Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,241

to Rlain.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Rlain said. “You losing some of your powers? Three Radiants all fainting? People don’t have strokes in groups, do they?”

“No,” Kaladin said as the two of them began jogging, carrying Teft between them. “There’s more, Rlain. I feel something pressing against my mind. I thought it was my illness. But if you say you can hear something odd…”

What did it mean? Was this … this like the fabrial the Fused had used on him in Hearthstone? It felt eerily similar in many ways.

They headed toward the grand staircase. It was wide and tall, and led up the first ten floors. It would be a faster climb than using the lifts. However, as they neared the steps, a scream echoed from one of the nearby tunnels.

Kaladin and Rlain froze at the intersection. Sphere lanterns lined the tunnels here, and the strata spiraled, making it seem as if—in looking down a tunnel—you were looking at the inside of a nut threaded for a screw. An agitated group was forming at the other side.

“I’ll check,” Rlain said. “You keep going with Teft?”

Kaladin nodded, not wanting to speak and waste Stormlight. He took Teft toward the steps as Rlain jogged off. The people Kaladin passed didn’t seem to sense anything wrong; they only looked curiously at Kaladin and his burden. Some saluted, others bowed, but Radiants were common enough in these halls that most simply stepped aside.

He was halfway up the first flight of the grand staircase when Rlain came running up at a sprint. People gave way for him, even made superstitious gestures when they saw him.

“Thank the storms I can wear warform around you people now,” he said, reaching Kaladin. He was puffing from the run, but didn’t seem exhausted. “I’d hate to try to make that run in dullform. Someone found a Stoneward unconscious in the hallway. Something is striking at the Radiants specifically. One of the Unmade?”

“It feels like that fabrial I found in Hearthstone,” Kaladin said. “But it’s obviously on a much grander scale, and more powerful, if it’s knocking out Radiants. The one I faced must have been some kind of prototype.”

“What do we do?”

“My mother has my spanreed to Dalinar’s scribes, so the clinic is probably still our best course for now.”

The other flights passed in a flash, though Rlain had drawn three different exhaustionspren—like jets of dust—by the time they reached the sixth floor. He waved Kaladin ahead. They’d meet up at the clinic.

Kaladin sucked in another breath of Stormlight and redoubled his efforts, dashing through the hallway, Teft across his shoulders. He shoved past the people waiting outside the clinic—that was another oddity, since it was after hours—and pushed through the door.

The waiting room was lit with spheres and crowded with worried people. When Kaladin’s mother saw him, she immediately began clearing room for him to pass.

“Lirin!” she shouted. “Another one!”

Kaladin jogged down the hall to the first exam room, where a Radiant—in an Aladar uniform—lay on the exam table. He recognized her. Another Stoneward.

Lirin looked up from examining her pupils. “Sudden unconsciousness?” he asked.

“I thought it might be a stroke at first,” Kaladin said, carefully unslinging Teft and settling him on the floor. A quick check told Kaladin that his friend was still breathing, and his heartbeat was still regular, though his face was spasming. As if he was dreaming.

“We found others too,” Kaladin said. “Different orders. All unconscious.”

“I have two of this one’s squires in the other room,” Lirin said, nodding to the prone Stoneward. “Her friends and family hauled her up here in a big mess. I don’t know what it’s going to take to get people not to move an injured person. Fortunately, this doesn’t seem to be a neck injury.”

“It’s striking only Radiants,” Kaladin said.

“Not you though?”

“Something’s happening to me,” Kaladin said, feeling exhaustion hit him now that his Stormlight was running out. “My powers are inhibited and…”

He trailed off as he felt something new tugging on him. New, but familiar at the same time.

Syl? he thought, throwing himself to his feet, sweat spraying from his skin. “Syl!” he shouted.

“Son, a surgeon must be calm during—”

“Storm off with the lectures for once, Father!” Kaladin shouted. “Syl!”

… here … He felt her voice. He tried to concentrate on that feeling, and he sensed something tugging on his soul. It was as if … as if someone was using his mind like a proffered arm to help them climb out of a pit.

Syl exploded into sight