Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,407

an ordinary soldier on a boring guard duty. Dalinar said Szeth prowled when he walked, and was too intense when standing at watch. Like a fire burning high when it should be smoldering.

How did one stop being intense? Szeth tried to understand this as he forced himself to lean against a tree, folding his arms as Dalinar had suggested. In front of him, the Blackthorn played with his grandnephew, the child of Elhokar. Szeth carefully checked the perimeter of the small clearing. Watching for shadows. Or for people suspiciously lingering in the nearby camp—visible through the trees.

He saw nothing, which troubled him. But he tried to relax anyway.

The cloudy sky and muggy weather today were reminiscent of the coast of Shinovar, where Szeth’s father had worked as a shepherd in his youth. With this thick grass, Szeth could almost imagine he was home. Near the beautiful white cliffs, listening to lambs bleat as he carried water.

He heard his father’s gentle words. The best and truest duty of a person is to add to the world. To create, and not destroy.

But no. Szeth was not home. He was standing on profane stone in a forest clearing outside a small town in Emul. Dalinar knelt down, showing Gavinor—a child not yet five—how to hold his practice sword.

It had been a few minutes, so Szeth left the tree and made a circuit of the clearing, inspecting a few suspicious bundles of vines. “Do you see anything dangerous, sword-nimi?” he asked softly.

Nope, the sword said. I think you should draw me. I can see better when I’m drawn.

“When you are drawn, sword-nimi, you attempt to drain my life.”

Nonsense. I like you. I wouldn’t try to kill you.

The weapon projected its pleasant voice into Szeth’s mind. Dalinar didn’t like the sensation, so the sword now spoke only to Szeth.

“I see nothing dangerous,” Szeth said, returning to his place beside the tree, then tried to at least appear relaxed. It was difficult, requiring vigilance and dedication, but he did not want to be chastised by Dalinar again.

That’s good, right? Nothing dangerous?

“No, sword-nimi,” Szeth said. “It is not good. It is concerning. Dalinar has so many enemies; they will be sending assassins, spies. If I do not see them, perhaps I am too lax or too unskilled.”

Or maybe they aren’t here to find, the sword said. Vasher was always paranoid too. And he could sense if people were near. I told him to stop worrying so much. Like you. Worry, worry, worry.

“I have been given a duty,” Szeth said. “I will do it well.”

Dalinar laughed as the young boy held his toy sword high and proclaimed himself a Windrunner. The child had been through a horrifying experience back in Kholinar, and he was quiet much of the time. Haunted. He’d been tortured by Voidspren, manipulated by the Unmade, neglected by his mother. Though Szeth’s sufferings had been different, he couldn’t help but feel a kinship with the child.

Dalinar clearly enjoyed seeing the child become more expressive and enthusiastic as they played. Szeth was reminded again of his own childhood spent playing with the sheep. A simple time, before his family had been given to the Honorblades. Before his gentle father had been taught to kill. To subtract.

His father was still alive, in Shinovar. Bearer of a different sword, a different burden. Szeth’s entire family was there. His sister, his mother. It had been long since he’d considered them. He let himself do so now because he’d decided he wasn’t Truthless. Before, he hadn’t wanted to sully their images with his mind.

Time to make another round of the clearing. The child’s laughter grew louder, but Szeth found it painful to hear. He winced as the boy jumped up on a rock, then leaped for his granduncle to catch him. And Szeth … if Szeth moved too quickly, he could catch sight of his own frail soul, attached incorrectly to his body, trailing his motions like a glowing afterimage.

Why do you hurt? the sword asked.

“I am afraid for the child,” Szeth whispered. “He begins to laugh happily. That will eventually be stolen from him again.”

I like to try to understand laughter, the sword said. I think I can feel it. Happy. Ha! HA! Vivenna always liked my jokes. Even the bad ones.

“The boy’s laughter frightens me,” Szeth said. “Because I am near. And I am … not well.”

He should not guard this child, but he could not bring himself to tell Dalinar, for fear the Blackthorn would send him