Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“Few ships?”

“Fused to the east,” the peakspren captain said, pointing. “Strange things in Shinovar. Honorspren acting uppity. Nobody wants to travel.”

They’d tried to find a spren captain who would sail them straight to Lasting Integrity, the honorspren stronghold. Unfortunately, their options were limited—and all the spren they’d spoken to refused. They said that the honorspren didn’t like ships to sail too close.

Most agreed that the safest path for Adolin’s group was to sail almost directly south until they hit land. From there, they could caravan southwest—along the Tukari coastline in the real world—until they reached Lasting Integrity.

Adolin walked Gallant aboard, then set to unhooking the animal’s burdens. It wasn’t long before everyone was settled and looking happy to be done with the hike. He’d thought that going downhill the entire way would make it easy, but his calves ached and his knees hurt from the unnatural motion of stepping constantly on a slope.

He’d noticed some of the Radiants using Stormlight to keep their energy up, but he hadn’t complained. Though their Stormlight resources couldn’t be renewed, the smaller spheres would start running out even before the ocean trip was over. The real reserves—the ones they needed to preserve—were all larger gemstones that would keep their Light much longer.

Ua’pam joined his cousin in unhooking the ropes from the dock and helping the crew prepare the barge for sailing. This included harnessing up four very large mandras—long flying spren with several sets of filmy, undulating wings—that had been hovering about lazily on leashes.

As soon as the mandras were hooked to the vessel, it rose a little higher in the beads. With that they were off—Adolin’s soldiers making camp on the barge deck, where they began arranging boxes to form walls and using tarps to make a kind of shelter. The barge didn’t move quickly, but there was a relaxing rhythm to the way it rolled over the beads. The previous ships had cut through them with great crashes. Here the sound of the beads was more peaceful, a quiet clicking.

Adolin helped Shallan settle her things, including several trunks full of supplies—and she gracefully refrained from joking about how many more trunks Adolin had brought than her. It didn’t seem the boat would be moving quickly enough to require them to lash things down, so once her trunks were piled, he brushed his hands off—then paused, noticing his wife. She knelt in front of one of the trunks, which she’d opened to inspect. Her eyes were wide.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just some of my paints spilling. That’s going to be a mess to clean.” She shut the lid with a sigh, shaking her head as he offered to help. “No, I can do it.”

Well, Adolin didn’t want to rest while his men were working. So he walked over to Gallant, who deserved a brushing after carting Adolin’s things down that ramp.

He set to work, enjoying the familiar motions of the grooming. Gallant kept glancing at Adolin’s luggage, where he’d hidden some fruit.

“Not yet,” Adolin said.

The horse blew out in annoyance, then looked at Adolin’s brush.

“Yes,” Adolin replied. “I brought all three. You think I’d bring seven different swords but forget your brushes?”

The horse made a kind of clicking sound with his mouth, something Sureblood had never done. Adolin wasn’t certain how to interpret it. Mirth?

“I’ll give you the fruit,” Adolin promised, continuing to brush, “but only after…”

He trailed off as he noticed Maya standing nearby. He’d settled her near the others earlier, but she’d apparently decided not to stay there.

Adolin continued brushing. She watched for a time. Then she tentatively held out her palm. Adolin handed her the brush and she stared at it. She seemed so baffled that he figured he must have misunderstood what she wanted.

Then she started brushing the horse as he had. From the top down the side, with the same exact motion Adolin had used.

Adolin chuckled. “You have to brush more than one section, Maya, or he’ll get annoyed.”

He showed her, brushing along Gallant’s flank in the direction of the hair growth. Long, slow, careful strokes. She soon got the hang of it, and Adolin stepped back to get a drink. He found two of the peakspren sailors watching him.

“Your deadeye,” one said, scratching at his stone head with a sound of rock on rock. “I’ve never seen one trained so well.”

“She’s not trained,” Adolin said. “She wanted to help, so I showed her how.”

One sailor looked to the other, then shook his head. They said something in a language Adolin didn’t understand, but they seemed unnerved by Maya, giving her a wide berth as they continued about their duties.

Adolin sipped from his canteen, watching as the pillar retreated. He could barely make out the glow of the tower city far above, dwindling as they moved.

I’ll do my part, Father, Adolin thought. I’ll give them your letters, but I’ll do more. I’ll find a way to persuade them to help us. And I’ll do it my way.

The trick, of course, was to discover what his way was in the first place.

* * *

Shallan knelt before her trunk as everyone else unpacked and Adolin brushed his horse. She tried not to panic. She failed. So she settled for seeming like she wasn’t panicking.

While packing her things, she’d taken a Memory of Mraize’s communication cube, packed away in her trunk. With her uncanny abilities, she could picture it precisely where she’d placed it. She’d wanted to be extra careful, but she hadn’t thought the Memory would be relevant so quickly.

Because the cube had been moved. Not just shifted in among her things; it had been picked up and rotated. The face that had been up when she’d packed had a few faint scratches on it. That face was now to the side. An imperceptible difference; someone without her abilities would never have noticed.

Someone had moved the cube. Somehow, between packing and arriving on the barge, someone had rifled through her things and used the cube.

She could come to only one conclusion. The spy was indeed on this mission—and they were using this very device to report to Mraize.

Much as you indicate, there is a division among the other Shards I would not have anticipated.

Kaladin pulled the bandage snug on the boy’s ankle. “Next time, Adin,” he said, “take the steps one at a time.”

The youth nodded solemnly. He was perhaps twelve or thirteen. “One at a time. Until I get my spren.”

“Oh? Your spren?”

“I’m gonna be a Windrunner,” the boy said. “Then I’ll float down steps.”

“That’s what it means to be a Radiant, is it?” Kaladin asked, standing. “Floating.”

“That, and you can stick your friends to the walls if they argue with you,” he said. “A Windrunner told me.”

“Let me guess. Short fellow. Herdazian. Big smile?”

“Yup.”

“Well, until then,” Kaladin said, “I need you to keep your weight off that foot.” He looked to the father, standing nearby, his trousers marked with potter’s crem. “That means a crutch if he has to walk somewhere. Come back and see me in a week; his progress will let us know for certain it didn’t fracture.”