I am not convinced any of the gods can be destroyed, so perhaps I misspoke. They can change state however, like a spren—or like the various Lights. This is what we seek.
—From Rhythm of War, page 21 undertext
Dalinar touched his finger to the young soldier’s forehead, then closed his eyes and concentrated.
He could see something extending from the soldier, radiating into the darkness. Pure white lines, thin as a hair. Some moved, though one end remained affixed to the central point: the place where Dalinar’s finger touched the soldier’s skin.
“I see them,” he whispered. “Finally.”
The Stormfather rumbled in the back of his mind. I was not certain it could be done, he said. The power of Bondsmiths was tempered by Honor, for the good of all. Ever since the destruction of Ashyn.
“How did you know about this ability?” Dalinar said, eyes still closed.
I heard it described before I fully lived. Melishi saw these lines.
“The last Bondsmith,” Dalinar said. “Before the Recreance.”
The same. Honor was dying, possibly mad.
“What can I do with these?” Dalinar asked.
I don’t know. You see the Connections all people have: to others, to spren, to time and reality itself. Everything is Connected, Dalinar, by a vast web of interactions, passions, thoughts, fates.
The more Dalinar watched the quivering white lines, the more details he could pick out. Some were brighter than others, for example. He reached out and tried to touch one, but his fingers went through it.
Spren have these too, the Stormfather said. And the bond that makes Radiants is similar, but far stronger. I don’t think these little ones are particularly useful.
“Surely these mean something,” Dalinar said.
Yes, the Stormfather said. But that doesn’t mean they can be exploited. I heard Melishi say something once. Imagine you had two pieces of cloth, one red, one yellow. Before you and your brother parted, you each reached into a bag and selected one—but kept it hidden, putting it away in a box, unseen.
You parted, traveling to distant quarters of the land. Then, by agreement, let us say that on the same day at the same time you each opened your box and took out your cloth. Upon finding the red one, you’d instantly know your brother had found the yellow one. You shared something, that bond of knowledge—the Connection exists, but isn’t something that can necessarily be exploited. At least not by most people. A Bondsmith though …
Dalinar removed his finger and opened his eyes, then thanked the young soldier—who seemed nervous as he returned to his place near the front of the building, joining the still-disguised Szeth. Dalinar checked his arm fabrial. Jasnah and the others should be returning from the front lines soon. The battle won, the celebrations completed. All without Dalinar.
It felt so strange. Here he was, worried about Navani and the tower—but unable to do anything until he had more information. Worried about Adolin off in Shadesmar—separated from him, like the two brothers in the Stormfather’s story. Shared destinies, shared fates, yet Dalinar felt powerless to help either his son or his wife.
You do have a part in this, he told himself firmly. A duty. Master these powers. Best Odium. Think on a scale bigger than one battle, or even one war. It was difficult, with how slowly his skills seemed to be progressing. So much time wasted. Was this what Jasnah had experienced all those years, chasing secrets when nobody else had believed her?
He had another duty today, in addition to his practice. He’d been putting it off, but he knew he should delay no longer. So, he collected Szeth and walked through the camp, turning his path toward the prison.
He needed to talk to Taravangian in person.
The building that housed the former king was not a true prison. They hadn’t planned for one of those in the temporary warcamp here in Emul. A stockade, yes. But military discipline was by necessity quick. Anything demanding more than a week or two in confinement usually resulted in a discharge or—for more serious infractions—an execution.
Taravangian required something more permanent and more delicate. So they’d blocked off the windows on a sturdy home, reinforced the door, and set guards from among Dalinar’s best soldiers. As Dalinar approached, he noted how the upper-floor windows were now filled with stark crem bricks, mortared into place. It had felt wrong to give Taravangian a home instead of a cell—but seeing those windows, it also felt wrong to leave him without sunlight.
Dalinar nodded to the salutes at the door, then waited for the guards to undo the locks and pull the door open for him. Nobody worried about his safety or made a comment about his single guard. They all thought the precautions were to prevent Taravangian from being rescued, and would never have wondered whether the Blackthorn could handle himself against an elderly statesman.
They didn’t have any inkling, even now, how dangerous Taravangian was. He sat on a stool near the far wall of the main room. He’d put a ruby into the corner and was staring at it. He turned when Dalinar entered, and actually smiled. Storming man.
Dalinar waved for Szeth to remain right inside the door as the guards closed and locked it behind them. Then Dalinar approached the corner, wary. He’d charged into many a battle with less trepidation than he now felt.
“I had wondered if you would come,” Taravangian said. “It has been nearly two weeks since my betrayal.”
“I wanted to be certain I wasn’t somehow being manipulated,” Dalinar said, honestly. “So I waited until certain tasks were accomplished before coming to you, and risking letting you influence me.”
Though, deep down, Dalinar admitted that was mostly an excuse. Seeing this man was painful. Perhaps he should have let Jasnah interrogate Taravangian, as she’d suggested. But that seemed the coward’s route.
“Ah, certain tasks are accomplished, then?” the old man asked. “By now you’ve surely recovered from the betrayal of the Veden armies. You’ve clashed with Odium’s forces in Emul? I warned Odium that we should have moved earlier, but he was adamant, you see. This was the way he wanted it to happen.”
The frankness of it felt like a boot directly to Dalinar’s gut. He steeled himself. “That stool is too uncomfortable for a man of your years. You should be given a chair. I thought they’d left the building furnished. Do you have a bed? And surely they gave you more than a single sphere for light.”
“Dalinar, Dalinar,” Taravangian whispered. “If you wish me to have comfort, don’t ask after the chair or the light. Answer my questions and talk to me. I need that more than—”
“Why?” Dalinar interrupted. He held Taravangian’s gaze, and was shocked at how much asking the question hurt. He’d known the betrayal was coming. He’d known what this man was. Nevertheless, the words were agonizing as they slipped from his lips again. “Why? Why did you do it?”
“Because, Dalinar, you’re going to lose. I’m sorry, my friend. It is unavoidable.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Yet I do.” He sagged in his seat, turning toward the corner and the glowing sphere. “Such a poor imitation of our comfortable sitting room in Urithiru. Even that was a poor imitation of a real hearth, crackling with true flames, alive and beautiful. An imitation of an imitation.
“That’s what we are, Dalinar. A painting made from another painting of something great. Perhaps the ancient Radiants could have won this fight, when Honor lived. They didn’t. They barely survived. Now we face a god. Alone. There is no victory awaiting us.”
Dalinar felt … cold. Not shocked. Not surprised. He supposed he could have figured out Taravangian’s reasoning; they’d talked often about what it meant to be a king. The discussions had grown more intense, more meaningful, once Dalinar had realized what Taravangian had done to acquire the throne of Jah Keved. Once he’d known that—instead of chatting with a kindly old man with strange ideals—he had been talking to another murderer. A man like Dalinar himself.
Now he felt disappointed. Because in the end, Taravangian had let that side of him rule. No longer on the edge. His friend—yes, they were friends—had stepped off the cliff.
“We can defeat him, Taravangian,” Dalinar said. “You are not nearly so smart as you think.”
“I agree. I was once, though.” He clarified, perhaps noticing Dalinar’s confusion. “I visited the Old Magic, Dalinar. I saw her. Not just the Nightwatcher, I suspect, but the other one. The one you saw.”
“Cultivation,” he said. “There is one who can face Odium. There were three gods.”
“She won’t fight him,” Taravangian said. “She knows. How do you think I found out we’d lose?”
“She told you that?” Dalinar strode forward, squatting down beside Taravangian, coming to eye level with the aged man. “She said Odium would win?”
“I asked her for the capacity to stop what was coming,” Taravangian said. “And she made me brilliant, Dalinar. Transcendently brilliant, but just once. For a day. I vary, you know. Some days I’m smart, but my emotions seem stunted—I don’t feel anything but annoyance. Other days I’m stupid, but the tiniest bit of sentimentality sends me into tears. Most days I’m like I am today. Some shade of average.
“Only one day of brilliance. One single day. I’ve often wished I’d get another, but I guess that was all that Cultivation wanted me to have. She wanted me to see for myself. There was no way to save Roshar.”
“You saw no possible out?” Dalinar said. “Tell me honestly. Was there absolutely no way to win?”
Taravangian fell silent.
“Nobody can see the future perfectly,” Dalinar said. “Not even Odium. I find it impossible to believe that you, no matter how smart, could have been absolutely certain there was no path to victory.”
“Let’s say you were in my place,” Taravangian said. “You saw a shadow of the future, the best anyone has ever seen it. Better, in fact, than any mortal could achieve. And you saw a path to saving Alethkar—everyone you love, everything you know. You saw a very plausible, very reasonable opportunity to accomplish this goal.
“But you also saw that to do more—to save the world itself—you would have to rely on such wild bets as to be ludicrous. And if you failed at those very, very, very long odds, you’d lose everything. Tell me honestly, Dalinar. Would you not consider doing what I did, taking the rational choice of saving the few?” Taravangian’s eyes glistened. “Isn’t that the way of the soldier? Accept your losses, and do what you can?”
“So you sold us out? You helped hasten our destruction?”
“For a price, Dalinar,” Taravangian said, staring again at the ruby that was the room’s hearth. “I did preserve Kharbranth. I tried, I promise you, to protect more. But it is as the Radiants say. Life before death. I saved the lives of as many as I could—”
“Don’t use that phrase,” Dalinar said. “Don’t sully it, Taravangian, with your crass justifications.”
“Still standing on your high tower, Dalinar?” Taravangian asked. “Proud of how far you can see, when you won’t look past your own feet? Yes, you’re very noble. How wonderful you are, fighting until the end, dragging every human to death with you. They can all die knowing you never compromised.”
“I made an oath,” Dalinar said, “to protect the people of Alethkar. It was my oath as a highprince. After that, a greater oath—the oath of a Radiant.”
“And is that how you protected the Alethi years ago, Dalinar? When you burned them alive in their cities?”
Dalinar drew in a sharp breath, but refused to rise to that barb. “I’m not that man any longer. I changed. I take the next step, Taravangian.”
“I suppose that is true, and my statement was a useless gibe. I wish you were that man who would burn one city to preserve the kingdom. I could work with that man, Dalinar. Make him see.”
“See that I should turn traitor?”
“Yes. As you live now, protecting people isn’t your true ideal. If that were the case, you’d surrender. No, your true ideal is never giving up. No matter the cost. You realize the pride in that sentiment?”
“I refuse to accept that we’ve lost,” Dalinar said. “That’s the problem with your worldview, Taravangian. You gave up before the battle started. You think you’re smart enough to know the future, but I repeat: Nobody knows for certain what will happen.”
Strangely, the older man nodded. “Yes, yes perhaps. I could be wrong. That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, Dalinar? I’d die happy, knowing I was wrong.”
“Would you?” Dalinar said.
Taravangian considered. Then he turned abruptly—a motion that caused Szeth to jump, stepping forward, hand on his sword. Taravangian, however, was just turning to point at a nearby stool for Dalinar to sit.
Taravangian glanced at Szeth briefly and hesitated. Dalinar thought he caught a narrowing of the man’s eyes. Damnation. He’d figured it out.
The moment was over in a second. “That stool,” Taravangian said, pointing again. “I carried it down from upstairs. In case you visited. Would you join me here, sitting as we once did? For old times’ sake?”
Dalinar frowned. He didn’t want to take the seat out of principle, but that was prideful. He would sit with this man one last time. Taravangian was one of the few people who truly understood what it felt like to make the choices that Dalinar had. Dalinar pulled over the stool and settled down.
“I would die happily,” Taravangian said, “if I could see that I was wrong. If you won.”
“I don’t think you would. I don’t think you could stand not being the one who saved us.”
“How little you know me, despite it all.”
“You didn’t come to me, or any of us,” Dalinar said. “You say you were extremely smart? You figured out what was going to happen? What was your response? It wasn’t to form a coalition; it wasn’t to refound the Radiants. It was to send out an assassin, then seize the throne of Jah Keved.”
“So I would be in a position to negotiate with Odium.”
“That argument is crem, Taravangian. You didn’t need to murder people—you didn’t need to be king of Jah Keved—to accomplish any of this. You wanted to be an emperor. You made a play for Alethkar too. You sent Szeth to kill me, instead of talking to me.”
“Pardon, Blackthorn, but please remember the man you were when I began this. He would not have listened to me.”
“You’re so smart you can predict who will win a war before it begins, but you couldn’t see that I was changing? You couldn’t see that I’d be more valuable as an ally than as a corpse?”
“I thought you would fall, Dalinar. I predicted you would join Odium, if left alive. Either that or you would fight my every step. Odium thought the same.”
“And you were both wrong,” Dalinar said. “So your grand plan, your masterful ‘vision’ of the future was simply wrong.”
“I … I…” Taravangian rubbed his brow. “I don’t have the intelligence right now to explain it to you. Odium will arrange things so that no matter what choice you make, he will win. Knowing that, I made the difficult decision to save at least one city.”
“I think you saw a chance to be an emperor, and you took it,” Dalinar said. “You wanted power, Taravangian—so you could give it up. You wanted to be the glorious king who sacrificed himself to protect everyone else. You have always seen yourself as the man who must bear the burden of leading.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Because you like it.”
“If so, why did I let go? Why am I captured here?”
“Because you want to be known as the one who saved us.”
“No,” Taravangian said. “It’s because I knew my friends and family could escape if I let you take me. I knew that your wrath would come upon me, not Kharbranth. And as I’m sure you’ve discovered, those who knew what I was doing are no longer involved in the city’s government. If you were to attack Kharbranth, you would attack innocents.”
“I’d never do that.”
“Because you have me. Admit it.”
Storm him, it was true—and it made Dalinar angry enough to draw a single boiling angerspren at his feet. He had no interest in retribution against Kharbranth. They, like the Vedens—like Dalinar himself—had all been pawns in Taravangian’s schemes.
“I know it is difficult to accept,” Taravangian said. “But my goal has never been power. It has always only been about saving whomever I could save.”
“I can’t debate that, as I don’t know your heart, Taravangian,” Dalinar said. “So instead I’ll tell you something I know for certain. It could have gone differently. You could have truly joined with us. Storms … I can imagine a world where you said the oaths. I imagine you as a better leader than I ever could have been. I feel like you were so close.”
“No, my friend,” Taravangian said. “A monarch cannot make such oaths and expect to be able to keep them. He must realize that a greater need might arise at any time.”
“If so, it’s impossible for a king to be a moral man.”
“Or perhaps you can be moral and still break oaths.”
“No,” Dalinar said. “No, oaths are part of what define morality, Taravangian. A good man must strive to accomplish the things he’s committed to do.”
“Spoken like a true son of Tanavast,” Taravangian said, clasping his hands. “And I believe you, Dalinar. I believe you think exactly what you say. You are a man of Honor, raised to it through a life of his religion—which you might be upending, but it retains its grip on your mind.
“I wish I could commend that. Perhaps there was another way out of this. Perhaps there was another solution. But it wouldn’t be found in your oaths, my friend. And it would not involve a coalition of noble leaders. It would involve the sort of business with which you were once so familiar.”
“No,” Dalinar said. “There is a just way to victory. The methods must match the ideal to be obtained.”
Taravangian nodded, as if this were the inevitable response. Dalinar sat back on his seat, and they sat in silence together for a time, watching the tiny ruby. He hated how this had gone, how the argument forced him into the most dogmatic version of his beliefs. He knew there was nuance in every position, yet …
Aligning his methods and his goals was at the very soul of what he’d learned. What he was trying to become. He had to believe there was a way to lead while still being moral.
He stared at that ruby, that glimmer of red light, reminiscent of an Everstorm’s lightning. Dalinar had come here expecting a fight, but was surprised to realize he felt more sorrow than he did anger. He felt Taravangian’s pain, his regret for what had occurred. What they had both lost.
Dalinar finally stood up. “You always said that to be a king was to accept pain.”
“To accept that you must do what others cannot,” Taravangian agreed. “To bear the agonies of the decisions you had to make, so that others may live pure lives. You should know that I have said my goodbyes and intentionally made myself worthless to Odium and my former compatriots. You will not be able to use my life to bargain with anyone.”
“Why tell me this?” Dalinar said. “You would make it worthless to keep you prisoner. Do you want to be executed?”
“I simply want to be clear with you,” Taravangian said. “There is no further reason for me to try to manipulate you, Dalinar. I have achieved what I wanted. You may kill me.”
“No, Taravangian,” Dalinar said. “You have lived your convictions, however misguided they may be. Now I’m going to live mine. And at the end, when I face Odium and win, you will be there. I’ll give you this gift.”
“The pain of knowing I was wrong?”
“You told me earlier that you wished to be proven wrong. If you’re sincere—and this was never about being right or about gaining power—then on that day we can embrace, knowing it is all over. Old friend.”
Taravangian looked at him, and there were tears in his eyes. “To that day, then,” he whispered. “And to that embrace.”
Dalinar nodded and withdrew, collecting Szeth at the door. He paused briefly to tell the guards to bring Taravangian some more light and a comfortable chair.
As they walked away, Szeth spoke from behind him. “Do not trust his lies. He pretends to be done plotting, but there is more to him. There is always more to that one.”
Dalinar glanced at the stoic bodyguard. Szeth so rarely offered opinions.
“I don’t trust him,” Dalinar said. “I can’t walk away from any conversation with that man, no matter how innocent, without going over and over what he said. That’s part of why I was so hesitant to go in there.”
“You are wise,” Szeth said, and seemed to consider the conversation finished.