Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“They serve Odium,” Adolin said, noticing many of the honorspren shifting in their seats, uncomfortable. “Men might be changeable, yes. We might be corrupt at times, and weak always. But I know evil when I see it. Odium is evil. I will never serve him.”

Blended eyed the crowd, who nodded at Adolin’s words. She gave him a little nod herself, as if in acknowledgment of a point earned.

“This tangent is irrelevant,” she said, turning to Kelek. “I can say, with some ease, that a good relationship between honorspren and inkspren is not. Any would acknowledge this. My testimony’s value is, then, of extra import.

“I lived through the pain and chaos of the Recreance. I saw my siblings, beloved, dead. I saw families ripped apart, and pain flowing like blood. We might be enemies, but in one thing unification is. Men should never again be trusted with our bonds. If this one wishes to accept punishment for the thousands who escaped it, I say let him. Lock him away. Be done with him and any who, like him, wish to repeat the massacre of the past.” She looked directly at Adolin. “This truth is.”

Adolin felt at a loss to say anything. What defense could he offer? “We are not the same as the ones before,” he said.

“Can you promise you will be different,” she demanded. “Absolutely promise it? Promise that no further spren will be killed from bonds, if allowed to be?”

“Of course not,” Adolin said.

“Well, I can promise that none will die so long as no more bonds are made. The solution is easy.”

She turned and walked back to her place.

Adolin looked to Kelek. “There are no promises in life. Nothing is sure. She says spren won’t die without bonds, but can you say what will happen if Odium reigns?”

“I find it most curious she’d prefer that possibility, young man,” Kelek said. He started writing in his notebook again. “But it is seriously damning of you that an inkspren would be willing to testify alongside an honorspren. Damning indeed…” Kelek took another bite of his fruit, leaving only the core, which he absently set on the table in front of him.

Frustrated, Adolin forced himself to calm. The trial was proceeding well on at least one axis. The honorspren weren’t trying to force the actual sins of the Recreance on him; they were taking a more honorable approach of proving that men hadn’t changed, and bonds were too risky.

Blended and he had decided this tactic was safer for Adolin; Kelek could very well decide that there was no reason to imprison him for things the ancients did. At the same time, Adolin was losing the hearts of the watching spren. What would it matter if he “won” the trial if the spren were even more strongly convinced they shouldn’t help in the conflict?

He searched the crowd, but found mostly resentful expressions. Storms. Did he really think he could prove anything to them? Which of the ten fools was he for starting all this?

No, I’m not a fool, he told himself. Just an optimist. How can they not see? How can they sit here and judge me, when men are dying and other spren fight?

The same way, he realized, that the highprinces had spent so long playing games with the lives of soldiers on the Shattered Plains. The same way any man could turn his back on an atrocity if he could persuade himself it wasn’t his business.

Men and spren were not different. Blended had tried to tell him this, and now he saw it firsthand.

“The third and final witness,” the honorspren officiator said, “is Notum, once captain of the ship Honor’s Path.”

Adolin felt his stomach turn as Notum—looking much improved from the last time Adolin had seen him—emerged from the top of the forum, where a group of standing honorspren had obscured him from Adolin’s view. Still, Adolin was shocked. Notum had been forbidden to enter Lasting Integrity despite his wounds, and had stayed with the others outside the walls—though the honorspren of the tower had delivered him some Stormlight to aid in his healing. Messages from Godeke had indicated that Notum had eventually returned to patrol.

Now he was here—and in uniform, which was telling. He also wouldn’t meet Adolin’s eyes as he stepped down onto the floor of the forum. Spren might claim the moral high ground; they claimed to be made of honor. But they also defined honor for themselves. As men did.

“Offered to end your exile, did they, Notum?” Adolin asked softly. “In exchange for a little backstabbing?”

Notum continued to avoid his gaze, instead bowing to Kelek, then unfolding a sheet of paper from his pocket. He began to read. “I have been asked,” he said, “to relate the erratic behavior I witnessed in this man and his companions. As many of you know, I first encountered this group when they fled the Fused in Celebrant over one year ago. They used subterfuge to…”

Notum trailed off and looked toward Adolin.

Give him Father’s stare, Adolin thought. The stern one that made you want to shrivel up inside, thinking of everything you’d done wrong. A general’s stare.

Adolin had never been good at that stare.

“Go ahead,” he said instead. “We got you in trouble, Notum. It’s only fair that you get a chance to tell your side. I can’t ask anything of you other than honesty.”

“I…” Notum met his eyes.

“Go on.”

Notum lowered his sheet, then said in a loud voice, “Honor is not dead so long as he lives in the hearts of men!”

Adolin had never heard the statement before, but it seemed a trigger to the honorspren crowd, who began standing up and shouting in outrage—or even in support. Adolin stepped back, amazed by the sudden burst of emotion from the normally stoic spren.

Several officials rushed the floor of the forum, pulling Notum away as he bellowed the words. “Honor is not dead so long as he lives in the hearts of men! Honor is not—”

They dragged him out of the forum, but the commotion continued. Adolin put his hand on his sword, uncertain. Would this turn ugly?

Kelek shrank down in his seat, looking panicked as he put his hands to his ears. He let out a low whine, pathetic and piteous, and began to shake. The honorspren near him called for order among the crowd, shouting that they were causing pain to the Holy One.

Many seemed outraged at Notum’s words, but a sizable number took up his cry—and these were pushed physically out of the forum. There was a tension to this society Adolin hadn’t seen before. The honorspren were no monolith; disagreement and tension swam in deep waters here—far below the surface, but still powerful.

The officiators cleared the forum—even Shallan and Pattern were forced out. Everyone basically ignored Adolin. As the place finally settled down, and only a few officials remained, Adolin walked up the few forum steps to the High Judge’s seat. Kelek lounged in his seat, ignoring the fact that he’d been curled up on the floor trembling mere moments earlier.

“What was that?” Adolin asked him.

“Hmmm?” Kelek said. “Oh, nothing of note. An old spren argument. Your coming has opened centuries-old wounds, young man. Amusing, isn’t it?”

“Amusing? That’s all?”

Kelek started whistling as he wrote in his notebook.

They’re all insane, Adolin thought. Ash said so. This is what thousands of years of torture does to a mind.

Perhaps it was best not to push on the raw wound.