Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,140

So she wouldn’t. Once he’d found her windspren, and unmade them to lose their minds and memories, he would hopefully be content—and not see the other child she’d sent.

And Sja-anat herself? She would go with Taravangian and watch him as asked. And she would stay close.

For Taravangian was a weapon.

Taravangian had long suspected he would not get a funeral. The Diagram hadn’t indicated this specifically—but it hadn’t said otherwise. Besides, the farther they progressed, the less accurate the Diagram became.

He had chosen this path, however, and knew it was not the sort that led to a peaceful death surrounded by family. This was the sort of path that led into the dark forest, full of perils. His goal had never been to emerge from the other side unscathed; it had always been to simply accomplish his goal before he was killed.

And he had. His city, his family, his people—they would be safe. He had made a deal with the enemy that ensured Kharbranth would survive the coming destruction. That had always been his end. That alone.

To tell himself otherwise was both foolish and dangerous.

So it was that he arrived at this day: the day he sent his friends away. He’d had a fire built in his hearth, here in his rooms at Urithiru. A real hearth, with real wood, dancing with flamespren. His pyre.

His friends gathered for the farewell. Recently they’d been spending more and more time away at Kharbranth, in order to make their eventual departure less suspicious. He’d made it seem as if they were needed to help rule that city now that Taravangian was focused on Jah Keved.

But today … today they were all here. One last time. Adrotagia, of course, kept her composure as he hugged her. She’d always been the stronger one. Though Taravangian was moderately intelligent today, he was still overcome with emotion as they pulled apart.

“Give my best to Savrahalidem and my grandchildren,” Taravangian said. “If they ask, tell them that I lost myself at the end and became insensate.”

“Won’t that hurt Savri more?” Adrotagia asked. “To know that her father is trapped among enemies, senile and confused?”

“No, that is not my girl,” he said. “You don’t know her as I do. Tell her I was singing when you last saw me. That will comfort her.” He squeezed Adrotagia’s wrists as she held to his. How lucky was he, to have had a friend for … storms, seventy-three years?

“It shall be done, Vargo,” she said. “And the Diagram?”

He’d promised her a final confirmation. Taravangian released her wrists, then walked to the window, passing Mrall—the enormous bodyguard was crying, bless him.

Later today, Taravangian would leave for Azir with Dalinar and Jasnah. Soon afterward, Taravangian’s armies—acting on Odium’s orders—would betray their allies and switch sides. It was a death sentence for Taravangian, who would be left surrounded by his enemies. He was bringing an army just the right size to put Dalinar and the other monarchs at ease: large enough to convince them Taravangian was committed, but small enough to leave them certain they could capture him in the event of a betrayal.

It was a calculated move on Odium’s part. What powerful monarch would leave himself so vulnerable?

Feeling tired, Taravangian rested his weathered hands upon the stone windowsill of his tower room. He’d asked for a room where he could look southward, to where this had all begun with a request to the Nightwatcher. He now suspected that his boon had been chosen by someone more grand than that ancient spren.

“The Diagram,” Taravangian said, “has served its purpose. We have protected Kharbranth. We have fulfilled the Diagram.

“Both the book and the organization we named after it were merely tools. It is time to disband. Dismantle our secret hospitals; release our soldiers to the city guard. If there are any middling members you think know too much, give them a time-consuming ‘secret’ quest far from civilization. Danlan should be among the first of this group.

“As for Delgo, Malata, and the others too useful to waste, I think they will accept the truth. We have achieved our goal. Kharbranth will be safe.” He peered down at his aged hands. Wrinkles like scars for each life he’d taken. “Tell them … there is nothing more pitiful than a tool that has outlived its usefulness. We will not simply invent something new for our organization to do. We must allow that which has served its purpose to die.”

“That is all fine,” Mrall said, stepping forward, folding his arms and