgeons had tried to give him. His father had hated using the addictive stuff.

Kaladin forced his way to the door of his small room, then shoved it open and stepped into the sunlight. He shaded his eyes and scanned the sky. No clouds yet. The Weeping, the worst part of the year, would roll in sometime tomorrow. Four weeks of ceaseless rain and gloom. It was a Light Year, so not even a highstorm in the middle. Misery.

Kaladin longed for the storm within. That would have awakened his mind, made him feel like moving.

“Hey, gancho?” Lopen said, popping up from where he sat beside the firepit. “You need something?”

“Let’s go watch the army leave.”

“You’re not supposed to be walking, I think…”

“I’ll be fine,” Kaladin said, hobbling with difficulty.

Lopen rushed over to help him, getting up under Kaladin’s arm, lifting weight off the bad leg. “Why don’t you glow a bit, gon?” Lopen asked softly. “Heal that problem?”

He’d prepared a lie: something about not wanting to alert the surgeons by healing too quickly. He couldn’t force it out. Not to a member of Bridge Four.

“I’ve lost the ability, Lopen,” he said softly. “Syl has left me.”

The lean Herdazian fell unusually silent. “Well,” he finally said, “maybe you should buy her something nice.”

“Buy something nice? For a spren

?”

“Yeah. Like… I don’t know. A nice plant, maybe, or a new hat. Yes, a hat. Might be cheap. She’s small. If a tailor tries to charge you full price for a hat that small, you thump him real good.”

“That’s the most ridiculous piece of advice I’ve ever been given.”

“You should rub yourself with curry and go prancing through the camp singing Horneater lullabies.”

Kaladin looked at Lopen, incredulous. “What?”

“See? Now the bit about the hat is only the second most ridiculous piece of advice you’ve ever been given, so you should try it. Women like hats. I have this cousin who makes them. I can ask her. You might not even need the actual hat. Just the spren of the hat. That’ll make it even cheaper.”

“You’re a very special kind of weird, Lopen.”

“Of course I am, gon. There’s only one of me.”