Inside, the smell was so foul, he had to breathe through his mouth. The body of a single guard had been left in a pool of blood between cells. Szeth almost tripped over it—there was no light in the place, save for a few sphere lamps in the guard post.
I see, he thought, kneeling beside the fallen man. Yes. This test was indeed a curious one.
Outside, he noted some of the squires returning to the town with corpses in tow, though none of the other hopefuls seemed to have found anyone. Szeth picked his way carefully down the rocky slope to the town, careful not to drag the sword. Whatever Nin’s reasons for entrusting him with the weapon, it was a holy object.
At the town, he approached the beefy nobleman, who was trying to make small talk with Master Ki—failing spectacularly. Nearby, other members of the town were debating the ethics of simply executing murderers, or holding them and risking this. Szeth inspected the dead convicts, and found them as dirty as the one he had fought, though two weren’t nearly as emaciated.
There was a prison economy, Szeth thought. Food went to those in power while others were starved.
“You,” Szeth said to the nobleman. “I found only one body above. Did you really have a single guard posted to watch all these prisoners?”
The nobleman sneered at him. “A Shin stonewalker? Who are you to question me? Go back to your stupid grass and dead trees, little man.”
“The prisoners were free to create their own hierarchy,” Szeth continued. “And nobody watched to see they didn’t make weapons, as I faced one with a knife. These men were mistreated, locked in darkness, not given enough food.”
“They were criminals. Murderers.”
“And what happened to the money you were sent to administrate this facility? It certainly didn’t go toward proper security.”
“I don’t have to listen to this!”
Szeth turned from him to Ki. “Do you have a writ of execution for this man?”
“It is the first we obtained.”
“What?” the nobleman said. Fearspren boiled up around him.
Szeth undid the clasp on the sword and drew it.
A rushing sound, like a thousand screams.
A wave of power, like the beating of a terrible, stunning wind.
Colors changed around him. They deepened, growing darker and more vibrant. The city nobleman’s cloak became a stunning array of deep oranges and blood reds.
The hair on Szeth’s arms stood on end and his skin spiked with a sudden incredible pain.
DESTROY!
Liquid darkness flowed from the Blade, then melted to smoke as it fell. Szeth screamed at the pain in his arm even as he slammed the weapon through the chest of the blubbering nobleman.
Flesh and blood puffed instantly into black smoke. Ordinary Shardblades burned only the eyes, but this sword somehow consumed the entire body. It seemed to sear away even the man’s soul.
EVIL!
Veins of black liquid crept up Szeth’s hand and arm. He gaped at them, then gasped and rammed the sword back into its silvery sheath.
He fell to his knees, dropping the sword and raising his hand, fingers bent and tendons taut. Slowly, the blackness evaporated from his flesh, the awful pain easing. The skin of his hand, which had already been pale, had been bleached to grey-white.
The sword’s voice sank to a deep muttering in his mind, its words slurring. It struck him as sounding like the voice of a beast falling into a stupor after having gorged itself. Szeth breathed deeply. Fumbling at his pouch, he saw that several spheres inside were completely drained. I will need far more Stormlight if I’m to ever try that again.
The surrounding townspeople, squires, and even master Skybreakers regarded him with uniform horror. Szeth picked up the sword and struggled to his feet, before fastening the sword’s clasp. Holding the sheathed weapon in both hands, he bowed to Ki. “I have dealt,” he said, “with the worst of the criminals.”
“You have done well,” she said slowly, glancing at where the nobleman had stood. There wasn’t even a stain on the stones. “We will wait and make certain the other criminals have been killed or captured.”
“Wise,” Szeth said. “Could I … beg something to drink? I suddenly find myself very thirsty.”
* * *
By the time all the escapees had been accounted for, the sword was stirring again. It had never fallen asleep, if a sword could do such a thing. Rather, it had mumbled in his mind until it slowly became lucid.
Hey! the sword said as Szeth sat on a low wall alongside the city. Hey, did you draw me?
“I did, sword-nimi.”
Great job! Did we … did we destroy lots of evil?
“A great and corrupt evil.”
Wow! I’m impressed. You know, Vivenna never drew me even once? She carried me for a long time too. Maybe a couple of days even?
“And how long have I been carrying you?”
At least an hour, the sword said, satisfied. One, or two, or ten thousand. Something like that.
Ki approached, and he returned her water canteen. “Thank you, Master Ki.”
“I have decided to take you as my squire, Szeth-son-Neturo,” she said. “In all honesty, there was an argument among us over who would have the privilege.”
He bowed his head. “I may swear the Second Ideal?”
“You may. Justice will serve you until you attract a spren and swear to a more specific code. During my prayers last night, Winnow proclaimed the highspren are watching you. I won’t be surprised if it takes mere months before you achieve the Third Ideal.”
Months. No, he would not take months. But he did not swear quite yet. Instead, he nodded toward the prison. “Pardon, master, a question. You knew this breakout would happen, didn’t you?”
“We suspected. One of our teams investigated this man and discovered how he was using his funds. When the call came, we were not surprised. It provided a perfect testing opportunity.”
“Why not deal with him earlier?”
“You must understand our purpose and our place, a fine point difficult for many squires to grasp. That man had not yet broken a law. His duty was to imprison the convicts, which he had done. He was allowed to judge if his methods were satisfactory or not. Only once he failed, and his charges had escaped, could we mete out justice.”
Szeth nodded. “I swear to seek justice, to let it guide me, until I find a more perfect Ideal.”
“These Words are accepted,” Ki said. She removed a glowing emerald sphere from her pouch. “Take your place above, squire.”
Szeth regarded the sphere, then—trembling—breathed in the Stormlight. It returned to him in a rush.
The skies were his once again.
Taxil mentions Yelig-nar, named Blightwind, in an oft-cited quote. Though Jasnah Kholin has famously called its accuracy into question, I believe it.
—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 26
When Adolin woke up, he was still in the nightmare.
The dark sky, glass ground, the strange creatures. He had a crick in his neck and a pain in his back; he’d never mastered the “sleep anywhere” skill the grunts bragged about.
Father could have slept on the ground, a part of him thought. Dalinar is a true soldier.
Adolin thought again of the jolt he’d felt when ramming his dagger through Sadeas’s eye and into his brain. Satisfaction and shame. Strip away Adolin’s nobility, and what was left? A duelist when a world needed generals? A hothead who couldn’t even take an insult?