Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Sanderson, Brandon

  The others gathered around her, humming to Confusion. An attack by one of the other families? Now?

  Eshonai wanted to laugh.

  “Are they insane?” Thude asked.

  “They don’t know what we’ve done,” Eshonai said, looking around at the flat expanse of rock outside the city where they’d engaged the highstorm. Many listeners were only now making their way out of the sheltered cracks in the ground.

  Their best warriors, however, would have stayed at the city in the small, strong structures built there. More than one family had claimed a city right after a storm. It was one of the best times to attack, assuming you could muster your numbers quickly enough.

  “This is going to be fun,” Melu said to Excitement.

  “I don’t know if that’s the correct way to think of it,” Eshonai said, though she felt the same eagerness. A desire to charge in. “Though … if we can arrive before the boasts are done…”

  The others began attuning Amusement or Excitement, grinning. Eshonai led the way, ignoring the calls of those leaving the stormshelter. There was a more urgent matter to attend to.

  As they approached the city, she could see the rival family mustered outside the gateway, lifting spears and making challenges and taunts. They wore white, of course. It was how one knew an attack was happening, rather than a request for trade or other interaction.

  As long as the boasts were continuing, the actual battle hadn’t yet begun. She’d participated in several fights for cities during her family’s years trying to claim one, and they’d always been nasty affairs—the worst one leaving over a dozen people dead on each side.

  Well, today they’d see about …

  She stopped, holding up her hand to make the others pause. They did so—though a part of Eshonai wondered why she had decided to take charge. It simply felt natural.

  They’d been approaching a fissure in the wall surrounding the city. That wall might once have been grand, but mere hints of its former majesty remained. Most of it had worn low, split by large gaps.

  Here, a figure moved in the shadows. It looked ominous, dangerous—but then Venli emerged into the light, waving them forward. How had she gotten to the city so quickly?

  Eshonai approached, and Venli looked her up and down with a slow, deliberate gaze. The drums beat in the background, urging Eshonai forward. Yet that look in her sister’s eyes …

  “So it worked,” Venli said. “Praise the ancient storms for that. You look good, sister. All bulked up and ready to serve.”

  “This isn’t who I am,” Eshonai said, gesturing to the form. “But there is a certain … thrill to holding it.”

  “Go visit Sharefel,” Venli said. “He’s waiting for you.”

  “The drums…” Eshonai said.

  “The enemy will continue howling insults for a little while yet,” Venli said. “Visit Sharefel.”

  Sharefel. The family’s Shardbearer. Upon obtaining this city, by tradition the defeated family had given up the city’s Shards for her family to protect and keep.

  “Venli,” Eshonai said. “We do not use Shards upon other listeners. Those are for hunts alone.”

  “Oh, sister,” Venli said to Amusement, walking around her, then inspecting Thude and the others. “If we’re going to ever stand a hope of resisting the humans—when they inevitably turn against us—we must be ready to bear the weapons with which we were blessed.”

  Eshonai wanted to attune Reprimand at the suggestion, but she remembered the things Dalinar Kholin had said to her. If the listeners weren’t unified, they would be easy pickings.

  “I want to get to the fight,” Melu said to Excitement, an anticipationspren—like a long streamer connected to a round sphere below—bouncing around behind her.

  “I think it’s worth trying not to kill anyone,” Thude said to Consideration. “With this form … I feel it would be unfair.”

  “Bear the Shards,” Venli urged. “Show them the dangers of approaching us to demand battle.”

  Eshonai pushed past her sister, and the others followed. Venli trailed along behind as well. Eshonai didn’t intend to use the Shards against her people, but perhaps there was a purpose to visiting Sharefel. She wound through the city, passing crem-filled puddles and vines stretching out from rockbuds to lap up the moisture.

  The Shardbearer’s hut was by the front wall, near the drums. It was one of the strongest structures in the city, one they always kept well-maintained. Today the door was open, welcoming. Eshonai stepped into the doorway.

  “Ah…” a soft voice said to the Rhythm of the Lost. “So it is true. We have warriors once more.”

  Eshonai stepped forward, finding the elderly listener sitting in his seat, light from the doorway illuminating his pattern of mostly black skin. Feeling it appropriate, even if she didn’t quite know why, she knelt before him.

  “I have long sung the old songs,” Sharefel said, “dreaming of this day. I always thought I would be the one to find it. How? What spren?”

  “Painspren,” Eshonai said.

  “They flee during storms.”

  “We captured them,” Eshonai said as a couple of others entered the chamber, striking dangerous silhouettes. “Using a human method.”

  “Ahh…” he said. “I shall try it myself then, at the next storm. But this is a new era, and deserves a new Shardbearer. Which of you will take my Shards? Which of you can bear this burden, and this glory?”

  The group became still. Not all families had Shardbearers; there were only eight sets among all the listeners. Those who held the proper eight cities were blessed with them, to be wielded only in hunts against greatshells. Those were rare events, where many families would band together to harvest a gemheart for growing crops, then feast upon the slain beast.

  That … did not seem the future of their Shards anymore. If the humans discover we have these, Eshonai thought, it will be war.

  “Give the Shards to me,” Melu said to Excitement. She stepped forward, though Thude put his hand upon her breastplate as if to restrain her. She hummed to Betrayal, and he hummed to Irritation. A challenge from both.

  This could get ugly very quickly.

  “No!” Eshonai said. “No, none of us will take them. None of us are ready.” She looked to the elderly Shardbearer. “You keep them. With Plate, you are as firm as any warrior, Sharefel. I merely ask that you stand with us today.”

  The drums stopped sounding.

  “I will not lift the Blade against other listeners,” Sharefel said to Skepticism.

  “You will not need to,” Eshonai said. “Our goal today will not be to win a battle, but to promise a new beginning.”

  * * *

  A short time later, they stepped out of the city. Once, gates had likely stood in this opening, but the listeners could not create wooden marvels on that scale. Not yet.

  The battle had already started, though it hadn’t moved to close combat yet. Her family’s warriors would step forward and throw their spears, and the other family would dodge. Then the attacking family would return spears. If someone was hit, one side might withdraw and give up the battle. If not, eventually one side might rush the other.

  Spren of all varieties had been drawn to the event, and spun or hovered around the perimeters. Eshonai’s family’s archers hung back, their numbers a show of strength, though they wouldn’t use their weapons here. Bows were too deadly—and too accurate—to be used in harming others.

  There … had been times, unfortunately, when in the heat of fighting, traditions had been broken. Normal battles had become horrific massacres. Eshonai had never been part of one of those, but she’d seen the aftereffects during her childhood, when passing a failed assault on another city.

  Today, both sides stopped as the warforms emerged—accompanied by a full Shardbearer in glistening Plate. Eshonai’s family parted, humming to Awe or Excitement.

  Eshonai picked up a spear, as did several of the others. They came to a halt in the center of the field.
The opposing family scrambled back, their warriors brandishing spears. Their postures—and the few sounds of humming Eshonai could make out—were terrified.

  “We have found warform,” Eshonai shouted to Joy. An inviting rhythm, not an angry one. “Come, join us. Enter our city, live with us. We will share our knowledge with you.”

  The others shied away further. One of them shouted, to Reprimand, “You’ll consume us! Make us slaves. We won’t be our own family any longer.”

  “We are all one family!” Eshonai said. “You fear being made slaves? Did you see the poor slaveforms the humans had? Did you see the armor of the humans, their weapons? Did you see the fineness of their clothing, the wagons they created?

  “You cannot fight that. I cannot fight that. But together, we could fight that. There are tens of thousands of listeners around the Plains. When the humans return, let us show them a united nation, not a bunch of squabbling tribes.” She gestured to the other warforms, then let her gaze linger on Sharefel in his Shardplate.

  “We won’t fight you today,” Eshonai said, turning back to the enemy family. “None of this family will fight you today. But if any of you persist, you will personally discover the true might of this form. We are going to approach the Living-Songs family next. You may choose to be the first to join with our new nation, and be recognized for your wisdom for generations. Or you can be left until the end, to come groveling for membership, once our union is nearly complete.”

  She hefted her spear and threw it—shocking herself with the power behind that throw. It soared over the enemy family and disappeared far into the distance. She heard more than one of them humming to the Rhythm of the Terrors.

  She nodded to the others, and they joined her, marching into the city. A few seemed annoyed. They wanted a battle to test their abilities. She’d never known listeners to be bloodthirsty, and she didn’t feel this form had changed her that much—but she did admit she felt a certain eagerness.

  “We should train,” she said to the others. “Work out some of our aggression.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Thude said.

  “As long as we can do it in front of everyone else,” Melu said to Irritation. “I’d like them to understand how easily I could have cracked their skulls.” She looked to Eshonai. “But … that was well done. I guess I’m glad I didn’t have to rip anyone apart.”

  “How did you learn to give speeches?” one of the others asked from behind. “Did you learn that talking to those trees, out in the wilderness?”

  “I’m not a hermit, Dolimid,” she said to Irritation. “I just like the idea of being free. Of not being locked into one location. As long as we don’t know what is out there, we’re likely to be surprised. Tell me, would we be scrambling now to get our people in order if we’d simply explored our surroundings? We could have been preparing to face the humans for generations, if we hadn’t been so afraid.”

  The others hummed to Consolation, understanding. Why had Eshonai had so much trouble persuading people before? Was her present ease because of the connection she felt with these listeners, the first warforms?

  There was so much to learn from this form, so much to experiment with. She felt a spring in her step. Perhaps this would be a better form for exploration—she could leap obstacles, run faster. There was so much possibility.

  They entered the city, her family’s warriors—those who had been throwing their spears outside—trotting in with them, immediately accepting the authority of the warforms. As they passed Sharefel’s hut, she saw Venli again, lurking in the shadows. This was her victory, after a fashion.

  Eshonai probably should have gone to congratulate her, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Venli didn’t need more songs praising her. She already had a big enough ego.

  Instead, Eshonai led the group to the stormshelter, where the rest of their family was emerging. Each and every one deserved to see the new form up close.

  I leave you now to your own company.

  —From Rhythm of War, page 27

  Navani hit the tuning fork and touched it to a glowing diamond. When she pulled it away from the gemstone, a tiny line of Stormlight followed behind it—and when she touched the fork to an empty diamond, the Stormlight flowed into it. The transfer would continue as long as the fork made the second diamond vibrate.

  Sometimes I think of it like a gas, she thought, taking notes on the speed of the flow. And sometimes a liquid. I keep wavering between the two, trying to define it, but it must be neither one. Stormlight is something else, with some of the properties of both a liquid and a gas.

  After completing this control experiment—and timing how quickly the Stormlight flowed—she set up the real experiment. She did this inside a large steel box her scholars had created for dangerous experiments, Soulcast into shape with a thick glass window at one end. She’d forced the enemy to drag it in from the hallway outside, then place it on top of her desk.

  She wasn’t certain if this would save her from a potential explosion, but since the box didn’t have a top, the force of the destruction should go upward—and as long as she stayed low and watched through the window, it should shield her.

  It was the best she could do in these difficult circumstances. She told the singers she was taking normal precautions, and tried not to indicate to them that she expected an explosion. And indeed she didn’t—the sphere that had killed her scholars had not been Voidlight, but something else. Something Navani didn’t yet understand. She was convinced that mixing Voidlight and Stormlight wouldn’t create an explosion, but a new kind of Light. Like Towerlight.

  She began this next experiment the same way as the previous one, drawing out Stormlight and sending it toward another diamond. Then she reached into the box with tongs and placed a Voidlight diamond in the center of the flow, between the Stormlight diamond and the tuning fork.

  The Stormlight didn’t react to the Voidlight diamond at all. It simply streamed around the dark gemstone and continued to the vessel diamond. As the tuning fork’s tone quieted, the stream weakened. When the fork fell silent, the Stormlight hanging in the air between the two diamonds puffed away and vanished.

  Well, she hadn’t expected that to do anything. Now for a better test. She’d spent several days working under a singular hypothesis: that if Stormlight reacted to a tone, Voidlight and Towerlight would as well. She’d needed to take a crash course in music theory to properly test the idea.

  The Alethi traditionally used a ten-note scale—though it was more accurately two five-note quintaves. This was right and orderly, and the greatest and most famous compositions were all in this scale. However, it wasn’t the only scale in use around the world. There were dozens. The Thaylens, for example, preferred a twelve-note scale. A strange number, but the twelve steps were mathematically pleasing.

  In researching the tone the tuning fork created, she’d discovered something incredible. Anciently, people had used a three-note scale, and a few of the compositions remained. The tone that drew Stormlight was the first of the three notes from this ancient scale. With some effort—it had required sending Fused to Kholinar through the Oathgate to raid the royal music conservatory—she’d obtained tuning forks for the other two notes in this scale. To her delight, Voidlight responded to the third of the three notes.

  She hadn’t been able to find any indication in her reading that people had once known these three notes correlated to the three ancient gods. No Alethi scholars seemed to know that one of these tones could prompt a reaction in Stormlight, though Raboniel had—upon questioning—said she’d known. Indeed, she’d been surprised to learn that Navani had only recently discovered the “pure tones of Roshar,” as she called them.

  Navani had tried singing the proper tones, but hadn’t been able to make the light respond. Perhaps she couldn’t match the pitch well enough, because Raboniel had been able to do it—singing and touching one gemstone, then moving her finger to another while holding the note. The Stormlight had followed her
finger just as it did a tuning fork.

  Today Raboniel was off tending to other tasks, but Navani could use the tuning forks to replicate her singing ability. Three tones: a note for Honor, a note for Odium, and a note for Cultivation. Yet Vorinism only worshipped the Almighty. Honor.

  Theology would have to wait for another time. For now, she set up her next experiment. She created streams of Stormlight and Voidlight—drawing each out from a diamond in a corner of her box—and crossed the streams at the center. The two lights pushed upon one another and swirled as they met, but then separated and streamed to their separate forks.

  “All right,” Navani said, writing in her notebook. “What about this?” She picked up the partially empty Voidlight diamond and then brought out a fresh Stormlight diamond, fully infused.

  In fabrial science, you captured a spren by creating a gemstone with a kind of vacuum in it—you drew out the Stormlight, leaving a sphere with a void or suction inside. It would then pull in a nearby spren, which was made of Light. It was like any pressure differential.

  She hoped to be able to refill the Voidlight sphere with Stormlight, now that a portion of the Voidlight had been removed. She hit the tuning fork, started the Stormlight streaming out of its diamond, then tried to get it to go into the Voidlight diamond by making it vibrate to the fork’s tone.

  Unfortunately, when she touched the tuning fork to the Voidlight diamond, it immediately stopped vibrating and the tone died. Extinguished like a candle doused with water. She was able to get the Stormlight to bunch up against the Voidlight diamond, by putting the fork next to it, but when she got the Voidlight to stream out toward the side of the table—theoretically creating an active pressure differential in that diamond—she couldn’t get it to suck Stormlight in. Only once all of the Voidlight was out could she infuse the diamond with Stormlight.

  “Like oil and water indeed,” she said, making notes. Yet the way the streams didn’t repel one another when touching felt like proof they weren’t opposites.

  She rose and—after noting the results of this experiment—went to talk to the Sibling. Navani could easily fool the guards into thinking she was simply strolling among the bookshelves to read a passage or two, as she often did this. Today, she began picking through the books on the back shelf while resting her hand on the Sibling’s vein in the wall.