Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,494

realized your weaknesses. I forget its value sometimes. Yes, it can lead to paralysis, but also to truth and better Passions. We imagine that great people were always great, never questioning. I think they would hum to Ridicule at that idea. Regardless, take that gift and be off with you. I have much to do in the coming hours.”

Venli nodded, scanning the paper as she rose. She expected a writ of authority—given by Fused to favored servants, granting them extra privileges or requisitions. Indeed, there was exactly that on the front. But on the back was a hastily sketched map. What was this?

“I had hoped to find good maps of the tower,” Raboniel noted to Fury. “But Navani had some burned, and disposed of the others—though she feigns ignorance. This, however, is a report from a human scout who was flying along the eastern rim of the Shattered Plains.”

Upon closer inspection, the page read in the human femalen writing system, it appears the group we assumed were Natan migrants are instead Parshendi. A group of a few thousand, with a large number of children.

Venli read it again.

“Did some of your kind leave?” Raboniel asked absently. “Before the coming of the Everstorm?”

“Yes. Rebels who did not want the new forms, along with the children and the elderly. They … escaped into the chasms. Shortly before the storms met, and the floodwaters came. They … they should have been completely destroyed.…”

“Should have. What a hateful phrase. It has caused me more grief than you could know.” She began writing in one of her notebooks. “Perhaps it has treated you with kindness.”

Venli clutched the paper and ran, not giving Raboniel a proper farewell.

I felt it happen to Jezrien. You think you captured him, but our god is Splintered, our Oathpact severed. He faded over the weeks, and is gone now. Beyond your touch at long last.

I should welcome the same. I do not. I fear you.

Formless awoke early on the day of Adolin’s final judgment. It was time. She slipped from the bed and began dressing. Unfortunately, she’d moved a little too quickly, as Adolin stirred and yawned.

“Veil’s clothing,” he noted.

Formless didn’t respond, still dressing.

“Thank you,” Adolin said, “for Shallan’s support last night. I needed her.”

“There are some things only she can do,” Formless said. Would that be a problem, now that Shallan no longer existed?

“What’s wrong, Veil?” Adolin said, sitting up in bed. “You seem different.”

Formless pulled on her coat. “Nothing’s different. I’m the same old Veil.”

Don’t you use my name, Veil thought deep inside. Don’t you dare lie to him like that.

Formless stopped. She’d thought Veil locked away.

“No,” Adolin said. “Something is different. Become Shallan for a moment. I could use her optimism today.”

“Shallan is too weak,” Formless said.

“Is she?”

“You know how troubled her emotions are. She suffers every day from a traitorous mind.” She put on her hat.

“I knew a one-armed swordsman once,” Adolin said, yawning. “He had trouble in duels because he couldn’t hold a shield, or two-hand a sword.”

“Obviously,” Formless said, turning and rummaging in her trunk.

“But I tell you,” Adolin said, “no one could arm-wrestle like Dorolin. No one.”

“What is your point?”

“Who do you think is stronger?” Adolin asked. “The man who has walked easily his entire life, or the man with no legs? The man who must pull himself by his arms?”

She didn’t reply, fiddling with the communication cube, then tucking Mraize’s knife into her pocket along with her gemstone of Stormlight.

“We don’t always see strength the right way,” Adolin said. “Like, who is the better swimmer? The sailor who drowns—giving in at long last to the current after hours of fighting—or the scribe who has never stepped into the water?”

“Do you have a point with these questions?” Formless snapped, slamming her trunk closed. “Because I don’t see one.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Adolin grimaced. “I’m not explaining it well. I just … I don’t think Shallan is as weak as you say. Weakness doesn’t make someone weak, you see. It’s the opposite.”

“That is foolishness,” she said. “Return to sleep. Your trial is in a couple hours, and you shouldn’t be fatigued for it.”

Formless stalked out into the living room. There she hid by the side of the door and waited to see if Adolin followed. Pattern perked up from where he’d been sitting at the desk, and Formless quieted him with a glare.

Adolin didn’t come out. She heard him sigh loudly, but he remained in bed.

Good. She had to act quickly. Formless needed to give him