Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

It took a good hour for Leshwi to finally return, soaring upward from the direction of the large market on the ground floor.

“What did you do?” Venli asked.

“I took the Windrunner’s family into my custody,” Leshwi said. “My position gives me authority over the Pursuer.”

“You didn’t hurt them, did you?” Venli asked to Pleading.

Leshwi stared at her, and only after a moment did Venli realize she’d slipped and used one of the old rhythms. Pleading was one of Roshar’s rhythms, not Odium’s.

“I did not,” Leshwi said. “And now that I’ve moved—and extended myself in this way—the Pursuer won’t dare harm them. At least not unless the power dynamic shifts in the tower. I placed the family in a safe location and told them to remain hidden. We might need them, as you indicated.”

Venli hummed to Subservience.

“Find a place where we can watch them, then send me a note. I will consider if there is a way to use them to find Stormblessed, and for now will spread a rumor that I have disposed of them. Even if the Pursuer finds the truth, though, they should be safe for the time being. That said, I give warning again: You must not let others see your compassion for humans. It will be misconstrued, particularly with you being the child of traitors.”

“Yes, Ancient One.”

“Go,” she said. “I consider what I have done here today a favor to you. Do not forget it.”

Venli hummed to Subservience and left quickly. Timbre pulsed encouragingly.

“I am a false Radiant,” Venli said. “You know this.”

Timbre pulsed again. Perhaps. But today had been a step in the right direction.

It would have been so easy if Voidlight and Stormlight destroyed one another. Such a simple answer.

—From Rhythm of War, page 6

“Grampa,” little Gavinor asked. “Was my daddy brave when he died?”

Dalinar settled down on the floor of the small room, setting aside the wooden sword he’d been using to play at a greatshell hunt. Had Adolin ever been this small?

He was determined not to miss so much of Gav’s life as he had his sons’. He wanted to love and cherish this solemn child with dark hair and pure yellow eyes.

“He was very brave,” Dalinar said, waving for the child to come sit in his lap. “So very brave. He went almost alone to our home, to try to save it.”

“To save me,” Gav said softly. “He died because of me.”

“No!” Dalinar said. “He died because of evil people.”

“Evil people … like Mommy?”

Storms. This poor child.

“Your mother,” Dalinar said, “was also brave. She didn’t do those terrible things; it was the enemy, who had taken over her mind. Do you understand? Your mother loved you.”

Gav nodded, serious beyond his years. He did like playing at greatshell hunts, though he didn’t laugh during them like other children would. He treated even play as a somber occasion.

Dalinar tried to restart the pretend hunt, but the boy’s mind seemed overshadowed by these dark thoughts. After just another few minutes, Gav complained that he was tired. So Dalinar let his nursemaid take him to rest. Then Dalinar lingered at the doorway, watching her tuck him into bed.

What five-year-old wanted to go to bed? Though Dalinar had not been the most dutiful parent, he did remember lengthy complaints from both Adolin and Renarin on evenings like this, when they insisted they were old enough to stay up and they did not feel tired. Gav instead clutched his little wooden sword, which he kept with him at all times, and drifted off.

Dalinar left the small home, nodding to the guards outside. The Azish thought it strange that the Alethi officers brought families to war, but how else were children to learn proper military protocol?

It was the evening following Jasnah’s stunt with Ruthar, and Dalinar had spent most of the day—before visiting Gav—speaking via spanreed to highlords and highladies, smoothing over their concerns about the near execution. He’d made certain the legality of Jasnah’s actions would not be questioned. And he’d personally talked to Relis, Ruthar’s son.

The young man had lost a bout to Adolin back in the warcamps, and Dalinar had worried about his motivations now. However, it seemed that Relis was eager to prove he could be a loyalist. Dalinar had made certain that his father was taken to Azimir and given a small house there, where he could be watched. Regardless of what Jasnah said, Dalinar wouldn’t have a former highprince begging for scraps.

Finally—after smoothing things over with the Azish, who did not appreciate Alethi trials by sword—he was feeling he had the situation under control. He stopped in the middle of the camp, thoughtful. He’d almost forgotten Renarin’s talk of his episode the day before.

Dalinar turned and strode through the warcamp—a bustling illustration of organized chaos. Messengers ran this way and that, mostly wearing the patterned livery of the various Azish scribe orders. Alethi captains had their soldiers hauling supplies or marking the stone ground with painted lines to indicate directions.

A trail of wagons snaked in from the northwest, a lifeline to populated lands and fertile hills untouched by war. Fearing that this camp was already a big target, Dalinar had posted many of his Soulcasters in Azimir.

The landscape was different from what he knew. More trees, less grass, and strange fields of shrubs with interlocking branches that created vast snarls. Despite that, the signs he saw in this village were all too familiar. A bit of cloth trapped in the hardened crem beside the roadway. Burnt-out buildings, torched either out of a sadistic amusement, or to deny beds and stormshutters to the army that had moved in next. Those fires had been fed by homes with too many possessions left behind.

Engineers had continued to shore up the eastern stormwall, where a natural windbreak created a cleft. Normally this shoring process would have taken weeks. Today Shardbearers cut out stone blocks, which Windrunners made light enough to push into position with ease. The ever-present Azish functionaries were supervising.

Dalinar turned toward the Windrunner camp, troubled. Jasnah’s stunt had overshadowed their conversation about monarchs and monarchies—but now that he dwelled on it, he found it as disturbing as the duel. The way Jasnah had talked … She had seemed proud of the idea that she might be Alethkar’s last queen. She intended to see Alethkar left with some version of a neutered monarchy, like in Thaylenah or Azir.

How would the country function without a proper monarch? The Alethi weren’t like these persnickety Azish. The Alethi liked real leaders, soldiers who were accustomed to making decisions. A country was like an army. Someone strong needed to be in charge. And barring that, someone decisive needed to be in charge.

The thoughts persisted as he neared the Windrunner camp and smelled something delicious on the air. The Windrunners continued a tradition begun in the bridge crews: a large communal stew available to anyone. Dalinar had originally tried to regulate the thing. However, while he usually found the Windrunners agreeable to proper military decorum, they had absolutely refused to follow proper quartermaster requisition and mess requirements for their evening stews.

Eventually Dalinar had done what any good commander did when faced by such persistent mass insubordination: He backed down. When good men disobeyed, it was time to look at your orders.