Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,279

you should acknowledge it,” Odium said, then held the papers up before himself and shredded them in a flash of light. “This is nothing. You are nothing.”

Taravangian cried out, grabbing one of the pieces as it fluttered.

Odium waved. And for a second time, Taravangian was given a glimpse of the god’s plans. Hundreds of thousands of panes of writing, hovering as if on invisible glass. This was what Odium had shown him a year ago; it was intended to impress Taravangian with how thorough and extensive Odium’s planning was. And Taravangian had managed to tempt him into showing it off, like a prized stallion.

Storms … Odium could be tricked. By dumb Taravangian.

Taravangian glanced around, trying to find the black portion he’d seen before. Yes, there it was, the corrupted writing, a section of plans ruined by Renarin Kholin.

The implications of that seemed profound now. Odium wasn’t able to see Renarin’s future. No one could.

The scar had expanded. Taravangian turned away quickly, not wanting to draw Odium’s ire. Yet right before looking away, Taravangian saw something half-consumed in the black scar.

His own name. Why? What did it mean?

I’m close to Renarin, Taravangian realized. Everyone close to the boy has their future clouded. Perhaps that was why Odium was wrong about Dalinar.

Taravangian felt a surge of hope.

Odium couldn’t see Taravangian’s future right now.

Taravangian bowed his head and bit his lip, squeezing his eyes closed, hoping the tears at the corners of his eyes would be mistaken for tears of awe or fear.

“Resplendent, isn’t it?” Odium asked. “I’ve wondered why she would give you a taste of what we can do. In some ways, you’re the only one I can talk to. The only one who understands, if in a limited way, the burden I bear.”

You could have simply come and given me the order today, then left, Taravangian thought. You talk instead. You’re lonely. You want to show off. You’re … human.

“I will miss you,” Odium said. “I’m pleased that you made me promise to keep the humans of Kharbranth alive. They will remind me of you.”

If Odium could be lonely, if he could boast, if he could be tricked … he could be afraid. Taravangian might be dumb, but when dumb, he understood emotion.

Odium had incredible power; that was clear. He was a god, in power. But in mind? In mind he was a man. What did Odium fear? He would have fears, wouldn’t he? Taravangian opened his eyes and scanned through the many hovering panes of description. Many were in languages he couldn’t read, but Odium used glyphs for names.

Taravangian looked for a knot of tight writing. He looked for letters that evoked terror—the terror of a genius. He found them, understanding them without being able to read them, in a knot near the black scar. Words written in cramped letters, circling a name being consumed by the scar. A simple, terrifying name.

Szeth. The Assassin in White.

Trembling, Taravangian turned away. Odium began ranting again, but Taravangian missed what the creature said.

Szeth.

The sword.

Odium feared the sword.

Except … Szeth was at Urithiru. Why was his name being consumed by the scar that represented Renarin? It didn’t make any sense. Could Taravangian have misunderstood?

It took him a painfully long time to see the obvious answer. Szeth was here, in the army, near Dalinar. Who was in turn near Renarin. Dalinar must have brought Szeth in secret.

“You cannot conceive how long I’ve planned for this,” Odium was saying—though the light was building within him again, his skin like thin paper. He seemed … not weak—a being who could spawn storms and destroy entire nations would never be weak. But vulnerable.

Odium had bet so much upon Dalinar being his champion. Now that was in chaos. The god bragged about his plans, but Taravangian knew firsthand that you could plan and plan and plan, but if one man’s choices didn’t align to your will, it didn’t matter. A thousand wrong plans were no more useful than a single wrong one.

“Don’t be too pained, Taravangian,” Odium said. “Dalinar won’t kill you immediately. He’ll seek to understand; it has become his way. Poor fool. The old Blackthorn would have immediately murdered you, but this weaker version won’t be able to help himself. He’ll need to talk to you before he orders your execution.”

You’re doing the same, Taravangian thought, a dangerous plan budding in his mind. You should have killed me.

Out loud he said, “So be it. I have accomplished my goal.”

“So you have,” Odium said. “So you have.