get into her wagon—to open the cage. “You will give me their writs of slavery. And the Stormfather help you if not everything is in order, Tvlakv. I’m very good at spotting a forgery.”
She hadn’t ever even seen a writ of slavery, and wouldn’t know how to tell if one was faked. She didn’t care. She was tired, frustrated, and eager to be done with this night.
One by one, five hesitant slaves stepped from the wagon, shaggy bearded and shirtless. Her trip with Tvlakv had not been pleasant, but it had been luxurious compared to what these men had been through. Several glanced at the darkness nearby, as if eager.
“You may run if you wish,” Shallan said, softening her tone. “I will not hunt you. I need servants, however, and I will pay you well. Six firemarks a week if you agree to put five of them toward paying down your slave debt. One if you don’t.”
One of the men cocked his head. “So . . . we take away the same amount either way? What kind of sense does that make?”
“The best kind,” Shallan said, turning to Tvlakv, who sat stewing on the side of his seat. “You have three wagons but only two drivers. Will you sell me the third wagon?” She wouldn’t need the chull—Macob would have an extra she could use, since several of his wagons had burned.
“Sell the wagon? Bah! Why not just steal it from me?”
“Stop being a child, Tvlakv. Do you want my money or not?”
“Five sapphire broams,” he snapped. “And it’s a steal at that price; don’t you argue otherwise.”
She didn’t know if it was or not, but she could afford it, with the spheres she had, even if most of them were dun.
“You can’t have my parshmen,” Tvlakv snapped.
“You can keep them,” Shallan said. She would need to talk to the caravan master about shoes and clothing for her servants.
As she walked off to see if she could use an extra chull of Macob’s, she passed a group of the caravan workers waiting to the side of one of the bonfires. The deserters threw the last body—one of their own—into the flames, then stepped back, wiping brows.
One of the darkeyed caravan women stepped up, holding out a sheet of paper to a former deserter. He took it, scratching at his beard. He was the shorter, one-eyed man who’d spoken during her speech. He held up the sheet to the others. It was a prayer made from familiar runes, but not one of mourning, as Shallan would have expected to see. It was a prayer of thanks.
The former deserters gathered in front of the flames and looked at the prayer. Then they turned and looked outward, seeing—as if for the first time—the two dozen people standing there and watching. Silent in the night. Some had tears on their cheeks; some held the hands of children. Shallan had not noticed the children before, but was not surprised to see them. Caravan workers would spend their lives traveling, and their families would travel with them.
Shallan stopped just beyond the caravaneers, mostly hidden in the darkness. The deserters didn’t seem to know how to react, surrounded by that constellation of thankful eyes and tearful appreciation. Finally, they burned the prayer. Shallan bowed her head as they did, as did most of those watching.
She left them standing taller, watching the ashes of that prayer rise toward the Almighty.
Stormform is said to cause
A tempest of winds and showers,
Beware its powers, beware its powers.
Though its coming brings the gods their night,
It obliges a bloodred spren.
Beware its end, beware its end.
—From the Listener Song of Winds, 4th stanza
Kaladin watched the window shutters. Motion came in bursts.
First stillness. Yes, he could hear a distant howling, the wind passing through some hollow, but nothing nearby.
A tremble. Then wood rattling wickedly in its frame. Violent shaking, with water seeping in at the joints. Something was out there, in the dark chaos of the highstorm. It thrashed and pounded at the window, wanting in.
Light flashed out there, glistening through the drops of water. Another flash.
Then the light stayed. Steady, like glowing spheres, just outside. Faintly red. For some reason he couldn’t explain, Kaladin had the impression of eyes.
Transfixed, he raised his hand toward the latch, to open it and see.
“Someone really needs to fix that loose shutter,” King Elhokar said, annoyed.
The light faded. The rattling stopped. Kaladin blinked, lowering his hand.
“Someone remind me to ask Nakal to see to it,” Elhokar said, pacing