“Szeth,” Taravangian whispered.

“Why? Why do you seek an Oathstone? I will not follow your orders again. I am becoming my own man.”

“Do you have the sword?” Taravangian asked. He reached out, foolish though it was, and tried to grab Szeth. The man stepped away in an easy motion, leaving Taravangian grasping at air. “The sword. Did you bring it?”

“I will not serve you,” Szeth said.

“Listen to me,” Taravangian said. “You have to … the sword … Wait a moment.” He furiously began flipping through the notebook for the words he’d copied from the desk drawer.

“‘The sword,’” he read, “‘is something we didn’t anticipate. It was nowhere in the Diagram. But Odium fears it. Do you understand? He fears it. I think it might be able to harm him. We attack him with it.’”

“I will not serve you,” Szeth said. “I will not be manipulated by you again. My stone … was always only a stone.… My father said…”

“Your father is dead, Szeth,” Taravangian said. “Listen to me. Listen.” He read from the notebook. “‘Fortunately, I believe his ability to see us here is limited. Therefore, we may talk freely. I doubt you can harm Odium directly unless you are in one of his visions. You must get into one of those visions. Can you do this?’”

There were more notes in the book about how to manipulate Szeth. Taravangian read them, and the words made him hurt. Hadn’t this man been through enough?

He rejected those manipulations and looked up at Szeth. “Please,” Taravangian whispered. “Please help me.”

Szeth didn’t appear to have heard. He turned to go.

No! “Listen,” Taravangian said, going off script, ignoring the orders of his smarter self. “Give Dalinar the sword. Dalinar is taken to Odium’s vision sometimes. It should travel with him. Do you understand? Odium thinks the sword is in Urithiru. He doesn’t realize you’re here. He can’t see it because of Renarin.”

Smarter Taravangian claimed he didn’t want to work with Dalinar because it was too dangerous, or because Dalinar wouldn’t believe. Those lies made dumb Taravangian want to pound his fists at his own face out of shame. But the truth was more shameful.

Szeth did not care which Taravangian he was speaking to. “I don’t understand your manipulations,” the man said as he walked away. “I should have realized I wouldn’t be able to understand the way your mind works. All I can do is refuse.”

He left, sending the other guard back to watch Taravangian—who stood gripping his little notebook, crying.

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Venli could hear new rhythms. She tried to hide this fact, attuning the old, boring rhythms around others. It was so difficult. The new rhythms were her majesty, the proof that she was special. She wanted to shout them, flaunt them.

Quiet, Ulim said from her gemheart. Quiet for now, Venli. There will be time enough later to enjoy the Rhythm of Praise.

She attuned Exultation, but did not hum it as she walked through the room where her scholars worked. Ulim had given her hints about finding another form, nimbleform. He wouldn’t tell her the exact process yet, so she’d gathered these scholars and set them to work.

Over time, she intended to use them as an excuse to reveal many important discoveries. Including ones that Ulim had promised her. Greater forms than these. Power.

You are special, Ulim whispered as she idled near a pair of her scholars who were trying to trap a windspren that had flown in to tease them. I could sense you from far away, Venli. You were chosen by our god, the true god of all singers. He sent me to explain how wonderful you are.

The words comforted her. Yes. That was right. She would wear forms of power. Only … hadn’t she once wanted those … for her mother? Wasn’t that the point?

You will be great, he said within her gemheart. Everyone will recognize your majesty.

“Well, I want nimbleform soon,” she whispered to Ulim, stepping out of the chamber. “It has been too long since warform. My sister and her sycophants get to tromp around the cities on display like heroes.”

Let them. Those are your grunts, who will be sent to die fighting the humans once our plot is accomplished. You should take time “finding” nimbleform. It will be too suspicious for you to find another so soon.

She folded her arms, listening to the new rhythm praise her. The city buzzed with activity, thousands of listeners from a dozen families passing by. Eshonai and the others had made great strides toward true unity, and the elders of the various families were talking to one another.

Who would get the glory for that? Venli had orchestrated this grand convergence, but everyone ignored her.

Perhaps she should have taken warform. Ulim had urged her to be one of the first, but she’d hesitated. She hadn’t been frightened, no, but she’d assumed she could manipulate better without taking the form.

That had been a mistake, and this was her reward: Eshonai taking all the credit. Next time, Venli would do it herself.

“Ulim,” she whispered, “when will the other Voidspren be ready?”

Can’t say for certain, he replied. That stupid Herald is still standing strong all these years later. We have to work around him.

“The new storm,” Venli whispered.

Yes. It’s been building in Shadesmar for centuries. We need to get our agents close enough to it on this side—a place that is out in the ocean, mind you—so they can use gemstones to pull my brothers and sisters across. Then those stones have to be physically transported here. You have no idea how much of a pain it all is.

“I’m well acquainted by now,” she said to Derision. “You never shut up about it.”

Hey, you’re the only one I get to talk to. And I like to talk. So …

“Nimbleform. When?”

We have bigger problems. Your people aren’t ready to accept forms of power. At all. They’re far too timid. And the way they fight …

“What’s wrong with the way we fight?” Venli asked to Conceit. “Our warriors are powerful and intimidating.”

Please, Ulim replied. The humans have remembered how to make good steel all these centuries, and even figured out some things we never learned. Meanwhile, your people throw spears at each other like primitives. They yell and dance more than they fight. It’s embarrassing.

“Maybe you should have gone to the humans then.”

Don’t be childish, Ulim said. You need to know what you’re facing. Imagine a hundred thousand men in glistening armor, moving in coordinated blocks, lifting a wall of interlocking shields—broken only by the spears coming out to bite your flesh.

Imagine thousands upon thousands of archers loosing waves of arrows that sweep in a deadly rain. Imagine men on horseback charging—thunder without lightning—and riding down anyone in their path. You think you can face that with a few semicoherent boasts?

Venli’s confidence wavered. She looked out toward the Shattered Plains, where their warforms trained on a nearby plateau. She’d nudged them toward that, following Ulim’s suggestions. He knew a lot about manipulating people; with his help she could get the others to do pretty much anything.