Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,171

in. A woman sat in the featureless cell, her back to a bare wall, rocking back and forth as she muttered something unintelligible.

“How many of these rooms have people in them?” Kaladin asked.

“Hm? Oh, most of them,” the ardent said. “We’re a little understaffed, to be honest, Brightlord. We took in patients from most all the princedoms when we consolidated here. If you could bring the matter to the queen’s attention…”

“You lock them in here?” Teft demanded. “In the dark?”

“Many of the mentally deficient react poorly to overstimulation,” the ardent said. “We work hard to give them quiet, calm places to live, free of bright lights.”

“How do you know?” Kaladin asked, striding after the ardent.

“The therapy is prescribed by some of the best thinkers among the ardentia.”

“But how do you know?” Kaladin said. “Do any of them get better? Have you tried multiple theories and compared them? Have you tested different cures or remedies on different patient populations?”

“There are no cures for mental ailments, Brightlord,” the ardent said. “Even the Edgedancers can’t do anything for them, unless their state is related to a recent brain trauma.” He stopped beside a specific door scratched with the glyph for twenty-nine. “With all due respect, Brightlord, you should leave medical issues to those trained in them.” He rapped on the door with his knuckles. “This is him.”

“Open the door,” Kaladin said.

“Brightlord, he might be dangerous.”

“Has he ever attacked anyone?” Kaladin asked. “Has he hurt anyone other than himself?”

“No,” the ardent said, “but the insane can be unpredictable. You could be harmed.”

“Lad,” Teft said, “you could stick us with a hundred swords, and we’d just complain that our outfits got ruined. Open the storming door.”

“Oh. Um, all right.” He fished in his pocket, came out with his spectacles, then fished in the other one until he found a ring of keys. He held the keys close to his nose one by one to see the glyphs on them, then finally unlocked the door.

Kaladin stepped in, his sapphire broam revealing a figure who lay huddled on the floor by the wall. There was some straw for a bed beside the other wall, but the man wasn’t using it.

“Can’t give him blankets or sheets,” the ardent explained, peeking in. “Might try to strangle himself.”

“Noril?” Kaladin asked, hesitant. “Noril, are you awake?”

The man didn’t say anything, though he did stir. Kaladin stepped closer, noting the sewn-up sleeve. The man was missing his entire left arm. The room didn’t smell too bad, all things considered, so at least the ardents kept him clean. The clothing was barely shorts and a thin shirt.

“Noril,” Kaladin said, kneeling. “Your niece, Cressa, is looking for you. You aren’t alone. You have family.”

“Tell her I’m dead,” the man whispered. “Please.”

“She’s worried about you,” Kaladin said.

The man grunted, continuing to lie on the floor, facing the wall. Storms. I know that feeling, Kaladin thought. I’ve been there. He looked around the silent chamber cut off from the sunlight and wind.

This was so, so wrong.

“Can you stand?” he asked Noril. “I won’t force you to go talk to her. I merely want to take you somewhere else.”

Noril didn’t reply.

Kaladin leaned closer. “I know how you feel. Dark, like there’s never been light in the world. Like everything in you is a void, and you wish you could just feel something. Anything. Pain would at least tell you you’re alive. Instead you feel nothing. And you wonder, how can a man breathe, but already be dead?”

Noril turned his head, looking at Kaladin and blinking eyes red from lack of sleep. He wore a rough beard, unkempt.

“Come with me and talk,” Kaladin said. “That’s all you have to do. Afterward, if you want me to tell your niece that you’re dead, I will. You can come back here and rot. But if you don’t come now, I’m going to keep annoying you. I’m good at it. Trust me; I learned from the best.”

Kaladin stood up and offered a hand. Noril took it and let Kaladin haul him to his feet. They walked toward the door.

“What is this?” the ardent said. “You can’t let him out. He’s in our charge! We have to care for…”

He trailed off as Kaladin fixed him with a stare. Storms. Anyone would turn suicidal if kept in here too long.

“Lad,” Teft said, pulling the ardent gently out of the way, “I wouldn’t confront Brightlord Stormblessed right now. Not if you value keeping all your bits attached to you.”

Kaladin led Noril out of the