Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“Right,” she said. “It will probably be underwater. That’s what the Sibling said. Near the pump mechanisms. Can … can you swim?”

“Won’t need to, with Stormlight to sustain me and the fabrial to move me,” Kaladin said, lifting his hand and rising into the air above the market. “But the well is likely under heavy guard. Our best chance to destroy the fabrial will be for me to break from this fight and fly straight down to it, then hit the device in one blow before anyone realizes what I’m doing. I’ll need you to guide me.”

“Sounds good.” She hesitated, looking toward him.

“I’ll be all right,” he promised.

She flew off to do as he requested. He might be too late already. He could feel something changing. A greater oppression, a heaviness, was settling upon him. He could only assume it was the result of the Fused corrupting the Sibling.

Well, he couldn’t move in that direction until Syl had the way prepared for him, so this would have to do. He leveled out in the air opposite Leshwi, his hand still held upward above him. The pose made him look overly dramatic, but he tried to appear confident anyway.

Leshwi wore the same body as last time, muscular, tall, wrapped in flowing black and white clothing. Her lance was shorter than normal, perhaps intended for indoor fighting.

Right. Well, he hoped to give a good showing in this fight, long enough to give Syl time to scout for him. So he cut the fabrial and dropped in the air, spinning and giving himself a few seconds of free fall. He felt almost like a real Windrunner—which was dangerous, as he almost tried to sculpt his fall with his hands in the wind. Fortunately, he remembered to engage the device as he neared the rooftops.

He lurched to a stop with a painful jolt, his arm bent, his elbow held close to his side. He had the most stability this way, his muscles keeping him as if he were standing upright with his left arm tucked in to keep his center of gravity close and tight.

He gripped the device’s bar and his left hand tugged him forward, zooming over the roofs of the shops. It made for a pitiful approximation of a true Windrunner maneuver, but Leshwi dove after him anyway, echoing their previous contests.

Eyes watering from the pain in his arm, Kaladin dropped to a rooftop and spun to raise his spear toward Leshwi, gripping it firmly in his right hand—a classic formation grip, with the spear up beside his head. Heal! he thought at his arm as Leshwi slowed above, holding her lance in one hand and hovering.

She was plainly cautious, so Kaladin infused a patch of the rooftop with a Reverse Lashing, picturing it pulling on tassels of clothing. Leshwi’s robes rippled and were pulled toward Kaladin, but she took a knife from her belt and cut them, dropping her train and much of the excess clothing to flutter down to affix itself to the rooftop.

Kaladin raised himself into the air again, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

“What is wrong, Windrunner?” Leshwi asked in heavily accented Alethi, coming closer. “Your powers fail you.”

“Fight me anyway,” Kaladin called up at her. As he did, he caught a glimpse of the Pursuer’s bloodred ribbon weaving out of a building below.

Leshwi followed his gaze and seemed to understand, for she raised her lance toward him in an attack posture. Kaladin took a deep breath and returned his spear to the overhand grip, weapon up by his head, his elbow cocked. He’d been trained in this grip for shield and spear combat. It was best with a group of friends each with shields up—but what combat wasn’t?

He waited for her to get close, then stabbed at her, causing her to dodge away. The Pursuer’s ribbon fluttered around nearby, weaving between watching Heavenly Ones.

Leshwi made a few more token attempts to engage him, and for a moment the fight seemed almost fair. Then Leshwi rose into the air and passed overhead, while Kaladin was left to twist—then disengage his device and drop a few feet before lurching into a hanging position, facing her. She cocked her head, then flew to the side and attacked him from that direction.

He tried to deflect, but he was too immobile. Her spear bit him in the left arm, causing him to grunt in pain. Blood spread from the wound, and—as before—it didn’t heal immediately. In fact, his Stormlight seemed to be responding slower than it had earlier in this fight.

Storms, this had been a mistake. He couldn’t duel Leshwi like this. He’d be better off on the ground; he’d be outmatched against opponents with the high ground, but at least he wouldn’t be frozen in place. If Navani ever wanted these devices to be useful in aerial combat, she had a lot of work to do.

So he fled, engaging the device and sending himself flying between a couple of Heavenly Ones who moved dutifully to the sides to let Leshwi follow. Even the Pursuer seemed to respect the duel, as his ribbon stopped following and vanished below.

At least that part of Kaladin’s plan had worked. Unfortunately, Leshwi had clearly put together that he couldn’t veer to either side—and that his acceleration was limited to a single Lashing, the maximum from one falling weight. So while he crossed the vast room in seconds, the moment he slowed to prevent himself from hitting the wall, she slammed into him from behind. The force of the hit made him grip the speed-control bar by accident, and he was rammed into the wall by his own fist, Leshwi pressing him from behind.

She put a knife to his neck. “This is a sham, Stormblessed,” she said in his ear. “This is no contest.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off the pain of the hit and the cut to his arm—though that finally appeared to be healing. Slowly, but at least it was happening.

“We could drop to the ground,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fight a duel without Surges.”

“Would you actually do that?” Leshwi said. “I think you cannot spare the time. You’re here to interfere with whatever the Lady of Wishes is doing.”

Kaladin grunted his reply, not wanting to waste Stormlight by speaking.

Leshwi, however, pulled away in the air, leaving him to turn around awkwardly as he’d done before, with a dropping lurch. She drifted down to eye level with him. Past her, he spotted Syl rising into the air and coming toward him. She made a quick glyph in the air. Ready.

As Leshwi started talking, he fixed his attention on her so she wouldn’t think anything was amiss.

“Surrender,” she said. “If you give your weapon to me now, I might be able to get the Lady of Wishes to turn aside the Pursuer. Together we could start to work toward a true government and peace for Roshar.”

“A true government and peace?” Kaladin demanded. “Your people are in the middle of conquering mine!”

“And did your leader not conquer his way to the throne?” she asked, sounding genuinely confused. “This is the way of your people as well as mine. Besides, you must admit my people govern better. The humans under our control have not been treated unfairly. Certainly they live better than the singers fared under your domination.”

“And your god?” Kaladin asked. “You can promise me that once humankind has been subdued, he won’t have us exterminated?”

Leshwi didn’t respond, though she hummed to a rhythm he couldn’t distinguish.

“I know the kind of men who follow Odium,” Kaladin said softly. “I’ve known them all my life. I bear their brands on my forehead, Leshwi. I could almost trust you for the honor you’ve shown me—if it didn’t mean trusting him as well.”