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Read Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson: Chapters 19 and 20
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Wind and Truth
Read Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson: Chapters 19 and 20
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 October 7, 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.
We’re thrilled to also include chapters from the audiobook edition of Wind and Truth, read by Michael Kramer and Kate Reading. Click here to jump straight to the audio excerpt!
Note: Title art is not final and will be updated as soon as the final cover is revealed.
Chapter 19: Ruled by Voices
A land where the king was a holy man, and was concerned with the plight of the farmer beyond the appropriation of taxes.
—From The Way of Kings, fourth parable
Szeth-son-Honor continued to wear white clothing.
That was no longer mandated. Dalinar had said he could wear what he wanted, and though Szeth was a Skybreaker, he had no uniform. Even during training and official functions, they’d wear the uniform of the local guard or constables.
Still, Szeth wore filmy white clothing that flapped in the wind as they flew. Still, Szeth shaved his head each day, and found the faintest prickle of stubble on his scalp an annoyance. Did he do these things because he wanted to, or because they were now tradition? Life could be so full of distracting, meaningless small decisions while the large ones—such as determining his duty to his people—were so hard.
So he pretended it was right to continue his routines. If they were wrong—if instead he should have a preference among many tiny options… well, that made him shudder to his core.
He did like flying though. During the days training with the Honorblades in his youth, taking to the sky had appealed to him most of all the powers. He and Kaladin-son-Lirin had flown far with the storm, before sleeping in a coalition camp near the base of the mountains.
Now, at last, they approached the Misted Mountains at the edge of Shinovar. They avoided the northern border, where Shin had been loosing arrows at anyone who drew too close. Szeth figured these southern farmlands would be better. It was also close to where he’d grown up, so he knew the region.
Within the rushing of the wind and the flapping of clothing in flight, he could not hear the voices whispering or screaming from the shadows. They’d been quiet for some time, so he thought he’d escaped them. It turned out they’d simply been lying in wait.
“Is that the pass?” Kaladin’s voice came to him, cutting through the noise, perfectly audible. Windrunning permitted sculpting airflow. Such conveniences were no longer available to Szeth. Nale had granted him leave to use Division, now that Szeth had reached the Third Ideal. Unfortunately, Szeth’s spren had so far forbidden him the art, although he had the skill. His spren said the time wasn’t right.
Regardless, it was the correct pass, and seeing it made Szeth tremble. He and Kaladin lowered to some twenty feet off the ground, then proceeded, mountains on either side. They passed stonewalker plants for now—short, stout trees with leaves pulled in before the wind. Grass in tufts behind boulders or lying low in burrows.
But soon… soon they’d see…
Soil. Dirt breaking the stone. Mud running alongside washes, sediment filling the bottom of fissures. Here was where the highstorms finally surrendered, Shinovar bringing the great eastern tyrant of the skies to his knees. A place where the lazy rainfall—like a corpse that had already bled out—no longer contained the minerals that hardened into cremstone.
Here life could truly flourish. Szeth’s breath caught, and two gloryspren appeared above him, as he spotted mosses growing on rocks, leading to a few scraggly weeds alongside the wash. Szeth cried out despite himself and canceled his Lashings, dropping with a thump to this patch of soil. After so many, many years, his booted feet fell not on blasphemous stone.
He hadn’t realized how it would overwhelm him. He fell to his knees before the dandelions and stared at them.
Kaladin alighted on a rock nearby, confusionspren—like streaks of violet extending from a central point—expanding behind him. He couldn’t know how beautiful this tiny plant was. Szeth reached out with trembling fingers and touched leaves that didn’t pull back.
“What’s wrong with that plant?” Kaladin asked. “Is this a sign of the problems in your homeland?”
“No,” Szeth whispered. “It is merely a weed. The most beautiful of weeds…”
Kaladin glanced to the side, where his spren landed and appeared as a full-sized human in a skirted Bridge Four uniform, leggings underneath reaching down to mid-thigh. Szeth had not asked why she chose that form. It was not for him to question.
“Szeth,” said a voice.
His spren. A highspren.
He still did not know its name. It had never been offered. It was not a distinction the highspren gave lightly, though some other Skybreakers had been granted the names of their spren.
“This emotion is unfitting of your station,” the spren said, audible and visible only to him. “Do not spoil your dignity with base sentimentality. You serve the law.”
Szeth, with effort, forced his hand away from the plant. He stood up. Voices. Had there ever been a time when his life hadn’t been ruled by voices? Would he even know what to do if they stopped?
“You all right?” Kaladin said, hopping off his rock.
Oh, I’m fine! said the sword strapped to Szeth’s back. Thank you. Nobody has been paying attention to me today, but I’m famously patient. It comes from being a sword.
Kaladin ignored the comment, stepping closer to Szeth.
“My spren,” Szeth said, “wishes me to show better composure. I obey.”
Szeth did not ask an explanation of the spren. He was Truthless no longer, but he still did as his masters required. He simply trusted that in the highspren and Dalinar, he had chosen better masters.
He stepped away as Kaladin knelt by the plant, Syl bending down next to him. The rising sun behind sent sunlight streaming through this valley into Shinovar, the land that swallowed that sun each night. Light created shadows—in the leeward side of stones, in crevices, and beneath the very blades of grass. As soon as he saw that, the whispers started once more.
Voices of those he’d killed. Condemning him.
Kaladin poked the plant with his toe. Then again. “I knew about these,” he said to his spren. “Everyone mentions them. But it’s so strange. Shouldn’t it have been eaten by something?”
“Maybe it tastes really bad,” Syl said. “Maybe that’s why there are fewer proper plants in Shinovar. Our plants get eaten first, because they’re delicious.” She leaned over farther and tapped the plant, proving substantial enough to make it quiver.
“It’s like a painting,” Kaladin whispered.
“Or a statue,” Syl said. “You think it was Soulcast? That it was once a real plant, and someone made it into this?”
Kaladin shook his head, then lifted his boot. Szeth found it amusing how Kaladin rammed his foot down, then stopped with a jerk a fraction of an inch from the plant. Trying to get it to flinch.
This is a man, Szeth thought, who pulls back before crushing a weed.
“No wonder you broke and gave up the spear,” Szeth said, “leaving your friends to battle without you. You have grown into a coward, then?”
Kaladin pulled up sharply. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“I should not speak truth?” Szeth said, genuinely curious. “Or are you saying I am not the one to tell you these things, as I have no authority over you? Interesting.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Szeth,” Kaladin said.
“Then you should stop talking,” Szeth replied. “Because if you cannot explain what you mean, then why voice silly thoughts?”
Szeth walked on, and reminded himself not to underestimate this man’s skill. Kaladin deserved at least some of his fearsome reputation. Before Szeth had died his first death, he had faced this man, fighting amid debris and breaking plateaus, red lightning crashing against white. Because of that day, Szeth’s soul remained only loosely connected to his body—though his afterimage was less pronounced now. As if he were slowly healing from that revival.
“I think these plants are neat,” Syl said. She seemed to be trying to distract Kaladin from his annoyance at Szeth—which was an odd emotion to be displaying in the face of true statements expressed clearly.
“I suppose we’ll get used to them,” Kaladin finally said, flying ahead without stepping on any plants. “They’re supposed to be all over Shinovar, hiding among the normal plants.”
Szeth hesitated. He couldn’t help asking. “Hiding among normal plants?”
“What?” Kaladin said, turning in the air. “Oh. They can’t hide, because they don’t move? Still seems strange to me that they can survive. I know the storms aren’t strong here, but people and animals are going to step on them.”
“They’re more resilient than you think,” Szeth said.
“Yeah, but once the real plants retract,” Kaladin said, “these will be sitting out in the open. Like the lone soldier in a company with no armor on.”
Szeth contained his amusement—his spren would not be happy to see such an emotion—and instead joined Kaladin flying along the pass. Soon they reached a point where the path turned steeply downward, giving them a view—for the first time—of Shinovar itself.
Greenery covered the landscape. Vines across the valley walls; grass waving on the path. Trees below in a vast forest along the slope—beyond that the expansive open prairies of the lowlands. Kaladin and Syl landed beside Szeth.
“Here,” Szeth said, “these are the normal plants. There are none like those you are accustomed to.”
“…All of them?” Kaladin said.
“All of them.”
An awespren burst around Kaladin, then he started down the path, obviously excited. Szeth followed, though not because he was excited. This was merely where he had to be. The whispers followed.
Chapter 20: Three Vital Points of Defense
I let them pass with two lies.
—From The Way of Kings, fourth parable
The small meeting room—full of monarchs seated in a circle with an outer ring of highprinces, viziers, and lesser primes—grew absolutely still at Wit’s words.
Navani held her breath. Was it possible? What did it mean? Odium was… a different person now?
Voices invaded her mind. The Sibling, and the Stormfather—whom she’d heard only twice before, his voice echoing with thunder.
Is it possible? the Sibling asked.
I… will look, said the Stormfather. I must know. Rayse… he can’t just be…
Dead, the Sibling said. If a new Vessel holds Odium, Rayse must be dead.
Navani glanced at Dalinar, and he nodded. He’d heard both of them too.
“Wit,” Navani said, leaning forward, “how certain are you?”
“I’m certain of nothing,” Wit replied from his place by the wall. “But this… this is almost certain.”
It is true, the Stormfather said. Odium is no longer Rayse.
“You can tell?” Dalinar whispered, so Navani could hear too. “So easily?”
Yes. The tone has changed, only noticeable when I looked.
You… are right, the Sibling said. I feel it. So subtle…
I cannot identify the new Vessel, the Stormfather said. Take care. And Rayse… Rayse is gone, after all this time.
“You sound regretful,” Navani whispered.
Only that my lightning did not strike his corpse, the Stormfather spat. And my wind did not dash it against stones until it broke.
His rumbling faded.
I miss how the Stormfather used to be, the Sibling said. He was so much happier before. Not so angry all the time…
“The Stormfather,” Dalinar said to the room, “has confirmed Wit’s intuition. Odium exists, but has changed hands. It’s like… like how a spren can have a new Radiant.”
“So…” Fen said, glancing around the circle, curled eyebrows shaking alongside her face. “Who cares?”
“Who cares?” Yanagawn said. “This is our greatest enemy!”
“Who is still trying to destroy us,” she said, “as evidenced by the impending invasion. I never knew the old Odium, so it’s basically the same.”
“No,” Wit said. “It’s different.”
Again all eyes turned to him as he rose and walked into the center of the circle. Even in a moment of stress like this, there was a certain showmanship to Wit.
“I knew the old Odium,” he said, spinning around to look at them all. “Our entire plan—the contract, the contest—was based in part on that knowledge. Now… I’m frightened. The old Odium was deeply calcified into his position as a god—and was very unlikely to do anything that would risk that position. The new one was likely a mortal before their Ascension. They’ll be more brash, more willing to take risks.
“More, they aren’t quite bound in the same way. Oh, they’ll have to keep this agreement for the contest of champions—a formal agreement like that binds the power, not just the individual, something Rayse himself discovered long ago. But lesser promises—like the one made to Dalinar about not exploiting loopholes—are a different matter. He is breaking that one easily, because he did not make it.”
“So, wait,” Navani said, trying to understand the details. “Can a god break a contract, or can they not?”
“Anyone, anywhere, can,” Wit explained. “God, human, spren. However, the consequences vary. For a deity, breaking a promise exposes them to destructive forces from others—and the magnitude of the broken promise often determines the severity of the consequence.”
“So…” Fen said. “Can we call off this contest? I don’t appreciate it allowing the conquering of my entire island if one city is captured.”
“Yes, you have that option,” Wit said. “You always did—but if you break the contract, Odium can retaliate in person. He could bring the full force of his powers against you without risking retribution from other gods. Fen… he could kill every person on this planet with a flick of his wrist, if he wanted.”
“Well,” she said, sitting back. “That answers that.”
“No breaking contracts with gods,” Kmakl said from behind Fen. “I’ll make a note of that…”
“And his broken promise not to use loopholes?” Dalinar asked. “We can’t exploit that at all?”
“He can get away with that,” Wit said. “And we can exploit our own, if we can find them. But that promise he made was not a formal agreement certified by oaths. This is the hand we’re dealt. I’m sorry. I am not living up to my name. I should have seen this.”
Storms, what a mess, Navani thought. “So if the enemy”—she tried to lay it out clearly—“can conquer the capitals of Azir, Thaylenah, or the Shattered Plains in the next eight days… he keeps the equivalent kingdom in its entirety. No matter the results of the contest?”
“Yes,” Wit said. “According to Alethi law.”
“Could we change capitals?” Navani said.
“That is a very clever idea,” Wit told her. “Which only a very clever person would think of.”
“Thank you, I…” She trailed off. “You’ve already thought of it, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Wit said. “I asked my draconic friend, and got a negative response. How to explain this?” He thought a moment. “Alethi legal codes apply here, and they are an absolute mess. A snarl of self-contradictory codes, uncertain precedents, and insane laws that are still on the books because some drunk highprince thought they were amusing. Don’t show them to the Azish. They’ll have nightmares for weeks.”
“Too late,” Noura said. “I began studying them the moment we started this coalition.”
“Here’s the short of it,” Wit said, holding up the written-out version of Dalinar’s agreement with Odium. “This is immutable. This stands. What Odium’s doing plays dirty, but does not break these rules. We could try to do something similar, but changing the capital—or one of a dozen other very clever things I came up with—would put us in violation.”
“And,” Kmakl said, “we shouldn’t violate agreements with gods. I just made a note of it, even.” He gave a wan smile.
Navani took a deep breath. “All right then, we’re back to where we started—merely with a better understanding. Three armies are heading to three capitals. We need to defend all three for eight days, and hope there are no other big surprises in the contract.”
“I will speak to my friend,” Wit said. “I don’t think there’s anything else, but if there is, I will find it. Honestly, most of what she said was complimentary. The agreement was well done, this small item notwithstanding.”
“The important point now is what to do next,” Jasnah said.
“We stand united,” Dalinar said, looking around the room. “And we do not give one inch of stone to him. Stargyle, let’s have a map.”
Stargyle stepped forward, and a brilliant, shimmering map of Roshar appeared in the center of the chamber.
What is this? the Sibling said in Navani’s mind. That is… that is incredible.
Like the work of a master sculptor, the map had fine topographical detail. It could be zoomed in until you could see cities, and zoomed out until it seemed as if you were gazing down from the moons upon a tiny continent surrounded by blue waters.
Navani stood up, joining Dalinar and Stargyle at the side of the map. He really was mastering this—a few weeks ago, only Shallan had been capable of the feat. Across the map, Noura provided a taller stool for her emperor. As usual, the Mink stood and started walking straight through it—causing it to fuzz into Stormlight and churn in his passing, like eddies in a stream, until stabilizing again in place.
It wasn’t accurate to the moment—this represented the world as it had been the last time the highstorm had passed. Still, its majesty took Navani’s breath away every time—and she was pleased that the Sibling was similarly impressed.
I’ve encountered nothing like this, they said in her mind. How? How can you do things the ancient Radiants never did?
Science is usually the product of incremental advances, shared across a body of people working together, Navani said. But sometimes that group limits you, because they make assumptions. I know there are many things we’ve lost that the ancient Radiants did better—but at the same time, we’re not limited by their expectations.
“All right,” the Mink said. He was a shorter Herdazian man, lean of build, with a thin mustache and a wide, inviting smile—though his missing tooth and scarred wrists were a testament to the hardships he’d known. “First things first. Here are our current troop placements.”
He pointed at Emul, to the south of Azir. “The largest group of coalition forces—with many of our Stonewards and Edgedancers—are here. They were fighting near the border with Tukar and Marat, and have been moving home for three days now. Some of those—our rear guard, forty thousand strong—are a six-day march from Azimir.”
“Too far,” Yanagawn said. “The enemy will arrive before then, and my forces are down to only a few thousand. We’ll need reinforcement.”
“Yes,” Dalinar said, walking past Navani to the eastern side of Roshar. “But from where? The rest of the bulk of our troops are here, holding the borders of Alethkar in the Frostlands.”
They’d been fighting an extended war against the enemy—and most of their clashes had been on these battle lines. Therefore, that was where their troops were. Urithiru had reserves and off-duty soldiers, but many of them had been slaughtered during the invasion and occupation. Navani had been with them trying to hold out, and the nightmare of seeing so many soldiers give their lives was a fresh wound. One she’d have to address someday, once the crisis was over.
If the crisis was ever over.
“We don’t have many troops who can reach an Oathgate in time,” Dalinar said. “We’re stretched incredibly thin, and we can’t move large bodies of troops quickly. Particularly not since we’ll need the Windrunners for air support.”
“We have scouts investigating each of the armies,” the Mink continued. “The fleet sailing for Thaylenah has over two hundred ships. They’re not good for naval combat—mostly troop transports—which is why the blockade worked for so long. Now that it’s broken though, they could deliver forty thousand soldiers to Thaylen City.”
“Storms,” Fen whispered.
“The force moving for Azimir is, fortunately, smaller,” the Mink said. “Approximately fifteen thousand, and barely a handful of Fused. It seems they wanted to take us by surprise. Finally, the force marching on the Shattered Plains is almost exclusively Fused—the most fearsome of the armies by far, though it’s only a thousand individuals.”
“But they attack a mostly barren region,” Fen said.
“Not barren,” Jasnah said. “That is the sole land my people have, in exile. Those are our lumberyards, our fields, and our new budding city at the warcamps. It’s all we have.”
“Still…” Fen said.
“Let’s focus on the defense of Azir first,” the Mink said, holding up his hand, strolling through the mountains and to the west. “The enemy will arrive midday tomorrow, best we can guess. You said you have… what, three thousand city defenders?”
Kzal—one of the viziers—replied, “Yes, General.”
The Mink nodded to Dalinar and pointed. Navani stepped over as Dalinar zoomed the map in until they could almost make out the signs of warcamps on the flatlands south of Azimir.
“This large army of ours is five or six days away,” the Mink mused. “If your forces in Azimir hold out until then, you’ll win for certain. Even if you lose the city, that army of so many of our forces returning could maybe take it back…”
“We can’t risk that though,” Adolin said, rising from his seat among the highprinces in the second row. “We can’t just let Azimir be taken, maybe burned.” He walked through the map, and for some reason he’d summoned his Shardblade—and was whispering to it? Navani sidled closer, overhearing what sounded like a quiet narration of what he was seeing. How odd.
The Mink squatted down so he was eye level with the map. Navani wasn’t certain what advantage this provided, but he liked to do it, looking across the landscape—in this case from the perspective of Azimir.
“This is not a trap,” he said softly, smoothing his thin, greying mustache, “but the exploitation of an opportunity. They didn’t deliberately draw your armies away into Emul, otherwise they’d have struck already. They must have sent this force through Shadesmar weeks ago. Ships do not materialize out of thin air.”
They do there, the Sibling noted. Though it requires Stormlight…
“You have a strong position here, Yanagawn,” Dalinar said, gesturing. “You may not have a lot of troops, but the enemy has to come through the Oathgate. The Skybreakers that were fighting in Emul have been withdrawn to strike at Thaylenah, and there are few Fused with the invading army, so you don’t have enemy Invested to worry about. Plus, you have the Oathgate surrounded by that metal dome, right?”
“Yes,” Yanagawn said. “But despite that, I’m afraid. They have five times our number of troops!”
“A fortification like that can be an excellent force multiplier,” the Mink said. “But the average singer troop is stronger than a human one, with their warform armor. It will be a tight defense.”
“Normally, striking directly at Azimir would be suicide,” Dalinar said, stepping up beside the Mink. “And taking it wouldn’t mean anything—it’s in the heart of the empire. You can’t expect success in an extended campaign if you’re surrounded. But this isn’t an extended campaign. They just have to seize Azimir and hold it for a few days.”
“You are right,” the Mink said, standing with his head peeking up through the illusory map. As if he were swimming. “This is an entire empire. You, Azish word people. What happens to your empire if Azir is conquered?”
The viziers conferred, then went to talk to Wit. Navani tapped her fingers together in thought, and didn’t miss how several in the room—representatives of Emul, Yezier, Desh—murmured at this. All three were smaller kingdoms that were part of the complex Azish imperial state. They were autonomous in all but name: never overtly rejecting Azir’s claims of dominance, but also not paying tax to the central kingdom, except occasional support for armies keeping the peace.
It had worked for centuries. The smaller kingdoms gained increased political clout and Azir was able to pretend it was in charge. The lesser primes deferred to the emperor in social matters, and Azish armies lent aid to nearby disputes.
No one said the quiet part: that there was no empire. Only a group of ethnically connected kingdoms who role-played as one.
Except now.
“Unfortunately,” Noura said, with Wit looking sour behind her, “if Azimir falls, they all fall. An entire empire, captured in one bold move.”
“We can’t risk that,” Adolin said, stepping into the center of Shinovar.
“What we can and cannot risk,” the Mink said, “depends on the troops. Dalinar, how many can you reasonably provide in time?”
“Honestly?” Dalinar said. “Maybe twenty thousand.”
“I need those troops,” Fen said. “Thaylen City will fall without them.” She glanced to Yanagawn. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but you have reinforcements only a few days’ march from your door—and an excellent fortification with which to resist in the interim. My situation is far more dire.”
“What exactly are your defenses?” Jasnah asked, still seated, taking notes for herself quietly.
“We have a skeleton of a navy left,” Fen explained. “Our ground forces—such as they were—mostly fell at the Battle of Thaylen Field. Frankly, we’re dependent on you for our defense now. As you all well know.”
“We are establishing our situation, not trying to goad you,” Jasnah said.
“Let us look at the third point of attack,” the Mink said. “The Shattered Plains. These are well defended, no?”
“Very well defended,” Dalinar said. “But I hate pitting conventional troops against Fused.”
“If we lose the Shattered Plains,” Jasnah said, “we lose our last foothold in eastern Roshar.”
“Three vital points of defense,” the Mink said, appearing tiny beside Dalinar. “And our military is strung out, blanketing hundreds of miles of borderlands. This isn’t good, Dalinar.”
Navani had read a lot of books on tactics out loud to her husbands, so she tried to figure out what Dalinar and the Mink would decide. Throw everything at Azir, perhaps? It had the fewest troops, and its Oathgate would soon stop functioning for the coalition forces. At Thaylenah, the enemy would need to perform an ocean assault and then break through the city walls. They’d done both during the Battle of Thaylen Field, but they would have a much harder time accomplishing that now, with the coalition ready for them. The same went for the Shattered Plains: Navani knew firsthand how difficult that territory was to crack.
But Azimir? With enemies flooding out of the Oathgate in the center of the city, mere yards from the palace? She thought Dalinar would put most of their forces there.
Dalinar and the Mink shared a glance. And from their expressions, Navani knew she was missing something. What?
“I see your concern, Uncle,” Jasnah said from her seat, Wit just behind her, one hand on the back of her chair. “What is it?”
“We have limited troops we can mobilize on such short notice,” Dalinar said. “If we spread ourselves too thin, we lose everything.”
“We have to assume the forty thousand coming to Azimir will be enough,” Jasnah said, seeming proud that she’d figured it out. “Because if we commit more troops there, they’ll be locked away behind a nonfunctional Oathgate. A fate the forty thousand will already suffer. So we send only a few thousand to hold out there, and split the bulk of our forces across the other two fronts.”
“Yes,” the Mink said, sounding reluctant. “That is the best plan. A skeleton force to Azimir. The bulk of our conventional troops to Thaylen City to hold the walls—which are useless without troops on them.”
Yanagawn stood up from his throne. “This leaves us alone! Least defended! Abandoned!”
“Your Excellency,” Dalinar said, turning, “we’re not abandoning you. We’re not making decisions right now, merely working through our options. But the truth is, you have that excellent fortification surrounding the Oathgate, and you have forty thousand friendly troops on your doorstep. Along with all of the Radiants who were fighting alongside them.”
“We walk a delicate line,” the Mink said. “If we overcommit to Azir, which will soon have far more troops than it needs anyway, we’ll lose everything else. We must do all we can to hasten the force already on its way to Azimir, and not leave everything else undefended. Navani, how confident are you in the tower’s natural defenses?”
Sibling? she asked.
The lights in the room dimmed. A glowing column of light appeared from a glass disc in the ceiling, extending to a matching one below. The Sibling’s voice spoke to all of them. “They will not come here. Fused will fall unconscious. Regals will have their forms stripped from them. Even common singers will lose access to their rhythms, and my beats can drive them mad. They know that. Now that I’ve returned, they know.”
The room stilled. Well, that seemed a step forward. Only a few days ago, the Sibling would barely speak to Navani.
“That sounds conclusive,” the Mink said. “So, Dalinar, we can empty Urithiru of your twenty thousand and send the bulk of them to shore up Thaylenah. We cannot lose the island—if we do, we will give up the seas entirely. The Shattered Plains might be able to handle themselves. We can pull in some outlying forces, centralize at Narak.”
“Pardon,” Sigzil said, “but the scout reports are frank. The fight at the Shattered Plains will face thunderclasts, Heavenly Ones, Deepest Ones, and more. That’s suicide for conventional troops without support.”
“He’s right,” Dalinar said. “We’ll need our Radiants there—to counter their Invested.”
“And Azir?” Yanagawn said from where he stood. “We defend Thaylenah and the Shattered Plains, but what do we send to my homeland? You mentioned at least a skeleton force to help me hold until the army arrives?”
“Yes,” Dalinar said, rubbing his chin. “I think your fight is the most winnable. That dome fortification is incredible.”
“I disagree,” the Mink said. “The defense will be more difficult than you think, Dalinar. The dome will offer a clear killing field, but singer forces are well armored, good versus arrows. If you were defending against humans, you could hold it easily. Against singers?” He shook his head.
“Yes, but a small number of troops should be able to hold a few days,” Dalinar said, gesturing toward Azimir on the map. “We must send the bulk of our troops to Thaylen City to man the walls, but what if we sent the best of our troops to that dome?”
“I don’t know,” the Mink said. “One misstep, and that dome will fill with enemies like a boil on a finger, waiting to pop. Then they’ll flood into the very heart of the city. No, I wouldn’t want to try to hold that. It could be a waste. We maybe should send nobody, evacuate, and then let the returning army of forty thousand reclaim Azimir once they arrive.”
“That’s too much of a risk,” Yanagawn said. “What if it were your homeland, Dieno?”
The Mink looked up. Then took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, you are right. Of course you are right. I’m sorry—sometimes a love of tactics overshadows the heart. We must do what we can. Our best, then, to Azir. Enough to hold, but not so much to weaken other fronts. But who will lead them?”
A beat, the room quiet. Navani held her breath.
“I’ll go,” Adolin said, stepping into the illusion. “Father, let me recruit two thousand. I’ll ask for volunteers for what might be a difficult fight, and gather the best of them. With them and the Cobalt Guard, I’ll go to Azir and hold that city until reinforcements arrive.”
Dalinar glanced at Navani; the Mink’s words seemed to have unnerved him. “What of the other two battlefronts,” he said at last. “Who leads those armies? I will need to prepare for my contest, and I suspect I won’t be available.”
“I’m no general,” Fen said. “And Kmakl is a navy man. I’d like some generals with ground force experience.”
“What about me?” Jasnah said, finally rising. “I’ve fought in Thaylen City before. I could go, bring generals to determine our strategy, and take command of the twenty thousand there.”
Navani held her tongue. Jasnah had been eager for chances to prove herself as a tactician—as if she didn’t have enough to occupy her mind. Still, Jasnah was perhaps the most dangerous Radiant they had.
“A good choice,” Dalinar said. “Fen, what do you think?”
“We’d welcome the queen,” Fen said. “Especially if I can get Stonewards to seal up breaches in the wall, should it get knocked down again.”
“We have a few,” Dalinar said, likely doing the mental math. They didn’t have as many Stonewards as they did Edgedancers and Windrunners, and most were already in the group marching for Azimir. “I can send those, along with some Edgedancers to heal the wounded.”
“Excellent,” Jasnah said, settling back down. “I’ll begin forming a strategy, and discuss it with our generals.”
“Windrunner Sigzil,” Dalinar said. “You take command of the Shattered Plains.”
“…Sir?” Sigzil said.
“We’ll want a Radiant in command there. I’ll send the Stormwall to back you up, and you can rely on our generals for tactics. But the Windrunners are our largest and most decorated group of Radiant soldiers. You should lead.”
“Sir,” Sigzil said, saluting.
“And me, Father?” Adolin asked, stepping closer. “Why do you hesitate?”
“I’m just thinking,” Dalinar said, and Navani could tell he didn’t want to get into it in front of everyone.
“Have I failed you too many times?” Adolin asked.
“I didn’t say…” Dalinar took a deep breath.
“Majesty,” Yanagawn said to Dalinar, his tone fierce. “Your son is the most accomplished swordsman in Alethkar, perhaps the world. He was trained in warfare by the Blackthorn himself. I’m certain my generals would welcome his aid.”
Navani wasn’t so certain. She’d seen how jealous soldiers could get when someone outside their command structure showed up and took charge, but she held her tongue.
“Father,” Adolin said, “the enemy at Azimir won’t have many Fused. In Shadesmar I saw some Heavenly Ones, but mostly ships full of common soldiers. We can contain them. Let me go.”
Dalinar towered over the center of the map. Eventually he nodded. “A good plan. You may go, son. And you may recruit up to two thousand of our best, as you wish.”
“Excellent,” Adolin said.
“Thank you!” Yanagawn said. “We should start now! We cannot waste time!”
“The next few hours will be critical,” Dalinar said. “If the monarchs are agreed, we can break this meeting for now—though send your generals in to speak with the Mink and me. We will spend the next few hours going over strategy for each battlefield in detail.”
Immediately the Azish contingent started moving, picking up their seats. Adolin started to join them, then hesitated at the edge of the map.
He and Dalinar locked gazes. Just go hug him, Navani thought, stepping up to Dalinar and putting her hand to the small of his back. Wish him the best. Tell him you believe in him.
Neither spoke. Then Adolin spun on his heel and hurried toward the door. Navani sighed.
“What?” Dalinar said to her. “He wants little to do with me these days, Navani. It’s best I let him go.”
“He needs his father,” Navani said. “Regardless of what he wants. You’re simply going to let him walk out?”
“We don’t have time for his drama, Navani,” Dalinar said. “Whatever I do, it won’t be good enough for him. I fear if I ask him for something, he’ll do the opposite. I…”
He trailed off as he noticed that Adolin had stopped by the door. To Navani’s delight, he turned around and came back. “Father,” he said reluctantly, “Shallan sent me with a message you need to hear.”
Navani felt her eyes widen as Adolin gave a brief—far too brief, for her taste—recounting of some things Shallan had told him. A group of foreign spies, working for offworld interests, in Urithiru? Recruiting Shallan when she was still new, and isolated, on the Plains?
That girl. That storming girl. She should have come to them with this. Navani forced her anger down. Shallan had, for better or worse, been trained by Jasnah—who kept these kinds of secrets as a matter of course.
“She’s moving against them now,” Adolin said. “She needs authorization for an operation and a Radiant strike force.”
“I don’t like the idea,” Dalinar said, “of authorizing a strike on a group I barely know anything about. It means putting a lot of trust in someone who has apparently been lying to us all.”
“Something,” Adolin said, “you know absolutely nothing about.”
Inwardly, Navani groaned. The two met each other’s eyes, and she considered intervening. But storms, they were going to work it out eventually themselves.
“You’re supposed to be above gibes like that, son,” Dalinar said softly. “I raised you to be better.”
“Raised me?” Adolin said. Angerspren pooled like blood at his feet—one of the few varieties of spren that ignored her orders. “You didn’t raise me, Father. You killed the woman who did.”
Dalinar winced. “This isn’t the time.”
“It could be,” Navani said, wanting to grab them both by the arms and tow them off to talk until they worked it out.
“No,” Adolin agreed. “Not right now. Father, I want you to authorize Shallan’s strike. Time is of the essence. Please.”
Dalinar sighed, then nodded. “We’ll reach out to her for what she needs.”
Storms, they seemed so close. Finally, Dalinar opened his mouth. Her heart leaped, expecting the apology. Instead it was a gruff, “You might need help with the Azish. You don’t speak their language.”
“I can get an interpreter.”
“I can do better,” Dalinar said, taking him by the shoulder. Stormlight streamed off Dalinar. “I can give you a Bondsmithing to help. It won’t work anywhere but in Azir, but while you’re there, it will let you understand them. It should last a few weeks.”
Adolin grunted. They stared one another in the eyes. Then, Adolin nodded and left without another word.
Navani sighed, her heart bleeding for them.
“Why?” she asked Dalinar. “Why don’t you say more?”
“He always throws it back at me,” Dalinar said, his thumb and forefinger massaging his forehead. “And in a way, he’s right, Navani. I didn’t raise him. He was always just… so perfect, all on his own. Or with Evi’s help, I suppose. I now realize I never did anything other than order him around.”
“And letting it fester will make it better?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But this really isn’t the time. I’ve got a strategy meeting I need to lead. After that, though, I need to tell you about something even more important.” He seemed concerned. “I need your counsel. That of Jasnah and Wit too, maybe Fen.”
She frowned. “What is this?” “On the way to the meeting today,” Dalinar said, his expression distant, “I encountered a god…”
Excerpted from Wind and Truth, copyright © 2024 Dragonsteel Entertainment.
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Listen to Chapters 19 and 20
MacmillanAudio · Chapter 19 – WIND AND TRUTH by Brandon Sanderson, narrated by Kate Reading and Michael Kramer
MacmillanAudio · Chapter 20 – WIND AND TRUTH by Brandon Sanderson, narrated by Kate Reading and Michael Kramer
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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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