Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,532

by now, and so had authorized the Oathgates to be opened more frequently, allowing singer troops and servants occupying the tower to rotate out.

Venli’s group of fifteen friends huddled behind her, holding their supplies—hopefully appearing to be merely another batch of workers given a chance to return to Kholinar for a break. Venli pulled her coat tight against the wind. Listeners didn’t get as cold as humans seemed to, but she could still feel the bite of the wind—particularly since this form had carapace only as ornamentation, not true armor.

She wasn’t completely certain what to do after reaching Kholinar. Raboniel’s writ would certainly get her people out of the city, and even out of Alethkar. But Venli couldn’t wait the weeks or months it would take for them to walk to the Shattered Plains. She had to find out if her mother was still alive.

How far would the power of the writ go? Raboniel was feared, respected. Could Venli get her entire team of fifteen flown to that scout post via Heavenly One? Her mind spun with lies about a secret mission from Raboniel at the Shattered Plains. Indeed, it wasn’t too far from the truth. Raboniel had all but commanded her to go investigate the listener remnants.

And what then? Venli thought. Raboniel knows about them. She knows I’m going. She’s manipulating me. For what end?

It didn’t matter. Venli had to go. It was time.

Timbre pulsed softly as she stood in the line, map case over her shoulder, trying to ignore the wind.

“Are you disappointed in me?” Venli whispered to Conceit. “For leaving Rlain and the humans?”

Timbre pulsed. Yes, she was. The little spren was never afraid to be straight with Venli.

“What do you expect me to do?” she whispered, turning her head away from Dul so he wouldn’t hear her talking. “Help with their insane plan? He’ll get all those Radiants killed. Besides, you think I’d be any help to them?”

Timbre pulsed. Venli was doing well. Learning. She could help.

If I weren’t a coward, Venli thought. “What if we got you a different host? A singer who cares, like Rlain.”

Timbre pulsed.

“What do you mean?” Venli demanded. “You can’t want me. I’m an accident. A mistake.”

Another pulse.

“Mistakes can’t be wonderful, Timbre. That’s what defines them as mistakes.”

She pulsed, more confident. How could she be more confident with each complaint? Stupid spren. And why wasn’t this line moving? The transfers should be quick; they needed to exchange people and supplies before the highstorm arrived.

Venli told her people to wait, then stepped out of line. She marched to the front, where a couple of singers—formerly Azish, by their clothing—were arguing.

“What is it?” Venli demanded to Craving.

The two took in her Regal form, then the femalen answered. “We have to wait to perform the exchange, Chosen,” she said, using an old formal singer term. “The human who works the Oathgates for us has run off.”

“No one else has a living Blade, which is needed to operate the fabrial now,” the other explained. “If you could find the one they call Vyre, and ask when he will return…”

Venli glanced toward the sky. She could feel the wind picking up. “The highstorm is nearly here. We should move everyone inside.”

The two argued at first, but Venli spoke more firmly. Soon they started herding the frustrated singers toward the tower. Venli walked along the plateau, Timbre pulsing excitedly. She saw this as an opportunity.

“Why do you believe in me?” Venli whispered. “I’ve given you no reason. I’ve ruined everything I’ve touched. I’m a selfish, impotent, sorry excuse for a listener.”

Timbre pulsed. Venli had saved her. Venli had saved Lift.

“Yes, but I had to be coaxed into both,” Venli said. “I’m not a hero. I’m an accident.”

Timbre was firm. Some people charged toward the goal, running for all they had. Others stumbled. But it wasn’t the speed that mattered.

It was the direction they were going.

Venli lingered at the entrance to Urithiru. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. The previous highstorm had reached all the way past the sixth tier. This one would likely envelop nearly the entire tower, a rare occurrence, their scholars thought. She felt as if she could sense the power of it, the fury bearing down on them.

“What if,” she whispered to Timbre, “I offered to use this writ to smuggle Stormblessed or his family out of Urithiru?”

Timbre pulsed uncertainly. Would the writ’s authority extend that far? Venli thought perhaps it would. She wouldn’t be able to get any of the unconscious Radiants out;