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After that, they left him to at last approach the small building he made his base. It felt like coming home. Of course, he’d lived enough of his life out on campaign that “home” had acquired a loose definition. Any place with a soft bed usually counted.
Urithiru really is safe now, Dalinar, the Stormfather said in his mind. I was so distracted by the dead spren that I didn’t notice at first. The Sibling has fully awakened. Another Bondsmith? The implications of this …
Dalinar was still trying to deal with those himself. Navani bonding a spren? That was wonderful, but he was so emotionally worn at the moment, he just wanted to sit and think. He pushed open the door to his house, stumbled through, and entered a vast golden field.
The ground shimmered as if infused with Stormlight. Dalinar pulled to a halt and turned around. The doorway was gone, the doorknob having vanished from his hand. The sky was a deep reddish orange, like a sunset.
He was in a vision. But he hadn’t heard the highstorm hit.
And … no. This wasn’t a highstorm vision. This was something else. He turned with trepidation, looking across the glimmering field to where a figure—clad in golden robes—stood on a nearby hilltop, facing away from Dalinar and staring out at the horizon.
Odium. Storms within, Dalinar thought, flagging. Not now. I can’t face him right now.
Well, a soldier couldn’t always pick his battlefield. This was the first time Odium had appeared to him in a year. Dalinar needed to use this.
He took a deep breath and pushed through his fatigue. He hiked up the hillside and eventually stopped beside the figure in gold. Odium held a small scepter like a cane, his hand resting on the ball at the top.
He appeared different from when Dalinar had last seen him. He still resembled a wise old man with a grey beard cut to medium length. A paternal air. Sagacious, knowing, understanding. Only now his skin was glowing in places, as if it had grown thin and a light inside was seeking to escape. The god’s eyes had gone completely golden, as if they were chunks of metal set into a statue’s face.
When Odium spoke, there was a harsh edge to his tone, his words clipped. Barely holding in his anger.
“Our Connection grows, Dalinar,” Odium said. “Stronger by the day. I can reach you now as if you were one of my own. You should be.”
“I will ever and always be my own,” Dalinar said.
“I know you went to see Ishar. What did he tell you?”
Dalinar clasped his hands behind him and used the old commander’s trick of remaining silent and staring in thought. Stiff back. Strong posture. Outwardly in control, even if you’re one step from collapsing.
“You were supposed to be my champion, Dalinar,” Odium said. “Now I see how you resisted me. You’ve been working with Ishar all along, haven’t you? Is that how you learned to bind the realms?”
“You find it inconvenient, don’t you?” Dalinar said. “That you cannot see my future. How does it feel to be human, Odium?”
“You think I fear humanity?” Odium said. “Humanity is mine, Dalinar. All emotions belong to me. This land, this realm, this people. They live for me. They always have. They always will.”
And yet you come to me, Dalinar thought. To berate me? You stayed away all these months. Why now?
The answer struck him like the light of a rising sun. Odium had lost the tower—Urithiru was safe and there was another Bondsmith. He’d failed again. And now he thought Dalinar had been working with Ishar.
Cultivation’s gift, though it had bled Dalinar, had given him the strength to defy Odium. All this time, he’d been asking what a god could possibly fear, but the answer was obvious. Odium feared men who would not obey him.
He feared Dalinar.
“Ishar told me some curious things this latest visit,” Dalinar said. “He gave me a book with secrets in it. He is not as mad as I feared, Odium. He showed me my Connection to you, and explained how limited you are. Then he proved to me that a Bondsmith unchained is capable of incredible feats.” He looked at the ancient being. “You are a god. You hold vast powers, yet they bind you as much as they free you. Tell me, what do you think of a human bearing the weight of a god’s powers, but without that god’s restrictions?”
“The power will bind you eventually, as it has me,” Odium said. “You don’t understand a fraction of the things you pretend to, Dalinar.”
Yet you’re afraid of me, Dalinar thought. Of the idea that I might fully come into my power. That you’re losing control of your plans.
Perhaps Dalinar’s errand to Tukar hadn’t been a failure. He hadn’t gained Ishar’s wisdom, but so long as Odium thought he had …
Bless you, Renarin, Dalinar thought. For making my life unpredictable to this being. For letting me bluff.
“We made an agreement,” Odium said. “A contest of champions. We never set terms.”
“I have terms,” Dalinar said. “On my desk. A single sheet of paper.”
Odium waved his hand and the words began appearing—written as if in glowing golden ink—in the sky before them. Enormous, intimidating.
“You didn’t write this,” Odium said, his eyes narrowing. “Nor did that Elsecaller.” The light grew more vibrant beneath Odium’s skin, and Dalinar could feel its heat—like that of a sun—rising. Making his skin burn.
Anger. Deep anger, white hot. It was consuming Odium. His control was slipping.
“Cephandrius,” Odium spat. “Ever the rat. No matter where I go, there he is, scratching in the wall. Burrowing into my strongholds. He could have been a god, yet he insists on living in the dirt.”
“Do you accept these terms?” Dalinar asked.
“By this, if my champion wins,” Odium said, “then Roshar is mine? Completely and utterly. And if yours wins, I withdraw for a millennium?”
“Yes. But what if you break your word? You’ve delayed longer than you should have. What if you refuse to send a champion?”
“I cannot break my word,” Odium said, the heat increasing. “I basically am incapable of it.”
“Basically?” Dalinar pressed. “What happens, Odium, if you break your word.”
“Then the contract is void, and I am in your power. Same, but reversed, if you break the contract. You would be in my power, and the restrictions Honor placed upon me—chaining me to the Rosharan system and preventing me from using my powers on most individuals—would be void. But that is not going to happen, and I am not going to break my word. Because if I did, it would create a hole in my soul—which would let Cultivation kill me.
“I am no fool, and you are a man of honor. We will both approach this contest in good faith, Dalinar. This isn’t some deal with a Voidbringer from your myths, where one tricks the other with some silly twist of language. A willing champion from each of us and a fight to the death. They will meet on the top of Urithiru. No tricks, no lies.”
“Very well,” Dalinar said. “But as the terms state, if your champion is defeated, it isn’t only you who must withdraw for a thousand years. The Fused must go with you, locked away again, as well as the spren that make Regals. No more forms of power. No more Voidspren.”
The light pulsed inside Odium and he turned his eyes back toward the horizon. “I … cannot agree to this.”
