Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  That was the sort of thing Adolin did. Nobody bowed when he entered; instead they cheered and raised cups. Adolin Kholin wasn’t some distant brightlord or general who sat in his keep and pronounced edicts, tyrannical or wise. He was the type of general who drank with his men and learned the names of every soldier.

  Dalinar disapproved. In most cases Kaladin would have as well. But … this was Adolin. He’d have gone mad if he’d been forced to remain aloof. It went against every traditional Alethi protocol of leadership, but Adolin made it work. So who was Kaladin to judge?

  As Adolin went to greet people, Kaladin made his way around the perimeter of the room, noting the larger-than-usual crowd. Was that Rock over there with his family, drinking mugs of Horneater mudbeer?

  He said he had an appointment tonight, Kaladin remembered. Indeed, some kind of celebration seemed to be going on. A few other Windrunners and Radiants he knew were in attendance, though not many. Mostly it seemed to be common folk. Perhaps a higher than normal percentage of soldiers.

  Syl took off to begin poking through the room, looking at each table. Though he’d once seen her fascination as childlike, he’d evolved on that idea. She was just curious, desirous to learn. If that was childlike, then everyone needed more of it.

  She was fascinated by human beings. In a room like this one, Kaladin would often find her standing on a crowded table—unseen by the occupants—head cocked as she tried to imitate the mannerisms or expressions of one person or another.

  Adolin’s booth was occupied by a young woman with long dark hair wearing trousers and a buttoned shirt, her long white coat hung on the peg nearby. She had her hat on, the wide-brimmed one with the peaked front.

  “Veil,” Kaladin said, sliding into the booth. “We going to have you all night, or will Shallan show up?”

  “Probably just me,” Veil said, tipping back her cup to reach the last of her drink. “Shallan had a busy day, and we’re on Shattered Plains time, not Urithiru time. She wants a rest.”

  It must be nice, Kaladin thought, to be able to retreat and become someone else when you get tired.

  It was sometimes difficult to treat Shallan’s personas as three distinct people, but it was what she seemed to prefer. Fortunately, she tended to change her hair color to give the rest of them cues. Black for Veil, and she’d started using blonde for Radiant.

  A young barmaid came by, refilling Veil’s cup with something deep red.

  “And you?” the serving girl asked Kaladin.

  “Orange,” he said softly. “Chilled, if you have it.”

  “Orange?” the girl said. “A man like you can stomach something stronger. It’s a party! We’ve got a nice yellow infused with peca, an Azish fruit. I’ll—”

  “Hey,” Veil said, putting her boots on the table with a thump. “The man said orange.”

  “I just thought—”

  “Bring him what he asked for. That’s all you need to think about.”

  Flustered, the girl scampered off. Kaladin nodded to Veil in thanks, though he wished people wouldn’t stick up for him quite so zealously. He could speak for himself. As long as Dalinar followed the strictest interpretation of the Codes of War, so would Kaladin. And barring that … well, his friends knew. When Kaladin was in one of his moods, alcohol—for all that it seemed it would help him forget his pain—always made the darkness worse. He could use Stormlight to burn off the effects, but once he had a drink or two in him, he often … didn’t want to. Or felt he didn’t deserve to. Same difference.

  “So,” Veil said. “I hear your mission went well? An entire town stolen right out from underneath their storming noses? The Mink himself rescued? Heads will roll in Kholinar when Odium hears about this.”

  “I doubt he cares much about one town,” Kaladin said. “And they don’t know we got the Mink.”

  “Regardless,” Veil said, lifting her cup to him.

  “And you?” Kaladin asked.

  She leaned forward, taking her boots off the table. “You should have seen it. Ialai was basically a skeleton, withered away. We’d defeated her before we arrived. But it sure was satisfying to bring her down.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Pity someone murdered her,” Veil said. “I’d have enjoyed watching her squirm before Dalinar.”

  “Murdered her?” Kaladin said. “What?”

  “Yeah, someone offed her. One of our people, unfortunately. They must have been bribed by someone who wanted to see her dead. That’s a secret, by the way. We’re telling everyone she killed herself.”

  Kaladin glanced around.

  “Nobody will hear in here,” Veil said. “Our booth is isolated.”

  “Still. Don’t discuss military secrets in public.”

  Veil rolled her eyes, but then she shook her head, and her hair blended to blonde and she sat up straighter. “Do get a full report from Dalinar later, Kaladin. There are oddities about the event that trouble me.”

  “I…” Kaladin said. “We’ll see. You share Veil’s opinion that Shallan is fine? She merely needs a rest?”

  “She is well enough,” Radiant said. “We’ve found a balance. A year now, without any new personas forming. Except…”

  Kaladin raised an eyebrow.

  “There are some, half-formed,” Radiant said, turning away. “They wait, to see if the Three really can work. Or if it could crumble, letting them out. They aren’t real. Not as real as I am. And yet. And yet…” She met Kaladin’s eyes. “Shallan wouldn’t wish me to share that much. But as her friend, you should know.”

  “I’m not sure if I can help,” Kaladin said. “I can barely keep a handle on my own problems these days.”

  “You being here helps,” Radiant said.

  Did it? When Kaladin was in moods like this, he felt that he would bring only darkness to those around him. Why would they want to be with him? He wouldn’t want to be with him. But he supposed this was the sort of thing Radiant had to say; it was what made her distinct from the others.

  She smiled as Adolin returned, then shook her head, hair bleeding to black. She leaned back, relaxed. How nice it must be to transform into Veil, with her laid-back attitude.

  As Adolin was settling down, the barmaid returned with Kaladin’s drink. “If you decide you want to try that yellow…” she said to Kaladin.

  “Thanks, Mel,” Adolin said quickly. “But he doesn’t need anything to drink today.”

  The barmaid gave him a radiant smile—married man or not, they still treated him that way—and floated off, seeming encouraged by the fact that the highprince had spoken to her. Although he’d basically given her a reprimand.

  “How’s the groom?” Veil asked, getting out her dagger and balancing it on the end of her fingertip.

  “Befuddled,” Adolin said.

  “Groom?” Kaladin asked.

  “Wedding party?” Adolin said, waving toward the room of festive people. “For Jor?”

  “Who?” Kaladin asked.

  “Kaladin,” Adolin said, “we’ve been coming to this place for eight months.”

  “Don’t bother, Adolin,” Veil said. “Kaladin doesn’t notice people unless they’ve pulled a weapon on him.”

  “He notices,” Adolin said. “He cares. But Kaladin’s a soldier—and he thinks like one. Right, bridgeboy?”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” Kaladin grumbled, sipping his drink.

  “You’ve learned to worry about your squad,” Adolin said. “And to cut out extraneous information. I’ll bet Kaladin could tell you the age, eye color, and favorite food of everyone serving beneath him. But he’s not going to bother with remembering the names of the bar staff. Father’s the same way.”

  “Well,” Veil said, “this is real fun and everything, but shouldn’t we be moving on to a more important topic?”

  “Such as?” Adolin asked.

  “Such as who we’re going to fix Kaladin up with next.”

  Kaladin about spat out his drink. “He doesn’t need fixin
g up with anyone.”

  “That’s not what Syl says,” Veil replied.

  “Syl used to think human children came out through the nose in a particularly violent sneeze,” Kaladin said. “She is not an authority on this topic.”

  “Mmm,” their table said, vibrating with a soft buzzing sound. “How do they come out? I’ve always wondered.”

  Kaladin started, only now realizing that Pattern dimpled part of the wooden tabletop. Pattern didn’t go about invisibly as Syl did, but somehow infused the material of objects nearby. If you focused on him now, you’d see a section of the tabletop that seemed to be carved into a circular pattern—one that somehow moved and flowed, like ripples in a cistern.

  “I’ll explain babies later, Pattern,” Veil said. “It’s more complicated than you’re probably imagining. Wait … no. Ask Shallan to explain. She’ll love that.”

  “Mmm,” the table said. “She changes colors. Like a sunset. Or an infected wound. Mmm.”

  Adolin relaxed, resting his arm along the back of the bar seat—but not putting it around Veil. The two of them had a weird relationship when Shallan was wearing Radiant or Veil. At least they seemed to have mostly gotten over the part where they acted like lovesick fools all the time.

  “The ladies have a point, bridgeboy,” Adolin said to him. “You have been extra sulky since Lyn broke up with you.”

  “This isn’t about that.”

  “Still, a fling couldn’t hurt, right?” Veil said. She nodded her chin toward one of the passing barmaids, a tall young woman with unusually light hair. “What about Hem over there? She’s tall.”

  “Great. Tall,” Kaladin said. “Because we both measure roughly the same in inches, we’re sure to get along. Think of all the tall-person topics of conversation we could engage in. Like … Hmm…”

  “Oh, don’t be sour,” Veil said, smacking him on the shoulder. “You didn’t even glance at her. She’s cute. Look at those legs. Back me up, Adolin.”

  “She’s attractive,” he said. “But that blouse is terrible on her. I need to tell Marni that the house uniforms here are dreadful. They should at least have two different shades to match different skin tones.”

  “What about Ka’s sister,” Veil said to Kaladin. “You’ve met her, right? She’s smart. You like smart girls.”

  “Is there really anyone who doesn’t like smart girls?” Kaladin said.

  “Me,” Veil said, raising her hand. “Give me dumb ones, please. They’re so easy to impress.”

  “Smart girls…” Adolin said, rubbing his chin. “It’s too bad Skar snatched up Ristina. They’d have been a good match.”

  “Adolin,” Veil said, “Ristina is like three feet tall.”

  “So?” Adolin said. “You heard Kaladin. He doesn’t care about height.”

  “Yeah, well, most women do. You’ve got to find someone who matches him. Too bad he screwed up his chance with Lyn.”

  “I didn’t…” Kaladin protested.

  “What about her,” Adolin said, pointing as someone new entered the tavern. A couple of lighteyed women in havahs, though they probably weren’t of high rank if they were visiting a winehouse frequented by darkeyes. Then again, Adolin was here. And things like nahn and rank had been … strangely less divisive this last year, under Jasnah’s rule.

  One of the two newcomers was a younger woman with a luscious figure, accentuated by the tight havah. She had dark skin and red lips, clearly brightened with lip paint.

  “Dakhnah,” Adolin said. “She’s the daughter of one of Father’s generals, Kal. She loves talking strategy—she’s acted as scribe in his war meetings since she was fourteen. I can introduce you.”

  “Please don’t,” Kaladin said.

  “Dakhnah…” Veil said. “You courted her, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Adolin dear, swing a Herdazian in a crowded room, and you’ll hit six women you courted.” She narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. “Those aren’t real, are they? She pads, right?”

  Adolin shook his head.

  “Seriously?” Veil said. “Stormfather. To get mine that big I’d have to eat six chulls. How do they feel?”

  “You’re making assumptions,” Adolin said.

  She glared at him, then poked him in the shoulder. “Come on.”

  He turned eyes toward the ceiling and pointedly took a drink, though he smiled as she poked him again. “This is not a topic for gentlemen to discuss,” he said with an airy tone.

  “I’m neither gentle nor a man,” Veil said. “I’m your wife.”

  “You’re not my wife.”

  “I share a body with your wife. Close enough.”

  “You two,” Kaladin said, “have the strangest relationship.”

  Adolin gave him a slow nod that seemed to say, You have no idea. Veil downed the rest of her drink, then upended the empty cup. “Where’s that storming barmaid?”

  “You sure you haven’t had enough?” Adolin asked.

  “Am I sitting up straight?”

  “A vague approximation.”

  “There’s your answer,” she said—sliding out of the booth by moving over him in a maneuver that involved a lot of her touching a lot of him—then went picking through the crowd for the barmaid.

  “She’s in rare form today,” Kaladin noted.

  “Veil has been cooped up for a month, pretending to be that woman in the warcamps,” he replied. “And Radiant stressed greatly about their mission. The few times we managed to meet, Shallan was practically crawling up the walls with tension. This is her way of letting loose.”

  Well, if it worked for them … “Is Ialai Sadeas really dead?”

  “Unfortunately. Father already has armies moving to the warcamps. Initial reports say her men have offered articles of surrender; they must have known this was coming.…” He shrugged. “Still makes me feel like I failed.”

  “You had to do something. That group was getting too powerful, too dangerous, to leave alone.”

  “I know. But I hate the idea of fighting our own. We’re supposed to be moving on to better things. Greater things.”

  Says the man who killed Sadeas, Kaladin thought. That wasn’t common knowledge yet, so he didn’t speak it out loud in case someone was listening.

  Their conversation lapsed. Kaladin played with his cup, wishing for a refill, though he wasn’t about to go fighting through the crowd to find one. People were taking turns cheering for Jor—and as the groom himself passed by, Kaladin realized he did recognize the man. He was the house bouncer, an affable fellow. Syl was riding on his shoulder.

  Veil’s quest ran long. Kaladin thought he spotted her over at one corner, playing a game of breakneck for chips. He was surprised there was anyone left in the city who would still play against Veil.

  Eventually, Adolin scooted a little closer. He had his own drink, an intoxicating violet—but he’d barely made his way through half the cup. He no longer strictly followed the Codes, but he seemed to have found his own balance.

  “So,” Adolin said, “what’s going on? This is more than just what happened with Lyn.”

  “I thought you said I didn’t have to talk.”

  “You don’t.” Adolin took a sip, waiting.

  Kaladin stared at the table. Shallan often carved parts of it, so the wood here was etched with small but intricate art projects—many of them half finished. He ran his finger across one that depicted an axehound and a man who looked remarkably like Adolin.

  “Your father relieved me of active duty today,” Kaladin said. “He thinks I’m … I’m not fit to see battle any longer.”

  Adolin let out a long exhalation. “That storming man…”

  “He’s right, Adolin,” Kaladin said. “Remember how you had to pull me out of the palace last year.”

  “Everyone gets overwhelmed in a fight sometimes,” Adolin said. “I’ve gotten disoriented before, even in Shardplate.”

  “This is worse. And more frequent. I�
�m a surgeon, Adolin. I’ve trained to spot problems like these, so I know he’s right. I’ve known for months.”

  “Very well,” Adolin said. He nodded curtly. “So it is. What are we going to do about it? How do you get better?”

  “You don’t. Dabbid, the guy in my crew? The one who doesn’t talk? Battle shock, like mine. He’s been like that since I recruited him.”

  Adolin fell silent. Kaladin could see him sort through potential responses. Adolin was many things, but “hard to read” would never be one of them.

  Fortunately, he didn’t make any of the expected comments. No simple affirmations, no encouragement for Kaladin to cheer up or soldier on. The two of them sat quietly in the loud room for a long pause. Then eventually, Adolin spoke. “My father can be wrong, you know.”

  Kaladin shrugged.

  “He’s human,” Adolin said. “Half the city thinks he’s some kind of Herald reborn, but he’s only a man. He’s been wrong before. Terribly wrong.”

  Dalinar killed Adolin’s mother, Kaladin thought. That news was out, spread wide. The city had all either read, listened to, or been told about Dalinar’s strange autobiography. Handwritten by the Blackthorn himself, it wasn’t quite finished, but drafts had been shared. In it Dalinar confessed to many things, including the accidental killing of his wife.

  “I’m not a surgeon,” Adolin said. “And I’m not half the general my father is. But I don’t think you need to be removed from combat, at least not permanently. You need something else.”

  “Which is?”

  “Wish I knew. There should be a way to help you. A way to make it so you can think straight.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” Kaladin said. “But why do you care? What does it matter?”

  “You’re my only bridgeboy,” Adolin said with a grin. “Where would I get another? They’ve all started flying away.” The grin faded. “Besides. If we can find a way to help you, then maybe … maybe we can find a way to help her.” His gazed drifted across the room, toward Veil.

  “She’s fine,” Kaladin said. “She’s found a balance. You’ve heard her explain how she thinks she’s fine now.”