Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,312

life. Today he hovered near the far end of the bar, by the strong wines. At least he’d learned to stop contradicting Dalinar in front of the other monarchs.

Dalinar narrowed his eyes toward Jasnah, who was making a display of going over the battle plans with the Mink. She’s putting on a show, he thought, noting how she specifically called out details on the maps, suggesting troop arrangements. She did a fair job, though she was no general.

The Mink listened to her suggestions, but likely wouldn’t take many of them. He seemed to find her fascinating. Well, Jasnah was a rare gemstone for certain. Was her show for the Mink? No … this had to do with Ruthar, didn’t it?

Further musings were interrupted as a figure in blue entered the tent. Lyn the Windrunner wore her hair in a braid, though wisps had pulled free during her flight. She’d led the most recent scouting of Urithiru.

Dalinar waved her over, and noted Jasnah at the map table quieting and turning to listen as Lyn gave her report.

“We met with the soldier the queen sent,” the Windrunner explained, saluting. “I myself tried to step through the invisible barrier and approach. I dropped to the snow like I’d taken a hit straight to the jaw. The soldier had to drag me out to the others.”

“Did you see my wife?”

“No, sir,” Lyn said. “But that hike … it looks brutal. Radiants can’t get within hundreds of yards of the tower, so this soldier has to march all the way back and forth along the ridges for hours to get to where he can send messages.”

Dalinar rubbed his chin in thought. Navani’s messages seemed trustworthy, and she cautioned patience. But passcodes were not foolproof, and something about this just felt wrong. “What can you see from a distance? Anything?”

“We had to use spyglasses,” Lyn said. “There weren’t as many people out as usual, but there were some Windrunners on the roof, and I think I made out Teft up there, and Isom the Lightweaver. They held up a big sign, with glyphs that we think read ‘patience’ and ‘progress.’”

Dalinar nodded. “Thank you, Radiant. Go give a full report, with details, to Brightness Teshav, then get something to eat.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. She started toward the exit.

Something nagged at Dalinar, however. That weight hadn’t completely eased. “Lyn?” he called.

“Sir?”

“The enemy has Lightweavers. Or at least something similar.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Though the only confirmed report we have of them is that incursion at the Thaylen vault a year ago.”

He resisted shooting a glance at Szeth—so quiet, so easy to forget—standing nearby, wearing the face of an Alethi man.

“Ask Companylord Sigzil to send another team of scouts later tonight,” Dalinar said. “I’ll infuse the traveling gemstones for another run. Have this new team watch the tower from a distance, hidden, then report anything suspicious they might see.”

“Wise suggestion, sir,” Lyn said, then bowed and retreated.

Jasnah nodded to him, then returned to her exaggerated discussion of the maps. Yes, she was acting a role here.

Dalinar glanced at Ruthar, whose face was steadily growing redder. Perhaps he’d had a few drinks too many while waiting for the monarchs to finish their planning, but plainly he did not like how Jasnah was blatantly interjecting herself into the war plans. It was a masculine art, and Ruthar had been forbidden from participating in the planning today.

Looking at him, it was hard not to agree with what Jasnah had said about Alethkar. Gavilar’s grand unification of the kingdom hadn’t lasted ten years past his death before essentially breaking into civil war. Alethi squabbling had ended up favoring men like Ruthar. Oily, belligerent, aggressive. The last representation of old Alethkar.

Jasnah was making herself into bait. And Ruthar bit. Hard.

“Am I the only one seeing this?” Ruthar asked a little too loudly to his attendants. “I didn’t say anything when she was made queen. Other nations have queens. But are any of them in this room interrogating a general?”

One of his companions tried to calm him, but he brushed her off, shouting, “It’s a disgrace! Dalinar writing? He might as well put on a havah and start painting. We deserve the judgments of the Almighty, after giving the throne to a godless wh—” He stopped himself just in time, perhaps realizing how still the tent had grown.

Dalinar stepped forward to berate the man. There was nothing for it now but to—

“Wit,” Jasnah said, her voice cold.

Wit strode forward, his hands spread to the