Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“You cannot conceive how long I’ve planned for this,” Odium was saying—though the light was building within him again, his skin like thin paper. He seemed … not weak—a being who could spawn storms and destroy entire nations would never be weak. But vulnerable.

Odium had bet so much upon Dalinar being his champion. Now that was in chaos. The god bragged about his plans, but Taravangian knew firsthand that you could plan and plan and plan, but if one man’s choices didn’t align to your will, it didn’t matter. A thousand wrong plans were no more useful than a single wrong one.

“Don’t be too pained, Taravangian,” Odium said. “Dalinar won’t kill you immediately. He’ll seek to understand; it has become his way. Poor fool. The old Blackthorn would have immediately murdered you, but this weaker version won’t be able to help himself. He’ll need to talk to you before he orders your execution.”

You’re doing the same, Taravangian thought, a dangerous plan budding in his mind. You should have killed me.

Out loud he said, “So be it. I have accomplished my goal.”

“So you have,” Odium said. “So you have. Go, my son. Make good on your part of our compact, and earn salvation for those you love.”

The golden expanse faded, depositing Taravangian on the floor of his stormwagon. He opened his hand, finding the fragment of the Diagram in it. But … the other pieces were gone. They had vanished when the vision ended. That stunned him, for it implied that he had truly been in another place. That he’d taken the papers there with him, but only this one piece remained when he returned.

He stared at the fragment for a long time, then forced himself into his seat. He took a moment to recover before digging into his satchel. He brought out the spanreed board, oriented it, and positioned the pen. When he finally got a response, he wrote out two simple words.

Do it.

He had to go through with the betrayal, of course. He needed to keep his agreement; he had to protect Kharbranth. That came before any other plots or plans. And any other such plots would have to be executed in such a way that Odium either did not know what he’d done, or couldn’t act against him to remove Kharbranth’s protections.

It took less than fifteen minutes for Dalinar’s soldiers to arrive and break into his wagon, shattering the door and storming in with weapons drawn. Yes, they’d been waiting for this betrayal. Odium had his distraction. They’d need to dedicate weeks of frantic work to be certain the Veden armies didn’t gain too much of an advantage—and Dalinar would be occupied here, fighting off Taravangian’s soldiers.

Taravangian groaned as the soldiers seized his spanreeds, a scribe among them reading the two words he’d sent.

They didn’t harm him. Odium was probably right. Taravangian likely had a few weeks before his execution. He found that he hurt less, felt less tired, as they bound and gagged him. It was painful, yes, but he could suffer a little pain. For he knew something powerful. A quiet, furtive secret as dangerous as the Diagram had been.

Taravangian had decided not to give up.

I find this format most comfortable, as it is how I’ve collaborated in the past. I have never done it in this way, and with this kind of partner.

—From Rhythm of War, page 1

Kaladin jogged through the dark tunnels of Urithiru, Teft across his shoulders, feeling as if he could hear his life crumbling underfoot with each step. A phantom cracking, like glass shattering.

Each painful step took him farther from his family, farther from peace. Farther into the darkness. He’d made his decision. He would not leave his friend to the whims of enemy captivity. But though he’d finally thought to take off his bloodied shoes—and now carried them with the laces looped around his neck—he still felt as if he were leaving stained tracks behind him.

Storms. What did he think he could accomplish by himself? He was effectively disobeying the queen’s order to surrender.

He tried his best to banish such thoughts and keep moving. He would have time later to ruminate on what he’d done. For now, he needed to find a safe place to hide. The tower was no longer home, but an enemy fortress.

Syl zipped out in front of him, checking each intersection before he arrived. Stormlight kept him moving, but he worried what would happen when it ran out. Would his strength fail him? Would he collapse in the center of the corridor?

Why hadn’t he collected more spheres from his parents or Laral before leaving? He hadn’t even thought to take the stormform’s axe. That left him unarmed, save for a scalpel. He was too used to having Syl as his Shardspear, but if she couldn’t transform—

No, he thought to himself. No thoughts. Thoughts are dangerous. Just move.

He pushed forward, relying on Syl, who sped toward a stairwell. The easiest way to lose themselves would be to find a hiding place on the uninhabited floors, perhaps somewhere on eleven or twelve. He took the stairs two at a time, propelled by the pulsing Light in his veins. His glow was enough to see by. Teft began muttering quietly, perhaps responding to the jostling.

They reached the seventh floor, then started straight up toward the eighth. Here, Syl led him farther inward. Try as he might to ignore them, Kaladin continued to hear the echoes of his failure. His father’s shouts. His own tears …

He’d been so close. So close.

He lost track of their location in the endless tunnels. The floor here wasn’t painted to give directions, so he trusted in Syl. She zipped ahead to an intersection, spun around in a circle a few times, then shot to the right. He kept pace with her, though he was feeling Teft’s weight more and more.

“Just a second,” he whispered to her at the next intersection, then rested against the wall—Teft still weighing heavily on his shoulders—and fished a chip from his pouch. The small topaz was barely enough to see by, but he needed it as the Stormlight he was holding finally gave out. And he didn’t have many spheres left.

He grunted under the weight of his friend, then pushed himself to stand up straight, clinging tightly to Teft with both hands while gripping the sphere between two fingers. He nodded to Syl, then continued after her, pleased that his strength was holding. He could manage Teft without Light. Despite Kaladin’s last few weeks spent as a surgeon, his body was still that of a soldier.

“We should go higher,” Syl said, floating alongside his head as a ribbon of light. “Can you manage?”

“Get us to floor ten at least,” Kaladin said.

“I’ll have to take us up stairwells as I see them. I don’t really know this section of the tower.…”

He let himself sink into an old familiar mindset as they continued. Teft’s weight across his shoulders wasn’t that different from carrying a bridge. It brought him back to those days. Running bridges. Eating stew.

Watching his friends die … feeling terror anew each day …

Those memories offered no comfort. But the rhythm of steps, carrying a burden, working his body on an extended march … it was at least familiar.

He followed Syl up one set of steps, then another. Then across another long tunnel, the strata here waving vigorously like ripples in a churning pond. Kaladin kept moving.

Until suddenly he came alert.

He couldn’t pinpoint what alarmed him, but he moved on instinct to immediately cover his sphere and duck into a side passage. He stepped into a nook and knelt to slide Teft off his shoulders. He pressed his hand against the unconscious man’s mouth to silence his mumbling.