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Read Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson: Chapters 7, 8, and 9
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Wind and Truth
Read Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson: Chapters 7, 8, and 9
Read new chapters from the new Stormlight Archive book every Monday, leading up to its release on December 6th
By Brandon Sanderson
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Published on August 26, 2024
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Brandon Sanderson’s epic Stormlight Archive fantasy series will continue with Wind and Truth, the concluding volume of the first major arc of this ten-book series. A defining pillar of Sanderson’s “Cosmere” fantasy book universe, this newest installment of The Stormlight Archive promises huge developments for the world of Roshar, the struggles of the Knights Radiant (and friends!), and for the Cosmere at large.
Reactor is serializing the new book from now until its release date on December 6, 2024. A new installment will go live every Monday at 11 AM ET, along with read-along commentary from Stormlight beta readers and Cosmere experts Lyndsey Luther, Drew McCaffrey, and Paige Vest. You can find every chapter and commentary post published so far in the Wind and Truth index.
Note: Title art is not final and will be updated as soon as the final cover is revealed.
Chapter 7: Lost Blades
However, the Wind did not think like a person does. This should not surprise anyone who has familiarity with a spren, though such things are less common now than they once were.
—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 5
They brought the horse.
They literally brought the storming horse.
With Adolin riding it.
Shallan stood on the obsidian stone outside Lasting Integrity with her hands on her hips. Adolin’s soldiers were breaking camp around them. The honorspren group who had left earlier had gathered in the near distance, deciding their next move.
Gallant, Adolin’s Ryshadium, had a bit of a glow to him beyond that of the Lashings. When he moved his head, he left an unusual afterimage. She’d never understood why. Now, with Stormlight, he glowed even more. Shallan expected the enormous black horse to panic as he hovered a few feet off the ground, but while Gallant worked his legs as if he were running in slow motion, he otherwise seemed calm.
Adolin grinned at her from the horse’s back.
“You could leave the equipment behind,” Shallan said, folding her arms. “You don’t need all of that, do you?”
“Shallan,” he said, offended. “I’m traveling light! I’ve left ninety percent of my clothing.”
“And brought all of your swords.”
“I need them.”
Most of the weapons were packed away in special boxes hung from Gallant’s sides, though a few—like Adolin’s pet greatsword—were in their own sheaths attached to the saddle. Shallan walked up and tapped the enormous two-handed weapon. “You need this? Adolin, it weighs almost as much as a person.”
“It weighs seven pounds,” Adolin said dryly. “Have you ever wielded anything other than a Shardblade?”
“My razor-sharp wit.” She hesitated. “Okay, maybe more like blunt-force wit, applied liberally, with no regard for collateral damage.” She patted Gallant on the side and walked forward past his moving legs—which ended in wide stone hooves, flatter and harder than those of common horses. He looked down and met her eyes with glassy blue ones of his own, then turned his head up toward the sky. Almost aspirationally. As if he’d been waiting for a chance to fly.
Well, she supposed if it wasn’t going to panic him… She couldn’t decide, though, if Adolin—strapped in, glowing faintly himself from a Lashing—was inspiring or patently comical. She glanced at Maya, who folded her arms and was smiling, shaking her head. Storms, she was making so much progress so quickly. It gave Shallan hope for Testament.
That thought made her turn toward the rocky shore between land and glass-bead ocean. Several dozen figures lingered there, standing waist-deep: a variety of spren, each with their eyes scratched out.
“There were hundreds of deadeyes on that shore at one point,” Adolin said softly. “Do you think they knew about the trial somehow? And what Maya would say?”
“They had to,” Shallan said.
“Who told them though?”
She thought of her sketches and the strange things her fingers sometimes knew. “No one.”
As they watched, a cultivationspren like Maya turned and walked out into the ocean.
“They return,” Maya said in her rasping voice. “Return. To the place… where they were lost.”
“You mean they return to the bearers of their Blades?” Adolin said.
A living Shardblade like Pattern never fully returned to Shadesmar while their Radiant was in the Physical Realm. Shallan would summon him as a Blade, and his little pattern form would fade from her skirt—or from wherever it was—and travel instantly to her as a Blade. When she dismissed that Blade, he’d appear as a little pattern again. He was only physical in Shadesmar right now because she’d traveled here through an Oathgate.
Deadeyes were different. When dismissed as Blades, they returned to Shadesmar to wander. Notum had told her once that they tended to stay near where the bearer of their Blade was in the Physical Realm. So many of them. Hundreds, living these terrible half lives. “We’ll help them, Maya,” Shallan said. “Once we figure out how to replicate the progress you’ve made.”
She nodded. Behind them, the Windrunners lowered Gallant back down. The horse snorted in annoyance. Or… could she really say it felt such emotions? Maybe she was being influenced too much by Adolin, who swore that Ryshadium had near-human levels of intelligence. Surely it wasn’t annoyed; it was just snorting the way horses did.
Maya continued to stare as another deadeye walked into the bizarre surf.
“Lost,” Maya whispered. “Those are lost Blades, Adolin.”
Adolin dismounted. “Lost Blades, Maya?”
“Swords,” she said. She still labored sometimes to speak. “In stone. In water. Lost. For so many, many years…”
“What happens to a Shardblade if it’s abandoned?” Shallan asked. “Like if a ship bearing a Shardbearer sinks?”
“It stays there forever,” Adolin said. “Maya, they wouldn’t be here if they’re lost. They’d be manifested as Blades in the real world.”
“No,” she said. “People stop thinking about them. They fade away after centuries… to be lost. Their sword vanishes from your world, and they wander forever.”
“Poor things,” Shallan said as the last few turned and walked away into the beads. “We will help them, Maya. Adolin and I will make the time, when this is all over. We’ll find each and every one.”
Adolin frowned, perhaps considering the logistics of that. “I wonder if Aunt Navani could design a fabrial to help locate them. We could at least try to make them comfortable on this side.”
Maya smiled at that. “I think… that would be wonderful.”
Adolin went to his soldiers to prepare them for his departure. Shallan, in turn, hiked over to Vathah. The Lightweaver was kneeling with his spren beside the bead ocean, practicing commanding the beads. As she watched, he sculpted a chair from them—the little beads locking together like they were magnetic. He was better at this than she, though he still needed a bead to use as a model. He clutched one in his hand, the soul of a chair in the Physical Realm.
This was a lesser and easier skill than the next step—using Stormlight to re-create the entire object on this side, which was called manifesting. Vathah took earnestly to practicing both, the same as he’d started doing with his artwork. Shallan kept wanting to describe him as the “former deserter,” but that was wrong. She needed to actively change her perspective; he’d come a long way since she’d recruited him. These days—grouchy though he might be—he was an accomplished Lightweaver.
“It looks like only Adolin and I will go with the Windrunners,” she said to him and Mosaic, his spren. “With the horse.”
“You taking or leaving your spren?” he asked, standing up and letting the chair collapse back to beads.
It was a good question. They could be left, and be summoned to the Physical Realm once Shallan arrived. Maya had seemed worried about that though, and Shallan had felt the same from Testament. She didn’t want them to feel abandoned.
“We’ll bring them,” she said. “And Pattern.”
“Makes sense,” Vathah replied. “If something unexpected happens, it will be better if you aren’t split up.”
“You all won’t be too bored taking the longer trip home?”
“Bored?” Mosaic asked, standing next to him. “Bored is good.”
Vathah laughed. “She’s right, Brightness. While you’ve been inside that block of a building, Mosaic and I have been having a grand time playing cards with nothing important to do.”
She eyed him. She’d have believed that of Gaz or Red. Vathah though? He wilted if you left him without attention.
“I like it here,” he admitted, staring out over the churning bead ocean. “I like making things out of those beads, and I feel… more in touch with my powers. My Lightweaving is working better and better, and now that we have more Stormlight from those Windrunners… well, I’m not sad to take a slower route home, Brightness. Ishnah, though, is going to throw a fit. She’s beyond tired of the rest of us.”
“She’ll survive,” Shallan said. “I’m sure she can get a little more mileage out of flirting with the soldiers.”
“They could do better,” he said. “Wish they wouldn’t encourage her.” Vathah glanced away. Toward Ishnah. Then blushed. Mosaic hummed happily.
Vathah actually blushed. About Ishnah. Not Beryl, who was sultry enough to be mistaken for some kind of passionspren. Ishnah: short, not particularly curvaceous, and with a striking tendency to use her Lightweaving to give herself edgy tattoos and black fingernails. Huh. Well, good for him. Assuming he didn’t screw it up.
Back among the caravan soldiers, Felt waved to Shallan in farewell. He was one of Adolin’s soldiers: a shorter, foreign man with drooping mustaches and a floppy hat. He’d traveled Shadesmar before, and she had the impression that he wasn’t even from Roshar. But if she was going to leave the caravan in someone’s hands, he—as one of Dalinar’s elites—would be more than capable.
Soon, a small retinue of honorspren leaders exited Lasting Integrity. Shallan moved toward them, boots sliding on the obsidian as she hopped down over a small shelf. She’d changed into travel clothing: trousers under a long skirtlike coat. Radiant preferred something more battle-ready, but Shallan had chosen their outfit. She had, however, put her hair into a tight bun. She’d made the mistake of leaving it loose while traveling with Windrunners before.
Kelek stood at the front of the small group of honorspren. “You still not willing to come?” Shallan asked him. “We could put you on the horse with Adolin.”
He merely wrung his hands and looked at the ground. So, Shallan waved to the honorspren who’d come to send them off—and gave them an upbeat smile, because she figured it would annoy them. Then she turned to go.
“Take care,” Kelek said, “with your two bonds, child. You may see things that are not good for the healthy mortal mind.”
“Fortunately, I haven’t had one in years,” she said, glancing back. “I make do with this one instead.”
“I’m sorry. I know how that feels.”
“Part of being an artist is training to see the world from many different perspectives.” Shallan shrugged. “My way has its difficulties, but once in a while I see light that no one else seems to. Light reflecting off waves, breaking into sprays upon the ocean, making shapes appear for a heartbeat. The light reflecting in the eyes of someone I’m talking to, as if gleaming from their soul. In those moments, I know that what I am lets me see what others cannot. Those moments, I’m… if not grateful, then appreciative.”
Kelek cocked his head. “Light… Yes. Light, energy, matter, Investiture. They’re all variations on a theme—the same essence, in different forms. That is especially important for you to understand, with your illusions.”
She frowned. “But… illusions can’t change anything, Kelek. They’re just figments made of Stormlight.”
“Oh?” Kelek said, pointing to the honorspren. “What do you think they are? Investiture. A form of Light. There were once Lightweavers who could give some substance, briefly, to the things they created.”
“There were?” Shallan said. But then she thought back to a moment at the Battle of Thaylen Field where she could have sworn she’d felt the illusory versions of Radiant and Veil as if they were briefly real. It wasn’t the only time, was it? When one of her illusions had been a little too solid?
Light… matter… energy. They were the same; when you manifested an object in Shadesmar, you used Stormlight to make a physical re-creation. And spren could be physical, even if they were made of Light.
She needed to change her perspective.
“If I am to give you parting wisdom,” the Herald said, “it is this: just because something is fleeting, do not imagine it to be unimportant.” He hesitated, then continued. “And likewise, just because something is eternal, do not assume it to be… to be relevant…” He pulled his arms close around himself. “I’m sorry I am not what you wanted me to be. But thank you. For not hurting me. For listening.”
Another change of perspective, then. Shallan nodded. She’d begun feeling the trip had been a failure, but it wasn’t. Adolin had made some headway with the honorspren. They’d delivered a Radiant ambassador. And she… well, she had banished Formless, had incorporated Veil, and had found the courage to explain so much to Adolin.
Plus, maybe she’d helped Kelek. A lonely old hero, worn ragged by time and from standing too long in the wind.
So she hugged him.
Nearby, the honorspren gasped. Probably the right reaction to someone unexpectedly grabbing one of the Heralds—demigods of myth. But Kelek wrapped his arms around her and held on.
“I want to be better,” he whispered.
“We all do,” she said.
That was the sole exchange they needed. She pulled back, and he nodded, his eyes wet with tears. Then she turned and walked to Adolin, Maya, the Cryptics, and the Windrunners.
“Ready?” Drehy asked, his spren at his side, manifesting as a tall, fashionable honorspren woman.
Shallan nodded. For gear, she’d brought only her satchel, in which she’d stashed some necessities. Months spent chasing Jasnah, then losing everything and barely surviving to reach the Shattered Plains, had taught her to travel light. With a more grounded interpretation of that term than Adolin’s.
“Great,” Drehy said, holding up a fabrial built around a glowing yellow heliodor. He pointed across the bead ocean. “We’re going to head for the Azimir Oathgate.”
“That one is letting people transfer to Shadesmar now?” Shallan asked.
“The awakening of the tower persuaded most of the gate spren,” Drehy said. “The two at Azimir are surlier than most, but they should let us through.” He pointed with his fabrial. “Flight here took just over four hours. As long as we stay at forty-eight degrees from the baseline, we should be right on target.”
“Wait,” she said, trying to catch up. “Awakened tower? And what is that fabrial?”
“They call it a ‘compass,’ ” Drehy said. “An old-style device that points the way in Shadesmar—we found a few in the hidden Urithiru storehouses, courtesy of Bondsmith Navani and the Sibling.”
Shallan blinked. Bondsmith Navani? The Sibling? Wit was probably laughing somewhere to himself at all the things he’d left out of their admittedly brief conversations.
“We’ll fill you in as we fly,” Drehy said, with a grin. “Let’s get going.”
The Windrunners distributed glass masks against the wind, then raised them into the sky with a Lashing. Gallant gave an excited whinny, then led the way eagerly—as if galloping in the air, Adolin in the saddle.
Lasting Integrity, the honorspren, and the caravan dwindled behind them. Shrank. Then vanished.
Soon after, Radiant found herself wishing that the Windrunners had brought Navani’s traveling sphere. Even with the mask, flying face-first into the wind wasn’t particularly enjoyable. It was at best mildly miserable. In the sphere, Shallan could have spent the time drawing.
Adolin and Gallant, naturally, loved it. They flew together, Adolin standing up in his stirrups, holding to the reins—which on a Ryshadium were more about stabilizing oneself than directing the beast, as commands were commonly given through the knees. On Gallant’s current tack, they didn’t attach to his face, but to a harness around the neck.
Adolin was grinning like a boy playing in the rain. And Gallant galloped eagerly, wind blowing his lips back to expose his teeth, making him look like he was grinning. Adolin Kholin, highprince, son of the most powerful man on the planet, renowned swordsman, was secretly one of the goofiest people she’d ever known. Shallan emerged again and blinked, taking a Memory of the two of them—Adolin with his goggles on, hair blowing about frantically, Gallant charging.
Adolin saw her watching and waved eagerly, then gestured to Gallant as if to say, Hey, Shallan! Can you believe I’m riding a flying horse?
It made her heart melt into a pool of bubbling jelly. Perhaps the greatest miracle of her life was that Adolin had somehow managed to remain single until she arrived. She passed the next hour or so admiring him off and on.
Right up until the moment they were attacked.
Chapter 8: A Coming Storm
Her memory was keen, but her interpretation and explanation of that memory could be fanciful. Those days, though, I believe that she was deliberate, concerned, and focused.She did not see the future.But she somehow knew it anyway.
—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 5
Kaladin found Szeth standing in the antechamber, his strange Shardblade sheathed and tied across his back. He appeared to be staring at the wall.
“All right,” Kaladin said. “Easiest way for us to get to Shinovar is to fly with the highstorm after it passes Azimir later tonight.”
“As you wish,” Szeth said.
“I’m going to pick up my rucksack,” Kaladin said. “Do you need anything?”
“No.”
Oh! A voice popped into Kaladin’s head. He’d always construed it as vaguely masculine. Are we going somewhere?
“Haven’t you paid attention, sword-nimi?” Szeth asked calmly, still staring at the wall.
Of course I have! the strange Shardblade replied. But where are we going?
“To Shinovar,” Kaladin said.
Will there be snacks? the sword asked. I’m supposed to ask if there will be snacks anytime we go somewhere.
“Who told you that?” Szeth asked.
Lift. She says it’s important. I don’t think I can eat snacks—maybe cut them up though? But if it’s important that they be there, I want to know.
“I’ll bring snacks,” Kaladin said. “Szeth, let’s meet at the Oathgate in two hours. All right?”
Szeth nodded.
Kaladin collected Syl and his armor spren, who were once again hovering in the room where Navani was taking meetings. Then he leaped over the banister and dropped almost the entire length of the tower before swooping into a corridor along which people were accustomed to seeing Radiants fly overhead. The Wind went with him.
They landed by the tower’s Windrunner barracks and made their way to the quartermaster’s office. Leyten, a heavyset man with short, curly light-brown hair, was doing his usual puttering with ledgers and accounts. Far too fond of numbers, that one was, for all his skill as an armorer.
“Ah!” Leyten said, straightening and throwing him a Bridge Four salute. “Got your things right here.” He disappeared into a rear room, then came out with a travel rucksack, no fewer than three canteens strapped to it.
“Bedroll,” Leyten said, “rations, medical kit, mess kit. Two extra uniforms.” He winked at Kaladin.
“Thanks, Leyten.” Kaladin turned the pack around on the counter, and noted the side pocket for personal effects. He unzipped it and found Wit’s flute: carved from dark wood, with some odd knobs partitioning it. Kaladin had sent it down with his other items, because nobody could pack for a ruck like Leyten. Kaladin always felt uncertain unpacking for the night, as he never knew if he’d be able to magic it all back together in a similarly tight and efficient way. In that same pocket was Tien’s small toy horse, along with… a rock?
Yes, a rock. Dull brown. Huh.
“Oh, sorry!” Leyten said. “I didn’t put that in there.” He reached for it, but Kaladin slipped it back in.
As Leyten was showing him how to snap apart and reassemble the new mess kit design, Dabbid came out of the rear room carrying some supplies. He gave Kaladin a farewell hug, then continued on his way, whistling to himself. And behind him, darting with a furtive air, was a small windspren?
No, an honorspren. Kaladin froze.
“Yeah,” Leyten said, grinning, “Dabbid hasn’t noticed her yet.”
“I thought there weren’t any more honorspren coming to us.”
“It must have to do with Prince Adolin’s trip,” Leyten said, with a shrug. “She showed up yesterday, alone, and she’s been trailing Dabbid ever since.”
Syl frowned, still full sized and visible to all. He thought he heard her huff.
“What?” Kaladin asked.
“Lusintia,” Syl said. “She’s an absolute bore. No fun at all. I didn’t expect her to join us.”
“Ethenia likes her,” Leyten said.
“Ethenia is a bore too,” Syl said. “She likes numbers, almost as much as Vienta does. And she’s practically a Cryptic.” But then she cocked her head. “Maybe I need to rethink some things. Can I note how horribly unfair it is that these newer spren make the transition so quickly? I was essentially a drooling idiot for years.”
“The bonds form faster,” Leyten said, “because the way was paved by a brilliant, very brave spren pioneer.”
Syl pulsed, her color becoming more blue, the violet on her sleeves more vibrant. “I’ve always liked you, Leyten. Even when you were making armor out of skulls.”
“Used more ribs than skulls,” Leyten said, glancing up at something hanging above the doorway to the quartermaster’s office. A breastplate seemingly fashioned out of pieces of carapace and bone. Out of respect for Rlain, they’d used wood for this one, and painted it red-orange. Kaladin remembered running with Bridge Four toward the enemy, wearing that improvised equipment, whispers around camp calling them silly things like the Order of Bone.
“Rlain and now Dabbid,” Kaladin said. “Did any of the other squires pick up one while I wasn’t looking?”
“Probably a better question for Skar,” Leyten said, bringing out a bag of gemstones for Kaladin. He gestured into the next room. “He’s been working with the new recruits.”
Kaladin should have continued on his way. Sigzil commanded the Windrunners, and could worry about these questions. But Kaladin felt responsible, even if he no longer was. Beyond that, there was something in the air. That Wind blowing from behind him, that phantom warning echoing in his mind. He wanted to check in one last time, to see that everything was all right with his troops.
For a storm was coming.
* * *
Shallan screamed, twisting in the air, still flying—yet helpless as the Windrunners clashed with a group of Heavenly Ones. In a moment, their peaceful trip turned chaotic. Blue uniforms zipped past, weaving among Fused with flowing outfits of stark white, black, and red.
All Shallan could do was hang there. She waved her arms, flailed about, but couldn’t do more than turn over onto her back. There was nothing for her to grab onto or pull against. Adolin was slightly better off. They’d Lashed him in such a way that he could sit in the saddle—floating, but not completely weightless. He was able to whip out a sword and stand up in his stirrups to swing at a Heavenly One as they passed.
She counted eight Heavenly Ones, bad odds for the five Windrunners, who had to protect their charges. She had no idea why there was a Heavenly One patrol over this ocean—she saw nothing here except the rolling beads some thirty feet below and a little strip of barren land marking a river in the Physical Realm.
Regardless, they were in trouble. A Heavenly One wielding a long lance ran one of Drehy’s squires straight through, sending a spray of blood across Shallan. A distant painspren howled, and the squire gasped, dropping her spear, arms out to the sides as the lance began to traumatically drain her Stormlight.
Shallan breathed in Stormlight, frantic for a way to help, trying to devise a proper illusion. A second later, a thrown knife cut the Heavenly One across the face. Then a mace struck the creature square in the forehead. Shallan glanced at Adolin, who had opened one of his weapon boxes and was fishing out a short sword. He threw this next. Storms. He’d had a mace in there all along?
The weapons weren’t designed for throwing, but after being hit with another knife, the Heavenly One was forced to pull her lance free of the unfortunate squire and go after Adolin instead.
“Adolin!” Shallan cried as he twisted in the saddle to swipe at the enemy he’d engaged. The Heavenly One did a quick spin around him, then came in with her lance—which she rammed straight through the illusory version of Adolin that Shallan created as a distraction.
It wasn’t perfect. Shallan didn’t have many sketches of Gallant, and so the horse was off—but her doppelganger of Adolin was flawless. The Heavenly One, while turning, had lost track of the real him. She glanced at Shallan, identified the correct Adolin—and ducked underneath the horse.
To rise on the other side and barrel into Adolin.
Adolin was sent tumbling free, swords falling around him, the saddle knocked askew. He fell slowly because of his Lashing. Shallan’s next Lightweaving—of a Windrunner coming for the Heavenly One—distracted the attacker from chasing Adolin. But Shallan’s eyes followed Adolin as he fell thirty feet and crashed into the beads. He’d suffocate down there.
Shallan screamed, struggling as the Lashing carried her away from him.
No. No. No!
Shallan… Shallan had been Lashed by Drehy.
Be. Drehy.
She sucked up the Stormlight Lashing her in place. Then, with nothing holding her up, she dropped to the beads after Adolin.
Chapter 9: Tossing Spears
All agree the first key moment came when Kaladin Stormblessed listened. Though not an Edgedancer, he did a fine impression of their oaths.
—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 8
Kaladin hesitated. Listening. What was that feeling?
An urgency. He needed to keep moving. He and Syl hurried into the next room of the Windrunner quarters. Here he found Skar—who was, with Lopen, one of the two Windrunner captainlords beneath Sigzil, who was companylord. Kaladin had recommended Skar’s promotion to company second, but he had turned it down since he wanted to focus on training. Today Skar was teaching new recruits one of his favorite lessons, that of quickly setting up and breaking down a defensible camp.
This new group encompassed almost all ages, and was split pretty much half and half male and female. More darkeyes than light. What would cause a woman in her fifties to leave her hearth and take up a spear? But then, Kaladin supposed her motivations might not be that different from his own. Protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.
The chamber was large and wide, big enough for four separate teams of eight to practice. Kaladin passed among them as they quickly set up bedrolls and camouflage nets to hide from air patrols, pretending this large stone room was out in the field. Skar walked the perimeter, tossing spears out the window, completely unnoticed by the teams of working recruits.
Kaladin smiled as he trotted over to the shorter Windrunner. Skar always reminded Kaladin of Teft, as he had the air of a career soldier, and wore his uniform like a second skin. Like a lot of the original Bridge Four members, Skar had foreign heritage.
As Kaladin joined Skar, the man picked up another spear from beside the wall and tossed it out the window. They were on the third story—not far up by Urithiru reckoning, but that still meant quite a drop. Presumably Skar had warned the workers outside; they always got a kick out of watching the spears go out the window, and would make sure nobody was hurt.
“Storms,” Kaladin said, glancing at the squires—who in their haste to assemble their camps hadn’t yet noticed that Skar was stealing their weapons. “This group is particularly oblivious, aren’t they?”
“Gave them four warnings,” Skar said, walking over to another group of spears leaned against the wall.
“What’s this?” Syl asked, watching with wide eyes as Skar started tossing the spears out the window.
“This lot of recruits needs to learn to think like soldiers now,” Skar said. “I’m giving them a little lesson.”
“You have to keep your spear with you at all times,” Kaladin explained. “It’s one of the first things a sergeant drills into you. You can’t just have weapons sitting around, tripping everyone—and more, an attack could happen at any moment.”
“Mostly though, it’s about responsibility,” Skar said, tossing another spear. Kaladin heard a distant clatter as it hit the stones of the field outside. “And obeying orders.” Skar shook his head in annoyance. “Anyway, you need something, Kal?”
“Did any other honorspren come with that one that’s been following Dabbid?” Kaladin said, scanning the wide room. He didn’t pick out any honorspren among these recruits, but they often remained invisible.
“Nope,” Skar said. “Sorry.”
“Only one?” Syl asked. “There are hundreds of spren in Lasting Integrity.”
“That one said others should be on their way,” Skar said.
Storms. Kaladin hoped so.
“So you saw Dabbid?” Skar asked, nudging him.
“I did,” Kaladin said, grinning.
“Any idea what will happen with his… ailment once he’s bonded?”
“Honestly, no,” Kaladin said. “But whatever happens, or doesn’t happen, I suspect Dabbid will get a say.”
He surveyed the recruits again, feeling… not a sadness. A melancholy. One solemnityspren—rare indeed—spiraled up around him, like an almost invisible grey-blue serpent. “Hey,” he said, realizing his true reason for coming in here. “Watch out for Sigzil. He’s going to need a good sergeant behind him, Skar. I know you’re not one of those, but—”
“I get it,” Skar said. “And I agree. Sig’ll do a good job, sir. Plus he’s got Lopen to help out too.”
“That’s part of what worries me…”
Skar grinned. “Lopen will surprise you, Kal. He’s changing. Guess we all are, now that we don’t have you to watch over us. Kids gotta grow up sometime.” He looked into Kaladin’s eyes, searching them. “You’re going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Kaladin said.
“Dangerous?”
“Not supposed to be,” Kaladin said. “I have reason to worry though, and Wit implied something… storms, like I might not be coming—”
“You’ll be back,” Skar said.
“I don’t know if I will, Skar. Not this time.”
“I was there when the storms tried to claim you. We went out to cut down a corpse, and found you alive. There’s more than a bit of the wind to you, Kal, and the east wind sees tomorrow before anyone else does. You’ll be back.”
“You can’t see the future, Skar.”
He merely shrugged and walked up to the last pile of spears by the wall. Skar began tossing them out the window. “You let the others know you’re leaving? You said goodbye, right?”
“I… Not yet. I might need to leave before…”
Kaladin trailed off as Skar gave him a hard stare. Almost as good as Teft might have. The kind of stare that said, If you storming want to do something stupid, sir, I won’t call it stupid. To your face.
“I’ll go and say goodbye,” Kaladin said with a sigh. “Just in case.”
“Good to hear it, sir,” Skar said, tossing another spear out. “They’ve got that party for Rlain getting his spren. You could stop by there. And Drehy is bringing Highprince Adolin and Radiant Shallan back from Shadesmar later today.”
“When will they arrive?”
“Should reach Azimir about an hour before midnight.”
There would be time, then, if Kaladin was in Azimir waiting for the highstorm. As he was contemplating this, the nearest group of squires finally saw what Skar was doing. Several of them yelped as they realized he’d managed to dispose of every spear in the place save three.
Skar doubled his pace, tossing two more spears out the window before—at last—one of the new recruits managed to grab his weapon and hold it tight. Like a mother with a newborn, eyes wide. The rest simply gaped out the window.
Skar grinned. The man enjoyed all this a little too much. Kaladin had led, but Skar… he’d been born to teach. It took talent to be a good soldier, but a different kind entirely to make good soldiers.
“We’re under attack!” Skar bellowed. “Squires, to arms and form ranks!”
Stunned silence.
Then mass chaos.
Skar gave Kaladin a wink as he and Syl edged around the side of the room, avoiding the rush of squires who—to their horror—found their weapons missing.
“Sir!” one of them shouted. “Our spears!”
“Stolen by the enemy when you weren’t looking, you dun spheres!” Skar bellowed. “Might have thrown them out the windows!”
“What do we do?” another asked.
Skar gave her the most withering of stares. “You go and get them. What do you think?”
Kaladin glanced at Syl, and the two of them lifted off the ground and streaked out through the quartermaster’s office—where Kaladin gave Leyten a hug and grabbed his pack. He then got out of the way of the rush of recruits running for the lower level. Kaladin almost felt sorry for them—except that this lesson of keeping track of their weapons would almost certainly save some of their lives.
Syl nodded the way down another corridor. “We have some time?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll drop in and say goodbye to the others at Rlain’s celebration—everyone but Drehy should be back from patrol by then—and that’s in an hour or so.”
“Well, we’ve fetched your things,” she said. Her havah fuzzed and again became a Bridge Four uniform. “It’s time to fetch mine.”
“You have… things?” Kaladin asked.
She grinned eagerly, and flew off through the corridor.
* * *
Shallan crashed into the bead ocean.
As always, the beads were attracted to her Stormlight. They were small; smaller than spheres, but not tiny. Like beads from a necklace. They clacked and clattered, surging against her, suffocating her. The motions created an undertow, and it always felt like something was trying to pull her down. She should have been able to do something to stop that. Her powers were supposed to give her uncommon affinity with the beads.
She’d always feared this place; the first visions she’d had of it, as a girl, had terrified her. Worse, those memories were tied to what she’d done to her mother, and the events surrounding Testament’s death.
Emotions and memories made a jumbled mess inside Shallan. Like vines tangled and wrapped together until they formed an impenetrable snarl.
Fortunately, she had Radiant.
As Shallan panicked, Radiant surfaced. She felt among the beads, each of them speaking softly, giving her an impression of what it represented in the Physical Realm. A moment later, marshaling her Stormlight, Radiant used the impression of a building to give organization to the beads. She rose from the surface of the ocean on the top of the building. The real one was probably metal, but this one was formed of the beads locking together into a kind of mesh.
Radiant spat out a few beads, then stood up. She needed to find Adolin, who would suffocate without—
Drehy came swooping past, carrying Adolin. Radiant let out a relieved sigh as the Windrunner dropped Shallan’s husband to the platform. Adolin coughed, groaning, but otherwise seemed well.
Shallan emerged as she rushed over and grabbed him in a hug, then kissed him squarely right there. Who cared who saw?
“This is bad, Shallan,” Drehy said, landing with a thump on the bead rooftop, making it shake. “Heavenly Ones are normally careful, engaging and breaking off quickly. This was a full-on attack meant to kill us.”
Radiant took over again and scanned the sky—though the battle had moved into the distance. “And what is your assessment of our tactical next step?”
“…Radiant?” Drehy asked.
Radiant nodded curtly.
“I dropped the spren into the beads,” Drehy said, pointing toward a nondescript section of the ocean. “They don’t need to breathe, and I figured that would hide them from the enemy and avoid hostages being taken.”
“Gallant?” Adolin said, climbing to his knees.
“I left him,” Drehy said. “His Lashing will last, and I doubt the enemy cares about a horse.”
Adolin didn’t seem to like that, but he nodded.
“I told my squires to disengage and split up,” Drehy explained. “There’s a river isthmus over to our right to use as a landmark. In the past we’ve seen the Heavenly Ones disengage after we made an obvious retreat.”
“A wise choice,” Radiant said. “Actions that scream, ‘We don’t want a fight just now.’ That might indeed work for Heavenly Ones.”
Heavenly Ones were usually used as scouts—and didn’t like to commit to full-on engagements. Except these had ambushed Shallan’s group from behind, then had fought full-out. Either this group was led by a particularly militaristic member of their brand, or…
Or something strange was happening. Radiant scanned the region, searching, then pointed. “Those lights on the horizon. What are—”
She was cut off as two Heavenly Ones erupted from the beads nearby, having used the ocean as cover to get close. Radiant fended one off with her fists, but a second Heavenly One grabbed the back of her coat and tossed her into the beads, an action more effective than cutting her, which she’d heal from. The beads swarmed around her and blinded her. She heard Adolin shout over the sound of thousands of beads and forced her head above the surface—but her platform was disintegrating now that she’d left it, dumping Adolin into the ocean as a Heavenly One slammed into Drehy.
Radiant was once more tugged into the beads. Her world became darkness, lit only by the glowing eyes of a Fused swimming through the beads nearby, the red light reflected a thousand times in glass. The Heavenly One slammed into her, and she battered the being’s arm—trying to break free as they sank.
Soon her back hit something hard. The beads parted, pulling away from the two figures, leaving Radiant and the Heavenly One alone in a kind of cave, the walls and floor made of beads. The Heavenly One held Radiant down by her shoulders with both hands. He had a pattern almost like a white glyph covering most of his face, only specks of black showing through.
“The beads hate our Light,” he whispered in heavily accented Alethi. “But they obey when we hold it, same as with Stormlight.” He leaned forward, white marbled face an inch from Radiant’s. “Lightweaver. I hate your kind. Always lying. Always shadows. You never obey your betters.”
Beads. Knitting to form walls. Radiant knew that you didn’t need a pattern to command them. Shallan had seen it, but the easier way—using a bead as a blueprint—was all she’d been able to do reliably.
I… Shallan thought, hidden deep within. I am supposed to be a master of this place.
Radiant wriggled, trying to push free. But despite her military mindset, she was no stronger of body than Shallan. Inside she was a girl of barely nineteen, slight of build and completely unarmed without her Blade.
My weapon… has never been a Blade, Radiant…
“How much Stormlight do you have?” the Heavenly One asked, keeping her pinned despite her struggles. He slipped one hand away from her and pulled a knife from a sheath at his waist. “Shall we see how many times you can heal before it runs out? My brothers and sisters are mad from so long with life, but I am sane because I bathe in the blood of Radiants, which renews me.”
He stabbed her in the shoulder, and she grunted in pain.
“Are you afraid, Lightweaver?” the Heavenly One growled.
Yes, Shallan said from within. I am.
“Are you certain you are ready?” Radiant whispered.
“Yes,” Shallan said. “I became ready when I confronted Veil, and my memories.”
What are the Words? Radiant asked.
“I said them already,” Shallan replied as the Heavenly One twisted the knife.
Say them again.
“I’m afraid,” Shallan said.
The Heavenly One smiled, lit by a dark light from a gemstone hanging around his neck, and by the red of his eyes.
“Afraid of everything,” she continued. “Terrified. Of the world. Of what might happen to my family. Most of all, of myself. I always have been.”
Strangely, some of the beads around her trembled when she said that. Only some of them. Wiggling, like things alive.
“You should fear me most of all,” the Heavenly One said. “I am Abidi the Monarch. I will rule this world, and I shall keep the Lightweavers. To bleed for me when…” He frowned as the little cavern started to glow. Light reflecting in each bead.
Light coming from Shallan’s eyes.
Radiant formed behind the Heavenly One, made of Stormlight, her head nearly brushing the roof. A Radiant, as Shallan imagined her. Taller than Shallan, stronger, with powerful biceps and a thick neck from extensive training. Hair in a braid, rather than Shallan’s messy, fraying bun. Strong—of a different genre of strength than Shallan—with a Shardblade in hand.
Abidi the Monarch laughed. “An illusion?” he said. “You think I’ll be distracted by something unreal?”
He continued laughing until the Shardblade speared him from behind, spilling orange blood on his fine white outfit.
Real blood. From a real wound. He gasped, looking down.
“Reality,” Shallan hissed, “is what I decide it to be.”
Excerpted from Wind and Truth, copyright © 2024 Dragonsteel Entertainment.
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Wind and Truth
Brandon Sanderson
Book Five of The Stormlight Archive
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Wind and Truth
Brandon Sanderson
Book Five of The Stormlight Archive
Book Five of The Stormlight Archive
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