Szeth-son-Honor tried to slouch.

Dalinar said that slouching a little would help him imitate an ordinary soldier on a boring guard duty. Dalinar said Szeth prowled when he walked, and was too intense when standing at watch. Like a fire burning high when it should be smoldering.

How did one stop being intense? Szeth tried to understand this as he forced himself to lean against a tree, folding his arms as Dalinar had suggested. In front of him, the Blackthorn played with his grandnephew, the child of Elhokar. Szeth carefully checked the perimeter of the small clearing. Watching for shadows. Or for people suspiciously lingering in the nearby camp—visible through the trees.

He saw nothing, which troubled him. But he tried to relax anyway.

The cloudy sky and muggy weather today were reminiscent of the coast of Shinovar, where Szeth’s father had worked as a shepherd in his youth. With this thick grass, Szeth could almost imagine he was home. Near the beautiful white cliffs, listening to lambs bleat as he carried water.

He heard his father’s gentle words. The best and truest duty of a person is to add to the world. To create, and not destroy.

But no. Szeth was not home. He was standing on profane stone in a forest clearing outside a small town in Emul. Dalinar knelt down, showing Gavinor—a child not yet five—how to hold his practice sword.

It had been a few minutes, so Szeth left the tree and made a circuit of the clearing, inspecting a few suspicious bundles of vines. “Do you see anything dangerous, sword-nimi?” he asked softly.

Nope, the sword said. I think you should draw me. I can see better when I’m drawn.

“When you are drawn, sword-nimi, you attempt to drain my life.”

Nonsense. I like you. I wouldn’t try to kill you.

The weapon projected its pleasant voice into Szeth’s mind. Dalinar didn’t like the sensation, so the sword now spoke only to Szeth.

“I see nothing dangerous,” Szeth said, returning to his place beside the tree, then tried to at least appear relaxed. It was difficult, requiring vigilance and dedication, but he did not want to be chastised by Dalinar again.

That’s good, right? Nothing dangerous?

“No, sword-nimi,” Szeth said. “It is not good. It is concerning. Dalinar has so many enemies; they will be sending assassins, spies. If I do not see them, perhaps I am too lax or too unskilled.”

Or maybe they aren’t here to find, the sword said. Vasher was always paranoid too. And he could sense if people were near. I told him to stop worrying so much. Like you. Worry, worry, worry.

“I have been given a duty,” Szeth said. “I will do it well.”

Dalinar laughed as the young boy held his toy sword high and proclaimed himself a Windrunner. The child had been through a horrifying experience back in Kholinar, and he was quiet much of the time. Haunted. He’d been tortured by Voidspren, manipulated by the Unmade, neglected by his mother. Though Szeth’s sufferings had been different, he couldn’t help but feel a kinship with the child.

Dalinar clearly enjoyed seeing the child become more expressive and enthusiastic as they played. Szeth was reminded again of his own childhood spent playing with the sheep. A simple time, before his family had been given to the Honorblades. Before his gentle father had been taught to kill. To subtract.

His father was still alive, in Shinovar. Bearer of a different sword, a different burden. Szeth’s entire family was there. His sister, his mother. It had been long since he’d considered them. He let himself do so now because he’d decided he wasn’t Truthless. Before, he hadn’t wanted to sully their images with his mind.

Time to make another round of the clearing. The child’s laughter grew louder, but Szeth found it painful to hear. He winced as the boy jumped up on a rock, then leaped for his granduncle to catch him. And Szeth … if Szeth moved too quickly, he could catch sight of his own frail soul, attached incorrectly to his body, trailing his motions like a glowing afterimage.

Why do you hurt? the sword asked.

“I am afraid for the child,” Szeth whispered. “He begins to laugh happily. That will eventually be stolen from him again.”

I like to try to understand laughter, the sword said. I think I can feel it. Happy. Ha! HA! Vivenna always liked my jokes. Even the bad ones.

“The boy’s laughter frightens me,” Szeth said. “Because I am near. And I am … not well.”

He should not guard this child, but he could not bring himself to tell Dalinar, for fear the Blackthorn would send him away. Szeth had found purpose here in following an Ideal. In trusting Dalinar Kholin. He could not afford to have that Ideal shaken. He could not.

Except … Dalinar spoke uncertainly sometimes. Concerned that he wasn’t doing the right thing. Szeth wished he didn’t hear Dalinar’s weakness, his worries. The Blackthorn needed to be a moral rock, unshakable, always certain.

Dalinar was better than most. He was confident. Most of the time. Szeth had only ever met one man more confident than Dalinar in his own morality. Taravangian. The tyrant. The destroyer. The man who had followed Szeth here to this remote part of the world. Szeth was certain that, when he’d been visiting Taravangian with Dalinar the other day, the old man had seen through his illusory disguise.

The man would not let go. Szeth could feel him … feel him … plotting.

When Szeth returned to his tree, the air split, showing a blackness speckled faintly with stars beyond. Szeth immediately set down his sword by the trunk of the tree.

“Watch,” he said, “and shout for me if danger comes.”

Oh! All right! the sword said. I can do that. Yes, I can. You might want to leave me drawn though. You know, so that if someone bad comes along, I can really get ’em.

Szeth walked around the rear of the tree, following the rift in the air. It was as if someone had pried back the fabric of reality, like splitting skin to look at the flesh underneath.

He knelt before the highspren.

“You do well, my acolyte,” the spren said, its tone formal. “You are vigilant and dedicated.”

“I am,” Szeth said.

“We need to discuss your crusade. You are a year into your current oath, and I am pleased and impressed with your dedication. You are among the most vigilant and worthy of men. I would have you earn your Plate. You still wish to cleanse your homeland?”

Szeth nodded. Behind, Dalinar laughed. He didn’t seem to have noticed Szeth’s momentary departure.

“Tell me more of this proposed crusade,” the highspren said. It had not blessed Szeth with its name, though Szeth was its bonded Radiant.

“Long ago, my people rejected my warnings,” Szeth said. “They did not believe me when I said the enemy would soon return. They cast me out, deemed me Truthless.”

“I find inconsistencies to the stories you tell of those days, Szeth,” the highspren said. “I fear that your memory, like those of many mortals, is incomplete or corrupted by the passage of time. I will accompany you on your crusade to judge the truth.”

“Thank you,” Szeth said softly.

“You may need to fight and destroy those who have broken their own laws. Can you do this?”

“I … would need to ask Dalinar. He is my Ideal.”

“If you progress as a Skybreaker,” the highspren said, “you will need to become the law. To reach your ultimate potential, you must know the truth yourself, rather than relying on the crutch presented by the Third Ideal. Be aware of this.”

“I will.”

“Continue your duty for now. But remember, the time will soon come when you must abandon it for something greater.”

Szeth stood as the spren made itself invisible again. It was always nearby, watching and judging his worthiness. He entered the clearing and found Dalinar chatting quietly with a woman in a messenger uniform.

Immediately Szeth came alert, seizing the sword and striding over to stand behind Dalinar, prepared to protect him.

I hope it’s all right that I didn’t call for you! the sword said. I could sense her, although I couldn’t see her, and she seemed to be not evil. Even if she didn’t come over to pick me up. Isn’t that rude? But rude people can be not evil, right?

Szeth watched the woman carefully. If someone wanted to kill Dalinar, they’d surely send an assassin who seemed innocent.

“I’m not sure about some of the things on this list,” she was saying. “A pen and paper? For a man?”

“Taravangian has long since abandoned the pretense of being unable to read,” Dalinar said.

“Then paper will let him plot against us.”

“Perhaps,” Dalinar said. “It could also simply be a mercy, giving him the companionship of words. Fulfill that request. What else?”

“He wishes to be given fresh food more often,” she said. “And more light.”

“I asked for the light already,” Dalinar said. “Why hasn’t the order been fulfilled?”

Szeth watched keenly. Taravangian was making demands? They should give him nothing. He was dangerous. He …

Szeth froze as the little boy, Gavinor, stepped up to him. He raised a wooden sword hilt-first toward Szeth. The boy should fear him, yet instead he smiled and waggled the sword.

Szeth took it, hesitant.

“The stone is the oddest request,” the messenger woman said. “Why would he have need of a perfectly round, smooth stone? And why would he specify one with a vein of quartz?”

Szeth’s heart nearly stopped. A round stone. With quartz inclusions?

“An odd request indeed,” Dalinar said, thoughtful. “Ask him why he wants this before fulfilling the request.”

A round stone.

With quartz inclusions.

An Oathstone.

For years, Szeth had obeyed the law of the Oathstone. The centuries-old tradition among his people dictated the way to treat someone who was Truthless. An object, no longer a man. Something to own.

Taravangian wanted an Oathstone. Why?

WHY?

As the messenger trotted away, Dalinar asked if Szeth would like to join sword practice, but he could barely mumble an excuse. Szeth returned to his spot by the tree, clutching the little wooden sword.

He had to know what Taravangian was planning.

He had to stop the man. Before he killed Dalinar.