“Storms, it’s haunting, isn’t it? I had to ride all this way with that, Your Majesty. Listening to him ranting in the back of the wagon half the time. Then feeling him stare at the back of my head the rest.”
“And Wit? You mentioned him.”
“Started on the trip with me, Your Majesty. But on the second day, he declared that he needed a rock.”
“A… rock.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. He hopped out of the wagon and found one, then, er, he hit himself on the head with it, Your Majesty. Did it three or four times. Came right back to the wagon with an odd grin, and said… um…”
“Yes?”
“Well, he said that he’d needed, uh, I had this remembered for you. He said, ‘I needed an objective frame of reference by which to judge the experience of your company. Somewhere between four and five blows, I place it.’ I don’t rightly understand what he meant, sir. I think he was mocking me.”
“Safe bet.”
Why didn’t they scream? That heat! Of death. Of death and the dead and the dead and their talking and not screaming of death except of the death that did not come.
“After that, Your Majesty, Wit just kind of, well, ran off. Into the hills. Like some storming Horneater.”
“Don’t try to understand Wit, Bordin. You’ll only cause yourself pain.”
“Yes, Brightlord.”
“I like this Wit.”
“We’re quite aware, Elhokar.”
“Honestly, Your Majesty, I preferred the madman for company.”
“Well of course you did. If people liked to be around Wit, he wouldn’t be much of a Wit, would he?”
They were on fire. The walls were on fire. The floor was on fire. Burning and the inside of a cannot where to be and then at all. Where?
A trip. Water? Wheels?
Fire. Yes, fire.
“Can you hear me, madman?”
“Elhokar, look at him. I doubt he understands.”
“I am Talenel’Elin, Herald of War.” Voice. He spoke it. He didn’t think it. The words came, like they always came.
“What was that? Speak louder, man.”
“The time of the Return, the Desolation, is near at hand. We must prepare. You will have forgotten much, following the destruction of the times past.”
“I can make out some of it, Elhokar. It’s Alethi. Northern accent. Not what I’d have expected from one with such dark skin.”
“Where did you get the Shardblade, madman? Tell me. Most Blades are accounted for through the generations, their lineage and history recorded. This one is completely unknown. From whom did you take it?”
“Kalak will teach you to cast bronze, if you have forgotten this. We will Soulcast blocks of metal directly for you. I wish we could teach you steel, but casting is so much easier than forging, and you must have something we can produce quickly. Your stone tools will not serve against what is to come.”
“He said something about bronze. And stone?”
“Vedel can train your surgeons, and Jezrien… he will teach you leadership. So much is lost between Returns…”
“The Shardblade! Where did you get it?”
“How did you separate it from him, Bordin?”
“We didn’t, Brightlord. He just dropped it.”
“And it didn’t vanish away? Not bonded, then. He couldn’t have had it for long. Were his eyes this color when you found him?”
“Yes, sir. A darkeyed man with a Shardblade. Odd sight, that.”
“I will train your soldiers. We should have time. Ishar keeps talking about a way to keep information from being lost following Desolations. And you have discovered something unexpected. We will use that. Surgebinders to act as guardians… Knights…”
“He’s said this all before, Your Majesty. When he mumbles, uh, he just keeps at it. Over and over. I don’t think he even knows what he’s saying. Eerie, how his expression doesn’t change as he talks.”
“That is an Alethi accent.”
“He looks like he’s been living in the wild for some time, with that long hair and those broken nails. Perhaps a villager lost their mad father.”
“And the Blade, Elhokar?”
“Surely you don’t think it’s his, Uncle.”
“The coming days will be difficult, but with training, humanity will survive. You must bring me to your leaders. The other Heralds should join us soon.”
“I am willing to consider anything, these days. Your Majesty, I suggest you send him to the ardents. Perhaps they can help his mind to recover.”
“What will you do with the Shardblade?”
“I’m certain we can find a good use for it. In fact, something occurs to me right now. I might have need of you, Bordin.”
“Whatever you need, Brightlord.”
“I think… I think I am late… this time…”
How long had it been?
How long had it been?
How long had it been?
How long had it been?
How long had it been?
How long had it been?
How long had it been?
Too long.
I-8. A Form of Power
They were waiting for Eshonai when she returned.
A gathering of thousands crowded the edge of the plateau just outside of Narak. Workers, nimbles, soldiers, and even some mates who had been drawn away from their hedonism by the prospect of something novel. A new form, a form of power?
Eshonai strode toward them, marveling at the energy. Tiny, almost invisible lines of red lightning flared from her hand if she made a fist quickly. Her marbled skin tone—mostly black, with a slight grain of red streaks—had not changed, but she’d lost the bulky armor of warform. Instead, small ridges peeked out through the skin of her arms, which was stretched tightly in places. She’d tested the new armor against stones and found it very durable.
She had hairstrands again. How long had it been since she’d felt those? More wondrous, she felt focused. No more worries about the fate of her people. She knew what to do.
Venli pushed to the front of the crowd as Eshonai reached the edge of the chasm. They looked across the void at one another, and Eshonai could see the question on her sister’s lips. It worked?
Eshonai leapt the chasm. She didn’t require the running start that warform used; she crouched down, then threw herself up and into the air. The wind seemed to writhe around her. She shot over the chasm and landed among her people, red lines of power running up her legs as she crouched, absorbing the impact of the landing.
People backed away. So clear. Everything was so clear.
“I have returned from the storms,” she said to Praise, which could also be used for true satisfaction. “I bring with me the future of two peoples. Our time of loss is at an end.”
“Eshonai?” It was Thude, wearing his long coat. “Eshonai, your eyes.”
“Yes?”
“They’re red.”
“They are a representation of what I’ve become.”
“But, in the songs—”
“Sister!” Eshonai called to Resolve. “Come look upon what you have wrought!”
Venli approached, timid at first. “Stormform,” she whispered to Awe. “It works, then? You can move in the storms without danger?”