Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,525

personal failing,” he said. “The more serious something becomes, the more I find myself inappropriately involved. Indeedy.”

Jasnah sighed.

“I’ll stop,” he said with a grin. “I promise. But look, Jasnah, Rayse—Odium—is someone we can defeat. If he has one great failing it’s that he thinks he’s smarter than he is. He tried exceptionally hard to make Dalinar into his champion. Why? Because he doesn’t merely want to win, he wants to win in a way that says something. To everyone watching.

“He was so certain he could turn the Blackthorn that he bet almost everything on that singular gamble. Now he must be scared. While he pretends he has a dozen other plans, he’s scrambling to locate a champion who can legitimately win. Because he knows—same as I’m telling you—that the contest won’t only be about who can stab the hardest with their spear.”

“What will it be about then?”

“Same thing it’s always about, Jasnah,” Wit said. “The hearts of men and women. Do you trust the hearts of those who fight on your side?”

She paused, and hoped he didn’t read too much into it. Staring at the contract, she couldn’t help but feel outmatched by all of this. She, who had been preparing for nearly two decades for these exact events, felt uncertain. Did she trust her own heart, when confronted with ancient troubles that had surely defeated better women than her?

“A wise answer,” Wit whispered.

“I didn’t give one.”

“A wise answer.” He squeezed her hand. “If you give Odium this contract—and get me the assurance that he cannot break free of this planetary system no matter what happens—then you won’t have to trust the hearts of mortals, Jasnah. Because you’ll have me. And everything I can give you.”

“You’ve told me he would destroy you if he found you.”

“We’ll add a line to the contract,” Wit said, “naming me as a contractual liaison for Honor—whom Dalinar represents. This will protect me from Odium’s direct attacks for the life of the contract. He will have to abide by those terms, as they are part of the promise Rayse made by taking up the Shard of Odium. To fail that promise would give others an opening against him, and said failures have killed gods before. Odium knows it. So do this, and I can help you openly. As myself.”

“And who is that, Wit?” she asked. “Who are you really?”

“Someone,” he said, “who wisely turned down the power the others all took—and in so doing, gained freedoms they can never again have. I, Jasnah, am someone who is not bound.”

She met his eyes—the eyes of something that wasn’t a man. A thing that was eternal as a spren. Or, if he was to be believed, something even older.

“I feel,” she said, “like I should be terrified by that statement.”

“That’s why I’m so fond of you,” he said. “You are poised, you are smart, and you are always ready with a ploy; but when each of those things fails you, Jasnah, you are—above all else—paranoid.”

Humans are weapons. We singers revere Passion, do we not? How can we throw away such an excellent channeling of it?

—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days

Kaladin woke with a start, ready to fight.

He struggled, his heart racing as he found his hands bound. Why? What was happening? He grunted, thrashing in the darkness, and …

He started to remember.

He’d tied his hands together on purpose, to prevent him from punching someone who woke him, like he’d done to Dabbid yesterday. He gasped, fighting the terror as he huddled against the wall. Kaladin told himself the visions were only nightmares, but he still wanted to claw at his own skull. Burrow into it, pull out all the terrible thoughts, the overwhelming darkness. Storms. He was … he was …

He was so tired.

Eventually he managed to calm himself enough to free his hands. He searched around the black chamber, but saw nothing. They hadn’t left out any lights. Teft, however, was snoring softly.

Everything was all right. Kaladin was … was all right.…

He fumbled around his mat, looking for the canteen he’d placed there when going to sleep. What had awakened him? He remembered a … a song. A distant song.

He found the canteen, but then saw a light on the wall. Faint, almost invisible even in the darkness. Hesitant, he wiped the sweat from his brow, then reached out and touched the garnet. A voice, so very quiet, spoke in his mind.

… help … please …

Storms. The tower spren sounded frail.

“What