Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  They had immediately separated her from the others, naturally, and had taken her arm sheath with its fabrials. She wished she could burn a prayer to the Almighty that her scholars would be kept safe. The only reason to surrender was to protect them and the others of the tower. In this, the Fused had been wise. They’d made it clear time and time again that they didn’t slaughter populations who surrendered. You always knew you had an out. All you had to do was submit.

  It was the same lesson that Gavilar and Navani herself had taught many, many years ago. Cities that had joined the unified Alethkar had prospered. Of course, with Gavilar and Dalinar involved, there had always been an explicit addition to that lesson. Fail to submit, and you would be sent the Blackthorn.

  With those memories haunting her, it was difficult to evoke any sense of outrage as the enemy soldiers led her down the steps. How could Navani feel outrage at having done to her what she’d willingly done to others? It was the enormous flaw in Gavilar’s reasoning. If their strength justified their rule of Alethkar, then what happened when someone stronger came along? It was a system that ensured there would always be war, a constant clash for rule.

  She was able to use such high-minded philosophical thoughts to distract her up until she saw the first bodies. They lay slumped against the wall, in the crook of the steps, men in Roion uniforms. Men with too-young faces, slaughtered as they’d tried to push for the crystal pillar.

  Men she’d sent to their deaths. Navani steeled herself, but had to walk through their blood to proceed. Vorin teachings abhorred gambling, and Navani had often been proud that she avoided such games of chance. Yet she gambled with lives, didn’t she?

  The blood was pervasive, dribbling down steps, threatening to make her slip. One of her captors placed a strong hand under her arm, as they marched her around and around, passing breaks in the wooden railing where the fighting had grown intense.

  At the bottom she found a pile of corpses, including some in Kholin uniforms. Poor Teofil and his men. It seemed they’d almost made it, judging by the fact that a Heavenly One had to fly Navani over a break in the steps where a few last corpses slumped—bespeaking their final moments.

  Thank you, Teofil, she thought. And all of you. If the tower had a chance, it came because these men had bought her time. Even if they hadn’t reached the pillar, they had done something remarkable. She would remember that sacrifice.

  At the base of the steps, she was marched through the hallway with the murals. As she walked, she found herself proud of how much of a fight they’d put up. Not only Teofil and the soldiers, but the entire tower. Yes, it had taken less than half a day for the Fused to conquer all of Urithiru, but considering Navani’s lack of Radiants and Shards, it was remarkable to have lasted that long.

  She felt particularly satisfied with their efforts when she saw the glowing blue light at the end of the hallway, blocking off the way to the pillar room. Odd, that she should feel most a queen in the moments before the position was taken from her.

  The soldiers steered her into the larger of the two library rooms, where a tall femalen Fused stood in light armor, looking over papers from one of the many stacks in the room. Navani’s most precious engineering and design secrets. The Fused had a strange hairstyle, with carapace covering nearly her entire head, save for a topknot-style bundle of thick orange singer hair. The way the guards presented Navani made it clear that this was the leader.

  The Fused continued to read, barely acknowledging Navani.

  “I am ready to discuss terms of surrender,” Navani finally said.

  A lithe Regal stepped to the femalen’s side. “Raboniel, Lady of Wishes, is not to be directly addressed by—”

  She was interrupted by the Fused saying something. Whatever it was, the Regal didn’t seem to have expected it, for when she spoke again her voice cadence had changed markedly.

  “The Lady says, ‘She comes to me as a queen, though she will leave without the title. For now she may speak when she wishes, as befitting her rank.’”

  “Then let me offer surrender,” Navani said. “My soldiers have been instructed to turn in their arms, should you approach with the proper sign given—proof that we’ve reached an accord.”

  “I will require your Radiants,” the Fused—Raboniel—said through her interpreter. “You will release a proclamation: Anyone harboring a Radiant is subject to harsh punishment. We will search the tower to bring all of them under our care. Your soldiers and officers will be disarmed but spared.

  “Your people may continue living in the tower under our laws. All lighteyes—including you—will be made of equal status to darkeyes. You are humans, nothing more, nothing less. The will of a singer must be obeyed immediately, and humans may not carry weapons. Otherwise, I am content to let them continue their occupations—and even engage in trade, a privilege not extended to most humans in Alethkar.”

  “I can’t give up the Knights Radiant to execution,” Navani said.

  “Then we will kill them all as they lie unconscious,” the Fused said. “And once finished, we will approach you with less lenient terms of surrender. Conversely, we can make an accommodation now, and perhaps your Radiants will live. I cannot promise I won’t change my mind, but I don’t intend to execute them. We simply need to be certain they are properly restrained.”

  “They’re unconscious. How much more restraint do they need?”

  Raboniel didn’t reply. She flipped through the pages.

  “I agree to these terms,” Navani said. “The tower is yours. If your people approach my men with a white flag bearing a circle painted black, they will surrender.”

  Several Regals went running with the news, and Navani wished them the wind’s own speed. “What have you done with my scholars? And the soldiers down here in these rooms?”

  “Some are dead,” Raboniel said through the interpreter. “But not many.”

  Navani closed her eyes. Some? Which of her friends had been killed in this incursion? Was she foolhardy, for resisting as long as she had?

  No. Not if it bought us time to put the shield up. She knew very little about the Sibling and this tower, but at least now she had a chance. Only by working with the enemy, pretending to be docile and controlled, would she find opportunity to restore the Radiants.

  “You drew these?” Raboniel asked through her interpreter, turning around the pages. They were indeed some of Navani’s sketches—more airships, of a more practical design, now that they better understood the mechanics of flight. They were signed by her seal.

  “Yes,” Navani said.

  The Fused read through them further. Then, remarkably, she spoke in Alethi—heavily accented, but understandable. “Is it common for human queens of this era to be engineers?”

  This startled her attendant Regal, who seemed to not have known this Lady of Wishes could speak Alethi. Or perhaps she was surprised to hear one so high speak to a human.

  “I have unusual hobbies,” Navani said.

  Raboniel folded the sheet of paper and finally met Navani’s eyes. “They are remarkable. I would like to hire you.”

  “… Hire me?” Navani asked, taken aback.

  “You are no longer a queen, but you are obviously a talented engineer. I am told the scholars of this tower respect you. So, I would hire you to work on fabrial projects for me. I assure you, being in my employ will be a far more rewarding job than carrying water or washing clothing.”

  What game is this? Navani thought. Surely this Fused didn’t actually expect Navani to design fabrials for the enemy?

  “Carrying water or washing clothing is fine work,” Navani said. “I’ve done both before in my life. Neither will involve giving secrets to an enemy who, I’m afraid, will inevitably use them to kill and conquer my people.”

  “True,” Raboniel said. “You are not prideful. I respect that. But consider my offer before rejecting it. If you are close to me, you would have a much easier time tracking what I’m doing, spying on my projects. You wil
l also have greater opportunity to sneak information out to your husband, in hope of an eventual rescue. I know many things about Stormlight and Voidlight that you do not. Pay attention, and I suspect you’d learn more from me than you’d give up.”

  Navani felt her mouth go dry, searching the Fused’s red eyes, glowing faintly from her corrupted soul. Storms. Raboniel said it all so calmly. This creature was ancient, thousands of years old. What secrets must her mind hold.…

  Careful, Navani thought to herself. If she’s thousands of years old, she has had thousands of years to practice manipulating people.

  “I will consider the offer,” Navani said.

  “Refer to me as ‘Ancient One’ or ‘Lady of Wishes,’” Raboniel said, “as you no longer have the rank to ignore my title. I will put you with your scholars. Discuss it together, then inform me of your decision.”

  The soldiers led Navani away. And just like that, she had lost another throne.

  Regardless, please make yourself known to me when you travel my lands. It is distressing that you think you need to move in the shadows.

  By the time they heard confirmation that the queen had surrendered, sunlight was beginning to stream through the windows of the clinic. Kaladin and his family had spent the entire night seeing patients. Twenty hours, a full day, without sleep.

  Even the exhaustionspren near Kaladin seemed tired, swirling slowly, lethargic. The messenger woman sat down at their table in the clinic, bleary eyed and wearing a disheveled uniform, as she accepted a cup of cold tea from Kaladin’s father.

  “The queen attempted a final push to restore the Radiants,” the woman said. “I don’t know what that entailed—only that the soldiers involved are dead now. I’ve been running messages to the neighborhoods on the sixth floor. But yes, in answer to your question, I’ve seen Queen Navani and the head of the Fused army together. She confirmed the surrender to me. We are to live under singer law, and not resist.”

  “Stormwinds,” Kaladin whispered. “I never realized how blind I’d feel without spanreeds.” It had taken hours for any sort of factual information to filter up to the sixth floor.

  “So we’re supposed to go right back to living under their rule?” Kaladin’s mother said from her seat at the table.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” Lirin said. “The highlords won’t like it, but it won’t matter much for the rest of us.”

  “Fabrials don’t work,” Hesina said. “We can’t heat our rooms, not to mention our food. The water pumps will have halted. This tower won’t remain livable for long.”

  “The Fused use their powers,” Lirin replied. “Maybe if we infuse the fabrials with Voidlight, they’ll work.”

  “Pardon, Brightlord,” the scout said, “but that … feels wrong for many reasons.”

  Kaladin had started rummaging in the cupboard for something to eat, so he didn’t see his father’s reaction at being called “Brightlord.” He could guess though. It was an odd situation anyway, considering that Lirin’s eyes hadn’t changed, he’d simply been adopted into Kaladin’s house. Rank was becoming a jumbled mess these days.

  “Kaladin, son,” Hesina said, “why don’t you go lie down?”

  “Why?” he said, getting out a stack of flatbread, then counting how many pieces they had.

  “You’ve been prowling about like a caged animal,” she said.

  “No I haven’t.”

  “Son…” she said, in a calm—but infuriatingly wise—voice.

  He set down the bread and felt at his brow, which was cold from sweat. He took a deep breath, then turned around to face them, his father leaning against the wall, his mother at the table with the messenger woman. She had white and grey hair, but was young enough that it seemed premature, and had a pair of white gloves tucked into her belt. An Alethi master-servant doing double duty as a messenger.

  “You’re all taking this too calmly,” Kaladin said, tossing up his hands. “Don’t you realize what this means? They control the tower. They control the Oathgates. That is it. The war is over.”

  “Brightlord Dalinar still has the bulk of the Radiants with him,” Alili, the messenger, said. “And our armies were mostly deployed around the world.”

  “And now they’re all isolated!” Kaladin said. “We can’t fight a war on multiple fronts without the Oathgates. And what if the enemy can repeat whatever they did here? What if they start making Radiant powers go away on every battlefield?”

  That quieted her. Kaladin tried to imagine what the war would be like without Windrunners or Edgedancers. Already, the battlefields were starting to look very little like the ones he’d known during his days as a spearman. Fewer large-scale formations maneuvering against other blocks of men. Those were too easy to disrupt from above, or by other types of Fused.

  Men spent their days in protected camps, making only sudden surges to claim ground and shove away the enemy. Battles stretched on for months, instead of occurring in decisive engagements. Nobody quite knew how to fight a war like this—well, nobody on their side, at least.

  “I keep waiting,” Kaladin said, wiping his brow again, “for the thunder to hit. The lightning struck last night. We saw the flash, and need to brace ourselves for the shock wave.…”

  “Brightlord,” Alili said, “pardon, but … maybe you could help the other Radiants? To do whatever you did?”

  “What did I do?”

  “That’s what I’m asking,” she said. “Again, pardon, but Brightlord Stormblessed … you’re the sole Radiant I’ve seen in the tower who is still standing. Whatever the enemy did, it knocked out all the others. Every single one. Except you.”

  He thought of Teft, lying on the slab in the other room. They’d spooned broth into his mouth, and he had taken it, stirring and muttering softly between mouthfuls.

  The long night weighed on Kaladin. He did need rest. Probably should have taken it hours ago. But he worried about his patients, the men suffering from battle shock. Before all this had happened, he’d gotten them rooms on the fourth floor, among the men who had lost arms or legs in the war, and who now did work maintaining gear for other soldiers.

  Kaladin’s patients had been making real progress. He could imagine exactly how they felt now though, living through another horror as the battle—so frequently a source of nightmares to them—found them again. They must be beside themselves.

  Not just them, Kaladin thought, wiping his brow again with his hand.

  The messenger woman rose and stretched, then bowed and moved on her way to continue delivering the news. Before she reached the front door, however, Syl zipped in from underneath it, twirled around in a few circles, then zipped back out.

  “Enemy soldier,” Kaladin said under his breath to his parents, “coming this way.”

  Indeed, as the messenger left, a singer wearing a sleek Regal form peeked in to check on Kaladin and his parents. The singer lingered only a short time before turning away. There weren’t enough of them yet to guard each and every home. Kaladin suspected that as more and more singers moved into the tower, he and his family wouldn’t be able to speak as openly as they’d been doing so far this morning.

  “We should get some sleep,” Lirin said to Kaladin.

  “The other townspeople—” Kaladin began.

  “Laral and I will visit them,” Hesina said, rising. “I got some sleep earlier.”

  “But—”

  “Son,” Lirin said. “If the Radiants are in comas, that means no Edgedancers—and no Regrowth. You and I need sleep, because we’re going to become very busy men over the next few days. There’s an entire tower full of frightened people, and likely as not a few hotheaded soldiers will take it upon themselves to make trouble despite the queen’s orders. They’re all going to need two rested surgeons.”

  Hesina gave her husband a fond touch on the cheek with her safehand, then a kiss. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to Kaladin as he found himself yet again wiping his brow. Then she left to go visit Laral—who ha
d seen the messenger before them and already knew the situation.

  Kaladin reluctantly joined his father and walked down the long hallway past the patient rooms toward the family’s living quarters.

  “What if I’m one of those hotheads?” Kaladin asked. “What if I can’t live with this?”

  Lirin stopped in the hallway. “I thought we’d discussed this already, son.”

  “You think I can ignore the fact that the enemy has conquered my home?” Kaladin said. “You think you can just turn me into a good, well-behaved slave like—”

  “Like me?” Lirin asked with a sigh. His eyes flicked up, likely noting the brands on Kaladin’s forehead, mostly covered by his hair. “What would have happened, son, if instead of trying so hard to escape all those years, you’d instead proven yourself to your masters? What if you’d shown them you could heal instead of kill? How much misery would you have saved the world if you’d used your talents instead of your fists?”

  “You’re telling me to be a good slave and do what I’m told.”

  “I’m telling you to think!” his father snapped. “I’m telling you that if you want to change the world, you have to stop being part of the problem!” Lirin calmed himself with obvious difficulty, making fists and breathing in deeply. “Son, think about what all those years spent fighting did to you. How they broke you.”

  Kaladin looked away, not trusting himself to answer.

  “Now,” Lirin said, “think about these last few weeks. How good it felt to be helping for once.”

  “There is more than one way to help.”

  “And your nightmares?” Lirin asked. “The cold sweats? The times where your mind numbs? Was that caused by my kind of help, or your kind? Son, our mandate is to find those who are hurt, then see them cared for. We can do that even if the enemy has conquered us.”