Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“I reject that argument. Honor demands you let me speak for myself, if you are going to punish me. Where is the trial? Where is the chance for me to speak? Where is your honor?”

This provoked a reaction at last. The three began looking at one another.

“You are honorspren, are you not?” Adolin said. “You believe in justice? In fairness? Let’s see if you can uphold those ideals while blaming me for what was done in the past. Let me speak for myself. Then prove that I, Adolin Kholin, deserve to be turned away.”

Finally the leader sat up straight in her saddle. “Very well. We cannot reject a demand for judgment. Come with us. Know that if you enter Lasting Integrity, there is little chance of you ever leaving.”

“We shall see,” Adolin said, then turned and waved to beckon the others.

“No,” the honorspren said. “Just you.”

“My party has traveled far,” Adolin said, “and they include representatives of—”

“You may bring two others,” the honorspren said. “And that deadeye. You have bound her corpse, haven’t you, human? You’re not one of these new Radiants? Or have you already killed your spren?”

“I’m not a Radiant,” Adolin said. “But yes, Maya is my Blade.”

“Then we must be certain you are not mistreating her,” the honorspren said. “We care for all deadeyes. Bring her, and two others. Decide quickly.”

Adolin ground his teeth. “Allow me to confer.”

As he and Shallan returned to the others, she seized him by the arm. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “You can’t stand trial for what a bunch of people did thousands of years ago.”

“I will if it gets us in those gates,” Adolin said. “Do we have a choice?”

“Yes,” she said. “We could turn back.”

And face my father, having failed him again?

The others gathered around him. Adolin explained what was happening, the Stump’s spren translating for her.

“I don’t like this,” Zu said, shaking her head, her golden hair shimmering. “I don’t like splitting us up.”

“The first step to completing this mission is getting the honorspren to talk to me,” Adolin said. “If they turn us away here, we’re done. If I can get through those gates, I can maybe start a conversation.”

“They’re not going to listen to you, Brightlord,” Godeke said. “They’re going to arrest you.”

“If it gets me in, I don’t particularly care. We’ll send a small group back immediately to tell my father what I’ve done. The rest can camp out here for a few days, care for Notum, and wait for word from me. We have a few weeks until supplies make it necessary for you to return; we’ll decide what to do then.”

The others offered a few more token objections. Shallan—actually, she seemed like Veil right now—merely listened as Adolin persuaded the others. She plainly knew he would take her in with him, as well as her spren. It seemed the natural choice.

A short time later he approached the honorspren—leading Gallant, with Maya on his back—along with Veil, Pattern, and their trunks of clothing on pack animals. The honorspren spun about, then led them to the front of the fortress. There, they conferred with a few others who stood guard outside the walls.

Then the gates opened. Adolin strode in, accompanied by Veil, Pattern, and Maya. He grunted at the pain from his wounded side as a group of glowing blue-white figures immediately seized him and slapped his wrists in chains. The gates swung shut behind them with a booming sound.

So be it. He was not going to return to his father empty-handed. He would not abandon his mission.

No matter the cost.

Regardless, I will try to do as you suggest. However, you seem more afraid of the Vessel. I warn you that this is a flaw in your understanding.

Weeks after destroying the spanreed, Navani still hadn’t made headway discovering the nature of the spren who had contacted them. Their triangulation of the spanreed had led them to a strange dark location on the fourth floor of the tower, near a monastery. The measurements hadn’t been precise enough to tell them exactly where, and searches had revealed nothing.

Nevertheless, Navani had plenty of other things to occupy her. Running a kingdom—even one consisting of a single enormous city—was a wearying task.

She rarely got a break from the demands of merchants, lighteyes, ardents, and the thousands of others who needed her attention. Whenever she did, she retreated to the basement of the tower, where she could peek in on the efforts of her scholars. Today she could spare only an hour—but she wanted to make the most of it.

As soon as she entered, Tomor—the young relative of Falilar—ran over and intercepted her, carrying a strange device. “Brightness!” he said, with a quick bow. “You’re here! See, it’s finally done!”

Tomor held up a device that resembled a leather glove. He was working on that lifting fabrial, she remembered. I told him to connect it to those weights in the deep shaft. She was still excited by that prospect: the idea of using the power of the storms to wind up weights, then activate them with a fabrial to raise a lift.

This lifting fabrial was only a small part of that larger, more important device. Navani took the fabrial from him, hesitant. “You … made it into a glove?”

“Yes, like you asked!” Tomor said.

“I didn’t ask for a glove,” Navani said. “I wanted the device to be more portable and elegant.”

“Like … a glove?” he said.

“It’s intended to be mounted to a lift, Ardent Tomor,” Navani said. “I don’t see how this shape enhances its function.”

“But with this, you don’t need a lift!” he explained with enthusiasm. “Look, here, put it on!”

He nodded eagerly as Navani fit the device over her hand and wrist, then had Tomor tie the straps to brace it up to her elbow. Made of stiff leather, it was almost more a gauntlet than a glove. The gemstones were hidden in a compartment at the side, affixed with metal caging that could be covered over with another piece of leather.

“See, see!” Tomor said. “You can conjoin different fabrials with this dial on the side of the index finger. You can move it with your thumb, allowing single-handed manipulation! By making a fist, you can slow the unwinding of the weight! Open palm, you go at maximum speed. Closed fist, you stop!”

“Maximum speed…” It registered what he was saying. He expected people to rise through the central shaft of the tower being pulled by their hand. It was a wildly imaginative application of what she’d wanted—and also a terrible design.

“Tomor,” Navani said, trying to find a way to explain without dampening his enthusiasm. “Don’t you think this might be a little dangerous? We should be designing lifts.”

“But we already have fabrials for that!” he said. “Think of the flexibility this would allow Brightlord Dalinar. Wearing this gauntlet, he could go zip all the way to the top without needing to wait for a lift! Walking outside the tower, and don’t want to go all the way to the central shaft to catch a lift? No problem. Zip! All the way up high.”