(title hidden — not yet read)

(summary hidden — not yet read)

Five years before, in the slow grey rain of the Weeping, Brightlord Amaram's conscription carriage rolls up Hearthstone's muddy main street, and Roshone — using the highprince-granted right to pick one boy of his choosing for the levy — picks small, soft, fearful Tien. He does it with a smile that is for Kaladin and not for the boy himself. It is repayment, on the calendar of a vindictive man, for Rillir's death on the surgery table five years ago.

Kaladin steps out into the rain and asks to substitute. Amaram is — astonishingly — sorry, and cannot allow it; the choice belongs to the citylord. *Then take me as well*, Kaladin says immediately. *Can I volunteer?* Amaram looks at him for a long moment in the wet, nods, and grants him two hours to settle his affairs and gather his allotment. The carriage door shuts on Roshone's satisfied face. Laral is somewhere in the rain at the edge of the crowd; he does not look at her.

Tien takes his brother's arm under the wide brim of Kaladin's hat as they walk back across the square. He says only — quietly enough that nobody else hears — *Thank you.* Lirin stands in the surgery doorway with one foot in a puddle ringed by rainspren and weeps openly the way Kaladin has not seen him weep before. *I've lost both of you*, he says. *Storm it. Both of you.* Kaladin turns to his father in the rain and makes the promise that will define the next four years of his life. *In four years*, he says, *I will bring him home safely. I promise it by the storms and by the Almighty's tenth name itself. I will bring him back.*