Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“I told you,” the woman snapped, “that I don’t know anything.” Considering how gently she treated Taln, one might not have expected such terse language from her. Navani, unfortunately, had come to accept it as normal.

“What you told me was useful,” Jasnah said. “Kindly repeat it.”

Dalinar walked over, curious. Jasnah held weekly meetings with the Heralds, trying to pry every bit of historical knowledge from their minds. She’d claimed the meetings were mostly fruitless, but Navani knew to hang on to the word “mostly” when coming from Jasnah. She could hide a great deal in the spaces between those letters.

Ash sighed loudly, pacing. Not in thought as Dalinar had, but in a way reminiscent of a caged animal. “I didn’t know anything of what the Bondsmiths did. That was always Ishar’s purview. My father would occasionally discuss matters of deep Realmatic Theory with him—but I didn’t care for it. Why should I? Ishar had it in hand.”

“He forged the Oathpact,” Jasnah said. “The … binding that made you immortal and trapped the Voidbringers in another realm of reality.”

“Braize isn’t another realm of reality,” Ash said. “It’s a planet. You can see it in the sky, along with Ashyn—the Tranquiline Halls, you call it. But yeah, the Oathpact. He did that. We all simply went along with it.” She shrugged.

Jasnah nodded, showing no sign of annoyance. “But the Oathpact no longer functions?”

“It’s broken,” Ash said. “Done, shattered, upended. They killed my father a year ago. Permanently, somehow. We all felt it.” She looked directly at Navani, as if having seen the reverence in her eyes. The next words came with a sneer. “We can do nothing for you now. There is no more Oathpact.”

“And do you think Dalinar,” Jasnah asked, “as a Bondsmith, could repair or replicate it somehow? Sealing the enemy away?”

“Who knows?” Ash said. “It doesn’t work the same for you all as it did for us, when we had our swords. You’re limited, but sometimes you do things we couldn’t. At any rate, I never knew much about it.”

“But there are some who know, aren’t there?” Jasnah said. “A group of people who have practice with Surgebinding? Who experimented with it, who know about Dalinar’s powers?”

“Yeah,” Ash said.

“The Shin,” Navani said, understanding Jasnah’s point. “They hold the Honorblades. Szeth says they trained with them, knew their abilities.…”

“Scouts sent to Shinovar vanish,” Dalinar said. “Windrunner flybys prompt storms of arrows. They don’t want anything to do with us.”

“For now,” Jasnah said, looking at Ash. “Right?”

“They are … unpredictable,” the Herald said. “I eventually left them behind. They tried to kill me, but that I could take. It was when they started to worship me…” Ash crossed her arms, pulling them tight. “They had legends … prophecies about the coming of this Return. I didn’t believe it would ever happen. Didn’t want to believe.”

“We need a stable region in Makabak, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “Because eventually, we’re going to have to deal with the Shin. And at the very least, we will want to find out what they know about Bondsmiths from centuries of holding an Honorblade and experimenting with powers like yours.”

Dalinar turned to Navani. She nodded. There was something here. If they could find a way to seal the Fused away again … well, that could mean the end of the war.

“You make an interesting point,” Dalinar said.

“Excellent,” Jasnah said. “If we do bring a large offensive into Emul, then I will attend personally and join the war effort there.”

“… You will?” Dalinar said. “And how … involved do you intend to be in the prosecution of the war?”

“As involved as seems appropriate.”

He sighed, and Navani knew what he was thinking. If Jasnah tried to join in wartime planning and strategy too forcefully, the highprinces wouldn’t like it. But Dalinar couldn’t complain, not after what he’d done.

“We’ll deal with that if it becomes a problem, I suppose.” The Blackthorn turned toward the Herald. “Ash, tell me more of what you know about the Shin—specifically the ones among them who might know more about my powers.”

The Fused have a second metal I find fascinating—a metal that conducts Stormlight. The implications for this in the creation of fabrials are astounding. The Fused use this metal in conjunction with a rudimentary fabrial—a simple gemstone, but without a spren trapped inside.

How they pull Stormlight out of a Radiant and into this sphere remains baffling. My scholars think they must be employing an Investiture differential. If a gemstone is full of Stormlight—or, I assume, Voidlight—and that Light is removed quickly, it creates a pressure differential (or a kind of vacuum) in the gemstone.

This remains merely a theory.

—Lecture on fabrial mechanics presented by Navani Kholin to the coalition of monarchs, Urithiru, Jesevan, 1175

Kaladin stood on the edge of an Oathgate platform, overlooking the mountains. That frigid landscape of snow was an otherworldly sight. Before Urithiru, he’d seen snow on only a handful of occasions, in small patches at sunrise. Here the snow was thick and deep, pristine and pure white.

Is Rock looking at a similar landscape right now? Kaladin wondered. Rock’s family, Skar, and Drehy had left nearly four weeks ago. They’d sent word a single time via spanreed, soon after their departure, noting that they’d arrived.

He worried about Rock, and knew he’d never stop worrying. The details of the trip though … well, those weren’t Kaladin’s problems any longer. They were Sigzil’s. In a perfect world, Teft would have become companylord—but the older Windrunner had given Kaladin a tongue-lashing at the mere suggestion.

Kaladin sighed and walked over to the Oathgate’s control building at the center of the plateau. Here, a scribe nodded to him. She had confirmed with the Oathgate on the Shattered Plains that it was safe to initiate a transfer.

He did so, using the Sylblade in the lock on the wall of the small building. In a flash of light, he teleported to the Shattered Plains—and seconds later he was soaring via Lashing into the sky.

The Windrunners weren’t making a fuss about him “stepping back.” They likely assumed he’d be moving on to become a strategic or logistics general. It happened to most battlefield commanders eventually. He hadn’t yet told them he planned to do something else—though he had to decide today what that would be. Dalinar still wanted him to become an ambassador. But could Kaladin really spend his days in political negotiations? No, he’d be as awkward as a horse in a uniform standing in a ballroom and trying not to step on women’s dresses.

The idea was silly. But what would he do?

He reached a good height, then soared in an invigorating loop, Lashing without conscious thought. His powers were becoming as intuitive as wiggling his fingers. Syl zipped alongside him, laughing as she met a couple of windspren.

I’ll miss this, he thought, then immediately felt foolish. He wasn’t dying. He was retiring. He would still fly. To pretend otherwise was self-pity. Facing this change with dignity was difficult, but he would do it.