Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,332

today, but he felt good about the process. A little more practice, and he could probably get down fast enough. But would getting close to the Oathgates tell him anything about what had been done to them? He didn’t feel he knew enough about fabrials.

For now, he started climbing back up to see how much more difficult it was. This was slower, but the footholds with his boots were more helpful. As he ascended, he found a fierce pride in the effort. The changes to the tower had tried to keep him confined to the ground, but the sky was his. He’d found a way to scale her again, if in a less impressive way. If he …

Kaladin paused, hanging from his handholds, as something struck him. Something that he felt profoundly stupid for having not seen immediately.

“The scouts on the balcony,” he whispered to Syl as she darted in to see why he’d stopped. “What would they have done if they’d spotted Windrunners in the sky?”

“They’d have told the others to stop the transfer,” Syl said, “so the fact that the Oathgate glowed the wrong color wouldn’t give away the truth.”

“How?” Kaladin asked. “How did they contact the Oathgate operators? Did you see flags or anything?”

“No,” Syl said. “They were just sitting there writing in the dark. They must have been using … a spanreed.”

One that worked in the tower. Navani was trying to figure out how the enemy was operating fabrials. What if he could hand her one? Surely that would lead to more valuable information than he would get by observing the Oathgates.

Syl zipped over to the balcony the scouts had been using. “I can see them!” she said. “They’ve packed up, and they’re leaving, but they’re just ahead.”

Follow, Kaladin sent her mentally, then moved as quickly as he could in that direction. He might have missed the night’s transfer, but there was still a way he could help.

And it involved stealing that spanreed.

But how can we not, in searching, wish for a specific result? What scientist goes into a project without a hope for what they will find?

—From Rhythm of War, page 6 undertext

Venli inspected the large model of the tower. Such an intricate construction, a masterwork of sculpting, bathed in violet moonlight through the window. What had it been used for by the Radiants of old, all those years ago? Was this a forgotten art piece, or something more? She’d heard several Voidspren saying that perhaps it was a scale model for the spren to live in, but—for all its intricacy—it didn’t have things like furniture or doors.

She walked around it, passing through the middle, where it was split to show a cross section. For some reason, seeing it in miniature highlighted how impossibly vast the tower was. Even reconstructed like this, it was twice Venli’s height.

She shook her head and left the model behind, moving among the fallen Radiants, each of whom lay silent on the floor of this large chamber. According to Raboniel’s request, Venli had found a place to keep them all together. She’d wanted them on the ground floor, close enough to the basement rooms to be sent for, but that region of the tower was quite well occupied. So rather than go to the trouble of kicking people out of a chamber to use, Venli had appropriated this newly discovered—and empty—one. It had only one entrance, so it was easy to guard, and the window provided natural light.

There were around fifty of them in total. Perhaps with such low numbers, Raboniel’s forces could have taken this place even if the Radiants had fought. Perhaps not. There was something about these modern Radiants. The Fused seemed to be constantly surprised by them. Everyone had expected impotence, inexperience. Roshar had gone centuries without the Radiant bond. These had no masters to train them; they had to discover everything on their own. How did they do so well?

Timbre pulsed her thoughts on the matter. Sometimes ignorance was an advantage, as you weren’t limited by the expectations of the past. Perhaps that was it. Or perhaps it was something else. New, younger spren, enthusiastic—pitted against weary old Fused souls.

Venli lingered near the body of a young woman. The Radiants were each lying on a blanket and draped with a sheet, corpselike, leaving only their faces exposed. This Radiant, however, was stirring. Her eyes were closed, but her face twitched, as if she were in the grip of a terrible nightmare. She might be. Odium