Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,137

Kaladin, or her Connection to the Physical Realm would start to fade and her mind would weaken.

She enjoyed this time, an hour passing in moments. When the riddens finally approached, she stopped in eager anticipation, overjoyed. Up here in the mountains, the end of the storm made snow. By now, the storm had dropped all its crem-laced water, so the snow was white and pure. Each snowflake was so magnificent! She wished she could talk to objects like Shallan did, and hear each one’s story.

She fell with the flakes, imitating them—and creating patterns unique to her. She could be herself, not only live for some human. The thing was, Kaladin wasn’t just some human. She’d picked him deliberately out of millions and millions. Her job was to help him. As powerful a duty as the Stormfather’s duty to drop water and crem to give life to Roshar.

She soared back toward Urithiru, weaving between snowbanks, then shooting upward. This section to the west of the tower included deep valleys and frosted peaks. She dove through the former and crested the latter before looping around in circles outside the magnificent tower.

She eventually reached the Bondsmith’s balcony. Dalinar was always awake for highstorms, regardless of the hour. She landed on his balcony, where he stood in the cold. The rock at his feet was slick with water; today the highstorm had been high enough to cover the lower stories of the tower. She’d never seen it get to the top, but she hoped it would someday. That would be different!

She made herself visible to Dalinar, but he didn’t jump as humans sometimes did when she appeared. She didn’t understand why they did that—weren’t they used to spren fading in and out all the time around them? Humans were like storms, magnets for all kinds of spren.

They seemed to find her more disturbing than a gloryspren. She supposed she’d take that as a compliment.

“Did you enjoy your storm, Ancient Daughter?” Dalinar asked.

“I enjoyed our storm,” she said. “Though Kaladin slept through the entire thing, the big lug.”

“Good. He needs more rest.”

She took a step toward Dalinar. “Thank you for what you did. In forcing him to change. He was stuck, doing what he felt he had to, but getting darker all the time.”

“Every soldier reaches a point where he has to set down the sword. Part of a commander’s job is to watch for the signs.”

“He’s different, isn’t he?” Syl said. “Worse, because his own mind fights against him.”

“Different, yes,” Dalinar said, leaning on the railing next to her. “But who is to say what is worse or better? We each have our own Voidbringers to slay, Brightness Sylphrena. No man can judge another man’s heart or trials, for no man can truly know them.”

“I want to try,” she said. “The Stormfather implied there was a way. Can you make me understand Kaladin’s emotions? Can you make me feel what he’s going through?”

“I have no idea how to accomplish something like that,” Dalinar said.

“He and I have a bond,” she said. “You should be able to use your powers to enhance that bond, strengthen it.”

Dalinar clasped his hands on the stonework before him. He didn’t object to her request—he wasn’t the type to reject any idea out of hand.

“What do you know of my powers?” Dalinar asked her.

“Your abilities are what made the original Oathpact,” she said. “And they existed—and were named—long before the Knights Radiant were founded. A Bondsmith Connected the Heralds to Braize, made them immortal, and locked our enemies away. A Bondsmith bound other Surges and brought humans to Roshar, fleeing their dying world. A Bondsmith created—or at least discovered—the Nahel bond: the ability of spren and humans to join together into something better. You Connect things, Dalinar. Realms. Ideas. People.”

He surveyed the frosted landscape, freshly painted with snow. She thought she knew his answer already, from the way he took a breath and set his jaw before speaking.

“Even if I could do this,” he said, “it would not be right.”

She became a small pile of leaves, disintegrating and stirring in the wind. “Then I’ll never be able to help him.”

“You can help without knowing exactly what he’s feeling. You can be available for him to lean on.”

“I try. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to want even me.”

“That’s likely when he needs you most. We can never know another man’s heart, Brightness Sylphrena, but we all know what it is to live and have pain. That is the advice I’d have given