It sounded . . . like a challenge. Could Dalinar interpret thunder now?
This was a dangerous gambit. He confronted something primal, something unknowable. Something that had actively tried to murder him and his entire army.
“Fortunately,” Dalinar said, “I know the second oath I am to make. I don’t need to be told it. I will unite instead of divide, Stormfather. I will bring men together.”
The thunder silenced. Dalinar stood alone, staring at the sky, waiting.
VERY WELL, the Stormfather finally said. THESE WORDS ARE ACCEPTED.
Dalinar smiled.
I WILL NOT BE A SIMPLE SWORD TO YOU, the Stormfather warned. I WILL NOT COME AS YOU CALL, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO DIVEST YOURSELF OF THAT . . . MONSTROSITY THAT YOU CARRY. YOU WILL BE A RADIANT WITH NO SHARDS.
“It will be what it must,” Dalinar said, summoning his Shardblade. As soon as it appeared, screams sounded in his head. He dropped the weapon as if it were an eel that had snapped at him. The screams vanished immediately.
The Blade clanged to the ground. Unbonding a Shardblade was supposed to be a difficult process, requiring concentration and touching its stone. Yet this one was severed from him in an instant. He could feel it.
“What was the meaning of the last vision I received?” Dalinar said. “The one this morning, that came with no highstorm.”
NO VISION WAS SENT THIS MORNING.
“Yes it was. I saw light and warmth.”
A SIMPLE DREAM. NOT OF ME, NOR OF GODS.
Curious. Dalinar could have sworn it felt the same way as the visions, if not stronger.
GO, BONDSMITH, the Stormfather said. LEAD YOUR DYING PEOPLE TO FAILURE. ODIUM DESTROYED THE ALMIGHTY HIMSELF. YOU ARE NOTHING TO HIM.
“The Almighty could die,” Dalinar said. “If that is true, then this Odium can be killed. I will find a way to do it. The visions mentioned a challenge, a champion. Do you know anything of this?”
The sky gave no reply beyond a simple rumble. Well, there would be time for more questions later.
Dalinar walked down off the top of Urithiru and entered the stairwell again. The flight of steps opened into a room that encompassed nearly the entire top floor of the tower city, and it shone with light through glass windows. Glass with no shutters or support, some of it facing east. How it survived highstorms Dalinar did not know, though lines of crem did streak it in places.
Ten short pillars ringed this room, with another at the center. “Well?” Kaladin asked, turning away from an inspection of one of them. Shallan rounded another; she looked far less ragged than she had when they’d first come to the city. Though their days here in Urithiru had been frantic, some good nights’ sleep had served them all quite well.
In response to the question, Dalinar took a sphere from his pocket and held it up. Then he sucked in the Stormlight.
He knew to expect the feeling of a storm raging inside, as both Kaladin and Shallan had described it to him. It urged him to act, to move, to not stand still. It did not, however, feel like the Thrill of battle—which was what he had anticipated.
He felt his wounds healing in a familiar way. He’d done this before, he sensed. On the battlefield earlier? His arm felt fine now, and the cut on his side barely ached anymore.
“It’s horribly unfair you managed that on your first try,” Kaladin noted. “It took me forever.”
“I had instruction,” Dalinar said, walking into the room and tucking the sphere away. “The Stormfather called me Bondsmith.”
“It was the name of one of the orders,” Shallan said, resting her fingers on one of the pillars. “That makes three of us. Windrunner, Bondsmith, Lightweaver.”
“Four,” a voice said from the shadows of the stairwell. Renarin stepped up into the lit room. He looked at them, then shrank back.
“Son?” Dalinar asked.
Renarin remained in the darkness, looking down.
“No spectacles . . .” Dalinar whispered. “You stopped wearing them. I thought you were trying to look like a warrior, but no. Stormlight healed your eyes.”
Renarin nodded.
“And the Shardblade,” Dalinar said, stepping over and taking his son by the shoulder. “You hear screams. That’s what happened to you in the arena. You couldn’t fight because of those shouts in your head from summoning the Blade. Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought it was me,” Renarin whispered. “My mind. But Glys, he says . . .” Renarin blinked. “Truthwatcher.”
“Truthwatcher?” Kaladin said, glancing at Shallan. She shook her head. “I walk the winds. She weaves light. Brightlord