Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Can she?”

  I don’t know. This is the first time it has been deployed. But she doesn’t seem to realize you were the one who activated it. She explained to several others that she must have triggered some unknown fail-safe left by the ancient Radiants. She thinks that I must be dead after all this time, since the tower doesn’t work.

  “Curious,” Navani said. “Why would she think that?”

  The Midnight Mother told her. That Unmade who infected me for so many years, the one your Radiants frightened away? I remained hidden from her all that time, never fighting back, and so she thinks I died.

  “All that time?” Navani asked. “How long?”

  Centuries.

  “Wasn’t that hard?”

  No. Why? Centuries mean nothing to me. I do not age.

  “Other spren act like time has meaning.”

  Radiant spren, yes. Radiant spren put on a show, pretending as if they are male or female, malen or femalen, when they are neither. They think like humans because they want to be like humans.

  I do not pretend. I am not human. I do not need to care about time. I do not need to look like you. I do not need to beg for your attention.

  Navani cocked an eyebrow at that, considering that the Sibling had needed to beg for her help. She held her tongue. How to best use this advantage? What was the path to freedom? Navani liked to think that she could see patterns, that she could make order from chaos. There was a way out of this mess. She had to believe that.

  Treat it like any other problem, Navani thought to herself. Approach it systematically, breaking it down into manageable pieces.

  Last night, she’d decided on a few general courses of action. First, she had to maintain the ground she’d already obtained. That meant making certain the Sibling’s shield remained in place.

  Second, she had to get word to Dalinar and those on the outside, apprising them of what had happened.

  Third, Navani needed to figure out what the enemy had done to negate Radiant powers. According to the Sibling, it involved a corruption of ancient tower protections. Navani needed to deactivate it.

  Finally, she needed to turn that power upon the invaders. Barring that, she needed to use the awakened Radiants to mount a counterattack.

  Standing here, trapped in the basement and constantly watched, those seemed impossible tasks. But her scholars had made a ship fly. She could do this, with their help.

  Navani counted off the singer guards as they strolled through the room, looking over the shoulders of working scholars. One stopped the girls carrying out notes and checked through the boxes. That one Fused—the one who kept moving her head from one side to the other, humming a loud rhythm—was watching Navani at the moment. Navani tried not to let that unnerve her, and turned her head so her lips wouldn’t be visible, then continued talking under her breath.

  “Let’s assume,” she said, “that Raboniel is smart enough to figure out what those ancient Radiants did in creating this shield for you. What would be the best way for her to go about circumventing it?”

  The Sibling didn’t respond, and Navani began to worry. “Has something happened? Are you well?”

  I am fine, the Sibling said. But we are not friends, human. You are a slaver. I do not trust you.

  “You’ve trusted me so far.”

  Out of necessity. I am safe now.

  “And for how long will you be safe? You’re saying there is no way for Raboniel to get through?”

  The Sibling didn’t respond.

  “Fine,” Navani said. “But I can’t plan a way to help you if I don’t know your weaknesses. You’ll be alone, subject to whatever Raboniel decides to do.”

  … I hate humans, the Sibling eventually said. Humans twist what is said and always make themselves out to be right.

  How long until you demand that I bond a human, give up my freedom, and risk my life? I’m sure you’ll have wonderful explanations as to why I should absolutely do that.

  This time Navani was the one who remained silent. The Sibling could create another Bondsmith, and considering how useful Dalinar’s powers were to the war effort, Navani would be foolish not to seize the opportunity. So she would need to find a way to make the Sibling bond a human again. She’d have to find someone completely unthreatening. Someone who didn’t work with fabrials, someone who wasn’t a politician. Someone the Sibling would like.

  For now, Navani didn’t prod. The Sibling clearly had some strange ways, but their interactions so far had been quite human, despite what they claimed. And Navani would expect a human to …

  The shield we created is something Raboniel might have heard about, the Sibling said at last. Therefore, she might understand how to circumvent it.

  “Tell me more,” Navani said.

  The shield is an extrapolation of the Surge of Soulcasting. It solidifies the air in a region by persuading it that it is glass. For the shield to be maintained, the system needs to be fed by external sources of Stormlight. Raboniel might realize this—especially if she researches the remnants of the node you used to activate the shield.

  There are other nodes like that one, with crystals connected directly to my heart. There were four. You destroyed one. If she finds one of the other three, she could use it to corrupt me from the outside.

  “So we need to find them first,” Navani said, “and destroy them.”

  No. NO! That will weaken the shield, then destroy it. We need to defend them. Breaking one was bad enough. Do not think because I gave you permission once, you can continue to do this. Humans always break things.

  Navani took a deep breath. She had to speak very carefully. “I won’t break any of them unless it’s absolutely necessary. Let’s talk about something else. How did you contact me earlier? Can you work a spanreed?”

  I hate the things. But using one was necessary.

  “Yes, but how? Do you have hands somewhere?”

  Just helpers. There is an insane woman, locked in a monastery, who I contacted. Those isolated, those with permeable souls, respond better to spren sometimes. This one, however, only wrote down everything I said—never responding. I had Dabbid bring her a spanreed, and I communicated through her.

  Drat. That didn’t seem particularly useful, at least now that spanreeds weren’t working. “How is it that the enemy knocked the Radiants unconscious?” Navani asked.

  It is an aspect of Ur, the Tower, the Sibling said. A defense set up to prevent the Fused—and the Unmade, depending on circumstances—from entering it.

  “I encountered a fabrial designed to do the same—one I think must have been modeled after part of the crystal pillar. I don’t mean to be rude, but did you not consider activating this defense when they attacked?”

  The Sibling fell silent for a time, and Navani wondered if she had pushed the spren too far. Fortunately they spoke again, softly. I have … been wounded. Thousands of years ago, something happened that changed the singers. It hurt me too.

  Navani covered her shock. “You’re speaking of the binding of that Unmade, which made the singers lose their forms?”

  Yes. That terrible act touched the souls of all who belong to Roshar. Spren too.

  “How have no spren mentioned this?”

  I don’t know. But I lost the rhythm of my Light that day. The tower stopped working. My father, Honor, should have been able to help me, but he was losing his mind. And he soon died …

  There was enough sorrow in the Sibling’s voice that Navani didn’t push them for answers. This changed everything.

  When that Fused touched me, the Sibling continued, she corrupted part of me to the tone of Odium. This wouldn’t have been possible, once—but it is now. She fills my system with his Light, ruining me. Corrupting me.

  “So…” Navani said. “If we could find a way to destroy the Voidlight inside you, or somehow recover the rhythm you lost, you could reactivate the tower to our defense?”

  I suppose. It doesn’t seem possible. I feel … like we’re
doomed.

  The mood shift seemed familiarly human. Indeed, Navani felt a little of the same. She rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes.

  Break it down into little pieces, she reminded herself. Protect the Sibling long enough to figure out the other problems. That’s your first task.

  You didn’t fill out a map all at once. You did it one line at a time. That was the soul of discovery.

  But … the Sibling said.

  “But?” Navani said, opening her eyes. “But what?”

  But we might not need to wake up any Radiants. There are two in the tower who are still awake.

  Again Navani nearly broke her calm facade. Why hadn’t the Sibling mentioned this immediately? “How?”

  One makes sense to me, the Sibling said. She is awake because she was created oddly, to use Light differently from others. She was made by my mother for this purpose. But I have lost track of her, and I do not know where she is. A young woman. Edgedancer.

  “Lift,” Navani said. That one always had been strange. “You can’t see her anymore?”

  No. I think one reason I can see parts of the tower has to do with Radiants, who are Connected to me. I caught glimmers of this Edgedancer girl for a while, but she vanished yesterday. She was in a cage, and I suspect they surrounded her with ralkalest.

  But there is one other. A man. He must be of the Fourth Ideal, but he has no armor. So … maybe of the Third, but close to the Fourth? Perhaps it is something about his closeness to my father—and his closeness to the Surge of Adhesion—that keeps him conscious. His power is that of bonds. This man is a Windrunner, but no longer wears a uniform.

  Kaladin. “Can you contact him?”

  * * *

  Kaladin’s first goal was Stormlight. Fortunately, he knew exactly where to find some infused spheres. Workers frequently erected gemstone lanterns in busier corridors, pushing away the darkness and making the interior more welcoming and comfortable. One such project had been happening on the sixth floor, far enough from his family’s clinic that he felt it wasn’t too dangerous to try approaching.

  He started by feeling his way through the darkened hallways near his hiding place on the eleventh floor. Together with Syl, he made a mental map of the area, then inched to the perimeter. Kaladin felt like he was leaving a slaver’s cage when he saw that first glimmer of sunlight in the distance, and had to keep himself from running all-out to reach it.

  Slow, steady, careful. He let Syl explore on ahead. She snuck up to the balcony, then peeked out. Kaladin crouched in the darkness waiting, watching, listening. Finally she darted back and made a swirl in the air, the signal that she hadn’t seen anything suspicious.

  He emerged into the light. He tried to memorize the strata here in this outermost hallway, then glanced over his shoulder back into the bowels of the eleventh floor. That corridor was basically a straight shot to his hiding place. His stupid brain imagined forgetting the way and leaving Teft to die, wasting away, perhaps waking at the end. Alone, trapped, terrified …

  Kaladin shook his head, then inched out into a balcony room where he could survey the exterior of the tower. They hadn’t seen a single guard while walking here. Glancing out, he didn’t see a single Heavenly One flying. What was happening? Had they retreated for some reason?

  No. He still felt the oppressive dullness, the sign of whatever they’d done to suppress the Radiants. Kaladin leaned out farther. On the plateaus, he saw figures in blue uniforms guarding the Oathgates in their usual locations. He felt a spike of relief, and even disbelief. Had it all been some terrible nightmare?

  “Kaladin!” Syl hissed. “Someone’s coming.”

  The two of them pressed their backs to the nearby wall as a group of figures passed through the hallway outside. They were speaking to the rhythms, in Azish. Singer guards—Kaladin caught a glimpse of them carrying spears. He almost jumped them, but restrained himself. There would be an easier and less blatant way of getting a proper weapon.

  The enemy was clearly still in control. And as he considered it, the truth occurred to him.

  “They’re making the outside of the tower look like nothing has happened,” he whispered to Syl after the patrol had passed. “They know Dalinar will send Windrunners to scout the tower once communication fails, so the enemy is trying to pretend the place hasn’t been conquered. Those are either Fused illusions, or human sympathizers—perhaps the remnants of Amaram’s army—wearing stolen uniforms.”

  “And Windrunners won’t be able to get close enough to discover the truth, lest their powers fail,” Syl said.

  “That part will be suspicious,” Kaladin said. “The enemy can’t keep this going for long.”

  The two moved to a nearby stairwell. It didn’t seem to be guarded, but he sent Syl ahead to check anyway. Then they started down, finding the tenth, ninth, and eighth floors relatively unguarded. There was simply too much space up here to watch it all. Though they did spot one other patrol at the tower’s perimeter, it was easy going until they reached the seventh floor. Here, leading down to the more populated sixth floor, they found guards at the bottom of the first five stairwells they tried.

  They had to move inward and find a small out-of-the-way stairwell that Syl remembered. Reaching it meant entering the darkness again. To Kaladin, sunlight was as vital as food or water. Leaving it was agony, but he did it.

  And as hoped, the smaller stairwell was unguarded. They emerged onto the sixth floor in quiet darkness. It seemed most of the tower’s human population was still confined to quarters. The enemy was working on how to rule this place, which should leave Kaladin with an opening. With that in mind, he sent Syl on a task.

  She zipped out toward the balcony rooms, leaving him crouched in the stairwell, armed with his scalpel. Kaladin shivered, wishing he had a coat or jacket. It felt colder now than it ever had in the tower. Whatever the enemy had done to stop the Radiants had also interfered with the tower’s other functions. That made him worry about the people.

  Syl eventually returned. “Your family is confined to quarters like everyone else,” she said softly. “But there are actual guards at their door. I didn’t dare try to talk to your father or mother, but I saw them together through the window. They look healthy, if frightened.”

  Kaladin nodded. That was the best he could have hoped for, he supposed. Hopefully his father had talked his way out of trouble, as he’d said. Together, Kaladin and Syl snuck inward to the hallway where the lanterns were being installed. The workers had left a pile of lanterns here, along with tools for drilling their mountings into the rock.

  They hadn’t left gemstones in the equipment piles, and the lanterns in this particular corridor were empty. But in the next corridor over, the lanterns had been fitted with amethysts—midsized gemstones for light, a little larger than a broam. That meant a lot of Stormlight, if he could get it out.

  “What do you think?” Kaladin asked Syl. “Grab a crowbar and snap them quickly, then run for it?”

  “Seems like that would make a lot of noise,” she said, landing on one of the lanterns.

  “I could just steal the Stormlight and infuse the spheres I’ve been carrying. I wish I could get some of these gemstones though. I need a better reserve.”

  “We could try to find the lampkeeper and get her keys,” Syl said.

  “The one assigned to this floor is a lighteyed woman who lives somewhere on the third floor, I think. Lopen tried to get her to go to dinner with him.”

  “Of course he did,” Syl said. “But … as I think about it, trying to find her seems like it would be difficult and dangerous.”

  “Agreed.”

  She stood on the top of the glowing lantern, then flitted around to the side, becoming a ribbon of light, and zipped in through the lantern’s small keyhole. Although she couldn’t pass through solid objects, squeezing through a crack or hole usually served well enough.

  Her ribbon wound around inside the lantern. These were sturdy iron devices built to re
sist break-ins. They had glass sides, but those were reinforced with a lattice of metal. A key would unlock one of the faces, letting you swing it open and access the inside. The other faces of the lantern could be unlatched from the inside, and could open as well.

  Syl flew over to one of these latches and formed into a person again. Theoretically, if you didn’t have a key, you could break the glass and use a wire to manually turn the inside latches to open one of the faces. But the device had been designed to make this difficult, with thick glass and that iron webbing behind.

  Syl tried pushing on the latch, but it was too heavy for her. She put her hands on her hips, glaring at it. “Try a Lashing,” Syl called, her voice echoing against the glass, louder than her tiny form would have suggested.

  “Lashings don’t work,” Kaladin said softly, keeping an eye down the corridor for guard patrols.

  “Gravitational Lashings don’t work,” Syl said. “The other ones do though, right?”

  Windrunners had three varieties of Lashings. Most commonly he used the gravitational Lashing, where you infused an object or person and changed the direction gravity pulled them. But there were two others. He’d tested a Full Lashing while carrying Teft to the clinic during the invasion. That Lashing allowed you to infuse an object with Light and command it to stick to anything that touched it. He’d used it during his early days as a bridgeman to stick rocks to a chasm wall.

  The last Lashing was the most strange and arcane of the three. The Reverse Lashing made something attract other objects. It was like a hybrid of the other two. You infused a surface, then commanded it to pull on specific items. They were drawn to it. As if … as if the object you infused had become the source of gravity. As a bridgeman, Kaladin had unknowingly used this Lashing to pull arrows through the air to his bridge, making them swerve to miss his friends.

  “What you call ‘Lashings,’” Syl said to him, “are really two Surges working together. Gravitation and Adhesion, combined in different ways. You say Gravitation Lashings don’t work, and Adhesion ones do. What about a Reverse Lashing?”