Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,476

Adolin had seen him—emerged from the top of the forum, where a group of standing honorspren had obscured him from Adolin’s view. Still, Adolin was shocked. Notum had been forbidden to enter Lasting Integrity despite his wounds, and had stayed with the others outside the walls—though the honorspren of the tower had delivered him some Stormlight to aid in his healing. Messages from Godeke had indicated that Notum had eventually returned to patrol.

Now he was here—and in uniform, which was telling. He also wouldn’t meet Adolin’s eyes as he stepped down onto the floor of the forum. Spren might claim the moral high ground; they claimed to be made of honor. But they also defined honor for themselves. As men did.

“Offered to end your exile, did they, Notum?” Adolin asked softly. “In exchange for a little backstabbing?”

Notum continued to avoid his gaze, instead bowing to Kelek, then unfolding a sheet of paper from his pocket. He began to read. “I have been asked,” he said, “to relate the erratic behavior I witnessed in this man and his companions. As many of you know, I first encountered this group when they fled the Fused in Celebrant over one year ago. They used subterfuge to…”

Notum trailed off and looked toward Adolin.

Give him Father’s stare, Adolin thought. The stern one that made you want to shrivel up inside, thinking of everything you’d done wrong. A general’s stare.

Adolin had never been good at that stare.

“Go ahead,” he said instead. “We got you in trouble, Notum. It’s only fair that you get a chance to tell your side. I can’t ask anything of you other than honesty.”

“I…” Notum met his eyes.

“Go on.”

Notum lowered his sheet, then said in a loud voice, “Honor is not dead so long as he lives in the hearts of men!”

Adolin had never heard the statement before, but it seemed a trigger to the honorspren crowd, who began standing up and shouting in outrage—or even in support. Adolin stepped back, amazed by the sudden burst of emotion from the normally stoic spren.

Several officials rushed the floor of the forum, pulling Notum away as he bellowed the words. “Honor is not dead so long as he lives in the hearts of men! Honor is not—”

They dragged him out of the forum, but the commotion continued. Adolin put his hand on his sword, uncertain. Would this turn ugly?

Kelek shrank down in his seat, looking panicked as he put his hands to his ears. He let out a low whine, pathetic and piteous, and began to shake. The honorspren near him called for order among the crowd, shouting that they were causing pain to the Holy One.

Many seemed outraged at Notum’s words, but a sizable number took up his cry—and these were pushed physically out of the forum. There was a tension to this society Adolin hadn’t seen before. The honorspren were no monolith; disagreement and tension swam in deep waters here—far below the surface, but still powerful.

The officiators cleared the forum—even Shallan and Pattern were forced out. Everyone basically ignored Adolin. As the place finally settled down, and only a few officials remained, Adolin walked up the few forum steps to the High Judge’s seat. Kelek lounged in his seat, ignoring the fact that he’d been curled up on the floor trembling mere moments earlier.

“What was that?” Adolin asked him.

“Hmmm?” Kelek said. “Oh, nothing of note. An old spren argument. Your coming has opened centuries-old wounds, young man. Amusing, isn’t it?”

“Amusing? That’s all?”

Kelek started whistling as he wrote in his notebook.

They’re all insane, Adolin thought. Ash said so. This is what thousands of years of torture does to a mind.

Perhaps it was best not to push on the raw wound.

“That went well for me today, wouldn’t you say?” Adolin asked him.

“Hmm?” Kelek said.

“One witness could not refute my point about my father,” Adolin said. “Another made my argument for me by pointing out that siding against the Radiants is practically serving Odium. Then Notum put his honor before his own well-being. It went well for me.”

“Does it matter?” Kelek asked.

“Of course it does. That’s why I’m here.”

“I see,” Kelek said. “Did the ancient Radiants betray their spren, killing them?”

“Well, yes,” Adolin said. “But that’s not the question. The question is whether modern humans can be blamed.”

Kelek continued writing.

“Honored One?” Adolin asked.

“Do you know how old I am, young man?” Kelek looked up and met Adolin’s eyes, and there was something in them. A depth that made him, for the first time, seem distinctly