Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

She nodded, and seemed to accept this as a valid argument. She began lowering, perhaps to engage in that fight he’d suggested, without powers.

“Leshwi,” he called after she had lowered partway. “I feel the need to point out that I didn’t agree to fight you below. I simply noted it was an option.”

“What is the distinction?” she called up.

“I’d rather you not see this as a broken oath,” he said, then disengaged the fabrial and pointed it right at Syl before launching himself that direction—straight over Leshwi’s head.

He didn’t wait to see if she gave chase. Syl streaked ahead of him, leading him straight across the room toward the blue pool of water at the center. Guards were there, pushing people into buildings, but the way was open. The other Heavenly Ones kept their distance from him, assuming he was still dueling with Leshwi.

He cut the fabrial right as he passed over the well, then pointed his hand down and engaged it. His aim was true, and he sucked in more Stormlight as he splashed into the water. It hurt to hit, far more than he’d expected from something soft like water. His arm kept pulling him downward though, despite the resistance.

It quickly grew dark, and a part of him panicked at never having been this far beneath water before. His ears reacted oddly, painfully. Fortunately, his Stormlight sustained him in the chill depth. It also gave him light to see a figure below, swimming beside a group of glowing gemstones on the wall, secured here deep beneath the surface.

The figure turned toward him, her topknot swirling in the water—lit from the side by a variety of gemstone hues. It was her, the one who had been so fascinated with him last time. This time she seemed surprised, drawing a dagger from her belt and swinging it at him.

However, Kaladin found that Navani’s fabrial worked far better in this environment. He could easily disengage it and swing it in another direction without dropping or lurching—and the added pull meant he easily outmaneuvered this Fused.

He spun around her and moved lower in the water. The well’s shaft was only about ten feet wide, so when she pushed off a wall, she could reach him—but behind her, Syl highlighted the correct gemstone.

He engaged his own fabrial, which towed him past the Fused, letting her get a clean cut across his chest with her dagger. Blood clouded the water, but Kaladin connected his fist against the sapphire, knocking it free. He spun his spear in the water and jabbed it at the wires of the fabrial cage, then pried loose the glass sphere. That should do it.

Now to get out. He looked upward through the red water, and began to feel dizzy. Healing was coming so slowly.

Syl soared ahead of him as he used the fabrial to rise up, leaving the annoyed Fused behind. Syl’s light was encouraging, as it seemed to be getting darker in here.

My Stormlight is running out. Storms. How was he going to get away? Dozens of Fused awaited him above. He … he might have to surrender, as Leshwi had insisted. Would they let him, now?

What was that rumbling? He saw light shimmering above, but it was shrinking. Syl made it out, but she didn’t seem to have realized he was lagging behind her. And the light was vanishing.

A lid, he realized with panic. They’re putting a lid over the top of the well. As he neared, in the last sliver of light he saw the hulking form of the Pursuer. Smiling.

The lid thumped in place right before Kaladin arrived. He burst into the small section of air between the top of the well’s water level and the lid, gasping for breath.

But he was trapped. He slammed against the wood, trying to use the power of Navani’s device to lift it—but he heard thumping as weights, likely stones, were set on top of it. More and more of them.

The Pursuer had been ready for this. He knew that even if Kaladin’s gravitational Lashings worked, enough weight would keep the lid in place. In fact, it felt like the weights were alive. People, dozens of them, climbing on top of the lid. Of course. Why use stone when humans were heavy enough and far easier to move?

Kaladin pounded on the wood as he felt Syl panicking, unable to reach him. His Stormlight was fading, and it seemed the walls and the lid were closing in on him. He’d die in here, and it wouldn’t take long. All the Pursuer had to do was wait. They could seal it above, denying him fresh air.…

In that moment of pure terror, Kaladin was in one of his nightmares again.

Blackness.

Encircled by hateful shadows.

Trapped.

Anxiety mounted inside him, and he began to thrash in the water, screaming, letting out the rest of his Stormlight. In that moment of panic, he didn’t care. But as he fell hoarse from shouting, he heard—strangely enough—Hav’s voice. Kaladin’s old sergeant, from his days as a recruit.

Panic on the battlefield kills more men than enemy spears. Never run. Always retreat.

This water came from somewhere. There was another way out.

Kaladin took a deep breath and dove beneath the black water, feeling it surround him. His panic returned. He didn’t know which way was up and which was down. How could you forget which way the sky was? But all was blackness. He fished in his pouch, finally managing to think clearly. He got out a glowing gemstone, but it slipped from his fingers.

And sank.

That way.

He pointed his fist toward the falling light and engaged Navani’s device. He was in no state for delicacy, so he squeezed as tight as he could and lurched, towed by his arm farther into the darkness. He plunged past the fabrials and the Fused—she was swimming upward, and didn’t seem concerned with him.

His ears screamed with a strange pain the deeper he went. He started to breathe in more Stormlight, but stopped himself. Underwater, he risked getting a lungful of liquid. But … he had no idea how to get Light when submerged. How had they never thought about this?

It was good that the device kept pulling him, because he might not have had the presence of mind to keep moving on his own. That was proven as he reached the gemstone he’d dropped, a garnet, and found it sitting on the bottom of the tube. A bright sapphire glowed here too, the one he’d knocked free. He grabbed it and disengaged the gauntlet fabrial, but it took him precious seconds to think and search around.

The tunnel turned level here. He moved in that direction, engaging the device, letting it pull him.

His lungs started to burn. He was still surviving on the breath he’d taken above, and didn’t know how to get more Stormlight. He was still trailing blood as well.

Was that light ahead, or was his vision getting so bad that he was seeing stars?

He chose to believe it was light. When he reached it—more fabrial pumps—he shut off his fabrial, pointed his hand upward, and engaged the device again. Nightmares chased him, manifestations of his anxiety, and it was as if the world were crushing him. Everything became blackness once more.

The only thing he felt was Syl, so distant now, terrified. He thought that would be his last sensation.

Then he broke out of the water into the air. He gasped—a raw and primal action. A physiological response rather than conscious choice. Indeed, he must have blacked out anyway, for when he blinked and his senses returned, he found himself hanging by his aching arm from the ceiling in a reservoir beneath the tower.

He shook his head, and looked at his hand. He’d dropped the sapphire, and when he tried to breathe in Stormlight, nothing came. His pouch was empty of it. He must have fed off it while drifting in and out of consciousness. He was tempted to let himself sleep again.…