I should liked to have seen her in battle. Solid and straight, but with that little impossibility missing from the center. Here, it was a symbol that this blade was something unnatural, impossible. That long hole in the center would be impossible-or at least highly impractical-for a normal sword. The blade was bifurcated, with a slit down the center. It had ornamentation like the others-this one focused on a large arrowhead design near the hilt-but went beyond that, even. The Stormfather’s opinion of him might be relevant to the transformation.
He needed to be seen as pious, and worthy, until he achieved his prize. It was just a vision, and these slivers of it were nothing to him, but he had to keep up appearances for the spren. He tossed the Herald’s blade aside, letting it clang against the stone-which made the Stormfather hiss in annoyance. But the actual reason to read learned was more important: being able to search for secrets without revealing what he was doing to the women in his life. If he had known how much fun the women were having with those commentaries, he’d have insisted on learning to read years before. It had been worth the effort to experience the undertext alone. Gavilar had the entire book memorized by now-he’d taught himself to read years ago, of course. “The right Words are somewhere in The Way of Kings?”Īs he’d suspected. “He knew them well, during a Return during his time, before their deaths.” Gavilar ripped it from the stone and swung it, enjoying the sound of it cutting the wind. How much could he have accomplished if the spren would work with him instead of against him? Each day, it seemed like Gavilar discovered something new, and the Stormfather claimed it was not the way things were supposed to go. The Stormfather, however, remained cagey about what he could do with these visions. By now, after dozens of times in this particular vision, he could name each and every blade and its associated Herald. He rounded the ring of Blades again, alone with them in the shadow of monolithic stones. Fortunately, he didn’t need to rely too much on guesswork. He had not achieved his current status-as the most powerful man in the world-without doing things others thought impossible. You will never arrive at them by random attempts, Gavilar. Those are not the Words, the Stormfather said. “I swear this oath: to serve Honor and the land of Roshar as its Herald. If they had been entirely truthful in their lives, the Stormfather said, then I would not be seeking their replacements. “And these,” he said, gesturing to the Blades. Many who name it such believed what they said. That depends, the Stormfather said in his mind, upon your definition of lies. When he became a Herald, would his Blade become like these, imbued with power and lore? “The end of the world. “They call it Aharietiam,” he said, trailing around the Blades, letting his fingers linger on each one. He’d been to enough death pyres to know that scent intimately, though he got the sense that in this battle, bodies hadn’t been burned after the fighting-but during it. The air smelled of burned flesh-a sickening, charred scent made all the more nauseating by the body’s hunger response to it. He walked in a circle around the nine Honorblades, driven point-first into the stone ground. He merely had to find the right Words to say. Gavilar Kholin was on the verge of immortality.
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