Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,294

but preventing the Skybreakers from partaking. They retreated; Skybreakers couldn’t match Windrunners who were being constantly renewed, and were usually deployed on battlefields where Dalinar was not present.

As the Mink took casualty reports—which included two Windrunner squires, unfortunately—a young scribe stepped up to Dalinar with a sheaf of papers and a blinking spanreed. “Word from Urithiru, Brightlord,” she said. “You wanted to know as soon as we heard something, and we have.”

Dalinar felt a huge weight slide off his shoulders. “Finally! What is happening?”

“Trouble with the tower fabrials,” the scribe reported. “Brightness Navani says that some kind of strange defensive aura has been deployed, preventing Radiants from using their powers. It also interferes with fabrials. She had to send a scouting team out along the ridge into the mountains before they were able to deliver her message.

“Everyone is safe, and she’s working on the problem. That is why the Oathgates have stopped working, however. She begs for your patience, and asks if anything strange has happened here.”

“Tell her about Taravangian’s betrayal,” Dalinar said, “but report that I’m safe, as is our family. We are fighting the traitors, and should soon win the day.”

She nodded and went to send the message. The Mink stepped closer; he’d either overheard, or had received a similar report.

“They’re trying to confuse and distract us during the betrayal,” he said. “Heaping attacks on multiple fronts.”

“Another ploy to negate the Oathgates,” Dalinar agreed. “That device they used on Highmarshal Kaladin must have been some sort of test. They’ve knocked out Urithiru for a while to isolate us.”

The Mink leaned out, squinting at the armies below. “Something about this smells wrong, Blackthorn. If this was merely a ploy to isolate the fighting in Azir and Emul, they’ve made a tactical mistake. Their forces in this part of the land are exposed, and we have the upper hand. They wouldn’t go through so much effort to block us from the Oathgates unless it were truly cutting off our escape route. Which it won’t because we’re not going to need one.”

“You think this is a distraction from something else?”

The Mink nodded slowly. Far below, the cavalry did another sweep. The line of the traitors buckled further.

“I’ll tell the others to watch out,” Dalinar said, “and send scouts to investigate Urithiru. I agree, something about this is off.”

“Make certain the armies we’re going to fight in Emul haven’t been secretly reinforced. That could be terrible for us—the only true disaster I can envision here is Azimir being besieged, and unable to be resupplied via the Oathgates. Having seen that city, I’d hate to be trapped there.”

“Agreed,” Dalinar said.

The Mink leaned out further, precariously, as he watched the battlefield below. It was hard to hear—muffled clangs, shouts from far away. Men moved like lifespren.

But Dalinar could smell the sweat. Could hear the roar. Could feel himself standing among the struggling, screaming, dying bodies and dominating with Blade in hand. Once you’d tasted the near invincibility of wearing Plate and wading in among mortals, it was a … difficult flavor to forget.

“You miss it,” the Mink said, eyeing him.

“Yes,” Dalinar admitted.

“They could use you on the ground.”

“Down there, I’d be merely another sword. I can do more in other positions.”

“Pardon, Blackthorn, but you were never merely another sword.” The Mink crossed his arms, leaning against the wooden railing. “You keep saying you’re more use elsewhere, and I suppose you make a pretty good storm for renewing spheres. But I can sense you stepping away. What are you planning?”

That was the question. He sensed there was so much more for him to do. Greater things. Important things. The tasks of a Bondsmith. But getting to them, figuring them out …

“They’re breaking,” the Mink said, standing up straight. “You want to let them go, or pin them and crush them?”

“What do you think?” Dalinar asked.

“I hate fighting men who feel they have no way out,” the Mink said.

“We can’t afford to let them reinforce the enemy to the south,” Dalinar said. That would be their true battlefield, once this skirmish was over. The war for Emul. “Keep pressing them until they surrender.”

The Mink began giving the orders. From below, drums washed over the battlefield: the frantic attempts by enemy commanders to maintain discipline as the lines disintegrated. He could almost hear their shouted, panic-tinged cries. Desperation in the air.

The Mink is right, Dalinar thought. They made a real effort here to strike at us—but something is wrong. We’re missing a piece of the enemy’s plan.

As