Jasnah held up a hand. “These are a type of spren, Shallan. They are related to what you do.” She tapped the desk softly. “Two orders of the Knights Radiant possessed inherent Soulcasting ability; it was based on their powers that the original fabrials were designed, I believe. I had assumed that you… But no, that obviously wouldn’t make sense. I see now.”
“What?”
“I will explain as I train you,” Jasnah said, handing back the sheet. “You will need a greater foundation before you can grasp it. Suffice it to say that each Radiant’s abilities were tied to the spren.”
“Wait, Radiants? But—”
“I will explain,” Jasnah said. “But first, we must speak of the Voidbringers.”
Shallan nodded. “You think they’ll return, don’t you?”
Jasnah studied her. “What makes you say that?”
“The legends say the Voidbringers came a hundred times to try to destroy mankind,” Shallan continued. “I… read some of your notes.”
“You what?”
“I was looking for information on Soulcasting,” Shallan confessed.
Jasnah sighed. “Well, I suppose it is the least of your crimes.”
“I can’t understand,” Shallan said. “Why are you bothering with these stories of myths and shadows? Other scholars—scholars I know you respect—consider the Voidbringers to be a fabrication. Yet you chase stories from rural farmers and write them down in your notebook. Why, Jasnah? Why do you have faith in this when you reject things that are so much more plausible?”
Jasnah looked over her sheets of paper. “Do you know the real difference between me and a believer, Shallan?”
Shallan shook her head.
“It strikes me that religion—in its essence—seeks to take natural events and ascribe supernatural causes to them. I, however, seek to take supernatural events and find the natural meanings behind them. Perhaps that is the final dividing line between science and religion. Opposite sides of a card.”
“So… you think…”
“The Voidbringers had a natural, real-world correlate,” Jasnah said firmly. “I’m certain of it. Something caused the legends.”
“What was it?”
Jasnah handed Shallan a page of notes. “These are the best I’ve been able to find. Read them. Tell me what you think.”
Shallan scanned the page. Some of the quotes—or at least the concepts—were familiar to her from what she’d read already.
Suddenly dangerous. Like a calm day that became a tempest.
“They were real,” Jasnah repeated.
Beings of ash and fire.
“We fought with them,” Jasnah said. “We fought so often that men began to speak of the creatures in metaphor. A hundred battles—ten tenfolds…”
Flame and char. Skin so terrible. Eyes like pits of blackness. Music when they kill.
“We defeated them…” Jasnah said.
Shallan felt a chill.
“…but the legends lie about one thing,” Jasnah continued. “They claim we chased the Voidbringers off the face of Roshar or destroyed them. But that’s not how humans work. We don’t throw away something we can use.”
Shallan rose, walking to the edge of the balcony, looking out at the lift, which was slowly being lowered by its two porters.
Parshmen. With skin of black and red.
Ash and fire.
“Stormfather…” Shallan whispered, horrified.
“We didn’t destroy the Voidbringers,” Jasnah said from behind, her voice haunted. “We enslaved them.”
The chill spring weather might finally have slipped back into summer. It was still cool at night, but not uncomfortably so. Kaladin stood on Dalinar Kholin’s staging ground, looking eastward over the Shattered Plains.
Ever since the failed betrayal and subsequent rescue earlier, Kaladin had found himself nervous. Freedom. Bought with a Shardblade. It seemed impossible. His every life experience taught him to expect a trap.
He clasped his hands behind him; Syl sat on his shoulder.
“Dare I trust him?” he asked softly.
“He’s a good man,” Syl said. “I’ve watched him. Despite that thing he carried.”
“That thing?”
“The Shardblade.”
“What do you care about it?”
“I don’t know,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “It just feels wrong to me. I hate it. I’m glad he got rid of it. Makes him a better man.”
Nomon, the middle moon, began to rise. Bright and pale blue, bathing the horizon in light. Somewhere, out across the Plains, was the Parshendi Shardbearer that Kaladin had fought. He’d stabbed the man in the leg from behind. The watching Parshendi had not interfered with the duel and had avoided attacking Kaladin’s wounded bridgemen, but Kaladin had attacked one of their champions from the most cowardly position possible, interfering with a fight.
He was bothered by what he’d done, and that frustrated him. A warrior couldn’t worry about who he attacked or how. Survival was the only rule of the battlefield.
Well, survival and loyalty. And he sometimes let wounded enemies live if they weren’t a threat. And he saved young soldiers who needed protection. And…
And he’d never been good at doing what a warrior should.
Today, he’d saved a highprince—another lighteyes—and along with him thousands of soldiers. Saved them by killing Parshendi.
“Can you kill to protect?” Kaladin asked out loud. “Is that a self-contradiction?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“You acted strangely in the battle,” Kaladin said. “Swirling around me. After that, you left. I didn’t see much of you.”
“The killing,” she said softly. “It hurt me. I had to go.”
“Yet you’re the one who prompted me to go and save Dalinar. You wanted me to return and kill.”
“I know.”
“Teft said that the Radiants held to a standard,” Kaladin said. “He said that by their rules, you shouldn’t do terrible things to accomplish great ones. Yet what did I do today? Slaughter Parshendi in order to save Alethi. What of that? They aren’t innocent, but neither are we. Not by a faint breeze or a stormwind.”
Syl didn’t reply.
“If I hadn’t gone to save Dalinar’s men,” Kaladin said, “I would have allowed Sadeas to commit a terrible betrayal. I’d have let men die who I could have saved. I’d have been sick and disgusted with myself. I also lost three good men, bridgemen who were mere breaths away from freedom. Are the lives of the others worth that?”
“I don’t have the answers, Kaladin.”
“Does anyone?”
Footsteps came from behind. Syl turned. “It’s him.”
The moon had just risen. Dalinar Kholin, it appeared, was a punctual man.
He stepped up beside Kaladin. He carried a bundle under his arm, and he had a military air about him, even without his Shardplate on. In fact, he was more impressive without it. His muscular build indicated that he did not rely on his Plate to give him strength, and the neatly pressed uniform indicated a man who understood that others were inspired when their leader looked the part.
Others have looked just as noble, Kaladin thought. But would any man trade a Shardblade just to keep up appearances? And if they would, at what point did the appearance become reality?
“I’m sorry to make you meet me so late,” Dalinar said. “I know it has been a long day.”
“I doubt I could have slept anyway.”
Dalinar grunted softly, as if he understood. “Your men are seen to?”
“Yes,” Kaladin said. “Quite well, actually. Thank you.” Kaladin had been given empty barracks for the bridgemen and they had received medical attention from Dalinar’s best surgeons—they’d gotten it before the wounded lighteyed officers had. The other bridgemen, the ones who weren’t from Bridge Four, had accepted Kaladin immediately, without any deliberation on the matter, as their leader.
Dalinar nodded. “How many, do you suspect, will take my offer of a purse and freedom?”
“A fair number of the men from other crews will. But I’ll wager an even larger number won’t. Bridgemen don’t think of escape or freedom. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves. As for my own crew… Well, I have a feeling that they’ll insist on doing whatever I do. If I stay, they’ll stay. If I go, they’ll go.”
Dalinar nodded. “And what will you do?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“I spoke to my officers.” Dalinar grimaced. “The ones who survived. They said that you gave orders to them, took charge like a lighteyes. My son still feels bitter about the way your… conversation with him went.”
“Even a fool could see he wasn’t going to be able to get to you. As for the officers, most were in shock or run ragged. I merely nudged them.”
“I owe you my life twice over,” Dalinar said. “And that of my son and my men.”
“You paid that debt.”
“No,” Dalinar said. “But I’ve done what I can.” He eyed Kaladin, as if sizing him up, judging him. “Why did your bridge crew come for us? Why, really?”
“Why did you give up your Shardblade?”
Dalinar held his eyes, then nodded. “Fair enough. I have an offer for you. The king and I are about to do something very, very dangerous. Something that will upset all the warcamps.”
“Congratulations.”
Dalinar smiled faintly. “My honor guard has nearly been wiped out, and the men I do have are needed to augment the King’s Guard. My trust is stretched thin these days. I need someone to protect me and my family. I want you and your men for that job.”
“You want a bunch of bridgemen as bodyguards?”
“The elite ones as bodyguards,” Dalinar said. “Those in your crew, the ones you trained. I want the rest as soldiers for my army. I have heard how well your men fought. You trained them without Sadeas’s knowing, all while running bridges. I’m curious to see what you could do with the right resources.” Dalinar turned away, glancing northward. Toward Sadeas’s camp. “My army is depleted. I’m going to need every man I can get, but everyone I recruit is going to be suspect. Sadeas will try to send spies into our camp. And traitors. And assassins. Elhokar thinks we won’t last a week.”
“Stormfather,” Kaladin said. “What are you planning?”
“I’m going to take away their games, fully expecting them to react like children losing their favored toy.”
“These children have armies and Shardblades.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And this is what you want me to protect you from?”
“Yes.”
No quibbling. Straightforward. There was much to respect about that.
“I’ll augment Bridge Four to become the honor guard,” Kaladin said. “And train the rest as a spearman company. Those in the honor guard get paid like it.” Generally, a lighteyes’s personal guard got triple a standard spearman’s wage.