Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  Stormblessed.

  Stormblessed.

  Trembling, Kaladin retrieved and deactivated Navani’s device, then returned to the center of the room. He could feel their energy propelling him. A counter to the darkness.

  He turned toward the infirmary. The door had been opened. When had that happened? He stepped toward it, but could see the Radiants in their lines on the floor, covered in sheets. Why weren’t they up and awake? Were they feigning? That could work, pretending they were still asleep.

  Something dropped from above. A body hit the ground in front of Kaladin with a callous smack of skull on stone. It rolled, and Kaladin saw burned-out eyes. A terribly familiar bearded face. A face that had smiled at him countless times, cursed at him an equal number, but had always been there when everything else went dark.

  Teft.

  Teft was dead.

  * * *

  Moash landed a short distance from where Kaladin knelt over Teft’s body. Several of the watching soldiers stepped toward the Windrunner, but Moash raised his hand and stopped them.

  “No,” he said softly as Heavenly Ones hovered down around him. “Leave him be. This is how we win.”

  Moash knew exactly what Kaladin was feeling. That crushing sense of despair, that knowledge that nothing would be the same. Nothing could ever be the same. Light had left the world, and could never be rekindled.

  Kaladin cradled Teft’s corpse, letting out a low, piteous whine. He began to tremble and shake—becoming as insensate as he had when King Elhokar had died. As he had after Moash had killed Roshone. And if Kaladin responded that way to the deaths of his enemies …

  Well, Teft dying would be worse. Far, far worse. Kaladin had been unraveling for years.

  “That,” Moash said to the Fused, “is how you break a storm. He’ll be useless from here on out. Make sure nobody touches him. I have something to do.”

  He walked into the infirmary room. At the rear was the model of the tower, intricate in its detail, cut into a cross section with one half on either side. He knelt and peered at a copy of the room with the crystal pillar.

  Beside it, produced in miniature, were a small crystal globe and gemstone. The fabrial glowed with a tiny light, barely visible. The final node of the tower’s defenses, placed where anyone who looked would see it, but think nothing of it.

  Raboniel had known though. How long? He suspected she’d figured it out days ago, and was stalling to continue her research here. That one was trouble. He summoned his Blade and used the tip to destroy the tiny fabrial.

  Then he walked over to the sectioned-off portion of the room. The child Edgedancer lay here, tied up and unconscious, next to Kaladin’s parents and brother. Odium was interested in the Edgedancer, and Moash had been forbidden to kill her. Hopefully he hadn’t struck her head too hard. He didn’t always control that as he should.

  For now, he grabbed Lirin by his bound hands and dragged him—screaming through his gag—out of the infirmary. There Moash waited until the Pursuer came flying back as a shameful ribbon of light.

  The Pursuer formed a body, and Moash pushed Lirin into the creature’s hands. “This is Stormblessed’s father,” Moash whispered. “No! Don’t say it loudly. Don’t draw Kaladin’s attention. His father is insurance; Kaladin has huge issues with the man. If Kaladin somehow regains his senses, immediately kill his father in front of him.”

  “This is nonsense,” the Pursuer growled. “I could kill Stormblessed now.”

  “No,” Moash said, grabbing the Pursuer and pointing at his face. “You know I have our master’s blessing. You know I speak to Command. You will not touch Stormblessed. You can’t hurt him; you can’t kill him.”

  “He’s … just a man.…”

  “Don’t touch him,” Moash said. “If you interfere, it will awaken him to vengeance. We don’t want that yet. There are two paths open to him. One is to take the route I did, and give up his pain. The other is the route he should have taken long ago. The path where he raises the only hand that can kill Kaladin Stormblessed. His own.”

  The Pursuer didn’t like it, judging by the rhythm he hummed. But he accepted Kaladin’s bound and gagged father and seemed willing to stay put.

  The guards had quieted the rowdy humans, and the atrium was falling still. Kaladin knelt before the storm, clinging to a dead man, shaking. Moash hesitated, searching inside himself. And … he felt nothing. Just coldness.

  Good. He had reached his potential.

  “Don’t ruin this,” he told the gathered Fused. “I need to go kill a queen.”

  * * *

  Navani waited for her chance.

  She had tried talking to the Sibling, but had heard only whimpers. So she had returned to the front of her room to wait for her chance to arrive.

  It came when her door guard suddenly shouted, putting her hands to her head in disbelief. She ran down the hallway. When Navani peeked out, she saw what had caused the commotion: the field around the crystal pillar was gone. Someone had destroyed the final node. The Sibling was exposed.

  Navani almost ran over to attack with the anti-Voidlight dagger. She hesitated though, eyeing her traps in the hallway.

  A magnet. I need a magnet.

  She’d seen one earlier, near the wreckage of her desk. She scrambled over and picked it up out of the rubble. Outside, she heard Raboniel’s order echo with a clear voice.

  “Run,” she said to the guard. “Tell the Word of Deeds and the Night Known to attend me. We have work to do.”

  The guard dashed away. When Navani peeked out again, Raboniel was stepping into the chamber with the crystal pillar, alone.

  A chance. Navani slipped into the hallway and moved quietly toward Raboniel. After passing the crates with her carefully prepared traps, she touched the magnet to a corner of the last crate and heard a click. She only dared take the time to arm one: a painrial that filled anyone who crossed this point in the hallway with immense agony.

  That done, she moved to the end of the corridor. The room with the crystal pillar seemed darker than she remembered it. The Sibling had been almost fully corrupted.

  Raboniel stood with her hand pressed against the pillar to finish the job. Navani forced herself forward, dagger held in a tight grip.

  “You should run, Navani,” Raboniel said to a calm rhythm, her voice echoing in the room. “There is a copy of our notebook on my desk in the hallway, along with your anti-Voidlight plate. Take them and make your escape.”

  Navani froze in place, holding the dagger’s hilt so tightly, she thought she might never be able to uncurl her fingers.

  She knows I’m here. She knows what she did in sending the guard away. Logic, Navani. What does it mean?

  “You’re letting me go on purpose?” she said.

  “Since the final node has been destroyed,” Raboniel said, “Vyre will soon return to claim his promised compensation. However, if you have escaped on your own … well, then I have not defaulted on my covenant with him.”

  “I can’t leave the Sibling to you.”

  “What do you think to do?” Raboniel asked. “Fight me?” She turned, so calm and composed. Her eyes flickered to the dagger, then she hummed softly to a confused rhythm. She’d forgotten about it. She wasn’t as in control as she pretended.

  “Is this how you wish to end our association?” Raboniel asked. “Struggling like brutes in the wilderness? Scholars such as we, reduced to the exploitation of common blades? Run, Navani. You cannot defeat a Fused in battle.”

  She was right on that count. “I can’t abandon the Sibling,” Navani said. “My honor won’t allow it.”

  “We’re all children of Odium in the end,” Raboniel said. “Children of our Passions.”

  “You just said we were scholars,” Navani said. “Others might be controlled by their passions. We are something more. Something better.” She took a deep breath, then turned the dagger in her hand, hilt out. “I’ll give you this, then you and I can go back to my room to wait together.
If Vyre does defeat Stormblessed, I will submit to him. If not, you will agree to leave the Sibling.”

  “A foolish gamble,” Raboniel said.

  “No, a compromise. We can discuss as we wait, and if we come to a more perfect accommodation, all the better.” She proffered the dagger.

  “Very well,” Raboniel said. She took the dagger with a quick snap of her hand, showing that she didn’t completely trust Navani. As well she shouldn’t.

  Raboniel strode down the hallway, Navani following several paces behind.

  “Let’s get to this quickly, Navani,” Raboniel said. “I should think that the two of us—”

  Then Raboniel stepped directly into Navani’s fabrial trap.

  For ones so varied, they are somehow intense.

  —Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days

  Kaladin clung to Teft’s limp form and felt it all crumbling. The flimsy facade of confidence he had built to let himself fight. The way he pretended he was fine.

  Syl landed on his shoulder, arms wrapped around herself, and said nothing. What was there to say?

  It was over.

  It was all just … over. What was there to life if he couldn’t protect the people he loved?

  Long ago, he’d promised himself he’d try one last time. He’d try to save the men of Bridge Four. And he’d failed.

  Teft had been so vibrant, so alive. So sturdy and so constant. He’d finally defeated his own monsters, had really come into his own, claiming his Radiance. He had been a wonderful, loving, amazing man.

  He’d depended on Kaladin. Like Tien. Like a hundred others. But he couldn’t save them. He couldn’t protect them.

  Syl whimpered, shrinking in on herself. Kaladin wished he could shrink as well. Maybe if he’d lived as his father wanted, he could have avoided this. He said he fought to protect, but he didn’t end up protecting anything, did he? He just destroyed. Killed.

  Kaladin Stormblessed wasn’t dead. He’d never existed.

  Kaladin Stormblessed was a lie. He always had been.

  The numbness claimed him. That hollow darkness that was so much worse than pain. He couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want anything.

  This time, Adolin wasn’t there to pull him out of it. To force him to keep walking. This time, Kaladin was given exactly what he deserved.

  Nothing. And nothingness.

  * * *

  Navani froze in place. Raboniel—suddenly struck with incredible pain from Navani’s trap—collapsed, dropping the dagger. Steeling herself, Navani went down on her hands and knees, then lunged forward to grab it.

  The pain was excruciating. But Navani had tested these devices upon herself, and she knew what they did. She lost control of her legs, but managed to crawl forward and plunge the dagger into Raboniel’s chest. She kept her weight on the weapon, pressing it down, smelling burned flesh.

  Raboniel screamed, writhing, clawing at Navani. The painrial did its job however, and prevented her from fighting back effectively.

  “I’m sorry,” Navani said through gritted teeth. “I’m … sorry. But next time … try … not … to be … so trusting.”

  The painrial soon ran out. Navani had set it up days ago, with a small Voidlight gemstone for power. It hadn’t been intended to work for very long. She was pleased by the range though. She’d specifically worked on that feature.

  Navani sat up, then wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fight off the phantom effects of the pain. Finally she looked toward Raboniel’s corpse.

  And found the Fused’s eyes quivering, not glassy and white like her daughter’s had been. Navani scrambled away.

  Raboniel moved her arms limply, then turned her head toward Navani.

  “How?” Navani demanded. “Why are you alive?”

  “Not … enough … Light…” Raboniel croaked. She gripped the knife in her chest and pulled it free, letting out a sigh. “It hurts. I’m … I’m … not…” She closed her eyes, though she continued to breathe.

  Navani inched forward, wary.

  “You must take … the notebook…” Raboniel said. “And you must … run. Vyre … returns.”

  “You tell me to run, after I tried to kill you?”

  “Not … tried…” Raboniel said. “I … cannot hear rhythms.… My soul … dying…” She pried open her eyes and fixed them on Navani. “You … tricked me well, Navani. Clever, clever. Well … done.”

  “How can you say that?” Navani said, glancing toward the desk and the papers on it.

  “Live … as long as I … and you can appreciate … anything … that still surprises you.… Go, Navani. Run … The war must … end.”

  Navani felt sick, now that she’d gone through with it. An unexpected pain pricked her at the betrayal. Nevertheless, she moved to the desk and picked up the notebook.

  I need to get this out of the tower, she realized. It is perhaps even more important than the Sibling. A way to kill Fused permanently. A way to …

  To end the war. If both Radiant spren and Fused could die for good, it could stop, couldn’t it?

  “Stormfather,” she whispered. “That’s what it was all about.” Raboniel wanted to end the war, one way or another. The notebook Navani held was a copy, and Navani realized that the original notebook would be in Kholinar, delivered to the leaders of the singer military—likely along with the vacuum chamber and the metal plates.

  Navani walked over to Raboniel. “You wanted a way to end it,” she said. “You don’t care who wins.”

  “I care,” Raboniel whispered. “I want … the singers to win. But your side … winning … is better than … than…”

  “Than the war continuing forever,” Navani said.

  Raboniel nodded, her eyes closed. “Go. Run. Vyre will—”

  Navani looked up as a blur flashed in the hallway, reflecting light. A thump hit her chest, and she grunted at the impact, stunned—briefly—before pain began to wash through her body. Sharp and alarming.

  A knife, she thought, befuddled to see the hilt of a throwing knife sticking from the side of her torso, next to her right breast. When she took a breath, the pain sharpened with a sudden spike.

  She looked up, pressing her hand to the wound, feeling warm blood spill out. At the far end of the hallway, a figure in a black uniform walked slowly forward. A Shardblade appeared in his hand. The assassin’s Blade.

  Moash had returned.

  Highmarshal Kaladin was dead.

  * * *

  Venli watched the human, so consumed by his grief that he knelt there, motionless, for minutes on end. And they all watched. Silent Heavenly Ones. Solemn guards. Disbelieving humans. No one seemed to want to speak, or even breathe.

  That was how Venli should have felt upon losing her sister. Why didn’t she have the emotions of a normal person? She’d been sad, but she didn’t think she’d ever been so overcome by grief that she acted like Stormblessed.

  Timbre pulsed comfortingly inside her. Everyone was different. And Venli was on the right path.

  Except … there wasn’t really a point in returning to help now, was there? It was over. Beside her, Leshwi descended until her feet touched the ground, then she bowed her head.

  Show her, Timbre pulsed. What you are.

  “What? Now?”

  Show her.

  Reveal what she was, in front of everyone? Venli shrank at the thought, attuning the Terrors.

  One by one the other Heavenly Ones touched down, as if in respect. For an enemy.

  “This is stupidity,” the Pursuer said, shoving Lirin into Leshwi’s hands. “I can’t believe we’re all just standing here.”

  Leshwi looked up from her vigil, humming to Spite. Then, amazingly, she pulled out a knife and cut Lirin’s hands free.

  “I have not forgotten how you tried to turn the Nine against me,” the Pursuer said, pointing at Leshwi. “You seek to destroy my legacy.”

  “Your legacy is dead, Defeated One,” Leshwi said. “It died when yo
u ran from him.”

  “My legacy is untouched!” the Pursuer roared, causing Venli to stumble back, afraid. “And this is complete madness! I will prove myself and continue my tradition!”

  “No!” Leshwi said, passing the still-gagged human to one of the other Heavenly Ones. She grabbed the Pursuer, but he left a husk in her hand, exploding out as a ribbon of light to cross the atrium floor.

  “No…” Venli whispered.

  The Pursuer appeared above Stormblessed. The Fused yanked a sharpened carapace spur off his arm, then—holding it like a dagger—he grabbed the kneeling man by one shoulder.

  Kaladin Stormblessed looked up and let loose a howl that seemed to vibrate with a hundred discordant rhythms. Venli attuned the Lost in return.

  The Pursuer stabbed, but Stormblessed grabbed his arm and turned, becoming a blur of motion. He somehow twisted around so he was behind the Pursuer, then found a knife somewhere on his person—moving with such speed that Venli had trouble tracking him. Stormblessed slammed the knife at the Pursuer’s neck, who barely ejected from the husk in time.

  He re-formed and tried to grab Stormblessed again. But there was no contest now. Kaladin moved like the wind, fast and flowing as he rammed his dagger through the Pursuer’s arm, causing him to shout in pain. A knife toward the face followed, and the Pursuer ejected yet again. No one chanted or shouted this time, but when Stormblessed turned around, Venli saw his face—and she immediately attuned the Terrors.

  His eyes were glowing like a Radiant’s, his face a mask of pain and anguish, but the eyes … she swore the light had a yellowish-red cast to it. Like … like …

  The Pursuer appeared near the soldiers at the perimeter by the wall. “Go!” he shouted to his men. “Attack him! Kill him, and then kill the other Radiants! Your orders are chaos and death!”

  The Pursuer charged forward. The soldiers followed, then shied away. They wouldn’t face Stormblessed and those eyes of his, so the Pursuer was left with no choice but to engage. Venli didn’t know if he realized, but he was on his final body. Perhaps he knew he couldn’t run this time, not and salvage any kind of reputation.

  Stormblessed dashed to him, and they met near the vast window, flashing with lightning. The Pursuer tried to grab him, and Kaladin welcomed it, folding into the deadly embrace—then expertly slamming them both up against the window. Kaladin pressed the Pursuer to the glass—the storm outside flashed, shaking the tower, vibrating it and splashing it with light.