Words of Radiance

“All people are musicians,” Wit countered. “The question is whether or not they share their songs. As for music being feminine, it’s interesting that the woman who wrote that treatise—the one you all practically worship in Alethkar—decided that all of the feminine tasks involve sitting around having fun while all the masculine ones involve finding someone to stick a spear in you. Telling, eh?”

“I guess so.”

“You know, I’m working very hard to come up with engaging, clever, meaningful points of interest to offer you. I can’t help thinking you’re not upholding your side of the conversation. It’s a little like playing music for a deaf man. Which I might try doing, as it sounds fun, if only someone hadn’t lost my flute.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaladin said. He’d rather be thinking about the new sword stances that Zahel had taught him, but Wit had shown him kindness before. The least Kaladin could do was chat with him. “So, uh, did you keep your job? As King’s Wit, I mean. When we met before, you implied you were in danger of losing your title.”

“I haven’t checked yet,” Wit said.

“You… you haven’t… Does the king know you’re back?”

“Nope! I’m trying to think of a properly dramatic way to inform him. Perhaps a hundred chasmfiends marching in unison, singing an ode to my magnificence.”

“That sounds… hard.”

“Yeah, the storming things have real trouble tuning their tonic chords and maintaining just intonation.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“Yeah, the storming things have real trouble tuning their tonic chords and maintaining just intonation.”

“That didn’t help, Wit.”

“Ah! So you’re going deaf, are you? Let me know when the process is complete. I have something I want to try. If I can just remember—”

“Yes, yes,” Kaladin said, sighing. “You want to play the flute for one.”

“No, that’s not it… Ah! Yes. I’ve always wanted to sneak up and poke a deaf man in the back of the head. I think it will be hilarious.”

Kaladin sighed. It would take an hour or so, even moving quickly, to reach Sebarial’s warcamp. A very long hour.

“So you’re just here,” Kaladin said, “to mock me?”

“Well, it’s kind of what I do

. But I’ll go easy on you. I wouldn’t want you to go flying off on me.”

Kaladin jolted with a start.

“You know,” Wit said, nonchalant, “flying off in an angry tirade. That kind of thing.”

Kaladin narrowed his eyes at the tall lighteyed man. “What do you know?”

“Almost everything. That almost part can be a real kick in the teeth sometimes.”

“What do you want, then?”

“What I can’t have.” Wit turned to him, eyes solemn. “Same as everyone else, Kaladin Stormblessed.”

Kaladin fidgeted. Wit knew about him and about Surgebinding. Kaladin was sure of it. So, should he expect some kind of demand?

“What do you want,” Kaladin said, trying to speak more precisely, “from me?”

“Ah, so you’re thinking. Good. From you, my friend, I want one thing. A story.”

“What kind of story?”

“That is for you to decide.” Wit smiled at him. “I hope it will be dynamic. If there is one thing I cannot stomach, it is boredom. Kindly avoid being dull. Otherwise I might have to sneak up and poke you in the back of the head.”

“I’m not going deaf.”

“It’s also hilarious on people who aren’t deaf, obviously. What, you think I’d torment someone just because they were deaf? That would be immoral. No, I torment all people equally, thank you very much.”

“Great.” Kaladin settled back, waiting for more. Amazingly, Wit seemed content to let the conversation die.

Kaladin watched the sky, so dull. He hated days like these, which reminded him of the Weeping. Stormfather. Grey skies and miserable weather made him wonder why he’d even bothered to get out of bed. Eventually, the carriage reached Sebarial’s warcamp, a place that looked even more like a city than the other warcamps. Kaladin marveled at the fully constructed tenements, the markets, the—

“Farmers?” he asked as they rolled past a group of men hiking toward the gates, carrying worming reeds and buckets of crem.

“Sebarial has them setting up lavis fields on the southwestern hills,” Wit explained.

“The highstorms out here are too powerful for farming.”

“Tell that to the Natan people. They used to farm this entire area. Requires a strain of plant that doesn’t grow as large as you’re accustomed to.”

“But why?” Kaladin asked. “Why wouldn’t farmers go someplace where it’s easier? Like Alethkar proper.”

“You don’t know a lot about human nature, do you, Stormblessed?”

“I… No, I don’t.”

Wit shook his head. “So frank, so blunt. You and Dalinar are alike, certainly. Someone needs to teach the pair of you how to have a good time now and then.”

“I know full well how to have a good time.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It involves being anywhere you aren’t.”

Wit stared at him, then chuckled, shaking the reins so the horses danced a little. “So you do have some spark of wit in you.”

It came from Kaladin’s mother. She’d often said things like that, though never so insulting. Being around Wit must be corrupting me.