Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,156

dull brown and they pulled tighter—giving her features a sunken-in cast.

Maya still wore the same dull brown rags. However, he saw hints of what they’d once been. Not robes as Godeke’s spren wore. This had been a uniform.

Her most unnerving feature was her scratched-out eyes. It seemed as if someone had taken a knife to her face, except she hadn’t bled or been scarred by the cuts. She’d been erased. Ripped apart. Removed from existence. When she looked at Adolin, she seemed like a painting that had been vandalized.

She sat huddled on the ramp. She didn’t speak; she never did—except one time over a year ago when she’d told him her name. She was his Shardblade. And, he hoped, his friend.

“Mayalaran,” he said, holding out his hand toward her.

She regarded the hand, then cocked her head. As if it were some strange alien object for which she could determine no use. Adolin moved down the ramp and lightly took her hand, then put it into his. The coiled cords of her skin had a firm, smooth texture. Like a good hogshide hilt.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me introduce the others.”

He tugged on her hand and she followed, standing up and wordlessly joining him on the top of the platform.

“That’s Shallan,” Adolin said, pointing. “My wife. You remember her and Pattern, right? There’s Godeke—he was once an ardent. Arshqqam is our Truthwatcher; she used to take care of orphans. And Zu, she’s…” Adolin hesitated. “Zu, what did you used to do?”

“Make trouble, mostly,” the Iriali woman said. She pulled off her thick coat, letting out a deep sigh. Underneath she wore a tight wrap around her upper torso, a little like a warrior’s sarashi. She had bronze skin that seemed metallic to Adolin, and her hair wasn’t like his own blond—it was too golden. Though his mother had been from Rira, near Iri, the two peoples were distinct.

“Come on, Ua’pam!” she said. “Let’s see what’s at the bottom of this ramp!”

“Be careful,” the peakspren said as Zu put her coat over her shoulder and strolled to the side of the ramp.

“Well,” Adolin said to Maya, “that’s Zu. Those other six are Shallan’s Lightweavers and their spren. Here, meet my soldiers.…”

As he pulled Maya over to introduce her to Felt, the mistspren walked over beside him. “There is no use talking to a deadeye,” the creature said with unmoving lips. “Do you not understand this? What about you makes you wish to talk to something that cannot understand you?”

“She understands,” Adolin said.

“You think that she does. This is curious.”

Adolin ignored the odd spren, instead introducing Maya to his team. He’d told them to expect her, so they each bowed respectfully and didn’t stare at her strange eyes too much. Ledder even complimented her appearance as a Blade, saying he’d always admired her beauty.

Maya took it all with her characteristic mute solemnity. She didn’t cock her head; she simply stood by Adolin, looking at whoever was speaking.

She did understand. He’d felt her emotions through the sword; in fact, he felt like he’d always been able to sense her encouraging him.

Shallan came over and took him by the arm. “We should be moving on,” she said. “See if the ship has arrived.”

“Right, right,” he said. “Here, watch Maya a moment. I need to check on Gallant.”

He hurried over to the horse, and by the time he arrived he already knew to expect some bad news. Humans in the Physical Realm were represented here as lights like floating candle flames. A group of them gathered near the horse and were interacting with some shimmering, glowing blue colors.

To be certain, Adolin checked Gallant’s armor trunks. The Shardplate hadn’t made the trip. Adolin had hoped … well, it meant his armor wasn’t different from any of the others. It couldn’t be brought into Shadesmar. The lights on the other side were his armorers collecting the Plate, which would have dropped to the platform on the other side.

“Ah well,” he said, unhooking the now-empty armor trunks. “Let’s get these off you.”

Gallant blew out in a way that Adolin chose to interpret as sympathetic. Adolin redistributed the weight, then checked the weapons in Gallant’s sheaths—including the massive greatsword that had almost the bulk of a Shardblade.

They started walking toward the ramp, but Adolin paused, cocking his head. When Gallant moved, he trailed a faint shadow of light. It was almost imperceptible. When the horse shook his head from side to side, there was a distinct impression of an afterimage