Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  Venli lingered near the body of a young woman. The Radiants were each lying on a blanket and draped with a sheet, corpselike, leaving only their faces exposed. This Radiant, however, was stirring. Her eyes were closed, but her face twitched, as if she were in the grip of a terrible nightmare. She might be. Odium had invaded Venli’s mind in the past; who knew how far his corrupting touch could reach?

  Windrunner, Venli thought, reading the markings on the floor next to the woman. They listed whatever Venli’s team had been able to learn about the individual Radiants from interrogating the tower’s humans. She glanced down the row toward another Radiant whose face was making similar expressions. Also a Windrunner.

  She finished her inspection and met up with Dul. It had turned out to be simple for Venli to put her most trusted people in charge of the fallen Radiants, as Raboniel thought it a good use for them.

  “The other Windrunners,” Venli said softly. “Do they all seem…”

  “Closer to waking?” Dul asked to Awe. “Yeah. They do. Any time one of the Radiants stirs, it’s always a Windrunner. We’ve caught some of them muttering in their sleep.”

  “Raboniel asked me specifically to check on this,” Venli said to Anxiety. “She seemed to have anticipated it.”

  “Not hard to guess,” Dul said. “The Radiant who is awake—supposedly roaming the tower—is a Windrunner, right?”

  Venli nodded, looking along the rows of bodies. Venli’s loyalists moved among them, administering broth and changing soiled blankets.

  “This was a good maneuver, putting us here,” Dul whispered. “Caring for the humans gives us an excuse to collect blankets and clothing for when we leave. I’ve begun putting away broth paste that should keep.”

  “Good,” Venli said to Anxiety. “When only our people are around, test those Windrunners and see if you can wake one up.”

  “And if we succeed?” Dul asked to Skepticism. “I think that’s a terrible idea.”

  Venli’s first instinct—even still—was to slap him. How dare he question her? She pushed away that instinct, though it warned her that she was the same selfish person, despite it all. A few Words didn’t suddenly make her something better.

  “Their powers would be suppressed,” Venli explained to him. “So they shouldn’t be a danger to you. And if they are violent, get away and let it be assumed they woke up spontaneously. That will keep us from being implicated.”

  “Fine, but why risk it?”

  “Escaping and hiding will be far easier with the help of one like these,” Venli said. “At the very least, we’ll need a distraction to get out. The Windrunners waking and suddenly fighting would provide that.”

  She glanced at Dul, who still hummed to Skepticism.

  “Look,” Venli said as they completed a walk around the room, “I don’t like humans any more than you do. But if we truly want to escape, we’ll need to make use of every advantage we can find.” She swept her hand across the room of unconscious Radiants. “This could be a very large one.”

  Finally, Dul hummed to Reconciliation. “I suppose you’re right. It’s worth trying, though I’m not sure how to wake these up. What we need is a surgeon. Could probably use one anyway; some of these seem to be getting sores and drawing rotspren. Others won’t take any broth, though they have hungerspren buzzing around them.”

  Venli attuned Peace as an idea occurred to her. “I’m sure I could get you surgeons. In fact, I know of one who might be willing to help our cause. A human. He’s in hiding, because of certain matters we shouldn’t spread. But I think we could place him here, to help.”

  Dul nodded, humming to Appreciation. Venli left, stepping out onto the floor of the atrium—with the long vertical shaft running up toward the top of the tower. She passed several Regals standing guard at the door to the room with the model. Leshwi had told her to put the surgeon and his family someplace safe; well, this made sense.

  Curfew was nearing, so here on the floor of the atrium, people were hurrying about their last-minute activities. The humans—no longer confined to quarters—had crept from their shells like vines after a storm. Many of them lived around the atrium, and they had pulled out carts, making temporary shops here near the large window. Like spren to the Passions, the humans sought out the sunlight.

  Tonight, they walked timidly and kept their distance from Venli, as if they couldn’t believe that they were supposed to continue on as if nothing had happened. Venli found a stairwell and hurried up, causing a few human women to pull to one side and gasp softly, drawing wormlike fearspren. Sometimes Venli forgot how fearsome her Regal form looked. She’d grown comfortable with it, and more and more it felt like her natural state—even if there was a Voidspren trapped in her gemheart.

  On the second floor, Venli made her way toward a meeting point near the atrium balcony. She was supposed to give service to a team of Fused tonight, in case they needed an interpreter. Many Fused had trouble speaking to modern singers. That made sense, considering how short a time they’d been back. Venli found it odder that some—like Raboniel—had already learned to speak modern Alethi.

  Venli arrived at the meeting place, surprised to find several Deepest Ones: the strange Fused with limber bodies and milky-white eyes glowing red from behind. They enjoyed spending their time sunken in rock as much as the Heavenly Ones liked to soar. She had occasionally walked into a room to find one or two of them lingering there, sunken into the floor, revealing only their faces, eyes closed.

  Tonight four stood in a clump, attended by a few ordinary singers carrying equipment. The Fused were arguing among themselves in their language.

  “I did not think the sand would work,” one of the Deepest Ones said to Spite. Their rhythms sounded off. Muted. “I was right in this. You should acknowledge it.”

  “There are too many different fabrials in the tower,” said another. “And too many spren. The device we hunt doesn’t leave a strong enough impression to be noticeable, hidden as it is.”

  “You’re searching for the fabrial that is creating the shield around the crystal pillar,” Venli guessed. Raboniel had mentioned the field was created by a fabrial—which she theorized would have several gemstones, called nodes, maintaining it, hidden somewhere in the tower.

  The Deepest Ones did not directly reprimand her for speaking without first being addressed. As Raboniel’s Voice, Venli had a certain amount of authority, even with these. Not to command, but certainly to speak.

  “Why not use secretspren?” she asked. “They can find fabrials as easily as they find Radiants, can’t they?”

  “The entire tower is a fabrial,” one of the Deepest Ones said. “The secretspren are useless here; they spin in circles, confused. Asking them to find a specific use of Light in here is like asking them to find a specific patch of water in an ocean.”

  “Useless spren,” another said. “Have you seen the chaosspren?”

  Venli had. Those types of Voidspren—normally invisible to anyone but the ones they appeared to—left sparks in the air now, as if somehow responding to the dampening field. In this place, even someone who couldn’t look into Shadesmar could know whether they were being watched or not.

  As Venli thought on that, she attuned Excitement. No invisible spren … and the secretspren were useless. That meant a Radiant in the tower would be free to use their powers without being noticed.

  She could use her powers without being noticed.

  The implications of it made Timbre begin to thrum to Excitement as well, in time with Venli’s attunement. Finally. They could practice.

  Dared she, though?

  “Voice,” one of the Deepest Ones said, waving her over. It was a femalen with pale white skin, swirled with the faintest lines of red. “We need to find these nodes. But without secretspren, we might have to search the entire tower. You will begin interrogating humans, asking if they’ve seen a large gemstone that seems unattached from any visible fabrial.”

  “As you wish, Ancient One,” Ve
nli said to Abashment. “But if I may say, this seems an inelegant solution. Are the nodes not likely to be hidden?”

  “Yes,” another said, “but they will also need to be accessible. Their purpose is to let Radiants charge the shield with Stormlight.”

  “Be that as it may, Ancient One, I am skeptical,” Venli said. “Assuming humans answered me truthfully, I suspect they would not know anything. They have not finished mapping all the floors of the tower, let alone its secret places. Do you truly wish us to spend months talking to each human, asking them if they’ve seen something as vague as a random gemstone?”

  The Deepest Ones hummed to Destruction, but otherwise did not contradict her. As with many of the Fused, they did not object out of hand to being challenged, not if the argument was a good one. Venli could learn from them in that regard.

  “This is as I said,” one said to the others. “We could search this place for years and discover nothing.”

  “Won’t the nodes be connected to the crystal pillar?” Venli asked.

  “Yes,” said one of the Deepest Ones. “By veins of crystal, for transporting Stormlight.”

  “Then we could follow those,” Venli said. “You could sink into the rock and find them, then trace them outward.”

  “No,” said another to Derision. “We cannot see while embedded. We can hear, and we can sing, and the tones of Roshar guide us. But this fabrial is made to be silent to us. To trace the lines, we would need to break apart the stone—and sever all the connections to the pillar. That might destroy the tower’s protections entirely, letting the Radiants awaken and defeating our purpose.”

  “So if you did find a gemstone in the tower,” Venli said, “you couldn’t know whether it was tied to the protective field. You might break the gemstone and find it was tied to something else entirely.”

  The Fused hummed at her in Derision. Venli was pushing the boundaries of the interference they would accept. “No, foolish one,” the femalen said. “This fabrial of protection is new. Added to the tower after its creation. There will be few other gemstones like it. The rest of the tower works as a single entity, which is why Raboniel was able to engage its protections by infusing it with Voidlight.”

  That … didn’t really explain as much as they seemed to think, but Venli hummed to Subservience to indicate she appreciated the information and the correction. Her mind, however, was still daunted by the implications of what she’d learned earlier. She’d spent all these months being timid about her powers, telling herself she didn’t dare use them. Why was she so worried now, though?

  Timbre pulsed. Indicating it was all right to be afraid of trying something new. It was natural.

  But that wasn’t it, not entirely. It seemed that most of Venli’s life, she’d been afraid of the wrong things. Her curiosity had led to her people’s downfall. And now she played with powers she didn’t understand, gathering an entire group of hopefuls who depended on her.

  If she made a wrong move, Dul and the others were doomed.

  The Deepest Ones conferred. The femalen continued to watch Venli, however. The other three seemed to regard her as their foremost, for they quieted when she spoke.

  “You are mortal,” she said to Venli. “You are the Last Listener. Few Regals earn a true title, and I find it odd to see the child of traitors developing one. Tell me, where would you place these nodes, if you were to do so?”

  “I…” Venli attuned Agony. “I have no knowledge of the tower. I couldn’t say.”

  “Guess,” the Fused prompted. “Try.”

  “I suppose,” Venli said, “I would put it someplace easy to give it Stormlight, but a place no one would search. Or…” A thought occurred to her, but she quieted it. She didn’t want to help them. The longer it took to fully corrupt the tower, the better it seemed for her people. “No, never mind. I am foolish, Ancient One, and ignorant.”

  “Perhaps, but you are also mortal—and think like one,” the Fused considered. “Mortals are busy. They live short lives, always stuffed with so many things to do. Yet they are also lazy. They want to do none of what they should. Would you not say this is true?”

  “I … Yes, of course,” Venli said. This was not a Fused wanting someone to object.

  “Yes,” said another Deepest One. “Would they not put the gemstone nodes, at least one of them, where Stormlight could renew it naturally?”

  “Storms reach this high only occasionally,” another said, “but they do come up here. So it would make sense to put one in reach of the occasional free infusion of power.”

  Timbre pulsed to Sorrow inside Venli. This was exactly the idea she’d chosen not to share. Where was the best place for a node? Outside somewhere—but not on the balconies, where it could be spotted. She looked across the atrium toward the large window. The Deepest Ones had come to the same conclusion apparently, for they flowed away toward the far wall, to look for signs of a gemstone embedded outside.

  Timbre pulsed to Disappointment.

  “I didn’t try to help,” Venli whispered. “Besides, they mostly figured it out on their own.”

  Timbre pulsed again. Hopefully it would turn out to be nothing. It was just a guess, after all.

  The Fused had left her with no instructions, so she remained with the servants—until she spotted a familiar figure hurrying through the corridor. Mazish, Dul’s wife, one of Venli’s inner circle.

  She stepped forward quickly, intercepting the squat workform—who was humming to Anxiety.

  “What?” Venli asked.

  “Venli,” she said. “Venli, they … they’ve found another.”

  “Another Radiant?” Venli asked to Confusion.

  “No. No, not that. I mean.” She seized Venli by the arm. “Another one of you. Another listener.”

  EIGHT AND A HALF YEARS AGO

  Eshonai found the humans endlessly fascinating.

  Between their first and second visits, Eshonai had organized several trips to try to find their homeland. Suddenly, everyone had wanted to join her, and she’d led large expeditions. Those had been all song, and no crescendo, unfortunately—the only thing she’d been able to locate was a solitary human outpost to the west.

  They’d told her to expect a second visit soon, but now that visit seemed to be drawing to a close. So Eshonai took every remaining opportunity to watch the humans. She loved the way they walked, the way they talked, even the way they looked at her. Or sometimes didn’t.

  Like today, as she strolled through Gavilar Kholin’s camp. His servants barely glanced at her as they packed. She stepped up beside one worker, who was unstringing a large metal bow. The man must have seen her standing there—but when he stood up a few minutes later, he jumped to find her beside him.

  Such strange behavior. Sometimes she thought she could read the rhythms in the human motions—like that man with the bow would be attuned to Anxiety. Yet they still didn’t seem to grasp that listeners could hear something they could not. What would it be like to go about all the time without a rhythm in your head? It must be painful. Or lonely. So empty.

  The various humans continued their packing, storing everything in wagons for the day’s storm. The humans were good at judging the arrival of those—though they were often wrong on the hour, they were usually right on the day. This, however, was no routine pre-storm packing job. They would soon leave; she could read this in the way they talked to each other, the way they double-checked bindings and folded tents with more precision than usual. They weren’t planning to unpack any of it for a while.

  She wished they would stay longer—their first interaction had been so short, and now this second visit was over almost before it began. Perhaps she could go with them, as she’d told Venli. She’d asked how far beyond the hills their home was, but they didn’t answer, and refused to share their maps.

  Eshonai moved to slip out of camp, but stopped as she noticed one man standing off from the rest. Dalinar Kholin looked out, eastward, toward the Origin of Storms.

/>   Curious, Eshonai walked up to him, noting that he had his Shardblade out. He held it lightly before him, the tip sunken into the stone. He seemed to be searching for something, but before him stretched only the Plains—an empty expanse.

  Unlike the others, he noticed her approach immediately, turning as she made the slightest scrape on the stones while walking. She froze beneath his gaze, which always seemed to be the stare of a greatshell.

  “You’re one of the interpreters,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “What was your name?”

  “Eshonai,” she said, though she had little doubt he’d forget again. The humans didn’t seem to be able to distinguish very well between different listeners.

  “Have you been out there?” he asked, nodding toward the Plains. “To the center?”

  “No,” she said. “I’d like to go, but the old bridges … they do not stand. It would take work, much work, to put them back. Most of my people don’t like … what is the word? Going where it is difficult to go?”

  “Exploring, perhaps,” he said.

  “Yes. Exploring. We once exploring. But now, very little exploring.” Until recently.

  He grunted. “You’re good with our language.”

  “I like it,” she said. “Speaking new ways. Thinking new ways. They are same, yes?”

  “Yes, perhaps they are.” He turned and looked over his shoulder toward the west. Toward his homeland. “Perhaps your people are afraid to return to where they once lived.”

  “Why fear that?” Eshonai asked, attuning Confusion.

  “Places have power over us, parshwoman,” he said. “Places have memories. Sometimes when you go to a place you’ve never been, it can be wonderful … because it lets you be someone else. No expectations. No storming memories.”

  “I like new places,” she said. “Because … they are new.” She attuned Irritation. That hadn’t come out as she’d wanted it to; she felt stupid, speaking their language. It was difficult to express anything deep while speaking it, because the rhythms didn’t match the sounds.