Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

—From Rhythm of War, page 3 undertext

Two days after defeating Taravangian’s traitors, Dalinar stood in the war tent, helping prepare for the larger offensive against the singers in Emul. Just behind him stood Szeth in disguise. Nobody gave the man a second glance; Dalinar often had members of the Cobalt Guard with him.

Dalinar surveyed the war table with its maps and lists of troop numbers. So many different pieces, representing the state of their fighting across many different battlefronts. When he’d been younger, these types of abstractions had frustrated him. He’d wanted to be on the battlefield, Blade in hand, smashing his way through enemy lines and making such maps obsolete.

Then he’d begun to see the armies behind the little squares on the sheets of paper. Begun to truly grasp how the movement of troops—supplies, logistics, large-scale tactics—was more important than winning a given battle in person. And it had excited him.

Somehow he’d moved beyond that now. War—and all its facets—no longer excited him. It was important, and it was a thing he would do. But he had discovered a greater duty.

How do we win? Truly win, not merely gain an advantage for a time?

He mused on these thoughts as his generals and head scribes presented their final conclusions on the Veden betrayal.

“Our troops in southern Alethkar were successfully supported by the Thaylen ships, as you advised,” Teshav said. “Our generals along the coast were able to retreat through a series of fortresses as you directed. They have regrouped at Karanak—which we control. Because none of our battalions were completely surrounded by Vedens, we suffered virtually no losses.”

“Our navy locked the Veden ships into their ports,” said Kmakl, the aging Thaylen prince consort. “They won’t break our blockade anytime soon, unless the Fused and Skybreakers give them heavy air support.”

“We destroyed almost all the Vedens who betrayed us here,” said Omal, a short Azish general who wore a brightly colored patterned sash across his uniform coat. “Your leadership on the battlefield was excellent, Blackthorn—not to mention the timeliness of your warnings before the battle. Instead of burning our supply dumps and rescuing their king, they were nearly eliminated.”

Dalinar looked across the table at the Mink, who was smiling with a gap-toothed sense of satisfaction.

“This was very well handled, Uncle,” Jasnah said to him, surveying the war table map. “You averted a catastrophe.”

Noura conferred with the Azish emperor, who sat on a throne near the side of the battle tent, then walked over. “We regret the loss of such an important ally in Taravangian,” she said. “This betrayal will be felt—and prosecuted—by the Azish for generations. That said, we too approve of your handling of the situation. You did well to remain suspicious of him all these months, and we were unwise to think his treachery was all in the past.”

Dalinar leaned over the table, which was lit with spheres. Though he missed the large illusory map he could create with Shallan, there was something about the tangible feeling of this map, the paper marked up with the thoughts of his best generals, that spoke to him. As he stared, everything but the map seemed to fade from his view.

Something was still wrong. Taravangian had been so subtle for so many months. Yet now he let himself be captured?

His armies in Jah Keved seem not to care much about him, Dalinar thought, reading the displayed battle reports and figures as if they were whispered explanations in his ears. The Veden highprinces will be happy to put their own men in charge. And they seem quick to side with the singers, as the Iriali were.

Kharbranth, led by Taravangian’s daughter Savrahalidem, had disavowed their former ruler and proclaimed themselves neutral in the conflict—with their surgeons willing to continue serving whichever side petitioned their aid. Dalinar would have his ships blockade them just in case—but he wasn’t about to land troops there and fight a costly battle for such a relatively unimportant target. They likely knew that.

The real prize was Taravangian himself. Someone Dalinar already held captive. After the elderly king’s careful posturing over the years, how had he let his empire collapse practically overnight?

Why? Why risk it now?

“What news of Urithiru?” Dalinar asked.

“Windrunners should return soon with their latest visual on the tower,” Teshav said from the dim perimeter of the table. “But Brightness Navani’s most recent spanreed letter indicates that our people there are managing well.”

Navani continued to send soldiers hiking along the outside of the mountain faces to deliver messages. Each new bit told them a little more. Some of Taravangian’s scholars had activated a device like the one Highmarshal Kaladin had found. A separate collapse of the tunnels below—likely the work of saboteurs—made getting in and out that way impossible.

The device was hidden, and Navani hadn’t been able to find and deactivate it. She worried the search would take weeks. Unfortunately, Dalinar’s scouts had proven the device’s effectiveness. If they drew too close, they not only lost their powers, but dropped unconscious.

For now though, it seemed that everyone was safe—though inconvenienced. If Dalinar hadn’t been anticipating the betrayal, things could have gone very differently. He could imagine a version of events where Taravangian’s betrayal threw the coalition into chaos, allowing the singer military to surge forward and push Dalinar’s troops all the way back to Azimir. There, without proper resupply and support, they could have been crushed.

Perhaps that’s it, he thought. Perhaps that was what Taravangian was intending—why he risked so much. The king, so far, had remained silent during interrogations. Perhaps Dalinar could speak to him directly and get more information. But he worried that somehow all of this was according to Taravangian’s plans, and Dalinar was second-guessing himself at every point.

“Monarchs,” Dalinar said to the group, “I suggest we continue our battle for Emul until we have more information about Urithiru.”

“Agreed,” the Azish emperor said immediately.

“I will seek approval from the guilds of Thaylenah and the queen,” Prince Kmakl said, scanning through naval reports. “But for now, I have no problem with continuing to let the Alethi generals lead. However, Brightlord Dalinar, you realize this betrayal is going to make recovering your homeland even more difficult.”

“I do,” Dalinar said. “I still believe that the best thing we can do for Alethkar’s eventual recovery is to first secure the West.”

Each of those words was a knife stabbing at his heart. It meant giving Alethkar up for years. Perhaps longer. With Jah Keved as a staging area, he’d been able to entertain dreams of striking right for Kholinar. No longer.

Storming Taravangian. Damnation take you.

With Kmakl and the Azish weighing in, the sole monarch who hadn’t spoken up was Jasnah. She inspected the maps, Wit—as ever—standing at her shoulder.

“I assume, Uncle,” she said, “that you will be letting the Mink prosecute this campaign?”

“This is a larger conflict than one man can direct on his own,” Dalinar said. “But after his handling of the battle two days ago, I think he’s proven his worth. One of the reasons I worked so hard to recruit him was to have his particular genius directing our strategy.”