Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  For now though, it seemed that everyone was safe—though inconvenienced. If Dalinar hadn’t been anticipating the betrayal, things could have gone very differently. He could imagine a version of events where Taravangian’s betrayal threw the coalition into chaos, allowing the singer military to surge forward and push Dalinar’s troops all the way back to Azimir. There, without proper resupply and support, they could have been crushed.

  Perhaps that’s it, he thought. Perhaps that was what Taravangian was intending—why he risked so much. The king, so far, had remained silent during interrogations. Perhaps Dalinar could speak to him directly and get more information. But he worried that somehow all of this was according to Taravangian’s plans, and Dalinar was second-guessing himself at every point.

  “Monarchs,” Dalinar said to the group, “I suggest we continue our battle for Emul until we have more information about Urithiru.”

  “Agreed,” the Azish emperor said immediately.

  “I will seek approval from the guilds of Thaylenah and the queen,” Prince Kmakl said, scanning through naval reports. “But for now, I have no problem with continuing to let the Alethi generals lead. However, Brightlord Dalinar, you realize this betrayal is going to make recovering your homeland even more difficult.”

  “I do,” Dalinar said. “I still believe that the best thing we can do for Alethkar’s eventual recovery is to first secure the West.”

  Each of those words was a knife stabbing at his heart. It meant giving Alethkar up for years. Perhaps longer. With Jah Keved as a staging area, he’d been able to entertain dreams of striking right for Kholinar. No longer.

  Storming Taravangian. Damnation take you.

  With Kmakl and the Azish weighing in, the sole monarch who hadn’t spoken up was Jasnah. She inspected the maps, Wit—as ever—standing at her shoulder.

  “I assume, Uncle,” she said, “that you will be letting the Mink prosecute this campaign?”

  “This is a larger conflict than one man can direct on his own,” Dalinar said. “But after his handling of the battle two days ago, I think he’s proven his worth. One of the reasons I worked so hard to recruit him was to have his particular genius directing our strategy.”

  “At the will of the monarchs,” the Mink said, “I’ll do this—but remember your promises. I won’t have you escape them. Once we inevitably liberate Alethkar, my kingdom is next.”

  Jasnah nodded. “I would like to see your battle plans, General Dieno. I give my initial approval to our continued offensive into Emul, but I will want details. Losing access to the Oathgates is going to prove disruptive.”

  With that, Dalinar called an end to the meeting. People began to uncover spheres around the perimeter of the war pavilion—revealing how enormous it truly was. It had to be large enough to accommodate everyone’s entourages, and so the map table looked small once everyone started retreating to their sections of the tent.

  Kmakl made his way over to the Thaylen scribes, where they used spanreeds to send minutes of the meeting home to Fen and the Thaylen guildmasters. Dalinar shook his head. He agreed with Fen’s decision to stay behind, and wished that Jasnah had made the same choice. Too many monarchs in one location made him nervous.

  It also bothered him that so much of what Queen Fen did was subject to the whims of a bunch of merchants and guildmasters. If they did win this war, he’d see if he could find a way to help her wrest control of her kingdom from those eels.

  The Azish and Emuli contingents began to vacate the war tent, letting in some fresh air. Dalinar used a handkerchief to mop at the sweat on the back of his neck—this region of Roshar wasn’t as muggy as the parts around the Reshi Isles, but the summer weather here was still too hot for his taste. He almost wanted to have one of the Windrunners fly him up to a higher altitude where he could get some proper cold air and think clearly.

  He settled for stepping outside the tent and surveying the camp. They’d commandeered a small town named Laqqi, just inside the Emuli border, not too far from Azimir. That placed it about a three-day march from the battlefront, where their lines—soon to be reinforced—held against the enemy forces to the south.

  Little more than a village, Laqqi had been overrun by troops setting up supply stations and command tents. Workers reinforced the eastern approach to block storms, and Windrunners soared through the air. This position made for an excellent command center, close enough to the battlefront to be reached by short flight, but far enough away to be protected from ground assault.

  Dalinar took some time out here, after checking that little Gav was playing happily with his governess, to think about Evi. Storms, he’d been so proud at Adolin’s birth. How had he let himself miss so much of his son’s childhood?

  He turned those memories over in his head. At first, he’d found being able to remember Evi to be novel—but the more the memories settled with him, the more they felt comfortable, like a familiar seat by the fire. He was ashamed of so much of what he’d remembered about himself, but he would not trade these memories again. He needed them. Needed her.

  He enjoyed the fresh air for a time, breathing deeply, before he returned to the tent to get something to drink. Szeth followed with his hand on his oversized sword—the silver sheath and black hilt were masked by a disguise. Szeth didn’t say anything, but Dalinar knew that he considered his defeat by Nale to be shameful. In Dalinar’s estimation, it spoke more of the Herald’s skill than anything else. Why was it Nale so often stayed out of battles, overseeing his Skybreakers from afar?

  Jasnah joined Dalinar as he poured himself some wine in the tent, by the bar. She knew what Szeth really was, but she was too politic to give him so much as a glance.

  “You’re stepping away from the fight, Uncle,” she noted quietly. “I expected you to lead the war effort here personally.”

  “I have found someone more capable to do the job.”

  “Pardon, Uncle, but you should find a better lie. You never let go of something you’re interested in doing yourself. It’s one of your more consistent behaviors.”

  He stilled himself, then glanced about the room. She shouldn’t have confronted him here, where representatives of the other monarchs might hear. Knowing Jasnah, that was part of the reason she had done so. With her, every conversation was a little contest, and she always considered the terrain.

  “I’m beginning to realize something,” he said softly, stepping her over to the side, away from the bar. Szeth stayed close, as did Wit. Others gave them space. “My powers as a Bondsmith are more valuable than we have known. I told you about how, in the battle, I touched Nalan and saw his past.”

  “A feat you’ve been unable to replicate with Shalash or Talenelat.”

  “Yes, because I don’t know what I’m doing!” Dalinar said. “I am a weapon we haven’t fully investigated. I need to learn how to use these powers—use them for more than merely renewing spheres and opening the perpendicularity.”

  “I appreciate someone wanting to learn, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “But you are already a powerful weapon. You are one of our greatest military minds.”

  “I need to become something more,” Dalinar said. “I’m worried that this war is going to be an endless give-and-take. We seize Emul, but lose Jah Keved. Back and forth, back and forth. How do we win, Jasnah? What is our end goal?”

  She nodded slowly. “We need to push Odium to an accord. You think learning about your powers can help you achieve this?”

  Over a year had passed since Odium had agreed to a contest by champions—but since then, Dalinar hadn’t seen the being. No visits. No visions. Not even a messenger.

  “Rayse—Odium—is not one to be pushed into anything,” Wit said from over Jasnah’s shoulder. “He might have agreed to a contest in theory, Blackthorn, but he never set terms. And he won’t, as long as he thinks he’s winning this war. You need to frighten him, convince him that he might lose. Only then will he proceed with a contest of champions—as long as the terms limit his losses.”


  “I would rather a complete victory than something that allows Odium to hedge his bets,” Dalinar said.

  “Ah, delightful,” Wit replied, holding up his palm and mimicking writing something down. “I’ll just make a note that you’d like to win. Yes, how foolish of me not to realize that, Blackthorn. Total victory. Over a god. Who is currently holding your homeland, and recently gained the allegiance of one of the strongest militaries on the planet. Shall I also have him bake you something sweet as an apology for this whole ‘end of the world’ mess?”

  “That will do, Wit,” Dalinar said with a sigh.

  “The baking thing is an actual tradition,” Wit added. “I once visited a place where—if you lose a battle—your mother has to bake the other fellow something tasty. I rather liked those people.”

  “Pity you didn’t remain with them longer,” Dalinar said.

  “Ha! Well, I didn’t think it wise to stay around. After all, they were cannibals.”

  Dalinar shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand. “Wit says we have to somehow persuade Odium we’re a threat. But I think the enemy is manipulating us. This entire trick with Taravangian has me unsettled. We’re dealing with a god, but we aren’t using all the tools at our disposal.”

  He held up his palm. “With this, I can touch his world, the Spiritual Realm. And when I was fighting Nalan, I felt something, saw something. What if I could reforge the Oathpact? If the Fused stopped being reborn, would that not give us—at last—an edge over Odium? Something to force him to negotiate on our terms?”

  Jasnah folded her arms, pensive. Wit, however, leaned in. “You know,” Wit whispered, “I think he might be right. I feel ashamed to admit it, but the Blackthorn has seen further than we have, Jasnah. He is more valuable as a Bondsmith than as a general—or even a king.”

  “You make a good argument, Uncle,” Jasnah admitted. “I’m simply worried. If your powers are so incredible, it feels dangerous to experiment with them. My own first forays into Soulcasting were deadly at times. What will your greater abilities do, by accident, in similar situations?”

  It was a valid point, one that left them solemn as they picked up cups of wine and drank in silence, thinking. As they stood there, Prince Kmakl passed by on his way out of the tent, listening as a scribe read him a draft of a letter to the merchant lords of Thaylen City.

  “Another topic, Uncle,” Jasnah noted. “Lately, I see your eyes narrow when you look at Prince Kmakl. I thought you liked Fen and her husband.”

  “I do like them,” he said. “I just don’t like how much bureaucracy Fen has to go through before anything gets done. The Azish are even worse. Why name your ruler an ‘emperor’ if he has to get approval from a dozen different functionaries to do his job?”

  “One is a constitutional monarchy, the other a scholarly republic,” Jasnah said, sounding amused. “What did you expect?”

  “A king to be a king,” he muttered, drinking the rest of his wine in one gulp.

  “Both of their governments go back centuries,” Jasnah said. “They’ve had generations to refine their processes. We’d do well to learn from them.” She eyed him, thoughtful. “The days of absolute power in one person’s hands will likely soon pass us by. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the last true Alethi monarch.”

  “What would your father say, hearing you talk like that?”

  “I suspect I could make him understand,” she said. “He was interested in his legacy. Building something that would span generations. His goals were laudable, but his methods … well, our kingdom has been difficult to maintain. A king ruling by the gauntlet and sword can easily see it slip away when he weakens. Compare this to the Azish system, where a bad Prime is unable to single-handedly ruin their government.”

  “And a good one is unable to accomplish much,” Dalinar said, then held his hand up to forestall further argument. “I see what you’re saying. But I find nobility in the traditional way of rule.”

  “Having read the histories, I believe the nobility you imagine is created from stories about the inhabitants of ancient days, but rarely possessed by said inhabitants. Those kings tended to live short, brutal lives. No matter. Once we win this war, I expect to have decades to persuade you.”

  Kelek help him. Dalinar poured himself more orange wine.

  “I will think on what you said about your powers,” Jasnah said, “and I will see if I can offer any advice on how to proceed. For now, Uncle, know that I trust your judgment in this, and will help support the Mink if you take a smaller role in war planning. You are right, and I was wrong to question.”

  “One is never wrong to question,” Dalinar said. “You taught me that.”

  She patted his arm fondly, then walked off to turn her attention to the maps the Mink was marking up on the war table.

  Wit lingered, smiling at Dalinar. “I agree with her,” he whispered. “And on the topic of monarchs, I will have you know that I find you to be an endearing despot. You’re so pleasant, I almost don’t find it horrifying that I’m living among a people willing to trust a single man with near-absolute power over the lives of hundreds of thousands—while completely ignoring proper checks and balances upon his potential greed, jealousy, or ambition.”

  “Did you really have to come with us, Wit?” Dalinar asked. “I…” He trailed off. Then shook his head.

  “What?” Wit asked.

  “Never mind. Saying anything would provide you with more rocks to throw at me.”

  “And you’re supposed to be the dumb one,” Wit said, grinning. “When have I ever mocked you, though?”

  “All the time, Wit. You mock everyone.”

  “Do I? Do I really? Hmmm…” He tapped his chin. “I’m gainfully employed as Queen’s Wit, and she expects me to provide only the best of mockery on her behalf. I need to be careful about simply giving it away. Who is going to buy the cow, and all that.”

  Dalinar frowned. “What is a cow?”

  “Big, juicy, delicious. Wish I could still eat them. You don’t seem to have them around here, which I find amazing, as I’m sure there was one somewhere in Sadeas’s lineage. Paternal grandfather perhaps. Watch the highprinces. There’s almost certainly going to be a show.” He sauntered off to take his customary position near Jasnah.

  Watch the highprinces? What did that mean? For the most part, they were becoming a useful lot. Aladar kept reinforcing Dalinar’s trust in him, and Dalinar had sent him to oversee the withdrawal in Alethkar. Hatham had fallen into line, and Dalinar had him watching the supply chain from Azimir. Bethab was proving quite useful as an ambassador stationed in Thaylen City—or, well, his wife was the useful one, but they were both proving helpful. Roion was dead with honors, his son carefully chosen to not make things difficult. Even Sebarial was relevant these days.

  One highprince was currently with Dalinar in Emul. Ruthar. Dalinar focused on the brawny, bearded man. He was the worst of those left; he fancied himself a soldier, but had never worn a proper uniform in his life. Today he hovered near the far end of the bar, by the strong wines. At least he’d learned to stop contradicting Dalinar in front of the other monarchs.

  Dalinar narrowed his eyes toward Jasnah, who was making a display of going over the battle plans with the Mink. She’s putting on a show, he thought, noting how she specifically called out details on the maps, suggesting troop arrangements. She did a fair job, though she was no general.

  The Mink listened to her suggestions, but likely wouldn’t take many of them. He seemed to find her fascinating. Well, Jasnah was a rare gemstone for certain. Was her show for the Mink? No … this had to do with Ruthar, didn’t it?

  Further musings were interrupted as a figure in blue entered the tent. Lyn the Windrunner wore her hair in a braid, though wisps had pulled free during her flight. She’d led the most recent scouting of Urithiru.

  Dalinar waved her over, and noted Jasnah at the map table quieting and turning to listen as Lyn gave her report.

  �
��We met with the soldier the queen sent,” the Windrunner explained, saluting. “I myself tried to step through the invisible barrier and approach. I dropped to the snow like I’d taken a hit straight to the jaw. The soldier had to drag me out to the others.”

  “Did you see my wife?”

  “No, sir,” Lyn said. “But that hike … it looks brutal. Radiants can’t get within hundreds of yards of the tower, so this soldier has to march all the way back and forth along the ridges for hours to get to where he can send messages.”

  Dalinar rubbed his chin in thought. Navani’s messages seemed trustworthy, and she cautioned patience. But passcodes were not foolproof, and something about this just felt wrong. “What can you see from a distance? Anything?”

  “We had to use spyglasses,” Lyn said. “There weren’t as many people out as usual, but there were some Windrunners on the roof, and I think I made out Teft up there, and Isom the Lightweaver. They held up a big sign, with glyphs that we think read ‘patience’ and ‘progress.’”

  Dalinar nodded. “Thank you, Radiant. Go give a full report, with details, to Brightness Teshav, then get something to eat.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. She started toward the exit.

  Something nagged at Dalinar, however. That weight hadn’t completely eased. “Lyn?” he called.

  “Sir?”

  “The enemy has Lightweavers. Or at least something similar.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “Though the only confirmed report we have of them is that incursion at the Thaylen vault a year ago.”

  He resisted shooting a glance at Szeth—so quiet, so easy to forget—standing nearby, wearing the face of an Alethi man.

  “Ask Companylord Sigzil to send another team of scouts later tonight,” Dalinar said. “I’ll infuse the traveling gemstones for another run. Have this new team watch the tower from a distance, hidden, then report anything suspicious they might see.”