Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,378

“Why? Why did you do it?”

“Because, Dalinar, you’re going to lose. I’m sorry, my friend. It is unavoidable.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yet I do.” He sagged in his seat, turning toward the corner and the glowing sphere. “Such a poor imitation of our comfortable sitting room in Urithiru. Even that was a poor imitation of a real hearth, crackling with true flames, alive and beautiful. An imitation of an imitation.

“That’s what we are, Dalinar. A painting made from another painting of something great. Perhaps the ancient Radiants could have won this fight, when Honor lived. They didn’t. They barely survived. Now we face a god. Alone. There is no victory awaiting us.”

Dalinar felt … cold. Not shocked. Not surprised. He supposed he could have figured out Taravangian’s reasoning; they’d talked often about what it meant to be a king. The discussions had grown more intense, more meaningful, once Dalinar had realized what Taravangian had done to acquire the throne of Jah Keved. Once he’d known that—instead of chatting with a kindly old man with strange ideals—he had been talking to another murderer. A man like Dalinar himself.

Now he felt disappointed. Because in the end, Taravangian had let that side of him rule. No longer on the edge. His friend—yes, they were friends—had stepped off the cliff.

“We can defeat him, Taravangian,” Dalinar said. “You are not nearly so smart as you think.”

“I agree. I was once, though.” He clarified, perhaps noticing Dalinar’s confusion. “I visited the Old Magic, Dalinar. I saw her. Not just the Nightwatcher, I suspect, but the other one. The one you saw.”

“Cultivation,” he said. “There is one who can face Odium. There were three gods.”

“She won’t fight him,” Taravangian said. “She knows. How do you think I found out we’d lose?”

“She told you that?” Dalinar strode forward, squatting down beside Taravangian, coming to eye level with the aged man. “She said Odium would win?”

“I asked her for the capacity to stop what was coming,” Taravangian said. “And she made me brilliant, Dalinar. Transcendently brilliant, but just once. For a day. I vary, you know. Some days I’m smart, but my emotions seem stunted—I don’t feel anything but annoyance. Other days I’m stupid, but the tiniest bit of sentimentality sends me into tears. Most days I’m like I am today. Some shade of average.

“Only one day of brilliance. One single day. I’ve often wished I’d get another, but I guess that was all that Cultivation wanted me to have. She wanted me to see for myself. There was no way to save Roshar.”

“You saw no possible out?” Dalinar said. “Tell me honestly. Was there absolutely no way to win?”

Taravangian fell silent.

“Nobody can see the future perfectly,” Dalinar said. “Not even Odium. I find it impossible to believe that you, no matter how smart, could have been absolutely certain there was no path to victory.”

“Let’s say you were in my place,” Taravangian said. “You saw a shadow of the future, the best anyone has ever seen it. Better, in fact, than any mortal could achieve. And you saw a path to saving Alethkar—everyone you love, everything you know. You saw a very plausible, very reasonable opportunity to accomplish this goal.

“But you also saw that to do more—to save the world itself—you would have to rely on such wild bets as to be ludicrous. And if you failed at those very, very, very long odds, you’d lose everything. Tell me honestly, Dalinar. Would you not consider doing what I did, taking the rational choice of saving the few?” Taravangian’s eyes glistened. “Isn’t that the way of the soldier? Accept your losses, and do what you can?”

“So you sold us out? You helped hasten our destruction?”

“For a price, Dalinar,” Taravangian said, staring again at the ruby that was the room’s hearth. “I did preserve Kharbranth. I tried, I promise you, to protect more. But it is as the Radiants say. Life before death. I saved the lives of as many as I could—”

“Don’t use that phrase,” Dalinar said. “Don’t sully it, Taravangian, with your crass justifications.”

“Still standing on your high tower, Dalinar?” Taravangian asked. “Proud of how far you can see, when you won’t look past your own feet? Yes, you’re very noble. How wonderful you are, fighting until the end, dragging every human to death with you. They can all die knowing you never compromised.”

“I made an oath,” Dalinar said, “to protect the people of Alethkar. It was my oath as a highprince. After that, a greater oath—the oath of a