Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

Well, it was good to know that—in a pinch—he should be able to ask the Sibling to lock the door. For now, it was enough that Dabbid could get in and out.

Kaladin nodded to Syl, left one gemstone to give Dabbid light, then slipped out.

* * *

Navani had asked Kaladin to observe the Oathgates up close as they were activated. To see if he could figure out why they functioned when other fabrials did not.

Unfortunately, Kaladin doubted he’d be able to get all the way down to the Oathgate plateau by sneaking through the hallways of the tower. He had made it to an out-of-the-way monastery on the fourth floor, yes, but that was a long way from the highly populated first two floors. Even if humans weren’t confined to quarters, Kaladin couldn’t saunter along without getting stopped. Kaladin Stormblessed drew attention.

Instead, he wanted to try climbing along the outside of the tower. Before he’d learned to fly, he’d stuck rocks to the chasm wall and climbed them. He figured he could do something similar now. The enemy had plainly ordered the Heavenly Ones to stay inside, and few people went out on the balconies.

So he made his way onto a balcony on the tenth floor right as dusk was arriving. He’d tied a sack to his belt, and in it he’d stuffed the four scrub brushes he’d gotten from the monastery. Earlier, he’d cut the bristles free with his scalpel, leaving them flat on the front but with a curved handle for holding.

Kaladin couldn’t paint his hands with a Full Lashing to stick them to things. Lopen kept sticking his clothing or hair to the floor, but a Radiant’s skin seemed immune to the power. Perhaps Kaladin could have rigged some gloves that worked, but the brush handholds seemed sturdier.

He leaned out of the balcony and checked to see if anyone was watching. It was growing dark already. He doubted anyone would be able to see him in the gloom, so long as he didn’t draw in too much Stormlight. By keeping it mostly in the brushes attached to the wall, he wouldn’t glow so much that he risked being spotted. At least, the risk of that felt far less than the risk of sneaking through the occupied floors.

Best to try it first in a way that wasn’t dangerous. Kaladin took out one of the brushes and infused it with Stormlight, then pressed the flat side against a pillar on the balcony. With it affixed in place, he was able to hang his entire weight on it—dangling free—without it pulling off or the handle breaking.

“Good enough,” he said, recovering the Stormlight from the Lashing. He took off his socks, but replaced his boots. He scanned the air for Heavenly Ones one last time, then stepped over the side of the balcony and balanced on the little ledge outside. He looked down toward the stones far below, but they were lost in the evening darkness. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of eternity.

He’d always liked being up high. Even before becoming Radiant, he’d felt a certain kinship with the open sky. Standing here, part of him wanted to jump, to feel the rushing wind. It wasn’t some suicidal tendency, not this time. It was the call of something beautiful.

“Are you scared?” Syl said.

“No,” Kaladin said. “The opposite. I’ve gotten so accustomed to leaping from high places that I’m not nearly as worried about this as I probably should be.”

He infused two of the brushes, then moved to the far left side of the balcony. Here the stone wall made a straight “path” toward the ground between balconies. Kaladin took a deep breath and swung out and slammed one brush against the stone, then the other.

He found footholds on the stone, but they were slippery. Once, there had been a great deal of ornamentation on the rock out here—but years of highstorms had smoothed some of that out. Perhaps Lift could have climbed it without help, but Kaladin was glad he had Stormlight. He infused the toes of his boots through his feet, then stuck them to the wall too.

He started toward the ground, unsticking one limb, moving it, then sticking it back. Syl walked through the air beside him, as if striding down invisible steps. Kaladin found the descent more difficult than he’d anticipated. He had to rely a great deal on his upper-body strength, as it was difficult to get the boots to stick right, with just the toes.

He’d release one brush from the wall, then slide it into place while holding on with only one hand, then move his feet before moving the other. Though Radiant, he was sweating from exertion by the time he reached the fifth floor. He decided to take a break, and—after having Syl check to make sure it was empty—he moved over and swung onto a balcony. He settled down, breathing deeply, a few spiky coldspren moving across the balcony rail toward him, like friendly cremlings.

Syl darted into the hallway to make sure nobody was near. Fortunately, the increasingly cold tower—and the desire for subterfuge—seemed to have convinced most of the invading singers to take quarters far inward. So long as he stayed away from patrols, he should be safe.

He sat with his back to the balcony railing, feeling his muscles burn. As a soldier, then a bridgeman, he’d grown accustomed to the sensation of overexerted muscles. He almost felt cheated these days, because Stormlight’s healing made the feeling rare. Indeed, after he sat for a minute, the sensation was completely gone.

Once Syl returned, he resumed his climb. As he did, a couple of windspren drew near: little lines of light that looped about him. As he descended toward the fourth floor, they would occasionally show faces at him—or the outlines of figures—before giggling and flitting off.

Syl watched them with fondness. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but didn’t dare speak, lest someone inside hear voices coming in through a window. He took care to press his handholds into place quietly.

Kaladin hit a snag as he reached the fourth floor. Syl noticed first, becoming a ribbon and making the glyph for “stop” in the air beside him. He froze, then heard it. Voices.

He nodded to Syl, who went to investigate. He felt her concern through the bond; when Syl was a Blade, they had a direct mental connection—but when she was not in that shape, the connection was softer. They’d been practicing on sending words to one another, but they tended to be vague impressions.

This time, he got a sense of some distinct words.… singers … with spyglasses … third-floor balcony … looking up …

Kaladin hung in place, silent as he could be. He could hear them below and to the left, on a balcony. They had spyglasses? Why?

To watch the sky, he thought, trying to project the idea to Syl. For Windrunner scouts. They won’t want to use the Oathgate until they’re certain nobody is watching.

Syl returned, and Kaladin started to feel his muscles burning again. He wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve, then carefully—his teeth gritted—drew in Stormlight to release one of his brush handholds. His skin started to release luminescent smoke, but before the light became too obvious, he re-Lashed the brush and stretched out, attaching it to the rock as far to his right as he could reach.

He moved to the side, away from the occupied balcony. He could climb across the next balcony over. As he moved, he heard the singers chatting in Alethi—femalen voices he thought, though some singer forms made gender difficult to distinguish from the voice. Judging by the conversation, they were indeed watching for Windrunners. They did Oathgate transfers at night deliberately—when flying Radiants would be starkly visible, glowing in the night sky.