Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“Lopen!” Kaladin said. “Listen to me! Stop fighting!”

Lopen bared his teeth in a terrible grin, then knocked Kaladin aside before launching himself at yet another figure—Rock, who had stumbled on a corpse. Lopen killed him with a spear through the gut, but then Teft killed Lopen from behind. Bisig stabbed Teft, and Kaladin didn’t see who brought him down. He was too horrified.

Sigzil dropped nearby with a hole in his side, and Kaladin caught him.

“Why?” Sigzil asked, blood dribbling from his lips. “Why didn’t you let us sleep?”

“This isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

“You should have let us die on the Shattered Plains.”

“I wanted to protect you!” Kaladin shouted. “I had to protect you!”

“You cursed us…”

Kaladin dropped the dying body and stumbled away. He ducked his head, his mind cloudy, and started running. A part of him knew this horror wasn’t real, but he could still hear the screaming. Accusing him. Why did you do this, Kaladin? Why have you killed us?

He pressed his hands to his ears, so intent on escaping the carnage that he nearly ran straight into a chasm. He pulled up, teetering on the edge. He stumbled, then looked to his left. The warcamps were there, up a short slope.

He’d been here. He remembered this place, this storm, lightly raining. This chasm. Where he’d nearly died.

“You saved us,” a voice said, “so we could suffer.”

Moash. He stood on the edge of the chasm near Kaladin. The man turned, and Kaladin saw his eyes—black pits. “People think you were merciful to us. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You did it for you. Not us. If you were truly merciful, you’d have given us easy deaths.”

“No,” Kaladin said. “No!”

“The void awaits, Kal,” Moash said. “The emptiness. It lets you do anything—even kill a king—without regret. One step. You’ll never have to feel pain again.”

Moash took a step and dropped into the chasm. Kaladin fell to his knees on the edge, rain streaming around him. He stared down in horror.

Then started awake someplace cold. Immediately, a hundred pains coursed through his joints and muscles, each demanding his attention like a screaming child. He groaned and opened his eyes, but there was only darkness.

I’m in the tower, he thought, remembering the events of the previous day. Storms. The place is controlled by the Fused. I barely got away.

The nightmares seemed to be getting worse. Or they’d always been this bad, but he didn’t remember. He lay there, breathing deeply, sweating as if from exertion—and remembered the sight of his friends dying. Remembered Moash stepping into that darkness and vanishing.

Sleeping was supposed to refresh you, but Kaladin felt more tired than when he’d collapsed. He groaned and put his back to the wall, forcing himself to sit up. Then he felt around in a sudden panic. In his addled state, a part of him thought for sure he’d find Teft dead on the floor.

He let out a sigh of relief as he located his friend lying nearby, still breathing. The man had wet himself, unfortunately—he’d grow dehydrated quickly if Kaladin didn’t do something, and the potential for rotspren was high if Kaladin didn’t get him cleaned up and properly situated with a bedpan.

Storms. The weight of what Kaladin had done hung above him, nearly as oppressive as the weight of the tower. He was alone, lost in the darkness, without Stormlight or anything to drink—let alone proper weapons. He needed to take care of not only himself, but a man in a coma.

What had he been thinking? He didn’t believe the nightmare—but he couldn’t completely banish its echoes either. Why? Why couldn’t he have let go? Why did he keep fighting? Was it really for them?

Or was it because he was selfish? Because he couldn’t let go and admit defeat?

“Syl?” he asked in the darkness. When she didn’t answer him, he called again, his voice trembling. “Syl, where are you?”

No reply. He felt around his enclosure, and realized he had no idea how to get out. He’d entombed himself and Teft here in this too-thick darkness. To die slow deaths alone …

Then a pinprick of light appeared. Syl, blessedly, entered the enclosure. She couldn’t pass through walls—Radiant spren had enough substance in the Physical Realm that they were impeded by most materials. Instead she appeared to have come in through some sort of vent high in the wall.

Her appearance brought with it a measure of his sanity. He released a shuddering breath as she flitted down and landed on his outstretched palm.

“I found a way out,” she said, taking the shape of a soldier wearing a scout’s uniform. “I don’t think you’d be able to get through it though. Even a child would be cramped.

“I looked around, though I couldn’t go too far. Guards are posted at many stairwells, but they don’t seem to be searching for you. These floors are big enough that I think they’ve realized finding one man in here is virtually impossible.”

“That’s some good news, I guess,” Kaladin said. “Do you have any idea what that light was that led me in here?”

“I … have a theory,” Syl said. “A long time ago, before things went poorly between spren and humans, there were three Bondsmiths. One for the Stormfather. One for the Nightwatcher. And one other. For a spren called the Sibling. A spren who remained in this tower, hidden, and did not appear to humans. They were supposed to have died long ago.”

“Huh,” Kaladin said, feeling at the door that had opened to let him in. “What were they like?”

“I don’t know,” Syl said, moving to his shoulder. “We’ve talked to Brightness Navani about this, answering her questions, and the other Radiant spren didn’t know more than I just said. Remember, many of the spren who knew about the old days died—and the Sibling was always secretive. I don’t know what kind of spren they were, or why they could create a Bondsmith. If they are alive though, I don’t know why so much in the tower doesn’t work.”

“Well, this wall worked,” Kaladin said, finding the gemstone in the wall. The gem was dark now, but it was also much more prominent on this side. He could easily have missed it from the other direction. How many other rooms had such gemstones embedded in the wall, hiding secret doors?

He touched the gemstone. Despite the fact that he didn’t have any more Stormlight, light appeared deep inside it. A white light that twinkled like a star. It expanded into a small burst of Stormlight, and the door silently split open again.

Kaladin let out a long breath and felt a little of his panic wash away. He wouldn’t die in the darkness. Once the gemstone was charged, it worked like any other fabrial, continuing to function so long as it had remaining Stormlight.

He looked to Syl. “Think you can find your way back here to Teft if we leave and do some scouting?”

“I should be able to memorize our path.”

“Great,” Kaladin said. “Because we need supplies.” He couldn’t afford to think about the long term yet. Those daunting questions—what he was going to do about the tower, the dozens of Radiants in enemy captivity, his family—would need to wait. First he needed water, food, Stormlight, and—most importantly—a better weapon.