Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“You like them,” Venli said, cautiously broaching the topic. “The Windrunners.”

Leshwi was silent for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “They and their spren would make excellent servants, should we be able to subdue them.”

So she was open to new ideas, new ways of thinking. Perhaps she would react favorably to the idea of a new nation of listeners.

“Announce me, Voice,” Leshwi said.

“Now?” Venli said, shocked out of her contemplations. “While the Nine are conferring?”

Leshwi hummed to Command, so Venli scrambled to obey, stepping forward and slamming the butt of her staff against the floor, then bowing.

The Nine interrupted their song, and the one who spoke said the words to Destruction. “What is this, Leshwi?”

“I have more to say,” Leshwi proclaimed to Command. “The Pursuer is losing control. He approaches the state where his mind and intentions cannot be trusted. He was defeated by a common human. It is time for special privileges to be revoked.”

Lezian spun toward her, shouting to Destruction, “How dare you!”

“You are low to make such a declaration, Leshwi,” one of the Nine said. “This is both above and beneath you, at once.”

“I speak my Passion,” she said. “The man who killed the Pursuer has killed me. I claim prior privilege to the life of Stormblessed. The Pursuer must, in this case, wait upon my pleasure.”

“You know my tradition!” he shouted at Leshwi.

“Traditions can be broken.”

The tall Fused stomped toward her, and Venli had to forcibly hold herself in place, bowing—though she was allowed to look up and watch. This Pursuer was enormous, intimidating. He was also nearly out of control, a storm at its height—so angry she couldn’t make out the rhythm to his shouted words.

“I will hunt you!” he shouted. “You cannot deny me my vows! My tradition cannot be broken!”

Leshwi continued to hover in place unperturbed, and Venli saw an ulterior motive in the conflict. Yes, the Nine were humming to Derision. In losing his temper, the Pursuer proved his Passion—a good thing to them—but also risked proving he was going crazy. Leshwi had purposefully goaded him.

“We accept Leshwi’s prior claim on this man,” the Nine said. “Pursuer, you will not hunt this human until Leshwi has a chance to battle him again.”

“This undermines my entire existence!” the Pursuer said, pointing at Leshwi. “She seeks to destroy my legacy out of spite!”

“Then you should hope she loses their next conflict,” one of the Nine said. “Leshwi, you may hunt this Windrunner. But know that if a battle comes and he must be removed, another may be granted the task.”

“This is understood and accepted,” Leshwi said.

None of them realize she’s trying to protect that Windrunner, Venli thought. Maybe she doesn’t realize it herself. There were schisms among the Fused, cracks much larger than any would admit. What could be done to take advantage of them?

Timbre pulsed inside her, but in this case Venli was certain her ambition was well placed. To lack it would be to simply go along with whatever she was told. That was not freedom. Freedom, if she was to seek it, would require ambition—in the right place.

The Pursuer, still raging to no particular rhythm, stomped out of the conclave chamber. Leshwi settled down behind Venli, humming softly to Exultation.

“Do not praise yourself overly much, Leshwi,” one of the Nine called. “Do not forget your low station in this room. We have our own reasons for denying the Pursuer.”

Leshwi bowed her head as the Nine returned to their private conversation.

“You could be more,” Venli whispered, returning to her place beside Leshwi. “These are not as clever as you are, Lady. Why do you let them continue to treat you so poorly?”

“I have chosen my station carefully,” Leshwi snapped. “Do not challenge me on this, Voice. It is not your place.”

“I apologize,” Venli said to Agony. “My Passion outstripped my wisdom.”

“That was not Passion, but curiosity.” Leshwi narrowed her eyes. “Be alert. This matter was not the reason the conclave was called. The danger I’ve been fearing is yet to come.”

That made Venli stand up straighter, on her guard. Eventually the Nine stopped singing, but they did not address the leaders of the Fused. Instead the hall fell silent. Moments stretched to minutes. What was happening?

A figure darkened the doorway of the chamber, backlit by sunlight. It was a tall femalen, of the fannahn-im—the builders who had created the palace—with a tall topknot of hair and carapace like a helmet otherwise covering her head. She wore a luxurious robe and was willowy, with a narrow figure and long arms, fingers fully twice the length of Venli’s.

Leshwi hissed. “Gods, no. Not her.”

“What?” Venli asked as the room flooded with whispers from the others. “Who is she?”

“I thought her mad,” Leshwi said to Agony. “How…”

The tall Fused walked into the room and did a slow, careful loop around the perimeter, perhaps to make certain she was seen by everyone. Then she did something Venli had never seen anyone do—no matter how high. She walked into the center of the Nine and looked them in the eyes.

“What does it mean, Lady?” Venli asked.

“She was one of the Nine for many centuries,” Leshwi said. “Until she decided it was too … hampering upon her ambitions. After the last Return, and her madness, she was to remain asleep.… Why…”

“Raboniel, Lady of Wishes,” one of the Nine said. “You have brought us a proposal. Please speak it.”

“It is obvious,” Raboniel said, “that the humans have been allowed too much time to grow. They run rampant across Roshar. They have steel weapons and advanced military tactics. They outstrip our own knowledge in areas.

“The one thing they do not yet have is mastery over their powers. There are few among them of the Fourth Ideal—perhaps only one individual—and they do not have full access to the tower, now that the Sibling is dead. We must strike now. We must seize the tower from them.”

Leshwi moved forward, not waiting for Venli to announce her. “This was tried! We attempted to seize the tower, and failed!”

“That?” Raboniel said. “That was a stalling tactic intended to isolate the Bondsmith. The strike could never have succeeded. I was not involved.”

“You forget your place again, Leshwi,” one of the Nine said. “This makes us wonder if you are the one who is losing her mind.”

Leshwi retreated to her spot, and Venli felt the eyes of the other thirty Fused and their Voices on her, shaming her as they hummed.

“You have nearly perfected the suppression fabrials,” Raboniel said. “Do not forget, it is technology I discovered from the tower itself thousands of years ago. I have a plan to use it in a more dramatic way. As the Sibling is essentially a deadeye, I should be able to turn the tower’s defenses against its owners.”

A Voice across the room stepped forward and thumped his staff, announcing Uriam the Defiant. “Pardon,” Uriam said to Craving. “But are you implying that you can suppress the powers of the Radiants inside their own tower?”