Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,28

one person into the group months ago, but he hadn’t been important enough to be given the information they needed. A lighteyes had been required.

They suspected Ialai had taken over the cult, now that Amaram was dead. Her faction was planning to seize the Oathgate at the center of the Shattered Plains. Unfortunately, Radiant didn’t have proof of these facts, and she would not move against Ialai without solid proof. Dalinar agreed with her, particularly after what Adolin had done to Ialai’s husband.

Too bad he didn’t find a way to finish off the pair of them, Veil thought.

That would not have been right, Radiant thought back. Ialai was no threat to him then.

Shallan didn’t agree, and naturally Veil didn’t either, so Radiant let the matter drop. Hopefully Pattern was still following at a distance as instructed. Once the group stopped and began initiating Radiant, the spren would fetch Adolin and the soldiers in case she needed extraction.

Eventually her captors halted, and rough hands hauled her off the shoulder. She closed her eyes and forced herself to remain limp as they set her on the ground. Wet and slimy rock, someplace cool. The sack came off, and she smelled something pungent. When she didn’t stir fast enough, someone dumped water on her head.

It was time for Veil to take over. She gasped “awake,” shoving aside her first instinct, which was to grab a knife and make short work of whoever had drenched her. Veil wiped her eyes with her safehand sleeve, and found herself someplace dank and humid. Plants on the stone walls had pulled in at the ruckus, and the sky was a distant crack high in the air. Lifespren bobbed around many thick plants and vines.

She was in one of the chasms. Kelek’s breath! How had they carried her down into the chasms without anyone seeing?

A group of people in black robes stood around her, each holding a brightly shining diamond broam in one palm. She blinked at the sharp light. Their hoods looked a fair bit more comfortable than her sack. Each robe was embroidered with the Double Eye of the Almighty, and Shallan had a fleeting thought, wondering at the seamstress they’d hired to do all this work. What had they told her? “Yes, we want twenty identical, mysterious robes, sewn with ancient arcane symbols. They’re for … parties.”

Forcing herself to stay in character, Veil gazed up with wonder and confusion, then shied back against the chasm wall, startling a cremling with dark purple colorings.

A figure at the front spoke first, his voice deep and resonant. “Chanasha Hasareh, you have a fine and reputable name. After the legacy of Chanaranach’Elin, Herald of the Common Man. Do you truly wish for their return?”

“I…” Veil raised her hand before the light of the spheres. “What is this? What is happening?” And which one of you is Ialai Sadeas?

“We are the Sons of Honor,” another figure said. Female this time, but not Ialai. “It is our sworn and sacred duty to usher in the return of the Heralds, the return of storms, and the return of our god—the Almighty.”

“I…” Veil licked her lips. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” the first voice said. “We’ve been watching you, and we find your passion to be worthy. You wish to oust the false king, the Blackthorn, and see the kingdom rightfully returned to the highprinces? You wish the justice of the Almighty to fall upon the wicked?”

“Of course,” Veil said.

“Excellent,” the woman said. “Our faith in you is well placed.” Veil was pretty sure that was Ulina, a member of Ialai’s inner circle. She’d initially been an unimportant lighteyed scribe, but was rapidly climbing the social ladder in the new power dynamic of the warcamps.

Unfortunately, if Ulina was here, Ialai probably was not. The highprincess often sent Ulina to do things she did not wish to do herself. That indicated Veil had failed in at least one of her goals: she hadn’t made “Chanasha” seem important enough to deserve special attention.

“We guided the return of the Radiants,” the man said. “Have you wondered why they appeared? Why all of this—the Everstorm, the awakening of the parshmen—is happening? We orchestrated it. We are the grand architects of the future of Roshar.”

Pattern would have enjoyed that lie. Veil found it wanting. A good lie, the delicious kind, hinted at hidden grandeur or further secrets. This was instead the lie of a drunken has-been at the bar, trying to drum up enough pity to get a free