Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive, #4)

by Brandon Sanderson

She’d taken to wearing a stylish dress, ankle-length and sleek, instead of the filmy girlish one. When he’d asked, she’d explained that Adolin had been advising her.

And so, the world’s first air transport had been named the Fourth Bridge. With the permission of Highmarshal Kaladin’s old team, she’d embedded their old bridge in the center of the deck as a symbol.

Today Veil intended to assassinate Ialai Sadeas.

“Everyone you love, everyone you think you can protect. They’re all going to die anyway. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“The answer is to stop existing, Kal. You’ve always known it, haven’t you?”

Kaladin blinked away tears, and the deepest part of him—the little boy who hated the rain and the darkness—withdrew into his soul and curled up. Because … he did want to stop hurting.

They would leave, and her life would become a wasteland. She’d be alone, as she deserved. Because of the truths she hid, her entire life was a lie. Shallan, the one they all knew best, was the fakest mask of them all.

“I’m no surgeon, but I can tell you what I see. A soldier who has been on the front lines for far, far too long. A man who has survived so many horrors, he now finds himself staring at nothing, his mind going numb so he doesn’t have to remember. I see a soldier who can’t sleep, who snaps at those who love him. He’s a soldier who pretends he can still function. But he can’t. He knows it.”

You couldn’t say the Words, he thought. You needed to. A year ago, when Dalinar could have died. You needed to speak the Words. You crumpled instead.

“Can … can I keep my oaths without fighting?” Kaladin asked. “I need to protect.”

Though she was a Regal, she held a secret deep within her gemheart, a friend who protected her from the Voidspren’s influence. Her Radiant spren—Timbre—buzzed softly, comforting her.

It would be a disaster of incredible proportions if anyone figured out that Venli—Last Listener, envoyform Regal, Voice of Lady Leshwi—was a Knight Radiant.

Only then did he break. He didn’t make it to the chair. He sank down with his back to the wall beside the door. He tried to unbutton his coat, but ended up bending forward with his knuckles pressing his forehead, digging into his skin as he hyperventilated, gasping in deep breaths of air while he trembled and shook. Exhaustionspren like jets of dust gleefully congregated around him. And agonyspren, like upside-down faces carved from stone, twisted and faded in and out.

Adolin pushed his way in, a treasonous Syl on his shoulder. That was where she had gone? To fetch Adolin storming Kholin?

“You spend too many evenings alone, bridgeboy,” Adolin said, glancing at the nearby exhaustionspren, then grabbing Kaladin by the arm—something few other people would have dared. “I like being by myself,” Kaladin said. “Great. Sounds awful. Today, you’re coming with me. No more excuses. I let you blow me away last week and the week before.”

“Tell me honestly,” Adolin said. “With an oath, Kaladin. Tell me that you should be left alone tonight. Swear it to me.” Adolin held his gaze. Kaladin tried to form the words, and felt of the ten fools when he couldn’t get them out. He definitely shouldn’t be alone right now. “Storm you,” Kaladin said. “Ha,” Adolin said, tugging him by the arm. “Come on, Brightlord Master Highmarshal Stormface. Change your coat to one that doesn’t smell like smoke, then come with me. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to talk. But if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well do it with friends.”

“Adolin dear, swing a Herdazian in a crowded room, and you’ll hit six women you courted.”

“I’m neither gentle nor a man,” Veil said. “I’m your wife.” “You’re not my wife.” “I share a body with your wife. Close enough.” “You two,” Kaladin said, “have the strangest relationship.”

“You’re my only bridgeboy,” Adolin said with a grin. “Where would I get another? They’ve all started flying away.”

“I’m worried about you both,” Adolin said. “I’m going to find a way to help. Somehow.”

“It’s that sword of yours,” Kaladin said. “Shardbearers do better if they drop any old Shards. You need to get rid of yours.” “I’m not ‘getting rid’ of Maya.” “I know you’re attached to the sword,” Kaladin said. “But you’d have something better, if you became Radiant. Think about how it would feel to—” “I’m not getting rid of Maya,” Adolin said.

Kaladin felt increasingly glad for what Adolin had done. Not because Kaladin felt better; he was still miserable. Yet the misery did lessen around others, and it required Kaladin to keep up a semblance. To pretend. It might be a front, but he’d found that sometimes the front worked even on himself.

“This thing I have done here with all of you, he is the end. When we meet again, I suspect it shall not be in this world. This life.”

“You gave me back my life,” he said. “Thank you for that, Kaladin, bridgeleader. Do not be sad that now I choose to live that life.”

Following that, Rock retreated to meet Song at the door, and left. Forever.

Rock could safely spend the rest of his days—short or long—pretending that his captain, his ula’makai, had remained strong all his days.

In the weeks following the assault on Hearthstone, Kaladin’s anxiety began to subside, and he pushed through the worst of the darkness. He always emerged on the other side. Why was that so difficult to remember while in the middle of it?

He wasn’t a danger to himself today.

I think we’re losing, Syl said. To a guy wielding something he found in Adolin’s sock drawer.

“Decorum,” he said. “Discipline. Dedication.” “Detail, duel, dessert…” Adolin glanced at his father. “Oh, sorry. I thought we were saying random words that start with the same sound.” Dalinar glowered at Shallan. “What?” she said. “He was never like this before you arrived,” Dalinar said.

“Be careful. Now that I’ve vacated the position, you’re Alethkar’s most eligible bachelor. Shardbearer, Radiant, Landed, and single? I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that half the young ladies in the kingdom are suddenly coming down with headaches.…” He trailed off as he noticed Kaladin’s frown.

Was he happy? He wasn’t sad. For now, he’d accept “not sad.”

They weren’t all gone. “Thank you, Teft,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have given up so much. But … thank you.”

“Well, I’d say you’re a pretty good thief…” he began. “Oh, don’t you dare.” “… because you stole my heart.” She groaned, leaning her head back. “You dared.” “What? You’re the only one who can make bad jokes?”

“You just want to stop existing,” Kaladin said. “You don’t want to actually kill yourself, not on most days. But you figure it sure would be convenient if you weren’t around anymore.”

“I know. That’s why you need someone to tell it to you. You need someone to talk to, Noril, when the darkness is strong. Someone to remind you the world hasn’t always been this way; that it won’t always be this way.” “How do you … know this?” Noril asked. “I’ve felt it,” Kaladin said. “Feel it most days.”

Word had gotten to Mraize, and the false tidbit—that she’d seen a gloryspren watching her—had revealed the truth. Beryl was the spy.

“Well, she kept talking about how she loved swords. And how I was supposed to have a great sword. And how she wanted to see me wield my sword. And…” “And what?” “I bought her a sword,” he said, shrugging. “As a gift.”

How … She’d checked it earlier. Just before they’d all run off after Adolin. But then she’d left the camp under the watch of … Of Pattern.

Pattern was lying.

I always live, Kaladin thought, a bitter thought echoing from long ago. So I can keep suffering.

He was needed. Life before death. This was what he did.

“Don’t be a fool. There’s no point in playing the hero.” “I’m not playing anything,” Kaladin said. “This is who I am.”

Urithiru might continue to fight, but he knew that it had lost the battle long ago. Like Kaladin himself.

“Bridge Four,” Kaladin said. “Life before death,” Rlain returned.

Kaladin pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, feeling the inevitable shift of a boulder perched on the top of a slope. Just. Beginning. To tip.

“It was a nice dream, wasn’t it, Syl?” he asked. “That we could escape? Find peace at long last?” “Such a wonderful dream,” she whispered. “You ready for this?” he asked.

“Heralds above…” Lirin whispered. “They really did kill my boy, didn’t they? What have they done to you?” Kaladin’s smidgen of Stormlight ran out. Damnation, he was so tired. “I’ve tried to tell you. Your boy died years ago.”

“Storms, my son has become a monster.…”

He lowered his hand. He was so tired. But today, he couldn’t afford to be tired. He had to be Kaladin Stormblessed. Kaladin Stormblessed fought anyway.