Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,298

no rhythms made her more surprised when they acted with such passion. He was also the only male in the group who wore a beard. Why was that?

“Guide,” the king said, walking up to her. “Is this where the hunts happen?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “Depends. It is season, so maybe they come. Maybe not.”

The king nodded absently. He had taken little interest in her or any of the listeners. His scouts and scholars, however, seemed as fascinated by Eshonai as she was with them. So she tended to spend time with them.

“What kinds of greatshells can live here?” the brother asked. “There doesn’t seem to be space for them, with all these cracks in the ground. Are they like whitespines? Jumping from place to place?”

“Whitespine?” she said, not knowing the word.

The woman with the rings brought out a book with a drawing in it for her.

Eshonai shook her head. “No, not that. They are…” How to explain the monsters of the chasms? “They are great. And large. And powerful. They … these lands are theirs.”

“And do your people worship them?” one of the scholars asked.

“Worship?”

“Reverence. Respect.”

“Yes.” Who wouldn’t respect a beast so mighty?

“Their gods, Brightlord,” said the scribe to the king. “As I suspected, they worship these beasts. We must take care with future hunts.”

Eshonai hummed to Anxiety, to indicate she was confused—but they didn’t recognize this. They had to say everything with words.

“Here,” the king said, pointing. “This plateau seems a good enough place for a break.”

The human attendants began unpacking their things—tents made of a marvelous tough cloth, and a variety of foods. They enjoyed their lunches, these humans. Their traveling luxury was so opulent, it made Eshonai wonder what their homes were like.

Once they left, she intended to see. If they’d made it here without a properly durable form such as workform, then they must not have come that far. She attuned Amusement. After all these years with no contact, she likely would have found her way to their home on her own, given a few more months.

Eshonai kept busy by helping erect the tents. She wanted to figure out the pieces. She was fairly certain she could carve poles like the ones used for holding up the roof. But the cloth was lighter, smoother, than what the listeners could create. One of the workers was having trouble with a knot, so Eshonai took out her knife to cut it free.

“What is that?” a voice said from behind her. “Do you mind showing me that knife?”

It was the woman with the rings. Eshonai had thought she might be once-mates with the king, considering how often she spoke with him. But apparently there was no relation.

Eshonai glanced down, realizing that she’d brought out her good hunting knife. It was one of the weapons her ancestors had salvaged from the ruins at the center of the Plains, with beautiful metal that had lines in it, and a carved hilt of majestic detail.

She shrugged and showed it to the woman. The strange woman, in turn, waved urgently to the king. He left the shade and stepped over, taking the knife and narrowing his eyes as he studied it.

“Where did you get this?” he asked Eshonai.

“It is old,” she said, not wanting to say too much. “Handed down. Generations.”

“Lasting back to the False Desolation, perhaps?” the woman asked the king. “Could they really have weapons two thousand years old?”

The listener Shardblades were far more marvelous, but Eshonai didn’t speak of those. Her family didn’t own any anyway.

“I would like to know,” the king said, “how you—”

He was interrupted by a trumping in the near distance. Eshonai spun, attuning Tension. “Monster of Chasms,” she said. “Get soldiers! I did not think one would come close.”

“We can handle a…” the king began, but trailed off, and his eyes became wide. An awespren approached—a floating blue ball of a creature that expanded with great enthusiasm.

Eshonai turned and saw a distant shadow emerging from a chasm. Sleek yet strong, powerful yet graceful. The beast walked on numerous legs, and didn’t bestow the humans with a glance. They were to it as it was to the sun—indeed, it turned upward at the light to bask. Gorgeous and mighty, as if the Rhythm of Awe had been given life.

“Blood of my fathers…” the king’s brother said, stepping up. “How big is that thing?”

“Bigger than any we have in Alethkar,” the king said. “You’d have to make your way to the Herdazian coast to come across a greatshell so