Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,569

fighting if they wish, but your people and mine will begin preparing for the true war: the one that will begin when the gods of other worlds discover the strength of Surgebinding. Your heirs will be bound to this, as you are.”

“I cannot negotiate for people who are not yet born,” Dalinar said. “Nor can I promise my Radiants will follow you, as you cannot promise the Fused will obey you. As I said, this must be between you and me. But … if you win, I will agree to order my armies to stand down and stop the fighting. I will give up the war, and those who wish to join you will be allowed to do so.”

“Not good enough, Dalinar. Not nearly good enough.” Odium took a long, suffering breath. That light pulsed inside of him, and Dalinar felt a kind of kinship to the ancient god then. Sensing his fatigue, which somehow mirrored Dalinar’s own. “I want so much more than Roshar, so much more than one planet, one people. But my people … tire. I’ve worn them thin with this eternal battle. They seek endings, terrible endings. The entire war has changed, based on what your wife has done. You realize this.”

“I do,” Dalinar said.

“It is time for a true accommodation. A true ending. Do you not agree?”

“I … Yes. I realize it. What do you propose?”

Odium waved dismissively at the contract Wit had drawn up. “No more talk of delays, of sending me away. Of half measures. We have a contest of champions on the tenth of next month,” Odium said. “At the tenth hour.”

“So soon? The month ends tomorrow.”

“Why delay?” Odium asked. “I know my champion. Do you know yours?”

“I do,” Dalinar said.

“Then let us stop dancing and commit. On the tenth, our champions meet. If you win, I will withdraw to the kingdoms I currently hold—and I enforce an end to the war. I will even give up to you Alethkar, and restore your homeland to you.”

“I must have Herdaz too.”

“What?” Odium said. “That meaningless little plot of land? What are they to you?”

“It’s the matter of an oath, Odium,” Dalinar said. “You will restore to me Herdaz and Alethkar. Keep whatever other lands you’ve taken; they mostly followed you freely anyway. I can accept this, so long as you are still trapped on Roshar, as Honor wished.”

“I will,” Odium said, “though I will be able to focus my attentions on sending agents to the rest of the cosmere, using what I’ve conquered here as enough for now. However, if I win the contest of champions, I keep everything I’ve conquered—Herdaz and Alethkar included. And I want one other small thing. I want you, Dalinar.”

“My life? Odium, I intend to be my own champion. I’ll have died if you win.”

“Yes,” Odium said, eyes shining golden. “You will have. And you will give your soul to me. You, Dalinar, will join the Fused. You will become immortal, and will personally serve me. Bound by your oaths. You will be the one I send to the stars to serve my interests in the cosmere.”

A cold shock ran through Dalinar. Like he’d felt the first time he’d been stabbed. Surprise, disbelief, terror.

You will join the Fused.

“Are we agreed?” Odium said, his skin now glowing so brightly that his features were difficult to make out. “You have gotten from me more than I ever thought I would give up. Either way, the war ends and you will have secured the safety of your allies. At the cost of gambling your own soul. How far does your honor extend, Blackthorn?”

Dalinar wavered. Stopping now, with Azir and Thaylenah safe—with a good portion of Roshar protected, and with a chance for more in Alethkar and Herdaz if he won—was truly more than he ever thought possible. A true end to the war.

Jasnah spoke of the need for councils. Groups of leaders. She thought putting too much power in the hands of one individual was dangerous. He could finally see her point, as he stood there on that field of golden light. This new deal would be good for his allies—they’d celebrate it, most likely. But he couldn’t know for certain. He had to make a decision.

Dared he do that? Dared he risk his own soul?

I have to contain him, Dalinar thought. His people were celebrating their victory in Emul, but he knew—deep down—the enemy had given it away. He had preferred to secure his power elsewhere. The Mink had said