Chapter 112

The first rule of warfare is to know your enemy. If you can guess what he will do, then you have already won.

— Proverbs for Towers and War, Zenaz, date unknown

J asnah blinked as she sat in the small round temple—with windows all along the sides, and sculpted reliefs of Talenelat’Elin. What had Taravangian just said?

That she would persuade Fen to join his cause? That Jasnah had been working for Odium ?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jasnah said. “Fen, I’ve never worked for Taravangian, unless you count one time when I was hired to help his granddaughter. Stating that I have done so all along is an indication of his intent to lie.”

“It’s no lie,” Taravangian said, extending his hands as he sat across from her—palms up, his golden cane leaning against his thigh. “But it is perhaps a tad melodramatic. I can’t help myself sometimes.” He met Jasnah’s eyes. “You don’t know that you’ve been serving me, Jasnah. But you have been, all your life, regardless.”

“Insanity,” she said, feeling cold. “Is this really your opening argument? Let’s move to the political debate.”

“We’ll get there,” he said, his light brown eyes holding hers. “Tell me, Jasnah. What is your fundamental guiding principle? The philosophy by which you live your life?”

“I follow the Philosophy of Aspiration,” she said. “I’ve made no attempt to hide that. I do good, Taravangian, whatever it takes.”

“Ah …” he said. “Not merely good, though. The most good possible, for the most people.”

“Correct.”

“Then we are aligned,” he said, turning to Fen. “Jasnah and I hold to the same philosophy. It will be easy, then, for the two of us to explain why Thaylenah should join with me.”

Jasnah ground her teeth. “Don’t let him steer,” Ivory warned in her ear, from where he rode on her earring.

“I reject that assertion,” Jasnah said, then she looked to Fen, who sat watching with interest. “Fen, I’ve studied philosophy all my life—and I’ve determined that what I need to do is seek the greatest and best good for all people. I’ve dedicated myself to this cause—you know that I have. While Odium and Taravangian have both sought power, have sought to destroy, have sought to conquer.”

“Jasnah,” Taravangian whispered, “what will lead to the greatest good and the least suffering on Roshar? Peace or war?”

“I don’t accept what you’re pushing me to say,” Jasnah replied, staring him in the eyes. “You want me to agree that one man ruling can enforce peace—but I have no assurances that you’ll rule in a peaceful way.”

“And if I made such assurances to Fen and her people? If I gave them such promises?”

“There would still be no reason for her to accept. Peace is already on the way for her per my uncle’s actions. Why would Fen agree to join with you now, a day before that arrives?”

“Oh, but there you are wrong,” Taravangian said. He looked to Fen. “My friend, I am required by dictates of my conscience to see this planet unified, because that will lead to the greatest goodness that could ever encompass Roshar. Over the last millennia, wars were fought between humans, while the singers lived lives of enslaved agony. Misery has been the greatest currency of your kingdoms for generations. But I can make that go away.”

“Dalinar’s covenant will enforce peace,” Fen said.

“Between my empire and the kingdoms of humankind,” Taravangian said softly. “Not between humans themselves.”

“We have treaties with Fen.”

“Ah,” Taravangian said, “but how often do mortals break treaties? Did not your war on the Shattered Plains begin that way? How well did your own father, Jasnah, keep his word? I believe he had treaties with Jah Keved, yet skirmishes and power struggles still happened.” He turned to Fen. “Our agreement locks borders into place, but you know how fickle humans are. Human nations may continue fighting one another, as they can ignore words on the page.”

Jasnah blessed her preparations. She’d caught this one as a likely argument—it was, after all, a natural outgrowth of the treaty. Odium had to hold to his word, but humans did not.

“Is he right?” Fen said. “I thought Dalinar’s covenant froze the borders of nations, and they would be magically—supernaturally—impossible to break.”

“Not exactly,” Jasnah said. “Odium is bound by the dictates of being a divinity, so—and Wit agrees—he will be forced to abide by the contract. He ‘vowed to cease hostilities and maintain the peace, not working against Dalinar, his allies, or their kingdoms in any way.’ So, he must prevent acts of war between the people in regions he rules and ours, for a period of one thousand years. The rest of us humans are free to do as we wish, and could theoretically attack each other without breaking the contract with Odium. Fortunately, you know my uncle, and you know me. We will not attack you.”

“And your grandchildren?” Taravangian asked. “Their grandchildren?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m immortal. I will enforce peace among the nations that follow me. If you join me, Fen, I will see that your grandchildren do not die in useless wars. That Thaylenah remains a distinct nation—underneath my banner.”

“Safe, and without freedom.” Jasnah’s preparations flooded her mind. “Fen, you know the writings of Tslamfn the Just. Your own great-great-great-grandfather?”

“‘Every kingdom needs,’” Fen quoted, “‘to be able to exercise its right to conflict—as a last resort when its misery becomes unbearable.’ She’s correct, Taravangian. Without the ability to rise up and take weapons, my people would lose a fundamental right. You might be able to protect us from future generations of Alethi, but so can my grandchildren.”

He settled back, and Jasnah thought for a moment that his smile faltered. He nodded to her in respect. “What about today, Fen? Can your grandchildren, your armies, protect you today?”

“From what?” she asked.

“From me,” Taravangian said. “And the fact that I hold this city in the palm of my hand, ready to crush it. If you turn me away, I will be forced to do so. For your own good.”

Riding a chasmfiend was more difficult than Venli had assumed. As she and the other listeners geared up on a staging plateau—in preparation for attacking the human position—the others explained how to hold to the ropes they looped around the beast’s neck and body, how to brace herself upon outcroppings of carapace.

“It’s easy, once you get the hang of it,” Thude said to Confidence.

Venli figured she could have made a list a mile long of things that were easy “once you got the hang of them.” She determined to crouch instead of standing tall like Thude, holding to the ropes. They weren’t reins—you couldn’t control a chasmfiend. You could merely make suggestions via the rhythms you sang. The ropes were wholly for the benefit of the riders.

Red lightning rumbled above, reminding her even more of that terrible night when she and the others had first unveiled the Everstorm. It didn’t help that the humans were in basically the same position, holding Narak with darkened, worried eyes, shadowed within helms, anticipationspren waving around them. Their walls were cracked, their Stormlight almost out.

Unlike last time, when the humans had fought newly born stormforms, they faced a battle-hardened army led by immortals. The humans had never really had a chance here. Odium had thrown nearly his entire weight at this fight—extending as he’d been afraid to do before. If he wanted to win a single specific battle—and pay the toll of doing so—he could.

Rain fell, light drops, mostly a mist. Venli held tight to her ropes, as that rain would make it more slippery. Nearby, the other two chasmfiends stepped up to the edge of their plateau, together carrying twenty of her people. They began to sing the Rhythm of Memories. A rarely used rhythm, usually paired with one of the old songs.

In this case, they chose the Song of Destruction—a war march. The words were quietly similar to another song, and sung to the same tune. The Song of Renunciation: the one that recounted how the listeners had long ago walked away from their gods. Pieces of it were part of the Song of Histories, but this was the pure, simple version. She sang it in her head, while she voiced Destruction.

The assault forces gathered. Hundreds of Fused and Regals. Their thunderclast was dead, and needed time to return, and the humans had successfully killed over half of the Focused Ones. She’d heard the Fused talking. The arrival of Venli’s group mattered because they had brought beasts capable of legitimately challenging Shardbearers and breaking down walls.

A Husked One appeared beside them, a femalen with glowing red eyes and a large, powerful figure, her woven hair forming clothing. “You will be the second assault. Be ready to bring down those walls.”

“The second?” Venli asked, surprised. “He’s not sending us in first?”

“Be grateful El leads this battle,” she said. “I would gladly send you traitors to die.” She spat to the side, something Venli had occasionally seen the Fused do—but which baffled modern singers. A relic of their culture from long ago? “He wants to soften the enemy by personally trying to kill some of their spren first.”

Timbre trembled within her. This … changed the plan slightly. Venli had anticipated being the first wave. Thunder hammered them as the call went up, and a group of Heavenly Ones—not including Leshwi and her followers, who hovered nearby—went streaking toward the human air forces.