Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  Kaladin took his father by the arm. “There’s one left,” he said, then hauled himself to his feet.

  “Kal!” Lirin said, anger peeking through his calm surgeon’s mask. “Don’t be a fool. There’s no point in playing the hero.”

  “I’m not playing anything,” Kaladin said. “This is who I am.”

  “So you’ll go fight, like this?” Lirin demanded. “Overwhelmed by diaphoresis and hand tremors, barely able to stay on your feet!”

  Kaladin gritted his teeth and started along the hall toward the front door of the clinic. Syl landed on his shoulder, but didn’t insist he stop.

  “You said that Jam had a spear,” Kaladin said. “Do you know what happened to it?”

  “Storms, son, listen to me,” Lirin said, grabbing him from behind. “There is no battle for you here! The tower has fallen. You go out there, and you throw away any advantage you had. Storms, you won’t only get yourself killed—you’ll get us killed.”

  Kaladin stopped in place.

  “That’s right,” his father said. “What do you think they’ll do to the family of the Radiant who attacked them? You’d probably kill a few before you died. Stormfather knows, you’re good at breaking things. Then they’ll come and string me up. Do you want to see that happen to me? To your mother? To your baby brother?”

  “Storm you,” Kaladin whispered. Lirin didn’t care about saving himself; he was not so selfish as that. But he was a surgeon. He knew the vital spots in which to stick a knife.

  Shouts came from deeper within Urithiru—the voices of singers, with rhythms. They’d landed Fused here on the sixth floor, but others were boiling up from below.

  Kelek’s breath … Dalinar had taken the reserves to the battle in Emul. There were seven garrisons left in the tower, but each was severely undermanned, populated mostly with those men who were off rotation, enjoying leave. Five thousand men, max. Everyone had assumed the large numbers of Radiants would be able to prevent another raid on the tower.…

  Kaladin sagged against the wall. “We … we need to find a way to contact Dalinar and Jasnah. The spanreeds aren’t working?”

  “None of them,” Lirin said. “No fabrials at all.”

  “How are they using the Oathgates?” Kaladin asked, settling down on the floor of the hallway.

  “Maybe it’s the Skybreakers,” Syl said. “But … I don’t know, Kaladin. Something is very wrong with our bond. When I flew down just one floor, I found myself growing distant. Forgetful. Normally I can go miles away before that happens.”

  “We can plan,” Lirin said. “We can think of some way to contact the Blackthorn. There are other ways to fight, son.”

  “Perhaps,” Kaladin said. He met his father’s eyes. “But you would say anything to keep me from going out there, wouldn’t you?”

  Lirin held his eyes and said nothing.

  I’m really not in any shape to go to battle, Kaladin thought. And … and if they have the Oathgates …

  Lirin calmly took the knife from Kaladin’s hands. He let it go. His father helped him to his feet and led him to the back rooms, where a village girl was with Oroden, keeping him quiet with toys. Kaladin’s mother entered a short time later, hairs escaping her bun and blood on her skirt. Not hers. Probably Jam’s.

  She went to hug Lirin while Kaladin sat staring at the floor. Urithiru might continue to fight, but he knew that it had lost the battle long ago.

  Like Kaladin himself.

  My instincts say that the power of Odium is not being controlled well. The Vessel will be adapted to the power’s will. And after this long, if Odium is still seeking to destroy, then it is because of the power.

  By the time Navani neared the map room, the area was already a bustle of activity. The runners had done their jobs, and she found checkpoints in place in the hallways, attended by guards, with anticipationspren streaming overhead. The soldiers at each one waved her through with visible relief.

  The map room was lit by a large number of diamond spheres. A smattering of officers in Kholin blue stood with some functionaries. Roion—the youngest highprince, and the only one in the tower currently—had gathered them around the tables. Here, maps of the lower levels had been unrolled and weighted at the corners.

  Captains mostly, she thought, reading the shoulder knots of her command staff. One battalionlord. Men who had been here on leave. Various runners, both male and female, hovered at the perimeters of the chamber.

  “Do we have word of Commander Lyon?” Navani asked as she strode in. “We’d best have the head of the Tower Guard here.”

  “He’s fallen unconscious, Brightness,” said one of the men. “He had a spren choose him last month.…”

  “Storms,” Navani said, stepping up to the table as several men made room for her. “It’s true then? Every Radiant in the tower?”

  “As far as we can tell, Brightness,” one of the men said.

  “There are enemy troops on every floor, Brightness,” said an older man, the battalionlord. “Stormform Regals, mostly. Pouring in through the basement. But there are Heavenly Ones landing on balconies all up and down the lower levels.”

  “Damnation,” she muttered. The enemy had the library rooms then. And the pillar. Was that where the Sibling resided?

  She glanced at the battalionlord again. A lean, balding man with close-cropped hair, a thick neck despite his age, and a powerfully intense stare. He …

  She did a double take. Darkeyed? Dalinar had made good on his decision to begin promoting based on merit, not eye shade, but there still weren’t many darkeyed officers. Strangely, some darkeyes seemed to consider the change as unnatural as some of the more high-minded lighteyes did.

  “Your name, Battalionlord?” she asked.

  “Teofil,” he said. “Ninth Kholin Division, infantry. We just came in off the lines in southern Alethkar. I put my men at the stairwell here.” He pointed at the map. “But … Brightness, they got the drop on us, and there aren’t many of our troops in the tower. First floor was halfway overrun by the time we mobilized.”

  “We can’t fight Fused,” said another man, young and nervous, his hand shaking as he pointed at a map of the sixth floor. “They’re trapping us from both above and below. There’s no way to hold them. They heal when cut, and they can strike from above. Without Radiants, we’re doomed. There’s no—”

  “Calm down,” Navani said. “Brightlord Teofil is right to have…” Navani paused. He was a darkeyes, not a brightlord. What did you call a battalionlord who wasn’t a lighteyes? “Er, Battalionlord Teofil is correct. We need to plug the stairwells. The shanay-im’s ability to fly won’t matter in such tight quarters. With proper barricades, it won’t even matter that they can heal. We can try to hold the second through fifth floors.”

  “Brightness,” another man said. “We can try—but there are dozens of stairwells, and not a lot of materials for barricades.”

  “Then we’d best start small,” she said. “Have all our troops retreat to this level; we’ll try to hold the second and third floors.”

  “And if they just fly down the outside and come in the windows on this floor?” the nervous young man asked.

  “We barricade ourselves in here tight,” Navani said. “Storms. The Soulcasters—”

  “—don’t work, like the other fabrials.”

  Damnation. “We have garrison stores?” she asked, hopeful.

  “I’ve sent men to recover them,” Teofil said, pointing at a map of the third floor. “Dumps are here and here.”

  “With those, we can hold for weeks,” Navani said. “Plenty of time for my husband to return with our forces.”

  The officers looked at one another. Her scribes, clustered near the doorway, stood quietly. After her furious rush to get here—often pushing through confused crowds—it felt unnerving to be in such silence. She almost felt as if the entire tower were bearing down on top of her.

  “Brightness,” Teofil said. “They pushed straight for the plateau outsi
de. They have the Oathgates—and are working them somehow, though other fabrials aren’t functioning. Singers will soon flood this tower. But disregarding that, I don’t think barricades would be a prudent strategy.

  “Yes, I plugged the stairwells to slow them, but they have stormforms, and I have reports of Fused who can move through stone. They’ll blast and burn away what we put in front of them. If you want us to hold, we’ll hold as long as we can—but I want to make certain you understand the situation fully. In case you want to consider a different plan.”

  Halls above. She pressed her hands against the table, forcing order upon her thoughts. Don’t feel like you need to decide everything, she told herself. You’re not a general.

  “Advice?” she asked.

  “Surrender is distasteful,” Teofil said, “but might be our best option. My soldiers are brave, and I vouch for them—but they cannot stand for long against Regals and Fused. Can you think of any way to restore the Radiants?”

  She eyed the maps. “I suspect whatever the enemy did to the Radiants has to do with a specific construction of garnets in the crystal pillar. If we can retake that room, I might be able to reverse all this. I can’t guarantee anything, but it’s my best guess and probably our best hope.”

  “That would mean reclaiming part of the first floor,” Teofil said. “We’d have to push down the stairs into the basement…”

  Nearby, other officers shuffled and muttered at that idea. Teofil met Navani’s eyes and nodded. He didn’t advise standing in a hopeless fight against a superior enemy. But if she could offer a chance of success, even with a difficult gamble, that was different.

  “That will be bloody,” a soldier said. “We’ll have to advance on the position of enemy Surgebinders.”

  “And if we fail, we’ll have given up most of our ground,” said another man. “This is basically an in-for-all maneuver. Either we seize the basement, or … that’s it.”

  Navani looked over the maps again, determined to think this through, though each minute she debated would make their task that much more difficult.

  Teofil is right, she decided. This tower is too porous to hold for long against an enemy with powers. Trying to hold these center rooms wouldn’t work. The enemy would be electrocuting men in large batches, breaking formations, terrifying her troops.

  She had to strike before everyone in the tower started feeling like that frightened captain. Before the enemy momentum grew too large to overcome.

  They had one hope. Move now.

  “Do it,” she ordered. “Throw everything we have into recovering that pillar in the basement.”

  Again the room fell silent. Then Teofil barked, “You heard the queen! Shuanor, Gavri, grab your men from the upper floors! Withdraw, leaving only a harrying force to cover the retreat. Radathavian, you command that. Withdraw slowly, making those Heavenly Ones bleed as they have to advance on you. Fused might heal, but they still hurt.

  “The rest of you, pull your men to the foot of the grand staircase. We’ll muster there, then make our push! We will carve a hole to the basement steps, then fight down and clear a path for the queen. By the blood of our fathers!”

  They scrambled into motion, the various lesser officers calling for runners to deliver orders. Navani didn’t miss their delayed response. They’d moved only after hearing the command from Teofil. These soldiers would fall over themselves to do her bidding when it came to peacetime requests, but during a fight …

  Navani glanced at Teofil, who leaned in next to her and spoke in a soft voice. “Pardon them, Brightness,” he said. “They likely don’t much like following a woman’s orders. Masculine arts and all that.”

  “And you?” she asked.

  “I figure the Blackthorn has studied every military text known to man,” he said. “And we could do worse for a general than the person who likely read ’em to him. Particularly if she’s willing to listen to a little sense. That’s more than I can say for some highlords I’ve followed.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What we needed most was for someone to make the decision,” he said. “Before you came, they were all balking at doing what I wanted. Storming fools. Almost anyone worth his Stormlight is on the front lines somewhere, Brightness.”

  He glanced at the others as they sent runners with orders. Then he spoke even softer to Navani. “We’ve got some solid troops mixed among them here, but many of these are Roion’s men. Best I could tell, there was a single Shardbearer in the tower who wasn’t a Radiant. Tshadr, a Thaylen man.

  “His rooms were on the fourth floor. I sent a runner, but she returned just before you arrived. Those Heavenly Ones went straight for him, Brightness. Must have known exactly where his quarters were. The enemy has his Plate now; may the Almighty accept his soul to the eternal battlefield.”

  Navani breathed out. Taravangian must have told the enemy where to find the Shardbearer.

  “There might be one other Shard we could take,” Teofil said, gesturing toward a spot on the third-floor map. “A black Blade. Speaks to people when they come close…”

  “The assassin in that cell is a Lightweaving,” Navani whispered. “We sent the real man with my husband in secret, and he took the sword with him.”

  “Damnation,” Teofil muttered.

  “What are our chances, Battalionlord?” she asked. “Our actual chances, in your estimation?”

  “Brightness,” he said, “I’ve tried fielding regular troops against Regals. It doesn’t go well—and it will be worse here. Normally these close quarters would benefit us fighting defensively. But in corridors we’re limited to small clashes of squads. And if their squads can throw lightning…”

  “I came to the same conclusion,” she said. “Do you think this order of mine foolish?”

  He slowly shook his head. “Brightness, if there’s a chance to turn this tide right now, I think we need to take it. We lose the tower, and … well, it will be a disaster for the war. If there is even a possibility you can wake the Radiants, I’ll risk everyone we have on that chance.”

  “Try this push, then,” she said. “But if it doesn’t work … I need to know how the enemy is treating the people on the upper floors as we withdraw the troops. Think you can have a scout find that out for me?”

  He nodded, and she read understanding in his expression. Fused usually occupied rather than destroyed. Honestly, they generally treated the cities they took better than her fellow Alethi might have during a squabble between highprinces.

  As much as she hated it, surrender was an option. As long as she was sure the enemy wasn’t intending to make a slaughter of this attack.

  They’d tried something like this once before, but then it had been only a raid—intended to slow down the Alethi reinforcements and to steal the Honorblade. She had a worse feeling about today’s attack. They seemed to know about the Sibling—and how to disrupt the tower’s defenses.

  “I’m going to try something with the tower’s fabrials,” Navani said. “It might help us. Take command, see our plan put into action. Bring me anything of significance before you make a decision, please. Assuming you’re still willing to take orders from a woman.”

  “Brightness,” he said, “before my promotion, I spent years taking orders from every fuzz-faced teenage lieutenant who decided to make a name for himself on the Shattered Plains. Trust me when I say I consider this to be an honor.”

  He saluted her, then turned and began barking further orders. As he did, Navani noted the Bridge Four man named Dabbid slinking into the room. People didn’t give him much more than a quick glance. The way he walked, with his eyes down, cringing when someone brushed past, was reminiscent of a servant, or … well, of how parshmen used to be. Invisible, to an extent.

  It was good to know he had arrived in case what she was about to try didn’t work. Navani walked up to the vein of crystal on the wall. It was more obvious in this room—a line of red garnet slicing the wall in half, interrupting the natural pat
tern of the strata. Navani rested her hand against it.

  “I know you can hear, Sibling,” Navani said softly. “Dabbid told me you could—but it was clear to me anyway. You knew where to place those rubies, and you knew when I’d lost one. You’ve been listening in on us the entire time, haven’t you? Spying? How else would you know that I’m the one who leads the fabrial scholars in the tower?”

  As she finished speaking, she noted something: a small twinkle of light, like a starspren, moving up through the line of crystal. She forced herself to keep her fingers in place as it touched her skin.

  I can hear you, a voice said in her mind—quiet, like a whisper. She couldn’t tell if it was male or female. It seemed pitched between the two. Though I do not see all that you assume I do. Regardless, Dabbid should not have spoken of this.

  “Be glad he did,” Navani whispered. “I want to help.”

  You are a slaver, the Sibling said.

  “Am I better than a Fused?”

  The Sibling didn’t respond at first. I’m not sure, they said. I have avoided your kind. You were supposed to think I was dead. Everyone was supposed to think I was dead.

  “I’m glad you’re not. You said you were the soul of the tower. Can you restore its functions?”

  No, the voice said. I really was asleep. Until … a Bondsmith. I felt a Bondsmith. But the tower is not functional, and I have not the Light to restart it.

  “If that is true, then how have they done what they have to the Radiants?”

  I … They have corrupted me. A little part of me. They used their Light to activate defenses I could not.

  “Is what they did related to that construction of garnets in your crystal pillar?”

  You know too much, the Sibling said. It makes me uncomfortable. You know and do things that weren’t possible before.

  “They were possible, they simply weren’t known,” Navani said. “That is the nature of science.”

  What you do is dangerous and evil, the Sibling said. Those ancient Radiants gave up their oaths because they worried they had too much power—and you have gone far beyond them.