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“The terms are simple,” Dalinar said. “If you—”
“I said I cannot agree,” Odium said. “The Everstorm has changed everything, and Cephandrius should have realized this. Singers can adopt Regal forms powered by the Everstorm. The Fused are free now; they can be reborn without my intervention. The Oathpact could have imprisoned them, but it is now defunct. I am literally unable to do as you ask, not without destroying myself in the process.”
“Then we cannot have an accommodation,” Dalinar said. “Because I’m certainly not going to agree to anything less.”
“And if I agreed to less?”
Dalinar frowned, uncertain, his mind muddled from fatigue. The creature was going to try to trick him. He was certain of it. So, he did what he thought best. He said nothing.
Odium chuckled softly, rotating his scepter beneath his hand so the butt ground against the golden stone at their feet. “Do you know why I make men fight, Dalinar? Why I created the Thrill? Why I encourage the wars?”
“To destroy us.”
“Why would I want to destroy you? I am your god, Dalinar.” Odium shook his head, staring into the infinite golden distance. “I need soldiers. For the true battle that is coming, not for one people or one miserable windswept continent. A battle of the gods. A battle for everything.
“Roshar is a training ground. The time will come that I unleash you upon the others who are not nearly as well trained. Not nearly as hardened as I have made you.”
“Curious,” Dalinar said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your ‘hardening’ tactic has resulted in Fused who are going mad from the stress.”
The light grew stronger inside Odium, seeming as if it might explode from his skin.
“If your champion wins, I will step away for a thousand years,” he said. “I will retreat to Braize, and I will no longer speak to, contact, or influence the Fused or Voidspren. But I cannot contain them. And you will have to pray that your descendants are as lucky as you are, as I will be less … lenient when I return.”
Dalinar started to speak, but Odium interrupted.
“Let me finish,” he said. “In exchange for you giving up one thing you wanted, I will give up one in turn. If I win, I will give up my grand plans for Roshar. I will leave this planet for a thousand years, and abandon all I’ve worked for here. I give you and the singers freedom to make your own peace. Freedom for you, and freedom for me.
“This is all I ask for my victory: As you represent Honor, you can relax his prohibitions on me. No matter what happens in the contest, you never have to worry about me again. All I want is away from this miserable system.”
Of course it wouldn’t be as easy as Wit had promised. Dalinar wavered. Wit looked out for himself, as he’d always said he would. The contract reinforced that idea. Odium offered a different, tempting prospect. To be rid of him, to fight this war as an ordinary war …
Two forces pulled at him. Which did he trust? He doubted that any mortal—Jasnah included—could construct a contract good enough to hold a god. But to simply give Wit what he desired?
Who do you trust more? Wit, or the god of anger?
It wasn’t really in question. He didn’t trust Wit much, but he didn’t trust Odium at all. Besides, if Honor had died to trap this god here on Roshar, Dalinar had to believe the Almighty had done so for good reason.
So he turned to go. “Send me back, Odium,” Dalinar said. “There will be no agreement today.”
A flare of heat washed over him from behind. Dalinar spun, finding Odium glowing with a bright red-gold light, his eyes wide, his teeth clenched.
Stand firm, Dalinar thought to himself. Wit says he can’t hurt you. Not without breaking his word … not without inviting his own death …
Wit hadn’t included that last part. But Dalinar stood his ground, sweating, his heart racing. Until at last the power abated, the heat and light retreating.
“I would prefer,” Odium said, “to make an agreement.”
Why so eager? Dalinar thought. It’s the power, isn’t it? It’s ripping you apart for delaying. It wants out.
“I’ve offered you an agreement,” Dalinar said.
“I’ve told you that I cannot keep to these terms. I can seal myself away, but not my minions. I can demand that the Fused and the Unmade retreat—but not all currently obey my will. And I can do nothing about the Regals.”
Dalinar took a deep breath. “Fine,” he said, “but I cannot entertain an agreement that frees you from this world. So we should focus on our conflict, you and me. If I win, you are exiled to Damnation and withdraw from the conflict entirely. If you win, I will go into exile, and my people will have to fight without my aid.”
“You offer a mortal life for that of a god?” Odium demanded. “No, Dalinar. If I win, I want the Knights Radiant. The forces of Alethkar and Urithiru will surrender to my Fused, and your Radiants will end this war. The other foolish kingdoms of men can keep fighting if they wish, but your people and mine will begin preparing for the true war: the one that will begin when the gods of other worlds discover the strength of Surgebinding. Your heirs will be bound to this, as you are.”
“I cannot negotiate for people who are not yet born,” Dalinar said. “Nor can I promise my Radiants will follow you, as you cannot promise the Fused will obey you. As I said, this must be between you and me. But … if you win, I will agree to order my armies to stand down and stop the fighting. I will give up the war, and those who wish to join you will be allowed to do so.”
“Not good enough, Dalinar. Not nearly good enough.” Odium took a long, suffering breath. That light pulsed inside of him, and Dalinar felt a kind of kinship to the ancient god then. Sensing his fatigue, which somehow mirrored Dalinar’s own. “I want so much more than Roshar, so much more than one planet, one people. But my people … tire. I’ve worn them thin with this eternal battle. They seek endings, terrible endings. The entire war has changed, based on what your wife has done. You realize this.”
“I do,” Dalinar said.
“It is time for a true accommodation. A true ending. Do you not agree?”
“I … Yes. I realize it. What do you propose?”
Odium waved dismissively at the contract Wit had drawn up. “No more talk of delays, of sending me away. Of half measures. We have a contest of champions on the tenth of next month,” Odium said. “At the tenth hour.”
“So soon? The month ends tomorrow.”
“Why delay?” Odium asked. “I know my champion. Do you know yours?”
“I do,” Dalinar said.
“Then let us stop dancing and commit. On the tenth, our champions meet. If you win, I will withdraw to the kingdoms I currently hold—and I enforce an end to the war. I will even give up to you Alethkar, and restore your homeland to you.”
“I must have Herdaz too.”
“What?” Odium said. “That meaningless little plot of land? What are they to you?”
“It’s the matter of an oath, Odium,” Dalinar said. “You will restore to me Herdaz and Alethkar. Keep whatever other lands you’ve taken; they mostly followed you freely anyway. I can accept this, so long as you are still trapped on Roshar, as Honor wished.”
