Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,245

“We can think of some way to contact the Blackthorn. There are other ways to fight, son.”

“Perhaps,” Kaladin said. He met his father’s eyes. “But you would say anything to keep me from going out there, wouldn’t you?”

Lirin held his eyes and said nothing.

I’m really not in any shape to go to battle, Kaladin thought. And … and if they have the Oathgates …

Lirin calmly took the knife from Kaladin’s hands. He let it go. His father helped him to his feet and led him to the back rooms, where a village girl was with Oroden, keeping him quiet with toys. Kaladin’s mother entered a short time later, hairs escaping her bun and blood on her skirt. Not hers. Probably Jam’s.

She went to hug Lirin while Kaladin sat staring at the floor. Urithiru might continue to fight, but he knew that it had lost the battle long ago.

Like Kaladin himself.

My instincts say that the power of Odium is not being controlled well. The Vessel will be adapted to the power’s will. And after this long, if Odium is still seeking to destroy, then it is because of the power.

By the time Navani neared the map room, the area was already a bustle of activity. The runners had done their jobs, and she found checkpoints in place in the hallways, attended by guards, with anticipationspren streaming overhead. The soldiers at each one waved her through with visible relief.

The map room was lit by a large number of diamond spheres. A smattering of officers in Kholin blue stood with some functionaries. Roion—the youngest highprince, and the only one in the tower currently—had gathered them around the tables. Here, maps of the lower levels had been unrolled and weighted at the corners.

Captains mostly, she thought, reading the shoulder knots of her command staff. One battalionlord. Men who had been here on leave. Various runners, both male and female, hovered at the perimeters of the chamber.

“Do we have word of Commander Lyon?” Navani asked as she strode in. “We’d best have the head of the Tower Guard here.”

“He’s fallen unconscious, Brightness,” said one of the men. “He had a spren choose him last month.…”

“Storms,” Navani said, stepping up to the table as several men made room for her. “It’s true then? Every Radiant in the tower?”

“As far as we can tell, Brightness,” one of the men said.

“There are enemy troops on every floor, Brightness,” said an older man, the battalionlord. “Stormform Regals, mostly. Pouring in through the basement. But there are Heavenly Ones landing on balconies all up and down the lower levels.”

“Damnation,” she muttered. The enemy had the library rooms then. And the pillar. Was that where the Sibling resided?

She glanced at the battalionlord again. A lean, balding man with close-cropped hair, a thick neck despite his age, and a powerfully intense stare. He …

She did a double take. Darkeyed? Dalinar had made good on his decision to begin promoting based on merit, not eye shade, but there still weren’t many darkeyed officers. Strangely, some darkeyes seemed to consider the change as unnatural as some of the more high-minded lighteyes did.

“Your name, Battalionlord?” she asked.

“Teofil,” he said. “Ninth Kholin Division, infantry. We just came in off the lines in southern Alethkar. I put my men at the stairwell here.” He pointed at the map. “But … Brightness, they got the drop on us, and there aren’t many of our troops in the tower. First floor was halfway overrun by the time we mobilized.”

“We can’t fight Fused,” said another man, young and nervous, his hand shaking as he pointed at a map of the sixth floor. “They’re trapping us from both above and below. There’s no way to hold them. They heal when cut, and they can strike from above. Without Radiants, we’re doomed. There’s no—”

“Calm down,” Navani said. “Brightlord Teofil is right to have…” Navani paused. He was a darkeyes, not a brightlord. What did you call a battalionlord who wasn’t a lighteyes? “Er, Battalionlord Teofil is correct. We need to plug the stairwells. The shanay-im’s ability to fly won’t matter in such tight quarters. With proper barricades, it won’t even matter that they can heal. We can try to hold the second through fifth floors.”

“Brightness,” another man said. “We can try—but there are dozens of stairwells, and not a lot of materials for barricades.”

“Then we’d best start small,” she said. “Have all our troops retreat to this level; we’ll try to hold the second and third floors.”

“And if they just fly down