Storms. That was close. As close to death as he’d come in a long, long while. Made all the more alarming by how quickly and unexpectedly the Fused had taken him. There was a danger to feeling like he owned the winds and the sky, to knowing he could heal quickly.
Kaladin turned around slowly, feeling the breeze on his skin. Carefully, he walked over to the lump that remained of the Fused. The corpse—or whatever it was—looked dried out and fragile, the colors faded, like the shell of a snail long dead. The flesh had turned into some kind of stone, porous and light. Kaladin picked up the decapitated head and pressed his thumb into the face, which crumbled like ash. The rest of the body followed on its own a few moments later, then even the carapace disintegrated.
A line of violet-red light came streaking in from the side. Kaladin immediately launched himself upward, narrowly avoiding the grasp of the Fused that formed from the light beneath him. The creature, however, immediately dropped the new body and shot upward after Kaladin as a light. This time Kaladin dodged a little too slowly, and the creature—forming from the light—seized him by the leg.
The Fused heaved upward, using his powerful upper-body strength to climb Kaladin’s uniform. By the time the Sylblade formed in Kaladin’s hands, the Fused had him in a powerful grip—legs wrapped around his torso, left hand grabbing Kaladin’s sword hand and holding it out to the side while he shoved his right forearm into Kaladin’s throat. That forced his head up, making it difficult to see the Fused, let alone get leverage against him.
He didn’t need leverage, however. Grappling with a Windrunner was a dangerous prospect, for whatever Kaladin could touch, he could Lash. He poured Light into his enemy to Lash the creature away. The Light resisted, as it did when applied to Fused, but Kaladin had enough to push through the resistance.
Kaladin Lashed himself in the other direction, and it soon felt like enormous hands were pulling the two of them apart. The Fused grunted, then said something in his own language. Kaladin dropped the Sylblade and focused on trying to push the enemy away. The Fused was glowing with Stormlight now; it rose off him like luminescent smoke.
Finally the enemy’s grip slipped, then he shot away from Kaladin like an arrow from a Shardbow. A fraction of a second later, that relentless red-violet light darted from the chest and headed straight for Kaladin yet again.
Kaladin narrowly avoided it, Lashing himself downward as the Fused formed and reached for him. After missing, the Fused fell through the mists, vanishing. Again Kaladin found himself low on Stormlight, his heart racing. He breathed in his third—of four—pouch of spheres. They’d learned to start wearing those sewn into the inside of their uniforms. Fused knew to try to cut away a Radiant’s sphere reserve.
“Wow,” Syl said, hovering up beside Kaladin, naturally taking a position where she could watch behind him. “He’s good, isn’t he?”
“It’s more than that,” Kaladin said, scanning the featureless fog. “He’s attacking with a different strategy than most. I haven’t done a lot of grappling.”
Wrestling wasn’t often seen on the battlefield. At least not a disciplined one. Kaladin was practiced with formations, and was growing more confident with swordplay, but it had been years since he’d trained on how to escape a headlock.
“Where is he?” Syl asked.
“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “But we don’t have to beat him. We only need to stay out of his grasp long enough for the others to arrive.”
It took a few minutes of watching before Syl cried out. “There!” she said, forming a ribbon of light pointing the way toward what she’d seen.
Kaladin didn’t wait for further explanation. He Lashed himself away through the fog. The Fused appeared, but grasped empty air as Kaladin dodged. The creature’s body fell as the line of light ejected again, but Kaladin began an erratic zigzag pattern, evading the Fused twice more.
This creature used Voidlight to form new bodies somehow. Each one looked identical, with hair as a kind of clothing. He wasn’t being reborn each time—he was teleporting, but using the ribbon of light to transfer between locations. They’d met Fused that could fly, and others that had powers like Lightweavers. Perhaps this was the variety whose powers mirrored, in a way, the traveling abilities of Elsecallers.
After the creature materialized the third time, he again briefly gave up the chase. He can teleport only three times before he needs to rest, Kaladin guessed. He attacked in a burst of three each time. So after that, his powers need to regenerate? Or … no, he probably needs to go somewhere and fetch more Voidlight.
Indeed, a few minutes later, the red-violet light returned. Kaladin Lashed himself directly away from the light, picking up speed. Air became a roar around him, and by the fifth Lashing, he was fast enough that the red light couldn’t keep up, and dwindled behind.
Not quite so dangerous if you can’t reach me, are you? Kaladin thought. The Fused evidently came to the same conclusion, the ribbon of light diving downward through the fog.
Unfortunately, the Fused probably knew Kaladin intended to return to Hearthstone. So, instead of continuing, Kaladin flew down as well. He came to rest on a hilltop overgrown with lumpish rockbuds, their vines spilling out liberally in the humidity.
The Fused stood at the bottom of the hill, looking up. Yes … that dark brown wrap he wore was hair, from the top of his head, wound long and tight around his body. He broke a carapace spur off his arm—a sharp and jagged weapon—and pointed it toward Kaladin. He had probably used one of those as a dagger when attacking Kaladin’s back.
Both spur and hair seemed to imply he couldn’t take objects with him when teleporting—so he couldn’t keep Voidlight spheres on his person, but had to retreat to refill.
Syl formed as a spear. “I’m ready,” Kaladin called. “Come at me.”
“So you can run?” the Fused called in Alethi, his voice rough, like stones grinding together. “Watch for me from the corner of your eye, Windrunner. We’ll meet again soon.” He became a ribbon of red light—leaving another crumbling corpse as he disappeared into the fog.
Kaladin sat down and let out a long breath, Stormlight puffing in front of him and mingling with the fog. That fog would burn away as the sun rose higher, but for now it still blanketed the land, making it feel eerie and forlorn. Like he had accidentally stepped into a dream.
Kaladin was hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion. The dull sense of Stormlight running out, mixed with the usual deflation after a battle. And something more. Something increasingly common these days.
His spear vanished and Syl reappeared, standing in the air in front of him. 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. Her long, blue-white hair faded to mist, and she didn’t wear a safehand sleeve. Why would she? She wasn’t human, let alone Vorin.
“Well,” she said, hands on hips, “we showed him.”
“He almost killed me twice.”
“I didn’t say what we showed him.” She turned around, keeping watch in case this was a trick. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” Kaladin said.
“You look tired.”
“You always say that.”
“Because you always look tired, dummy.”
He climbed to his feet. “I’ll be fine once I get moving.”
“You—”
“We are not going to argue about this again. I’m fine.”
Indeed, he felt better when he got up and drew in a little more Stormlight. So what if the sleepless nights had returned? He’d survived on less sleep before. The slave Kaladin had been would have laughed himself silly to hear that this new Kaladin—lighteyed Shardbearer, a man who enjoyed luxurious housing and warm meals—was upset about a little lost sleep.
“Come on,” he said. “If we were spotted on our way here—”
“If?”
“—because we were spotted, they’ll send more than just one Fus
ed. Heavenly Ones will come for me, and that means the mission is in jeopardy. Let’s get back to the town.”
She waited expectantly, her arms folded.
“Fine,” Kaladin said. “You were right.”
“And you should listen to me more.”
“And I should listen to you more.”
“And therefore you should get more sleep.”
“Would that it were so easy,” Kaladin said, rising into the air. “Come on.”
* * *
Veil was growing increasingly upset that nobody had kidnapped her.
She strolled through the warcamp market, in full disguise, idling by shops. She’d spent more than a month wearing a fake face out here, making exactly the right comments to exactly the right people. And still no kidnapping. She hadn’t even been mugged. What was the world coming to?
I could punch us in the face, Radiant noted, if it would make you feel better.
Levity, from Radiant? Veil smiled as she pretended to browse a fruit stand. If Radiant was cracking jokes, they really were getting desperate. Usually Radiant was as funny as … as …
Usually Radiant is as lighthearted as a chasmfiend, Shallan offered, bleeding to the front of their personality. One with a particularly large emerald inside …
Yes, that. Veil smiled at the warmth that came from Shallan, and even Radiant, who was coming to enjoy humor. This last year, the three of them had settled into a comfortable balance. They weren’t as separate as they’d been, and swapped personas easily.
Things seemed to be going so well. That made Veil worry, of course. Were they going too well?
Never mind that, for now. She moved on from the fruit stand. She’d spent this month in the warcamps wearing the face of a woman named Chanasha: a lowborn lighteyed merchant who had found modest success hiring out her chull teams to caravans crossing the Shattered Plains. They’d bribed the real woman to lend her face to Veil, and she now resided in a secure location.
Veil turned a corner and strolled down another street. The Sadeas warcamp was much as she remembered it from her days living in these camps—though it was somehow even rougher. The road needed a good scraping; rockbud polyps caused nearby wagons to rattle and bump as they passed. Most of the stalls had a guard prominently stationed near the goods. This wasn’t the sort of place where you trusted the local soldiers to police for you.
She passed more than a few luckmerches, selling glyphwards or other charms against the dangerous times. Stormwardens trying to sell lists of coming storms and their dates. She ignored these and moved on to a specific shop, one that carried sturdy boots and hiking shoes. That was what sold well in the warcamps these days. Many customers were travelers passing through. A quick survey of the other merchants would tell the same story. Rations that would keep for a long trip. Repair shops for wagons or carts. And, of course, anything that wasn’t reputable enough to have a place at Urithiru.
There were also numerous slave pens. Nearly as many as there were brothels. Once the bulk of the civilians moved to Urithiru, all ten warcamps quickly became a seedy stopover for caravans.
At Radiant’s prompting, Veil covertly checked over her shoulder for Adolin’s soldiers. They were well out of sight. Good. She did spot Pattern watching from a wall nearby, ready to report to Adolin if needed.
All was in place, and their intelligence indicated her kidnapping should happen today. Maybe she needed to prod a little more.
The shoe merchant finally approached her—a stout fellow who had a beard striped with white. With that contrast, Shallan had an urge to draw him, so Veil stepped back and let Shallan emerge to take a Memory of him for her collection.
“Is there anything that interests you, Brightness?” he asked.
Veil emerged again. “How quickly could you get a hundred pairs of these?” she asked, tapping one of the shoes with a reed Chanasha always carried in her pocket.
“A hundred pairs?” the man asked, perking up. “Not long, Brightness. Four days, if my next shipment arrives on time.”
“Excellent,” she said. “I have a special contact with old Kholin at his silly tower, and can unload a large number if you can get them to me. I’ll need a bulk discount, of course.”
“Bulk discount?” the man said.
She swiped her reed in the air. “Yes, naturally. If you want to use my contacts to sell to Urithiru, I’ll need to have the very best deal.”
He rubbed at that beard of his. “You’re … Chanasha Hasareh, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you.”
“Good. You’ll know I don’t play games.” She leaned in and poked him in the chest with her reed. “I’ve got a way past old Kholin’s tariffs, if we move quickly. Four days. Any way you can make it three?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I am a law-abiding man, Brightness. Why … it would be illegal to avoid tariffs.”
“Illegal only if we accept that Kholin has authority to demand these tariffs. Last I checked, he wasn’t our king. He can claim whatever he wants, but now that the storms have changed, the Heralds are going to show up and put him in his place. Mark my words.”
Nice work, Radiant thought. That was well handled.
Veil tapped the reed on the boots. “A hundred pairs. Three days. I’ll send a scribe to haggle details before the end of the day. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Chanasha wasn’t the smiling type, so Veil didn’t favor this merchant with one. She tucked her reed into her sleeve and gave him a curt nod before continuing through the market.
You don’t think it was too blatant? Veil asked. That last part about Dalinar not being king felt over the top.
Radiant wasn’t certain—subtlety wasn’t her strong suit—but Shallan approved. They needed to push harder, or she’d never get kidnapped. Even lingering near a dark alleyway—one she knew her marks frequented—drew no attention.
Stifling a sigh, Veil made her way to a winehouse near the market. She’d been coming here for weeks now, and the owners knew her well. Intelligence said they, like the shoe merchant, belonged to the Sons of Honor, the group Veil was hunting.
The serving girl brought Veil inside out of the cool weather to a small, out-of-the-way corner with its own table. Here she could drink in solitude and go over accounts.
Accounts. Blah. She dug them out of her satchel and set them out on the table. The lengths they went to in the name of staying in character. They had to perfectly maintain the illusion, as the real Chanasha never let a day go by without reconciling her accounts. She seemed to find it relaxing.
Fortunately, they had Shallan to handle this part; she had some practice with Sebarial’s accounts. Veil relaxed, letting Shallan take over. And actually, this wasn’t so bad. She did doodles along the sides of the margins as she worked, even if it wasn’t quite in character. Veil acted like it was imperative that they keep absolutely in character at all times, but Shallan knew they needed to relax a little, now and then.
We could relax by visiting the gambling dens … Veil thought.
Part of the reason they had to be so diligent was because these warcamps were a tempting playground for Veil. Gambling without concern for Vorin propriety? Bars that would serve whatever you wanted, no questions asked? The warcamps were a wonderful little storm away from Dalinar Kholin’s perfect seat of honesty.
Urithiru was too full of Windrunners, men and women who would fall over themselves to make sure you didn’t bruise your elbow on a misplaced table. This place, though. Veil could get to like this place. So, maybe it was better that they stayed strictly in character.
Shallan tried to focus on the accounts. She could do these numbers; she’d first trained on accounting when doing her father’s ledgers. That had begun before she …
Before she …
It might be time, Veil whispered. To remember, once and for all. Everything.
No, it was not.
But …
Shallan retreated immediately. No, we can’t think of that. Take control.
&nb
sp; Veil sat back in the seat as her wine arrived. Fine. She took a long drink and tried to pretend to be doing ledgers. Honestly, she couldn’t feel anger at Shallan. She channeled it instead toward Ialai Sadeas. That woman couldn’t be content with running a little fiefdom here, making a profit off the caravans and keeping to herself. Oh no. She had to plan storming treason.
And so Veil tried to do ledgers and pretend she liked it. She took another long drink. A short time later her brain started to feel fuzzy, and she almost drew in Stormlight to burn off the effect—but stopped. She hadn’t ordered anything particularly intoxicating. So if she was getting light-headed …
She looked up, her eyes growing unfocused. They’d drugged the wine! Finally, she thought before slumping over in her seat.
* * *
“I don’t understand how hard it can be,” Syl was saying as she and Kaladin drew close to Hearthstone. “You humans sleep literally every day. You’ve been practicing it all your lives.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you,” Kaladin said, landing with a light step right outside town.
“Obviously I would, since I just said so,” she replied, sitting on his shoulder, watching behind them. Her words were lighthearted, but he sensed in her the same tension he felt, like the air itself was stretched and pulled tight.
Watch for me from the corner of your eye, Windrunner. He felt a phantom pain from his neck, where the Fused had plunged his dagger into Kaladin’s spine over and over.
“Even babies can sleep,” Syl said. “Only you could make something so simple into something extremely difficult.”
“Yeah?” Kaladin asked. “And can you do it?”
“Lie down. Pretend to be dead for a while. Get up. Easy. Oh, and since it’s you, I’ll add the mandatory last step: complain.”
Kaladin strode toward the town. Syl would expect a response, but he didn’t feel like giving one. Not out of annoyance, but more … a kind of general fatigue.
Rhythm of War (9781429952040) Page 5
