Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“Thank you,” he said.

She shrugged. “My awesomeness—the slippery part—doesn’t work anymore. But this does. Wonder why.”

Rlain went to close the door. Dabbid tried to make Kaladin comfortable, bunching up a blanket to make a pillow. His friend was still unconscious, but sleeping peacefully now.

“I have a lot of questions, Dabbid,” Rlain said. “First off, why have you been keeping quiet when you could speak?”

“I…”

“He don’t gotta say nothin’ if he don’t wanna,” Lift said. She’d found their rations already, and was eating. Wow.

“He’s Bridge Four,” Rlain said. “We’re family. Family doesn’t lie to one another.”

“I’m sorry,” Dabbid said softly. “I just … didn’t want you to know I’m … different.”

“We’re all different,” Rlain said, folding his arms. Storms, he was so frightening in carapace armor.

“I’m more different,” Dabbid said. “I … I was born different.”

“You mean born … you know … an idiot?” Rlain said.

Dabbid winced. He hated that word, though Rlain didn’t use it hatefully. It was just a word to him.

“Touched,” Lift said. “I’ve known lotsa kids like him on the street. They don’t think the same way as everyone else. It happens.”

“It happens,” Dabbid agreed. “It happened to me. But you didn’t know. So you couldn’t treat me like I was … wrong. You know about being extra different, right Rlain?”

“I guess I do,” he said. “You shouldn’t feel that you have to hide what you are though.”

“I will be fixed,” Dabbid said, “when I get a spren. Becoming Radiant will heal me, because my brain isn’t supposed to be like this. I was hurt after I was born. The tower said so.”

“The tower?” Rlain asked.

“The tower can talk,” Lift said. “It’s a spren.”

“And it promised to heal you, Dabbid?”

He nodded. Though it hadn’t said that in so many words. He wondered now if it had been lying.

The queen hadn’t been pleased by how he’d snuck around, doing tasks for the Sibling. Maybe he should be more suspicious. Even of spren.

But someday … when he was Radiant …

Rlain dug out a new set of blankets for Kaladin from the pile. Dabbid had washed those earlier, as he’d wanted something to do. They got Kaladin untangled from the sweaty ones, then wrapped him in—

“What in storming Damnation are you fools doing?” a gruff voice said from behind them.

Dabbid froze. Then turned around slowly. Lift was perched on the end of Teft’s shelf, absently munching on a ration bar—Soulcast grain, cooked and pressed. She was pulling her hand back from Teft’s exposed foot, Stormlight curling off her body.

Teft, in turn, was pushing himself up to sit.

Teft was awake.

Dabbid let out a whoop and leaped up. Rlain just started humming like he did sometimes.

“What?” Lift said. “Wasn’t I supposed to heal the stinky one too?”

“Stinky?” Teft said, looking under his blanket. “Where in Damnation are my clothes? What happened to me? We were at the tavern, right? Storms, my head.”

“You can wake the Radiants?” Rlain asked, rushing over and seizing Lift by the arms. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Huh?” she said. “Look, shellhead, I’ve been in a stormin’ cage. My spren vanished, said he was going to try to get help, and I ain’t heard from him since. Bet he joined the Voidbringers, storming traitor. I don’t know what’s been goin’ on in the tower. What’s wrong with the others?”

“In a cage?” Teft said. “Why? And where are my storming clothes?”

“There’s a lot to explain, Teft,” Rlain said. “The tower is occupied by the enemy and…” He stopped, then frowned, glancing toward Kaladin.

Kaladin … Kaladin was stirring. They all hushed. Even Teft. Kaladin blinked and opened his eyes. He grew tense, then saw Rlain and Dabbid and relaxed, taking a deep breath.

“Is this a dream?” he whispered. “Or am I finally awake?”

“You’re awake, Kal,” Rlain said, kneeling to take Kaladin by the shoulder. “Thank the purest tones. You’re awake. It worked.”

Dabbid stepped back as Teft said something, causing Kaladin to sit up—then laugh in joy. It had worked.

Dabbid wasn’t Radiant. He wasn’t brave. He wasn’t smart. But today he hadn’t been stupid either.

Once, Kaladin had pulled Dabbid out of Damnation itself. It felt good to return that act of heroism with a small one of his own.

A YEAR AND A HALF AGO

As the war with the humans progressed, Venli became increasingly certain she’d made the correct decision.

How could her people, after generations of stagnation, hope to stand by themselves in the world? If recent reports were true, the humans had Surgebinders again, like those spoken of in the songs. Ulim was right. A bigger war than this was coming. Venli’s people needed to be prepared.

Venli stood with folded arms, attuned to Confidence as she watched a listener warband return from a raid. Eshonai and her soldiers had won the day, and they brought a large gemheart with them. Eshonai herself delivered it up to Denshil, their head of farming.

Her warriors didn’t look like victors. Bloody, wounded, their ancient weapons sagging in their grips as if weighted by groundspren. More than a few of the soldiers walked alone. Warpairs who had lost a member.

Venli watched with hidden glee. Surely they were close to breaking. If she could bring them a form of power … would they accept it? Venli remembered her hesitance, and weakness, when she’d started along this path years ago. She’d been technically a youth then, though fully grown. Now she was an adult. She saw as an adult did.

She turned and cut through a side street of the ancient city, passing large crem-covered walls like tall ridges of natural stone. You’d have to cut deep with a Shardblade to find the worked stone at the heart.

This was the more direct way, so she was waiting as Denshil walked past with the gemstone. He was scrawny even when wearing workform, and had a pattern of black and red skin that looked like true marblework, all rough and coarse. He jumped as he saw Venli.

“What are you doing,” he hissed to Anxiety as she walked along beside him.

“Acting naturally,” she said. “I’m head of our scholars. It’s normal for me to visit our farmers and see how their work is progressing.”

He still acted nervous, but at least he attuned Peace as they walked. It didn’t matter. They passed few listeners on the streets. All who weren’t absolutely needed as farmers, caretakers, or other essential workers had joined Eshonai.

In a perfect bit of poetry, this ensured that the bravest of the listeners—those most likely to resist Venli when she brought them stormform—fought on the front lines each day, dying. Each corpse brought Venli one step closer to her goal.

She’d stopped pretending this was only about protecting her people. As she’d grown into herself and become more confident, she’d decided what she truly wanted. True freedom—with the power to make certain she’d never have to be dependent upon anyone else, listener or spren. True freedom couldn’t exist while someone else had power over you.