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who had come to Shallan instead of needing to be recruited. Ishnah had wiggled her way into being Shallan’s right-hand woman, and was the most skilled member of her Unseen Court. The most damning fact was Ishnah’s previous fascination with the Ghostbloods. Thinking of her as a traitor made Shallan’s insides squirm, but she forced herself to confront the problem, Radiant cheering her on. Shallan joined Ishnah as the two peakspren returned to their work. “You look overwhelmed,” Shallan noted to Ishnah. “Are you well?” “I’ve seen into this place, Brightness.…” Ishnah closed her notebook and looked across the rolling beads. “When I Soulcast, it’s there. I see the souls of objects, hear their thoughts. I’ve dreamed of this world, but being here is different. Do you ever … feel something? Below, in the ocean?” “Yes,” Shallan admitted. She leaned against the railing. Ishnah mimicked her posture. Now, Veil said. Try steering the conversation in a way that implies you know something secret, something she should be ashamed about. Steering conversations was, fortunately, comfortable for Shallan. She was good with words. Better than Veil in many cases. “There are currents to this world, Ishnah,” Shallan said. “They move unseen. They can tow you under suddenly, abruptly, when you thought you were swimming along perfectly safe.” “I’m … not sure what you mean by that, Brightness.” “I think you do.” Ishnah immediately glanced away. Aha! Veil thought. We’re on to something already. Too easy, Radiant thought. Don’t judge so quickly. “We all lie, Ishnah,” Shallan continued. “Especially to ourselves. It’s part of what makes us Lightweavers. The purpose of the Ideals, however, is to make us learn to live for truth. We have to be something better, become something better, to be worthy of our spren.” Ishnah didn’t respond, instead staring at the ocean beads passing beneath. Give it time, Veil suggested. Don’t be in a rush to fill the silence. Shallan obeyed, and the silence quickly became uncomfortable. She could see Ishnah shifting, not meeting her eyes. Yes, she felt guilty about something. Now, push. “Say it, Ishnah,” Shallan said. “It’s time to tell me.” “I … I didn’t know what they’d do with the money, Brightness,” Ishnah finally said. “I didn’t mean for it … I mean, I was only trying to help.” Money? Radiant thought. Drat, Veil thought. We caught the wrong fish. Shallan gave the conversation even more uncomfortable silence. People hated it, and would often do anything to banish it. “How did you know?” Ishnah asked. “I have my ways.” “I should have guessed I couldn’t keep it quiet,” Ishnah said. She seemed younger all of a sudden, fidgeting as she spoke. She was older than Shallan, but not by that much. Old enough to be seen as a full adult. Young enough to not believe it yet. “My old friends in the underground came to me,” Ishnah said. “They were hard up, you know? We acted so tough, but that’s the way you have to act. Pretend you’re important, pretend you’re dangerous, all while you’re actually scraping
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crem to get by. “So, I started giving them some of my stipend, ostensibly to help them pull themselves up and out of that life.” She put her hand to her forehead. “Stormfather, I’m an idiot. Even I can hear how naive that sounds, saying it out loud. I should have known they just saw an opportunity in me. Everyone’s a mark. ‘Ishnah got a good break, eh? What about the rest of us?’ Of course they’d use it to set up another racket.” I feel embarrassed, Veil thought. How did I miss hearing about this? “Well,” Shallan said out loud, “I’m glad to hear that you aren’t intentionally funding a criminal enterprise.” “Maybe we can clean it up quietly? It’s not as bad as you might have heard. Or … well, I guess I’m not a good one to judge that. They bought up some gambling dens, started a protection scheme in one of the lower-end markets. My money bought them some enforcers, and … I know they started using my name as proof they had authority.” She sighed. “How much does the queen know?” “I’m honestly not sure,” Shallan said. “I haven’t told her.” “If it means anything, I cut them off last month, once I learned what they were doing.” Let’s push a little harder, Veil decided. Mention Mraize, imply he was involved. See if she lets anything slip. “When did Mraize get involved?” Shallan asked. Ishnah cocked her head, scrunching up her brow. “Who?” “The Ghostbloods, Ishnah.” The shorter woman grew pale, and her hand genuinely seemed to be trembling as she put it back on the railing. “Stormfather! Did I … Did they…” “They’ve contacted you, I know.” “If they have, I didn’t know it was them!” Ishnah said, shaken. She slumped against the railing. “What happened? Was it that man that Den threatened? Was he … Storms, Brightness. I’ve made a mess of this.” Shallan remained in place, hands clasped, trying to determine if it was an act. She couldn’t persuade herself that it was; Ishnah appeared legitimately shocked by the implication that the Ghostbloods might have noticed her friends’ little scheme. She even caught sight of a shamespren, swimming through the beads toward them. Those were rare out here, as they were passing mountains in the Physical Realm, where no one lived. If she’s lying, she’s good enough to fool me, Veil said. “I thought I’d escaped the underworld,” Ishnah whispered. “I came to you, thinking you were someone powerful. Power was all I wanted … but then I saw something more. A way to be free. Everyone else lives such normal lives out in the light. No threads yanking toward the darkness. They seem happy. I suppose it was too much to assume I’d be able to really get away and belong in the light.…” Storms. Shallan settled down and put her freehand on Ishnah’s shoulder, ashamed at having caused such pain in her friend. That is a silly emotion, Veil thought. If Ishnah wants out, we’ve done her a favor by exposing this.
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And how would we feel? Shallan asked. If someone forced us to expose all our flaws, all our lies, and hung them in the open like an unfinished painting? “We’ll deal with this when we return, Ishnah,” Shallan said. “And I promise, I will help you clear it up. You’ve made a misstep, but we all make those as we seek our truths. You do belong in the light. You’re there now. Stay there with me.” “I will,” Ishnah said. “For now, if you hear any mention of the Ghostbloods, come directly to me.” “Of course, Brightness. Thank you. For not giving up on me completely, I mean.” Well done, Veil thought. Let’s slip in a tidbit that might get fed to Mraize, if she reports to him. I sincerely doubt she’s the spy, Veil, Radiant said. You yourself indicated she couldn’t fool you. I didn’t indicate that at all, Veil said. I said if she’s the spy, she’s a better actor than I am. Which would make her extremely dangerous. Shallan, find some bit of information to feed her that is distinct and interesting enough to be worth reporting, but something she’s unlikely to talk about to the other members of the team. That felt like a tall order. But Veil wasn’t willing to offer any more advice, so Shallan soldiered forward. “Hey,” she said to Ishnah. “Just focus on helping with the mission. I like that you’re taking notes on manifesting. Those will be useful.” She nodded. “Is there anything else you want me to do?” Shallan considered it, tapping her finger against the deck. “Keep your eyes open for spren that look odd,” she said softly. “You remember Sja-anat?” “Yes,” Ishnah said. Shallan had shared about the Unmade with her and a few others. “I think I saw a corrupted windspren flying past earlier. I can’t be certain, so keep it to yourself. I don’t want to alarm anyone. But if you’re going to be sitting back here watching the manifesting, maybe keep an eye out? And if you see an odd spren, let me know. All right?” “I will. Thank you, Brightness. For your trust.” Shallan squeezed Ishnah’s arm encouragingly, then wandered away. How was that? she asked. Not bad, Veil said. Your warning will keep her from talking about it to the other Lightweavers—but corrupted spren are also something Mraize is distinctly interested in. So if she reports to him, she is likely to feed him the information. If you can find a way to tell the others you saw a different kind of corrupted spren, we’ll have planted just the right seed. I don’t think it’s going to work, Radiant said. The idea is a clever one, but I can’t see her reporting on such a minor detail to Mraize. You’d be surprised, Veil replied. People are always eager to prove how important their mission is, and actively search for interesting things to report. Keep going, Shallan. You’re doing very well. Feeling bolstered, she went to find Beryl. After the previous conversation, Ishnah now seemed the
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least likely to be the spy. And, Ishnah had been helpful in identifying Ialai’s method of death. Besides, Mraize would know she had wanted to join the Ghostbloods—and would recognize that she’d draw suspicion. It was probably one of the other two. And Beryl was the obvious choice. Shallan hadn’t failed to notice the way Stargyle had dropped out of the mission at the last minute, with Beryl joining the team instead—a clear sign. But perhaps too obvious? Beryl was on Soulcasting duty today. Yesterday they’d stopped by a small strip of land—representing a river in the Physical Realm—and used pickaxes to cut out some chunks of obsidian ground. Shallan had quickly understood why the spren of this realm didn’t use obsidian for anything other than the occasional weapon; the rock was hard to work with, shattering like glass when struck. While it wouldn’t make a good building material, they’d had success Soulcasting it into food. The stone here was eager to be something else, and could easily be persuaded to change. Today, Beryl knelt beside a stone they’d cut, and was practicing turning it into food. Shallan lingered nearby, taking in Beryl’s tall Alethi figure, with luscious dark hair and a perfectly tan skin tone. She reminded Veil of Jasnah, only more relaxed. She uses Lightweaving to enhance her appearance, Veil noted. Probably does it by instinct. Today, Beryl wore a long skirt rather than a true havah, along with a sleeveless top and a pair of silk gloves that went up to her elbows. She had removed her freehand glove, and now reached out with delicate, supple fingers to caress the chunk of obsidian. She adopted an expression of concentration, and the chunk transformed to lavis grain in the blink of an eye. The clump of lavis held the shape of the obsidian for a moment, then collapsed, spreading out on the cloth underneath. “Brightness?” Beryl asked, glancing up from her work. She was darkeyed, like many camp followers, though that didn’t really matter anymore. Importantly, she had not yet earned her Blade. “Am I doing something wrong?” Beryl had learned Lightweaving on her own away from the structure and order of the Radiants. She was an unknown factor, a Surgebinding savant who had come with her own spren already bonded. Shallan knelt and made a show of picking up a handful of grain and inspecting it. “You’re not doing anything wrong at all. This is good work. Most of us have trouble making individual grains.” “Oh! It helps to have a seed,” she said, pulling some from her pocket. “Literal seeds, in this case.” She grinned, holding them up. “If you have something to show the obsidian’s soul, you intrigue it enough to want to transform.” “That’s not how Jasnah does it,” Veil said. “Yeah, Vathah told me. But my way works better for him too. Queen Jasnah doesn’t know everything, right?” She smiled brightly. “Or maybe it’s different for our order. It’s not her fault if she doesn’t know how Lightweavers work.” Storms, Veil thought. I always forget
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how downright sunny Beryl can be. Shallan folded her arms, thinking back to her own troubles with Soulcasting. Could it be that all along, the problem hadn’t been her, but Jasnah’s training method? They’d assumed two orders using the same power would be analogous. The Skybreakers and the Windrunners seemed to fly the same way, after all. Then again, the way that Lightweaving worked for Truthwatchers seemed different—even if one disregarded whatever Renarin was. So maybe? Focus, Veil thought. Try nudging her to be uncomfortable, find out if she’s hiding something. Shallan opened her mouth to make a comment like she had to Ishnah. Something else entirely came out. “Are you actually happy?” Shallan asked. “Brightness?” Beryl asked, still sitting on a box next to some chunks of obsidian. “Happy?” “There’s a lightness about you,” Shallan said. “Is it real, or are you hiding the pain?” “I think we all hide pain to an extent,” Beryl said. “But I don’t think I’m in particular agony.” “And your past?” Shallan asked. “It doesn’t haunt you?” “I won’t pretend my life was easy. The profession isn’t an easy one, and the women who find their way to it often have their problems magnified. There are ways to keep it from chewing you up, however. To make it your choice, done in your way.” She grimaced. “Or at least ways to tell yourself that…” Shallan nodded, and heard a humming behind her. Pattern—her Pattern—had wandered over, and was inspecting Beryl’s Soulcasting handiwork. “By the end,” Beryl continued, “I had a lot of control over the men who came to me. I liked becoming the woman they wanted. It wasn’t until you came searching for me, though, that I realized the truth.” She looked straight at Shallan. “That I could walk away if I wanted to. Nothing was keeping me there. Not any longer. I could have left months earlier. Odd, isn’t it?” “That’s how it always is,” Veil said. “Pardon, Brightness, but it’s not. A lot of the women are worse off than me. They couldn’t simply leave; it was the moss for some, threats for others. Some of us though…” She looked at her hand and let the seeds drop into the pile. “We talk about transformation. The Almighty’s greatest blessing to humans: the ability to change. Sometimes we need a seed too, eh?” Shallan shuffled, looking to the side as Vathah walked by with one of the peakspren sailors. Maybe she should go talk to him, see if he was the spy. You’re uncomfortable around Beryl, Radiant thought. Is it because she seems to have a greater handle on her life, when you assume she should be worse at it? Feelings, feelings, Veil said. Blah blah blah. Shallan, stay on topic, please. Shallan found her mind spiraling around her past. The things she had done. The things she was still hiding from, wearing this face that she pretended was her own. That she pretended she deserved. Shallan could be happy, but that happiness was built on lies. Would it not be better to
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accept what she really was? Become the person she deserved to be? Formless—who had been hiding deep inside these last few days—stirred. She’d thought him forgotten, but he had been waiting. Watching … “Help,” Shallan whispered. “Brightness?” Beryl asked. Radiant stood up straight, no longer lounging. “You are to be commended for your diligence, Beryl. You say that this method of Soulcasting has helped Vathah. Have you shown it to any of the others yet?” “No, not yet. I—” “I would like you to approach Ishnah and train her in it. Report to me the results of the experiment.” “I will!” Beryl said. “Um, you seem different. Did you … become one of the others?” “I have merely realized I have a great deal yet to do today,” Radiant said. That caused Pattern to hum. “Continue your efforts.” She moved to leave, then pretended to reconsider and stepped back, speaking softly. “We need to be careful. I saw a gloryspren earlier that appeared odd. I think that Sja-anat, the corrupter of spren, is watching us. Report to me if you see any odd gloryspren, but stay very quiet about this to the others. I do not wish to inspire a panic.” Beryl nodded. That’s a little straightforward and blunt, Radiant, Veil said. The goal is to not act suspicious. I do as I can, Radiant thought. And I am not suited to subterfuge. Liar, Veil said. Shallan? Kid, you all right? But Shallan had pulled into a knot within Radiant. It was the conversation that set her off … Veil said. Something about it. About leaving your old life, and finding a new one? Shallan whimpered. I see … Veil said, retreating as well. Great. She’d lost both of them. Well, Radiant’s job was to see that things got done. She walked after Vathah; Pattern stayed behind with Beryl, watching her work. Vathah was carrying a large pole that was at least thirty feet long. What was he up to? Regardless, in Radiant’s estimation, Vathah was suspicious in an entirely different way from the other two. Vathah had always been the most dark of the former deserters. And she understood why. Following something, believing in something, then abandoning it? Leaving your companions-in-arms? It was a horrifying thought. She usually let the others deal with him. A lot of the other deserters she’d come to understand. Gaz had run from gambling debts, and Isom from a cruel captain in Sadeas’s army who constantly beat him. But Vathah … his true past was still a mystery. He was cruel and possibly corrupt; he had returned with Shallan only because the circumstances had been right. Shallan liked to think she’d changed the deserters—shown them the nobler side of their personalities. While she might be correct about the others, Radiant wasn’t certain about Vathah. If he had deserted once, he was capable of it again. And storms, he didn’t look at all like he belonged with the rest of the Court. Even cleaned up and wearing work clothing, Vathah looked rough. Like he’d recently gotten out
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of bed—after collapsing into it drunk. He was never properly shaved, but also never ended up with a full beard. Vathah climbed the few steps up to the prow of the barge, the section where the mandras were harnessed. Radiant marched up after him. A female peakspren sailor instructed Vathah to heft the long pole so that the tip went high in the air and the bottom end slipped through a ring at the front of the barge. Once he’d done so, Vathah began lowering the pole slowly, hand over hand. The butt of the pole passed between the mandra harness lines to hit the beads beneath. They’re measuring depth, Radiant thought. He’s doing sailor jobs, like yesterday. Strange. “Hold it steady,” the peakspren said to Vathah. “Brace it against the prow of the barge. Yes. Keep going.” Vathah continued lowering the pole. The current of the beads below was clearly stronger than a current of water would be, and it pressed the pole backward. The rings on the front of the ship were there to keep the force of the beads from pulling the pole out of his hands. “Keep going,” the peakspren said. “Slower though!” Vathah grunted, continuing to lower the depth gauge. “They use weighted strings in my world.” “Wouldn’t work here.” “I just bumped something,” he said. “Yeah, that’s the bottom. Huh. Not as far down as I thought it would be.” “We’ve entered the shallows,” the peakspren said, helping him raise the pole. “Skirting to the west of the great trench we call the Radiant Depths.” Vathah got the pole up and walked to stow it along the railing. Then the spren tossed him a brush. Vathah nodded and walked toward the water station. The metal device fed on Stormlight to somehow make water. “What is this task?” Radiant asked, following after him. “Deck needs to be scrubbed,” he said. “They don’t wash them here as often as they do on ships back home—guess they don’t need to, without ocean water spilling up on everything. Planks don’t need tar to keep them waterproof either.” “You were a sailor?” Radiant asked, surprised. “I’ve done a lot of jobs.” He filled up a bucket, then picked a section of the deck and went to work, kneeling and scrubbing at the wood. “I’m impressed,” Radiant said. “I had not thought you would be one to volunteer for work, Vathah.” “It needs to be done.” “It is good to work the body, but I find myself objecting to that statement. The peakspren seem to have continued for a while without the deck being washed.” She folded her arms, then shrugged and moved to get a brush herself. As she returned, Vathah glanced at her with a dark expression. “Did you simply come to taunt me, Radiant? Or is there a point?” “I suppose it’s easy to tell me apart from the others, isn’t it?” “Veil would never have decided to help,” he said, continuing to brush. “She’d have mocked me for doing extra work. Shallan would be off somewhere drawing or
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reading. So, here we are.” “Indeed,” Radiant said, kneeling and scrubbing alongside him. “You are an observant man, Vathah.” “Observant enough to know you want something from me. What is it?” “I’m merely curious,” she said. “The Vathah I know would have avoided work and found a place to relax.” “Relaxing isn’t relaxing,” he said. “Sit around too much, and you start sitting around even more.” He kept brushing. “Go across the planks, rather than up and down them, so you don’t wear grooves. Yeah, like that. This does need to be done. The sailors used to scrub the wood every month, but they haven’t had as much help lately. Something about Reachers not being around? What are Reachers, anyway?” “They’re a specific bronze-skinned kind of spren,” Radiant said. “They were sailors on our previous voyage.” “Well, they aren’t around as much to hire these days, I guess,” Vathah said. “Did the others say why?” “I didn’t ask,” Vathah said. “How odd,” Radiant said. Now, how could she get to the topic of a corrupted spren? She considered, and began to regard this as a silly exercise. Why not ask him if he was the spy. If she was firm enough, he’d admit to his wrongdoing. She opened her mouth to do just that, but had enough common sense to stop herself. This was … not a good idea, was it? Having her do espionage? No, Shallan thought, emerging with a sigh. I guess it isn’t. “Hey,” Shallan said to Vathah as they scrubbed. “You know we’re a family, right? The Court, the group of us? You don’t have to always go off alone and punish yourself.” “Not punishing myself,” he growled. “Just wanted to be busy. And away from questions. Everyone asks too many questions when they get bored.” “You don’t have to answer them,” she said. “Really, Vathah. You’re one of us, and we accept you. As you are.” He glanced at her, then sat back on his knees, dripping brush in hand. Shallan did likewise, noting that she’d scuffed her trousers. Radiant was always too eager to throw herself into labor, never worrying about her clothing. “Shallan,” he said. She nodded. Vathah returned to his work and didn’t speak as he continued to scrub. Unlike Ishnah, he was perfectly willing to let silence hang. It was harder for Shallan, but she did. For a time the only sound was that of bristles on wood. “Does it work?” Vathah finally asked. “These three faces you put on? Does it actually help you somehow?” “It does,” Shallan said. “It really does. Most of the time, at least.” “Can’t decide if I envy you or not,” Vathah replied. “I’d like to be able to pretend. Something broke in me, you know? A long time ago. Used to be a good soldier. Used to care. But then you see what you’ve done—legitimately see it—and realize everything you fought for was a sham. What do polished buttons matter when you’ve got a child’s blood on your boots?” He scrubbed harder at a spot on
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the deck. “Figure if I learn to Lightweave well enough, maybe I’ll turn into someone else…” That stabbed her straight through. Strength, Shallan, Radiant thought. Strength before weakness. “Wouldn’t that be a blessing?” Vathah continued. “To become someone else? Someone new?” “You can do that without Lightweaving,” Shallan said. “Can I?” Vathah asked. “Can you?” “I…” “We’ve got a blessing in this power,” he continued. “Lets us turn into other people.” “It’s not a blessing,” Shallan whispered. “It’s survival.” “Feels worse in this place,” Vathah said, eyeing the sky. “I always feel like something is watching me.” “Yeah,” Shallan said. “The other day, I caught a spren swimming alongside the boat, watching me. One of those fearspren, the long eel-like ones on this side.” “What color was it?” Vathah asked. “Was it … hers?” “Yeah,” Shallan whispered. “I didn’t tell the others. Didn’t want them worried.” “Smart,” Vathah said. “Well, Sja-anat is something else for me to worry about. I’ll have to double-check every storming spren now.” “Let me know if you see anything,” Shallan said. “But don’t trouble the others, not yet. Not until we know for certain what she wants.” Vathah nodded. Nice work, Veil thought at her, emerging from her contemplation. That was smooth, Shallan. We’ll think of ways to push him for secrets he might be hiding later. For now, this was a good day’s work. I hate that I’m back to acting like an apprentice, Shallan thought back. You learned all this from Tyn. Why do we need to learn it again? We learned it, Veil thought, but we never tried it out. Remember, we … are new to this, despite what we might … might pretend. It was hard for Veil to acknowledge that she didn’t actually have years of experience. Hard for her to admit that she was an alter—a part of Shallan’s personality, manifesting as a distinct person. But it was a good reminder. One that Radiant often brought up. They were learning, and they weren’t experts. Not yet. Still, Shallan did know a few things about people. Though Veil wanted to move on, Shallan knelt beside Vathah. “Hey,” she said. “Whatever you did, it’s behind you. We accept you, Vathah. The Unseen Court is a family.” “A family,” he said with a grunt. “Never had one of those before.” “I knew it,” she said softly. “What? That I was lonely?” “No,” she said solemnly, “that you were the child of a couple of particularly ugly rocks.” He glared at her. “You know,” she said, “since you have no family. Must be rocks. It makes sense.” “Really? We were having a moment.” She smiled, putting her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Vathah. I appreciate your sediment.” She got up to go. “Hey,” Vathah said as she walked away. She glanced back at him. “Thanks for smiling.” She nodded before continuing on her way. What you said applies to us too, Radiant thought. That what we did in the past doesn’t matter. I suppose, Shallan thought. You don’t mean that, Veil accused her. You
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think what you did was worse. You’re always willing to give others more charity than you extend yourself. Shallan didn’t respond. I’m figuring it out, Shallan, Veil said. Why you keep working with Mraize. Why you won’t tell Adolin. What this is all about. It has to do with what you said earlier. When— “Not now,” Shallan said. But— In response, Shallan retreated and Radiant found herself in control. And no amount of prodding would bring Shallan back. The final step in capturing spren is the most tricky, as you must remove the Stormlight from the gemstone. The specific techniques employed by each artifabrian guild are closely guarded secrets, entrusted only to their most senior members. The easiest method would be to use a larkin—a type of cremling that feasts on Stormlight. That would be wonderful and convenient if the creatures weren’t now almost entirely extinct. The wars in Aimia were in part over these seemingly innocent little creatures. —Lecture on fabrial mechanics presented by Navani Kholin to the coalition of monarchs, Urithiru, Jesevan, 1175 Navani Kholin leaned out over the side of the flying platform and looked down hundreds of feet to the stones below. It said a lot about where she’d been living that she kept being surprised by how fertile Alethkar was. Rockbuds clustered on every surface, except where they’d been cleared for living or farming. Entire fields of wild grasses waved green in the wind, bobbing with lifespren. Trees formed bulwarks against the storms, with interlocking branches as tight as a phalanx. Here—as opposed to the Shattered Plains or Urithiru—things grew. It was the home of her childhood, but now it felt almost alien. “I do wish you wouldn’t crane like that, Brightness,” said Velat. The middle-aged scholar wore tight braids against the wind. She did try to mother everyone around her. Navani, naturally, leaned out farther. One would think that during more than fifty years of life, she would have found a way to rise above her natural impetuous streak. Instead she’d rather alarmingly found her way to enough power to simply do as she chose. Below, her flying platform made a satisfyingly geometric shadow on the stones. Townspeople clustered together, gawking upward as Kaladin and the other Windrunners backed them off to provide room for the landing. “Brightlord Dalinar,” Velat said, “can you talk sense into her, please? She’s going to drop right off, I swear it.” “It’s Navani’s ship, Velat,” Dalinar said from behind, his voice as steady as steel, as immutable as mathematics. She loved his voice. “I think she’d have me thrown off if I tried to prevent her from enjoying this moment.” “Can’t she enjoy it from the center of the platform? Perhaps nicely tethered to the deck? With two ropes?” Navani grinned as the wind tugged at her loose hair. She held the rail with her freehand. “This area is clear of people now. Send the order—a steady descent to the ground.” She’d started this design using old chasm-spanning bridges as a model. After all, this wasn’t a warship, but a
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transport intended to move large groups of people. The end construction was little more than a large wooden rectangle: over a hundred feet long, sixty feet wide, and around forty feet thick to support three decks. They had built high walls and a roof on the rear portion of the upper deck. The front third was exposed to the air, with a railing around the sides. For most of the trip, Navani’s engineers had maintained their command post in the sheltered portion. But with the need for delicate maneuvers today, they’d moved the tables out and bolted them to the deck in the right front corner of the platform. Right front, she thought. Should we be using nautical terms instead? But this isn’t the ocean. We’re flying. Flying. It had worked. Not just in maneuvers and tests on the Shattered Plains, but on a real mission, flying hundreds of miles. Behind her, over a dozen ardent engineers tended the open-air command station. Ka—a scribe from one of the Windrunner squads—sent the order to Urithiru via spanreed. When in motion, they couldn’t write full instructions—spanreeds had trouble with that. But they could send flashes of light that could be interpreted. In Urithiru, another group of engineers worked the complex mechanisms that kept this ship in the air. In fact, it used the very same technology that powered spanreeds. When one of them moved, the other moved in concert with it. Well, halves of a gemstone could also be paired so that when one was lowered, the other half—no matter where it was—would rise into the air. Force was transferred: if the distant half was underneath something heavy, you’d have trouble lowering yours. Unfortunately, there was some additional decay; the farther apart the two halves were, the more resistance you felt in moving them. But if you could move a pen, why not a guard tower? Why not a carriage? Why not an entire ship? So it was that hundreds of men and chulls worked a system of pulleys connected to a wide lattice of gemstones at Urithiru. When they let their lattice down along the side of the plateau outside the tower, Navani’s ship rose up into the sky. Another lattice, secured on the Shattered Plains and connected to chulls, could then be used to make the ship move forward or backward. The real advancement had come as they’d learned to use aluminum to isolate motion along a plane, and even change the vectors of force. The end result was chulls that could pull for a while, then be turned around—the gemstones temporarily disjoined—to march back the other direction, as all the while the airship continued in a straight line. Alternating between those two lattices—one to control altitude and a second to control horizontal movement—let Navani’s ship soar. Her ship. Her ship. She wished she could share it with Elhokar. Though most people remembered her son only as the man who had struggled to replace Gavilar as king, she’d known him as the curious, inquisitive boy who had adored her drawings. He had
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always enjoyed heights. How he’d have loved the view from this deck … Work on this vessel had helped sustain her during the months following his death. Of course, it hadn’t been her math that had finally made this ship a reality. They’d learned about the interactions between conjoined fabrials and aluminum during the expedition to Aimia. This wasn’t the direct result of her engineering schematics either; the ship was a fair bit more mundane in appearance than her original fanciful designs. Navani merely guided people smarter than she was. So maybe she didn’t deserve to grin like a child as she watched it work. She did anyway. Deciding upon a name had taken her months of deliberation. In the end, however, she’d taken inspiration from the bridges that had inspired her. In specific, the one that had—so many months ago—rescued Dalinar and Adolin from certain death, something she hoped this vessel would do for many others in similarly dire situations. And so, the world’s first air transport had been named the Fourth Bridge. With the permission of Highmarshal Kaladin’s old team, she’d embedded their old bridge in the center of the deck as a symbol. Navani stepped away from the ledge and walked to the command station. She heard Velat sigh in relief—the cartographer had tethered herself to the deck with a rope. Navani would have preferred to bring Isasik, but he was off on one of his mapping expeditions, this time to the eastern part of the Shattered Plains. Still, she had a full complement of scientists and engineers. White-bearded Falilar was reviewing schematics with Rushu while a host of assistants and scribes ran this way and that, checking structural integrity or measuring Stormlight levels in the gemstones. At this point, there wasn’t a whole lot for Navani to do other than stand around and look important. She smiled, recalling Dalinar saying something similar about battlefield generals once the plan was in motion. The Fourth Bridge set down, and the front doors of the bottom level opened to accept passengers. A dozen Edgedancers flowed out toward the town. Glowing with Stormlight, they moved with a strange gait—alternating pushing off with one foot while sliding on the other. They could glide across wood or stone as if it were ice, and gracefully leaped over stones. The last Edgedancer in the group—a lanky girl who seemed to have grown an entire foot in the last year—missed her jump though, and tripped over a large rock the others had dodged. Navani covered a smile. Being Radiant did not, unfortunately, make one immune to the awkwardness of puberty. The Edgedancers would usher the townspeople onto the transport and heal those who were wounded or sick. Windrunners darted through the sky to watch for potential problems. Rather than bother the engineers or soldiers, Navani drifted over to Kmakl, the Thaylen prince consort. Fen’s aging husband was a navy man, and Navani had thought he might enjoy joining them on the Fourth Bridge’s first mission. He gave her a respectful bow, his eyebrows and long mustaches
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drooping alongside his face. “You must think us very disorganized, Admiral,” Navani said to him in Thaylen. “No captain’s cabin and barely a handful of bolted-down desks for a command station.” “She is an odd ship, to be sure,” the elderly sailor replied. “But majestic in her own way. I was listening to your scholars talk, and they were guessing the ship made about five knots on average.” Navani nodded. This mission had begun as an extended endurance test—indeed, Navani hadn’t been on the voyage when it had begun. The Fourth Bridge had spent weeks flying out over the Steamwater Ocean, taking refuge from storms in laits and coastal coves. During that time, the ship’s only crew had been her engineers and a handful of sailors. Then the request had come from Kaladin. Would they like to try a more rigorous stress test by stealing an entire town out of Alethkar—rescuing an infamous Herdazian general in the process? Dalinar had made the decision, and the Fourth Bridge had changed course toward Alethkar. Windrunners had delivered the command staff—Navani included—and Radiants to the vessel earlier today. “Five knots,” Navani said. “Not particularly fast, compared to your best ships.” “Pardon, Brightness,” he said. “But this is essentially a giant barge—and for that five knots is impressive, even ignoring the fact that it is flying.” He shook his head. “This ship is faster than an army marching at double time—yet it brings your troops in fresh and provides its own mobile high ground for archery support.” Navani couldn’t refrain from beaming with pride. “There are still a lot of kinks to work out,” she said. “The fans on the rear barely increased speed. We’re going to need something better. The manpower involved is enormous.” “If you say so,” he said. The elderly man adopted a distant expression, turning and staring out toward the horizon. “Admiral?” Navani asked. “Are you all right?” “I’m simply imagining the end of an era. The livelihood I’ve known, the way of the oceans and the navy…” “We’ll continue to need navies,” Navani said. “This air transport is merely an additional tool.” “Perhaps, perhaps. But for a moment, imagine a fleet of ordinary ships suffering an attack from one of these up above. It wouldn’t need trained archers. The flying sailors could drop stones and sink a fleet in minutes.…” He glanced to her. “My dear, if these things become ubiquitous, it won’t only be navies that are rendered obsolete. I can’t decide if I’m glad to be old enough to wish my world a fond farewell, or if I envy the young lads who get to explore this new world.” Navani found herself at a loss for words. She wanted to offer encouragement, but the past that Kmakl regarded with such fondness was … well, like waves in water. Gone now, absorbed by the ocean of time. It was the future that excited her. Kmakl seemed to sense her hesitance, as he smiled. “Don’t mind the ramblings of a grouchy old sailor. Look, the Bondsmith wishes your attention. Go and
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guide us toward a new horizon, Brightness. That is where we’ll find success against these invaders.” She gave Kmakl a fond pat on the arm, then hastened off toward Dalinar. He stood near the front center of the deck, and Highmarshal Kaladin was striding toward him accompanied by a bespectacled man. This must be the Windrunner’s father—though it took some imagination on her part to see the resemblance. Kaladin was tall, and Lirin was short. The younger man had that unruly hair falling in a natural curl. Lirin, on the other hand, was balding, with the rest of his hair kept very short. However, as she stepped up beside Dalinar, she caught Lirin’s eyes—and the familial connection became more obvious. That same quiet intensity, that same faintly judgmental gaze that seemed to know too much about you. In that moment she saw two men with the same soul, for all their physical differences. “Sir,” Kaladin said to Dalinar. “My father, the surgeon.” Dalinar nodded his head. “Lirin Stormblessed. It is my honor.” “… Stormblessed?” Lirin asked. He didn’t bow, which Navani found undiplomatic, considering whom he was meeting. “I assumed you would take your son’s house name,” Dalinar said. Lirin glanced at his son, who evidently hadn’t told him about his elevation. But he said nothing more, instead turning to give her airship a proper nod of respect. “This is a magnificent creation,” Lirin said. “Do you think it could quickly deliver a mobile hospital, staffed with surgeons, to a battlefield? The lives that could be saved that way…” “An ingenious application,” Dalinar said. “Though Edgedancers generally do that job now.” “Oh. Right.” Lirin adjusted his spectacles, then finally seemed to find a little respect for Dalinar. “I appreciate what you’re doing here, Brightlord Kholin, but can you say how long my people will be trapped on this vehicle?” “It will be a several-week flight to reach the Shattered Plains,” Dalinar said. “But we’ll be delivering supplies, blankets, and other items of comfort during the trip. You’ll be performing an important function, helping us learn how to better equip these transports. Plus we’ll be denying the enemy an important population center and farming community.” Lirin nodded, thoughtful. “Why don’t you inspect the accommodations?” Dalinar offered. “The holds aren’t luxurious, but there’s space enough for hundreds.” Lirin accepted the dismissal—though he again didn’t bow or offer respect as he strode away. Kaladin hung back. “I apologize for my father, sir. He doesn’t deal well with surprises.” “It’s all right,” Dalinar said. “I can only imagine what these people have been through lately.” “It might not be over quite yet, sir. I was spotted while scouting earlier today. One of the Fused—a variety I’ve never seen before—came to Hearthstone hunting me. I ran him off, but I have no doubt we’ll soon encounter more resistance.” Dalinar tried to remain stoic, but Navani could see his disappointment in the downturn of his lips. “Very well,” he said. “I’d hoped the fog might cover us, but that was plainly too convenient. Go alert the other Windrunners,
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and I’ll send word for the Edgedancers to hasten the evacuation.” Kaladin nodded. “I’m running low on Light, sir.” Navani slipped her notebook from her pocket as Dalinar raised his hand and pressed it against Kaladin’s chest. There was a faint … warping to the air around them, and for a moment she thought she could see into Shadesmar. Another realm, filled with beads of glass and candle flames floating in place of people’s souls. She thought, for the briefest moment, she heard a tone in the distance. A pure note vibrating through her. It was gone in a moment, but she wrote her impressions anyway. Dalinar’s powers were related to the composition of Stormlight, the three realms, and—ultimately—the very nature of deity. There were secrets here to unlock. Kaladin’s Light was renewed, wisps of it steaming off his skin, visible even in daylight. The spheres he carried would be renewed as well. Somehow Dalinar reached between realms to touch the Almighty’s own power, an ability once reserved solely for storms and the things that lived in them. Appearing invigorated, the young Windrunner stepped across the deck. He knelt and rested his hand on the rectangular patch of wood that stood out from the rest—not newly cut, but dinged and marked from arrows. His old bridge had been embedded to be flush with the rest of the deck. The Bridge Four Windrunners all enacted this same wordless ritual when they left the airship. It took only a moment, then Kaladin launched into the air. Navani finished her notes, covering a smile as she found Dalinar reading over her shoulder. That was still a decidedly odd experience, for all that she tried to encourage him. “I’ve already let Jasnah make notes on what I do,” Dalinar said. “Yet each time, you pull out this notebook. What are you looking for, gemheart?” “I’m not sure yet,” she said. “Something is odd about the nature of Urithiru, and I think Bondsmiths might be related to the tower, at least from what we read about the old Radiants.” She flipped to another page and showed him some schematics she’d drawn. The tower city of Urithiru had an enormous gemstone construction at its heart—a crystal pillar, a fabrial unlike any she’d ever seen. She was increasingly certain the tower had once been powered by that pillar, as this flying ship was powered by the gemstones her engineers had embedded within the hull. But the tower was broken, barely functioning. “I tried infusing that pillar,” Dalinar said. “It didn’t work.” He could infuse Stormlight into ordinary spheres, but those tower gemstones had resisted. “We must be approaching the problem in the wrong way. I can’t help thinking if I knew more about Stormlight, the solution would be simple.” She shook her head. The Fourth Bridge was an extraordinary accomplishment, but she worried she was failing in a greater task. Urithiru was high in the mountains, where it was too cold to grow plants—yet the tower had numerous fields. People had not only survived up in that harsh environment,
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they had thrived. How? She knew the tower had once been occupied by a powerful spren named the Sibling. A spren on the level of the Nightwatcher or the Stormfather—and capable of making a Bondsmith. She had to assume the spren, or perhaps something about its relationship with a human, had allowed the tower to function. Unfortunately, the Sibling had died during the Recreance. She wasn’t certain what level of “dead” that meant. Was the Sibling dead like the souls of Shardblades that still walked around? Some spren she interviewed said the Sibling was “slumbering,” but they treated that as final. The answers weren’t clear, and that left Navani struggling to try to understand. She studied Dalinar and his bond with the Stormfather, hoping it would offer some further clue. “So,” an accented voice said from behind them, “the Alethi really have learned to fly. I should have believed the stories. Only your kind are stubborn enough to bully nature herself.” Navani started, though she was slower to respond than Dalinar, who spun—hand on his side sword—and immediately stepped between Navani and the strange voice. She had to peek around him to see the man who had spoken. He was a short fellow, missing a tooth, with a flat nose and a jovial expression. His worn cloak and ragged trousers marked him as a refugee. He stood next to Navani’s engineer station, where he’d picked up the map that charted the Fourth Bridge’s course. Velat, standing at the center of the desks, yelped when she saw him, then reached over to snatch the paper away. “Refugees are to gather belowdecks,” Navani said, pointing the way back to the steps. “Good for them,” the Herdazian man said. “Your flying boy says you’ve got a place for me here. Don’t know what I think of serving an Alethi. I’ve spent most of my life trying to stay away from them.” He eyed Dalinar. “You specifically, Blackthorn. No offense.” Ah, Navani thought. She’d heard that the Mink wasn’t what people expected. She revised her assessment, then glanced toward the Cobalt Guardsmen who were belatedly rushing up from the sides of the ship. They appeared chagrined, but Navani waved them off. She’d ask some pointed questions later about why they’d been so lax as to let this man sneak up the steps to the command station. “I find wisdom in men who knew to avoid the person I once was,” Dalinar said to the Mink. “But this is a new era, with new enemies. Our past squabbles are of no concern now.” “Squabbles?” the man asked. “So that’s the Alethi word for them. Yes, yes. My mastery of your language, you see, is lacking. I’d been mistakenly referring to your actions as ‘raping and burning my people.’” He pulled something from his pocket. Another of Velat’s maps. He glanced over his shoulder—to check that she wasn’t watching—then unrolled it and cocked his head, inspecting it. “What remains of my army is secluded in four separate hollows between here and Herdaz,” he said. “I have only a
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few hundred left. Use your flying machine to rescue them, and we’ll talk. Alethi bloodlust has cost me many loved ones over the years, but I’d be a fool not to admit the value in pointing it—like the proverbial sword’s blade—at someone else.” “It will be done,” Dalinar said. Navani didn’t miss that—despite claiming earlier that the Fourth Bridge was her ship—he agreed to fly it per the Mink’s request without so much as consulting her. She tried not to let things like that bother her. It wasn’t that her husband didn’t respect her—he’d proven on numerous occasions that he did. Dalinar Kholin was simply accustomed to being the most important—and generally most capable—person around. That led a man to surge forward like an advancing stormwall, making decisions as the need arose. Still, it irked her more than she’d ever admit out loud. The first of the real refugees began to arrive down below, herded gently by the Edgedancers. Navani focused on the problem at hand: making certain each person was settled and comfortable in the most economical and orderly way possible. She’d drawn up a plan. Unfortunately, the welcome was interrupted as Lyn—a Windrunner woman with long dark hair worn in a braid—slammed down onto the deck. “Incoming Fused, sir,” she reported to Dalinar. “Three full flights of them.” “Kaladin was right, then,” he said. “Hopefully we can drive them away. Storms help us if they decide to harry the ship all the way to the Shattered Plains.” That was Navani’s worst fear—that flying enemies would be able to strike at and even disable the transport. She had precautions in place to try to prevent that, and it looked like she’d get to witness their initial test firsthand. That said, the most worrying thing I discovered in this was the wound upon the Spiritual Realm where Ambition, Mercy, and Odium clashed—and Ambition was destroyed. The effects on the planet Threnody have been … disturbing. Navani had always found war banners to be curious things. The wind was crisp and cold on Urithiru’s outer platform today, and it made the banners—brilliant Kholin blue, with Dalinar’s glyphpair emblazoned on them—crack with the sound of breaking sticks. They seemed alive up there on their poles, writhing like captive skyeels among the windspren. Today, the banners waved above waiting battalions. A thousand men at a time stood for their turn at the Oathgate, where Radiants transferred them to Azir. With a flash—a ring of light rising around the plateau—both men and banners were off, sent hundreds of miles in a heartbeat. Navani appreciated the aesthetic nature of banners—the way they marked divisions, battalions, companies. At the same time, there was a strange incongruity to them. It was essential to keep your men organized and engaged on the battlefield. Dalinar said far more battles were lost by improper discipline than by lack of bravery. But the banners also acted like enormous arrows, pointing the way to the most important men on the field. Banners were targets. Bold proclamations that here was where you’d find someone to
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kill. They were symbols of an organized army, helmed by men and women who knew the best way to end you—if only you’d do them the favor of wandering in their direction. “You look preoccupied,” Dalinar said as he stepped over, trailed by an honor guard of ten men. “I’m thinking about symbols and why we use them,” Navani said. “Trying not to think about you leaving again.” He reached down to cup her cheek. Who had known those hands could be so tender? She placed her hand alongside his face. His skin always felt rough. She swore she’d touched his cheek right after he’d shaved, and still found it ragged like sandpaper. The honor guard stood tall and tried to ignore Dalinar and Navani. Even this little sign of affection wasn’t particularly Alethi. That was what they told themselves, anyway. The stoic warriors. Not ruined by emotion. That was their banner, never mind that for centuries one of the Unmade had driven their lust for battle to a frenzy. Never mind that they were human like any others. They had emotions; they displayed them. They merely pretended to ignore them. In the same way you might tactfully ignore a man who accidentally went about with his trousers undone. “Watch him, Dalinar,” Navani whispered. “He will try something.” “I know,” Dalinar said. Taravangian was walking up the slope onto the platform for the next transfer. Through some careful finagling, his honor guard was Alethi—and Dalinar planned to station the man’s armies away from the command post on another part of the Azish front, with extra soldiers in between to protect his flank from a potential double cross. It was an unfortunately obvious move. Taravangian would realize he was being kept hostage, after a fashion, to ensure the loyalty of his troops. As an extra protection, a singular secret weapon hid among Dalinar’s servants. Szeth, wearing the face of a common soldier, had been assigned to guard Dalinar. Navani couldn’t spot him, so the disguise—maintained by one of Shallan’s Lightweavers—was working. Though the sheath to his strange sword had required some physical decorations and disguises, as a Lightweaving wouldn’t stick to it. So she thought she could pick him out as the one with the oversized weapon at his waist. Another Lightweaver had created an illusion of Szeth in his jail cell. If Taravangian had people reporting on Szeth, they’d indicate he was safely locked up. They wouldn’t know he was instead staying very close to Dalinar. Though she hated the idea, Navani had to admit that Szeth had remained in prison all these months, without a single incident. He seemed obedient to Dalinar without question. And if Szeth could be trusted, there was likely no better guard. Almighty send that the cure was not worse than the disease. Beyond that, Navani couldn’t help wondering if even in all this, they were being manipulated by Taravangian. Surely he couldn’t want them to surround him with enemy troops. Surely she misread the clever turn of the old man’s lips, the knowing look in his
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eyes. But now it was time for Dalinar to leave. So, Navani carefully tucked away her anxiety and embraced him. He plainly wasn’t thrilled to get a hug in front of his soldiers, but he didn’t say anything. After that, the two of them went to meet the governess who had brought little Gav, with his trunks of things. The young boy—trying hard not to look too eager—saluted Dalinar. “It is a big duty,” Dalinar told him, “going to war for the first time. Are you ready?” “I am, sir!” the child said. “I’ll fight well!” “You won’t be fighting,” Dalinar said. “And neither will I. We’ll be handling strategy.” “I’m good at that!” Gav said. Then he gave Navani a hug. The governess led him toward the Oathgate building. Navani watched with worry. “He’s young to be going.” “I know,” Dalinar said. “But I owe him this. He feels terrified to be left behind again in a palace while…” He left it unsaid. Navani knew there was more. Things Dalinar had said about how he’d been angry when younger, and had prevented Adolin and Renarin from spending time with him when they wanted to. Well, the child should be safe. And he really did deserve more time with Dalinar. She held his hand for a season, then let him go. He tramped up the slope toward the Oathgate as a half dozen anxious scribes scurried over to ask him questions. Navani composed herself, then went to say farewell to her daughter, who would also be going on the expeditionary force. She spotted the queen arriving via palanquin. Curiously, Jasnah—who often took extra care not to seem weak—almost always used a palanquin these days. And Taravangian, who truly needed one, refused the distinctive treatment. Taravangian seemed weaker while walking—while Jasnah seemed stronger when carried. More confident, in control. Which is exactly how each of them wishes to appear, Navani thought as the porters lowered Jasnah’s palanquin and she emerged. Though her havah, her hair, and her makeup were immaculate, Jasnah wore little in the way of ornamentation. She wanted to be seen as regal—but not excessive. “No Wit?” Navani asked. “He promised to meet me in Azir,” Jasnah said. “He vanishes sometimes, and won’t grace my questions with answers. Not even mocking ones.” “There is something odd about that one, Jasnah.” “You have no idea, Mother.” The two of them stood facing one another, until finally Jasnah reached forward. What followed was the most awkward hug Navani had ever been part of, both of them making the proper motions, but unenthusiastic at the same time. Jasnah pulled back. She was regal. Technically they were both of a similar rank, yet there had always been something about Jasnah. Dalinar was a big rock of a man that you wanted to prod until you found out what kind of crystals were inside. Jasnah … well, Jasnah was just … unknowable. “Storms,” Jasnah said under her breath. “Mother, are we really so awkward that we embrace like teenagers meeting a boy for the first time?”
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“I don’t want to ruin your image,” Navani said. “A woman can hug her mother, can’t she? My reputation won’t come crashing down because I showed affection.” Still, she didn’t lean in for another. Instead she took Navani’s hand. “I apologize. I haven’t had much time for family lately. I always told myself that when I finished my travels, I’d work diligently to be available to you all. I recognize that family relations need attendant time to…” Jasnah took a deep breath, then pressed her safehand against her forehead. “I sound like a historical treatise, not a person, don’t I?” “You have a lot of pressure on you, dear,” Navani said. “Pressure that I asked for and welcome,” Jasnah said. “The quickest changes in history often happen during times of strife, and these are important moments. But you’re important too. To me. Thank you. For always being you, despite the rise of kingdoms and the fall of peoples. I don’t think you can understand how much your constant strength means to me.” What an unusual exchange. Yet Navani found herself smiling. She squeezed Jasnah’s hand, and that moment together—seeing through the mask—became more precious than a hundred awkward embraces. “Watch little Gav for me,” Navani said. “I don’t know what I think of him going with Dalinar.” “Boys younger than him go on campaign.” “To locations not so near the battlefront,” Navani said. It was a fine distinction that many of their allies misunderstood. But these days, with Fused who could fly, anywhere could become a battlefront. “I’ll make sure he keeps well away from the fighting,” Jasnah promised. Navani nodded. “Your uncle feels that he failed Adolin and Renarin as children by spending so long in the field, and so little of it with them when they were young. He intends to make up for it now. I don’t dislike the sentiment, but … just keep an eye on them both for me, please.” Jasnah retreated to her palanquin, and Navani stepped back. The banners continued to applaud as Dalinar’s best soldiers arranged themselves with him, the queen, and Taravangian. Though the chill air sliced through her shawl, Navani was determined to stay and watch until she had word via spanreed that they’d arrived in Azir. As she waited, Sebarial wandered past. The portly, bearded man had taken to wearing clothing that was more appropriate to his overall look: something reminiscent of a Thaylen merchant’s clothing, with trousers and a vest under a long Alethi officer’s coat, meant to be left unbuttoned. Navani wasn’t certain if Palona was to credit for the transformation, or if Adolin had finally gotten to the highprince—but it was a marked improvement on the takama ensemble Sebarial had once favored. Most of the highprinces were out in the field on Dalinar’s orders. It was Alethi tradition: being a leader was essentially the same as being a general. If a king went to war, highprinces would go with him. That was so ingrained in them that it was hard to remember that other cultures—like both the Azish
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and the Thaylens—did it differently. Not many of the original highprinces remained. They’d been forced to replace Vamah, Thanadal, and—most recently—Sadeas with distant scions loyal to Dalinar and Jasnah. But building a reputation and a princedom in exile was a difficult task. Roion’s son struggled for precisely that reason. They had three they could count on. Aladar, Sebarial, and Hatham. Bethab and his wife had fallen into line, which left Ruthar the lone holdout of hostility—the last remnant of Sadeas’s faction against Dalinar. Navani picked out the man with his retinue preparing to leave with Dalinar’s force. Ruthar would present a problem, but if Navani were to guess, Jasnah would find a way to deal with him soon. Her daughter hated loose ends. Hopefully whatever Jasnah did wouldn’t be too dramatic. Sebarial was staying behind to help administer the tower. And he offered his own set of difficulties. “So,” he said to Navani. “We taking bets on how long it takes Taravangian to knife us in the back?” “Hush,” Navani said. “Thing is,” Sebarial said, “I kind of respect the old goof. If I manage to live as long as him, I can imagine throwing up my hands and trying to take over the world. I mean … at that point, what do you have to lose?” “Your integrity.” “Integrity doesn’t stop men from killing, Brightness,” Sebarial said. “It just makes them use different justifications.” “Glib, but meaningless,” Navani said. “Do you really want to draw a moral equivalency between wholesale conquest and resisting the Voidbringer invasion? Do you genuinely believe that a man of integrity is the same as a murderer?” He chuckled. “You have me there, Brightness. You seem to have discovered my one great weakness: actually listening to anything I say. You might be the only person in all of Roshar who takes me seriously.” Light rose in a ring around the Oathgate platform, swirling into the air. A scribe stood nearby at her workstation, waiting for spanreed confirmation of the army’s arrival. “I’m not the only one who takes you seriously, Turinad,” Navani told Sebarial. “There’s at least one more.” “If she took me seriously, Brightness, I’d be a married man.” He sighed. “I can’t decide if she thinks me unworthy of her, or if somehow she’s decided a highprince shouldn’t marry someone of her station. When I try to get it out of her, the response is never clear.” “Could be neither option,” Navani said. “If that’s the case, I’m at a complete loss.” The scribe changed the flag outside her workstation. Green for a successful transfer, with a red flag underneath, meaning people were still leaving the other platform and it wasn’t ready for another transfer yet. Another use for banners, Navani thought. They could at times be more effective than a spanreed. You could look down from the twentieth floor and see a flag much more quickly than you could write out a question and receive a response. Reputations were banners also. Jasnah had crafted a distinctive persona. People halfway around the world knew about
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her. Dalinar had done the same thing. Not as deliberately, but with equal effect. But what banner did Navani want to fly? She turned with Sebarial and walked toward the tower. She’d originally come to the Shattered Plains to chase something new. A different life, one that she wanted rather than one she thought she should want. Yet here she found herself doing the same things as before. Running a kingdom for a man who was too grand to be contained by simple day-to-day tasks. The love she felt for this man was different, true. Deeper. And there was certainly a fulfilling satisfaction to bringing order to the chaos of a newly born kingdom like Urithiru. It presented unique challenges both logistical and political. Was it selfish to want something more? This was what she seemed to be good at doing, and it was where the Almighty had placed her. She was one of the most powerful women in the world. Why would she think she deserved more? Together with Sebarial, she entered the tower by its broad front gates. The temperature change was immediate, though with these broad gates standing open all day, the inner foyer should have been as cold as the plateau outside. “You want me to return to the warcamps, I assume?” Sebarial asked. “I still have some interests working in the area.” “Yes. By the time my husband returns, I want those camps fully under our control again.” “You know,” Sebarial said, “some wouldn’t trust me with such a duty. My vices align well with the delights offered by the region.” “We’ll see. Of course, if you fail to bring order to the warcamps, then I’ll need to impose martial law. Tragic, wouldn’t you say? Closing down all of those entrepreneurs? Destroying the single place that is under Alethi rule, but which also offers an escape from the strict oversight of the Radiants? “If only someone with precisely the right mindset would watch the warcamps and make sure they become safe for travelers, and that the nearby lumber operations are proceeding without interruption. Someone who could see the need for law, while also understanding that it’s not a terrible thing to be a little more relaxed. To let good Alethi citizens live their lives safely—but without being under my husband’s direct glare.” Sebarial laughed. “How much do you suppose I can pocket before Dalinar would find my thieving too blatant?” “Stay under five percent,” Navani said. “Four and nine-tenths it is,” Sebarial said, bowing to her. “I’ll be practically respectable, Brightness. Perhaps Palona will finally see that I can be useful, if given the proper motivation.” “Turi?” Navani said. “Yes, Brightness?” he asked, rising from the flowery bow. “If a man takes nothing in his life seriously, it makes a woman wonder. What is she? Another joke? Another whim?” “Surely she knows her value to me, Brightness.” “Surely there is no problem in making it clear.” Navani patted him on the arm. “It is difficult not to question your value to someone who seems to value nothing.
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Sincerity might not come easily for you, but when she finds it in you, she’ll value it even more for the scarcity.” “Yes … All right. Thank you.” He waddled off, and Navani watched him go with genuine fondness. That was incredible, considering her former opinion of the man. But he’d stood with them, whether through intent or accident, when most others had refused. Beyond that, she’d found he could be trusted to get things done. Like everyone, deep down he wanted to be useful. Humans were orderly beings. They liked to see lots of straight lines, if only so—in some cases—they could be the one drawing curves. And if a tool seemed broken at first glance, perhaps you were simply applying it to the wrong task. Once in the tower, Navani took a palanquin inward, attended by Brightness Anesa, who brought various reports for Navani to inspect. Navani passed over the sanitation figures, instead reading up on water distribution through the tower, as well as reports of foot traffic in the stairwells. There were more random fights and arguments in Urithiru than there had been in Dalinar’s warcamp. Part of that was the diverse population, but she suspected that keeping everyone in relatively tight confines was a culprit as well. Dalinar wanted to post more guard patrols, but if she could divert traffic flow to keep people from jostling one another … She had some ideas mapped out by the time her palanquin reached the atrium at the far eastern edge of the tower. She stepped out into one of the city’s most dynamic locations: a place where a vast corridor stretched tens and tens of floors upward, almost to the roof. While lifts ran up and down the large artery that led inward to the atrium—and there were a multitude more stairwells—this was the sole place one could catch a lift all the way to the top floor. Stretching along the eastern wall was an enormous window, hundreds of feet tall. The tiers of Urithiru weren’t full circles—most were closer to half-circles, with the flat side aligned here at the atrium. So you could look all the way up, or stare out toward the Origin. As one of the brighter sections of the tower, and with its many lifts, the area bustled with traffic. That made it all the more remarkable that the atrium—of all places—had hidden an architectural mystery. Navani crossed the circular chamber to the far wall, just to the left side of the window. A few days back, one of her scribes had noted an oddity here: a small division in the rock, too straight to be a crack. With Dalinar’s permission, a Stoneward had been called in to shape the rock into an opening—they could make stone soft to their touch. Navani’s morning report had indicated she should come see the results, but this was the first time she’d been able to pull away. Badali, a Stoneward, guarded the door. He was an affable older man with a powdery beard and smiling eyes. He bowed to
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her as she stepped through his newly made door. Falilar, the engineer, was already inside measuring what they’d discovered: a large room hidden entirely in the stone. “Brightness,” Brightness Anesa said, walking alongside her. “What was the purpose of sealing off an entire room like this?” Navani shook her head. This wasn’t the only room they’d found in the tower with apparently no entrances. This one was particularly significant though, for it had a large picture window along the rear wall, which let in the sunlight. Standing in front of that window was an odd structure: a tall stone model of the tower. She’d read about it in the report, but as she approached, she was still surprised by its intricacy. The thing was a good fifteen feet tall, and was divided in two—the halves pulled apart—to give a cross section of the tower. At this scale, floors weren’t even an inch tall, but everything she saw about them was reproduced in intricate detail. At least, as much as was allowed at that scale. Falilar joined her beside it, holding a notebook full of figures. “What do you make of it, Brightness?” “I have no idea,” she said. “Why put this here, but then seal it off?” She bent over, noting that the crystal pillar room—along with the two library rooms nearby—was represented in the model. Falilar used a small reed to point. “See here? This room itself is reproduced, with a tiny representation of this very model. But there is an open door leading in, where there wasn’t one in the real tower.” “So the rooms were sealed off before the Radiants left?” “Or,” Falilar said, “they could open and close some other way. When the tower was abandoned, some were already closed, others open.” “That would explain a lot.” They’d found so many rooms with actual doors—or, the remnants of ones rotted away—that she hadn’t considered that there might be other mechanisms on undiscovered rooms. A clearly biased approach. She glanced at the wall they’d come in through. “Did that Stoneward discover any mechanism for such an opening?” “There was a gemstone embedded in the stone,” Falilar said. “I had him get it out for us to inspect. I intend to have him see if perhaps the rock was somehow intended to slide open to the sides there. If so, it would be a remarkable mechanism.” Navani made a mental note to have one of the Windrunners fly out to do a close inspection of the mountains that Urithiru was built into. Perhaps windows like this one would reveal other hidden rooms, with equally mysterious contents. “I’ll do a thorough inspection of this model,” Falilar said. “It might yield secrets.” “Thank you. I, unfortunately, have some sanitation reports to read.” “If you get a chance, stop by the library and talk to my nephew,” Falilar said. “He’s made some improvements on his device.” Navani nodded and started back toward her palanquin, trusting Falilar to send her whatever he discovered. As she was climbing into the palanquin, she saw Isabi—one of
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her younger scholars—rush into the room, holding a blinking red light. The mysterious spanreed. The one she’d received weeks ago from the unknown person who was so angry about fabrials. It was the first time they had tried to contact her since that day. Sanitation reports would wait. Other Shards I cannot identify, and are hidden to me. I fear that their influence encroaches upon my world, yet I am locked into a strange inability because of the opposed powers I hold. “Hold it steady!” Falilar said. It had been years since Navani had seen the old white-bearded engineer this animated. “Put it here on the table. Isabi, you have the scale, yes? Hurry, hurry. Set it up like we practiced!” The small swarm of ardents and scholars fussed around Navani, settling the spanreed into its board and preparing standard violet ink. They’d carried it out and set it up in a guard post near the perimeter of the tower. Kalami stood next to Navani, her arms folded. Hair streaked with grey, the scribe had an increasingly worrisome leanness to her these days. “I’m not sure about this, Brightness,” she said as the engineer and his assistants set up their instruments. “I worry that whoever is on the other side of that spanreed, they’ll learn more about us than we do about them.” Falilar wiped his shaved head with a handkerchief, then gestured for Navani to sit at the table. “Noted,” Navani said to Kalami, settling down. “We ready?” “Yes, Brightness,” Falilar said. “Judging by the weight of your pen once the conversation is engaged, we should be able to tell how far away the other pen is.” Spanreeds had a certain decay to them. The farther apart they were, the heavier the pens became after activation. In most cases, this was a slight—almost imperceptible—difference. Today, the spanreed board, with pen attached, had been placed on Falilar’s most precise scale. The pen was hooked by strings to other instruments as well. Navani carefully turned the ruby, indicating she was ready to communicate with her phantom correspondent. The six scholars and ardents, Kalami included, seemed to hold their collective breath. The pen started writing. Why have you ignored my instructions? Falilar gestured animatedly to the others, who began taking measurements—adding tiny weights to the balance and reading the tension in the pull of the string. She left them to their measurements, instead focusing on the conversation. I’m not sure what exactly you expected of me, she wrote. Please, explain further. You must stop your experiments with fabrials, the reed wrote. I made it explicitly clear that you needed to stop. You have not. You have only increased your heresies. What is this you do, putting fabrials in a pit and connecting them to the blowing of the storms? Do you make a weapon of the spren you have trapped? Do you kill? Humans always kill. “Heresies?” Kalami noted as the engineers worked. “Whoever it is seems to have a theological opposition to our actions.” “She references humans as a singer might,” Navani said,
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tapping the paper. “Either she’s one of them, or she wants us to think she is.” “Brightness,” Falilar said, “this can’t be correct. The decay is almost nonexistent.” “So they’re near to us,” Navani said. “Extremely near,” Falilar said. “Inside the tower. If we could figure out a way to make more precise scales … Regardless, a second measurement would help me with possible triangulation.” Navani nodded. Why do you call this a heresy? Navani wrote. The church sees no moral problem with fabrials. No more than they have a problem with hitching a chull to a cart. A chull hitched to a cart is not confined to a tiny space, the reply came, the pen moving furiously, animatedly. Spren are meant to be free. By capturing them, you trap nature itself. Can a storm survive if placed in a prison? Can a flower bloom with no sunlight? This is what you do. Your religion is incomplete. Let me think on this, Navani wrote. I will need a few minutes to speak with my theological advisor. Each moment you wait is a moment of pain brought to the spren you dominate, the pen wrote. I will not suffer it for much longer. Please wait, Navani wrote. I will use another spanreed for a moment, to talk to my theological advisor, but then will respond to you soon. No response came, but the pen continued to hover—the phantom was waiting. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get the second measurement.” The engineers moved with a flurry of activity, disjoining the spanreed so the link between the two pens was temporarily broken. They gathered the equipment and started running. Navani and Kalami hurried into the palanquin waiting for them outside the room. A group of six men hefted it and charged after the engineers and scribes as the entire group rushed through the tower. They eventually burst out onto the plateau in front of Urithiru. You couldn’t tell the direction of a second spanreed, not directly, even from the decay. However, because you could measure the decay—and therefore judge distance—you could triangulate from multiple measurements and get a rough idea of location. The team set up out here, on the plateau, among the coldspren. By the time she climbed free of the palanquin, Falilar and his team had the spanreed ready on the stone ground. Navani knelt and reengaged the device. They waited, Falilar dabbing at his head with his handkerchief, Kalami kneeling beside the paper and whispering, “Come on.” Falilar’s little apprentice—Isabi, daughter to one of the Windrunners—seemed ready to burst as she held her breath. The pen engaged, then wrote, Why did you move? What are you doing? I have spoken to my ardents, Navani wrote as the engineers again began taking measurements. They agree that our knowledge must be flawed. Can you explain how you know that this is evil? How is it you know what our ardents do not? “How does she know we moved?” Kalami asked. “She has a spy watching us,” Navani said. “Probably the same person who hid
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the spanreed ruby for me to find.” The person on the other end didn’t reply. I have many duties, Navani wrote. You interrupted me on my way to an important meeting. I have a few more minutes now to talk. Please. Tell us how you know what we don’t. The truth is evident to me, the pen wrote. It is not obvious to us, Navani wrote. Because you are human, it replied. Humans cannot be trusted. You do not know how to keep promises, and promises are what make the world function. We make the world function. You must release your captive spren. You must you must. “Ash’s mask…” Kalami said. “It’s a spren, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Navani said. “I have measurements,” Falilar said. “It is coming from the tower. I should be able to pin it down to a specific region. I must say, Brightness, you don’t seem surprised by any of this.” “I had my suspicions,” Navani said. “We found one ancient spren hiding in the tower. Is it such a stretch to assume a second has done the same?” “Another of the Unmade?” Kalami asked. Navani tapped her finger against the spanreed paper, thinking. “I doubt it,” she said. “A spren who wishes to free its kind? A liberationspren? Has anyone heard of such a thing?” The scholars collectively shook their heads. Navani reached to write further to the phantom, but the spanreed shut off, dropping to the paper, no longer actively conjoined. “So … what do we do?” Kalami asked. “Another of those things could be watching us from the darkness. Planning more murders.” “It’s not the same,” Navani said. “There’s something here.…” We make the world function. As they gathered up their things, a plan began budding in Navani’s mind. A touch reckless, particularly since she didn’t want to explain it to the others where the spren might be able to hear. She went ahead with the idea anyway. As they were walking to the tower proper, Navani stumbled and—trying to make it appear as accidental as possible—dropped the spanreed while walking. She cried out as she clumsily kicked it across the stone plateau—right over the edge. She rushed over, but it had already vanished, tumbling to the rocks thousands of feet below. “The spanreed!” Falilar said. “Oh, Brightness!” “Damnation,” she said. “That’s terrible.” Kalami eyed her, walking up. Navani smothered a smile. “Falilar,” Navani said. “Gather a team to see if they can recover that. I need to take better care.” “Yes, Brightness,” he said. Of course if they did find it, the team would have discreet directions to break the ruby as if from the fall. And of course they would be instructed to speak loudly of the tragedy of it among her scholars in the tower. Navani had a budding suspicion as to the identity of this spren who had contacted her. She wanted to make sure that it, and its agent, heard of the lost spanreed. Let’s see what you do now, Navani thought, strolling back into the tower. I have begun searching
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for a pathway out of this conundrum by seeking the ideal person to act on my behalf. Someone who embodies both Preservation and Ruin. A … sword, you might say, who can both protect and kill. Adolin glanced up as he heard the call from the watchpost at the front of the barge. Land sighted. Finally, he thought, giving Gallant a firm pat on the neck. The animal nickered in anticipation. “Trust me,” he said to the Ryshadium, “I’m as happy to land as you are.” Adolin had always been fond of traveling—feeling the open breeze on your face, the welcoming sky overhead. Who knew what exotic tastes and fashions you’d find at your destination? Taking a ship, though, was excruciating. No space to run, no good sparring grounds. A ship was a cage without bars. He left Gallant and rushed up to the barge’s prow. A dark strip of obsidian broke the sea ahead, with quiet lights shimmering above. Not souls, but actual candles in the windows of small structures. In Shadesmar, spren could manifest the beads that represented the soul of a fire—and in so doing, create flames that provided light, but very little heat. Others gathered at the sides of the barge, and Godeke joined Adolin on the small upper deck. The lanky Edgedancer seemed as eager as Adolin to be off the boat; Adolin had seen Godeke pacing more than once these last few days. Unfortunately, the responsible side of Adolin—drilled into him over years with his father—made him call for caution. “We don’t know the situation in this town yet,” he said to the others. “Last time I was in Shadesmar, the first town we entered ended up being held by the Fused. We should send some of the Lightweavers in, wearing disguises, to scout.” “You will not find danger here,” Ua’pam promised, rubbing his knuckles together in a curious gesture, making a sound like two rocks grinding. “These are free lands. Neither honorspren nor Fused control this outpost.” “Still,” Adolin said, looking to the others. “Humans, under the tarp until we’ve done some basic scouting.” Grumbling, they gathered their horses and moved into the large “room” under the tarps. Shallan was resting here already; most of them had opted to place their bedrolls here, where the tall boxes of cargo had been stacked to make various nooks and cubbies. Adolin nudged her. “Shallan? You all right?” The dark lump that was his wife stirred. “Might have had a little too much to drink last night.” Adolin smiled. The trip had been genuinely relaxing, save for his worry about their destination. It had been good to spend time with Shallan—and he had enjoyed even the appearances of Veil and Radiant. The latter made an excellent sparring partner, and the former knew a seemingly infinite number of card games. Some of which were good Vorin games, and others … well, they had too much randomness for propriety, but were more fun than Adolin had expected. It had culminated with Shallan pulling out an excellent Thaylen violet, Kdisln vintage,
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last night. As usual, she’d had a few more cups than Adolin. Shallan had a strange relationship with drink, one that varied based on her persona. But since she could burn off the effects using Stormlight, she theoretically could never be drunk unless she wanted to be. It baffled him why she would sometimes go to sleep like she did, risking the morning hangover. “I want someone to scout the town before we go in,” Adolin said. “You want me to send—” “I’ll go,” she said, climbing out of her bedroll. “Give me a few minutes.” True to her word, she was ready a short time later, wearing a Lightweaving that made her look like a cultivationspren. She took Vathah in a similar disguise, and the two of them disembarked with Ua’pam and his cousin to walk through the town. The rest of them waited under the tarp. Godeke fished in his pockets and brought out a few spheres. His personal money seemed to mostly have been chips—which had gone dun by this point. They’d seen a highstorm several times—storms manifested here as shimmering lights in the sky—but the spheres hadn’t been recharged. “Even the broam I brought is starting to fade,” Godeke noted, holding up the amethyst to give light to the darkness under the tarp. “The larger gemstones we brought probably won’t last until we reach the fortress, Brightlord.” Adolin nodded. They’d gone over the Stormlight budget a dozen times leading up to leaving. No matter how they’d been able to spin it, there wasn’t a way to reach Lasting Integrity with any Stormlight remaining. So the gifts they’d brought were things Syl said would be appreciated: newly written books, puzzles made of iron that could engage the mind for hours, and some weapons. There was one way they might have brought Stormlight that lasted longer. The Thaylens owned gemstones that were—because of their near-perfect structures—capable of retaining Stormlight over long time periods. The best of those had been used a year ago to capture one of the Unmade, and Jasnah wanted the others for experiments. Jasnah had mentioned something else about these near-flawless gemstones that troubled her. She found it odd that the gemstones in circulation as spheres were always so flawed that they lost Light quickly. She said that they should vary, and more perfect ones should be found on occasion—but that wasn’t the case. Why was she concerned by that? He pondered the question as he waited for Shallan, and tried to trace Jasnah’s thoughts. What if someone had been in the know, while everyone else thought gemstones were all basically the same? If you knew the supreme value of gemstones that could hold Stormlight over long trips through Shadesmar, you could spend years gathering them. He frowned, considering it. Finally, he glanced at Godeke, who was holding up one of his fading broams. “When you’re free to go into the city,” Adolin told him, “take most of our remaining Stormlight and do as we discussed. Trade it for supplies to use on the next leg of
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our trip—then spend the remainder to load up the barge.” Ua’pam’s cousin would wait at the town to guard their supplies. Adolin’s group only needed to carry enough to get to and from Lasting Integrity. Assuming everything went well with Shallan’s investigation of the town. As they waited, Adolin found himself feeling increasingly anxious. He felt like something was going to drop on him. Had the trip here been too easy? He passed the time checking on his soldiers and scribe. As they were in good spirits, Adolin checked on Maya. She sat in a little nook at the rear of the room, and Adolin had to pull out a gemstone—a thick sapphire, big as his thumb—to get enough light to see her. Maya stared at it. Her eyes had been scratched out by the events of the Recreance, but she could still see. She’d been blinded without going blind, killed without dying. The ways of spren were strange. “Hey,” he said, crouching down. “We’ll soon be able to go ashore.” She didn’t respond, as usual—though as one of the peakspren passed outside the tarp awning, she snapped her head to stare in that direction. “Anxious too, eh?” Adolin said. “We both need to calm down. Here.” He moved to where his things had been stored and took out his longsword, then fell into a stance. The ceiling of the tarp was a good foot over his head, and most everyone had clustered on the other side, near Godeke and the spheres. So he had some space for a basic kata. Each day, Maya joined him in his morning stretching routines, where he did a centering kata that Zahel had taught him years ago. Would she follow a different kata, if he showed it to her? A longsword was a bad imitation of a Shardblade, but it was the closest he had. He placed his sapphire on the top of his closed sword trunk for light, then fell into a slow, careful kata meant to teach thrusting practice. Nothing flashy, no stupid twirls or spins of the blade. A basic exercise, but one he’d done hundreds of times with his Shardblade on the practice grounds. This particular portion imitated hallway fighting, where you couldn’t swing too high or too far to the sides, lest you hit stone. So it was perfect for this enclosed space. Maya watched him, her head cocked. “You know this one,” he told her. “Remember? Hallway fighting. Practice with thrusts and controlled swings?” He started over, but slower. One motion flowing into the other. Step, good two-handed grip, lunge forward with a thrust, then reset while turning the other direction. Back and forth, a rhythm, a song without music. A fight without an opponent. Maya hesitantly stood up, so he paused. She walked over to him, inspecting his sword with her head still cocked. The fine intertwining vines of her face looked like sinew, a human face with the skin removed. She traced the length of the sword with her gaze. Adolin reset again. Maya carefully did the
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same beside him—and her form was perfect. Even Zahel on his worst day wouldn’t have found reason to reset her stance. Adolin slowly moved through the kata, and she followed—holding nothing but empty air, but moving in lockstep with him as he thrust, then reset, then turned. Conversation on the other side of the enclosure died off, spren and soldiers alike watching. Soon they faded from Adolin’s attention. It was just him, the sword, and Maya. The relaxing repetition made his tension melt away. Katas were about more than training; they were a way to focus. That was something every young swordsman needed to learn, whether he intended to fight in duels or lead a battlefield charge. Adolin felt sorry for those who had never known the centering peace of training; it could turn aside even the mightiest of storms. After some time—Adolin didn’t notice how much—Shallan ducked under the tarp. She’d dismissed her Lightweaving, so plainly didn’t consider them to be in any danger. Ua’pam, however, stared at Maya, the cracks in his skin pouring a molten light over the deck and the bottom of the tarp. Adolin finally stopped, Maya pausing beside him. As he relaxed and wiped his brow, she settled back down in her little cubby. Ua’pam walked up to him, scratching at his head in a distinctly human gesture. “Another kata?” he asked. “This is more than simple training. Truly, you must tell me. How have you done this? Each day, your training of her proves more remarkable.” Adolin shrugged, snatching a towel as Felt tossed it to him. “She remembers the times we’ve sparred together as man and Blade.” “She’s a deadeye,” Ua’pam said. “She was killed thousands of years ago. She doesn’t think. The trauma of her Radiant betraying her broke her mind.” “Yeah, well, maybe it’s wearing off.” “We are spren. We are eternal. Our deaths do not merely ‘wear off.’” Adolin tossed the towel back to Felt. “And spren were never going to bond humans again—yet here you are, Zu’s companion spren. Words like ‘eternal’ and ‘forever’ aren’t as definitive as you all pretend.” “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Ua’pam said. “And that might just be why Maya and I are able to do things you think impossible.” Adolin glanced at Shallan. “We’re good to go into town?” “No hints of Fused activity,” she said. “Lots of caravans come through here—some are even camped outside the town—and humans aren’t unusual in them. The spren at this waystop won’t consider us odd. We merely need to tell everyone we’re traders.” “Right then,” Adolin said. “Let’s all get off this boat and stretch our legs. Stay together in groups though, and don’t make trouble.” * * * Shallan continued to have a hangover. Her brain pounded, incessant, angry. A kind of “How could you?” accusation. She worried that now that they had reached land, she might attract painspren—which could be dangerous. This is your fault, Veil, Radiant thought at her. How could you let us go to sleep without burning off the wine? I
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wasn’t thinking straight, Veil thought. That’s kind of the point of drinking.… She can’t use Stormlight very well, Shallan thought. Don’t blame her. At least the pain was fading. When she’d taken in Stormlight to put on her illusory face, it had healed some of the agony. Stormlight was precious, however, and she’d used only what she needed to get her illusion going. She probably could spare a little more. No, Radiant thought. We should suffer, as our punishment for abusing drink. It’s not Shallan’s fault, Veil complained. She shouldn’t have to hurt because of what I did. I had more than a few cups myself, Shallan thought. So let’s drop this. The others—eager to get out and see the town—broke up into teams, though Adolin waited for her. They walked onto the simple stone dock and into the town—though “town” was a generous term for it. She’d been able to walk through all four streets in under half an hour. Still, although small, the place presented a shocking variety of spren, most of them coming from the five or six caravans that were camped here at the moment. Even from her perspective now, she was able to spot six different varieties. She’d taken some Memories to continue her natural history—and intended to go back out and get a few more. Plus, some of those caravans had humans in them. Who were they? How had they found their way to this side? Were they from other lands, like Azure? She longed to get back out and do closer inspections. Except … Veil said. You know. She did. This might be a chance to—after two weeks of travel—finally have some time alone. Indeed, Unativi’s sailors were drawing lots to determine who had to stay on the barge to guard it. Perhaps … “Go on ahead,” Veil said, pulling her hat on—from where it had been hanging behind her neck by its laces—so Adolin knew who she was. “I’ve had a chance to stretch my legs; I think I’ll rest a little more.” “You should drink less,” Adolin said. She poked him on the shoulder. “You should stop sounding like your father.” “Low blow, Veil,” he said with a wince. “But point taken. Watch our things.” He went and got Maya, who followed when he asked. He likely thought she needed to get some exercise or something. He was a little strange about that spren. I think the way he cares for her is sweet, Shallan thought. Maybe it was. But it was strange too. Veil sauntered over to Unativi. “You can all go, if you want,” she said to the group of peakspren. “I’m going to stay behind anyway, so I can watch the barge.” Unativi studied her, the light of his molten interior growing brighter through the cracks in his skin. “You stay? Why?” She shrugged. “I’ve had a chance already today. You can all go; the boat doesn’t need more than one guard. It’s not like there’s any danger here, right?” “If there were,” Unativi said, “you are Radiant. Better at
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facing it than a peakspren!” He turned to his sailors, who seemed eager. A couple of weeks on the same barge could make anyone bored of the scenery, including sailors. Soon, Veil was blessedly alone. So far this trip, she’d been alone only when using the chamber pot in the draped-off section beneath the tarp. Even that had been situated far too near everyone else for comfort. She— “Mmmmm…” She spun and found that of course Pattern was still there. Watching her. “Going to contact Mraize, Veil?” he asked with a peppy voice. “Mmm…” Yes, she was. All three were in agreement that they needed to talk to him, but it was uncomfortable how easily Pattern recognized this. “Stay here,” she said to him, “and make certain nobody interrupts me.” “Oh. I can’t listen?” His pattern slowed, seeming to almost wilt. “I like Mraize. He is very strange. Ha ha.” “It would be better if someone were to watch out for me,” Veil said. Then she sighed. “Though it might be good for you to listen to Mraize too. You might spot something untrue that he says.” “I do not think he says things that are fully untrue,” Pattern said. “Which makes his lies the best. Mmm. But I cannot tell automatically if something is a lie. I can simply appreciate them better than most, once I realize what they are.” Well, in Veil’s experience, he was more expert at noticing subterfuge than many humans. She waved for him to join her under the awning, still happy to be mostly alone. Part of her worried about that emotion. She’d lived a double life for basically the entire time she’d known Adolin—and it put a strain on Shallan. Worse, lying to herself was so ingrained it was becoming second nature. This is a problem, Shallan, Veil thought as she made her way back to her trunk. I’m getting better, Shallan retorted. No new personas in over a year now. And Formless? Radiant demanded. Formless isn’t real. Not yet, Shallan thought. We’re close to getting out of the Ghostbloods. One more mission, and we’re done. And Formless won’t manifest. Veil had her suspicions. And she had to admit, she was a big part of the problem herself. Shallan idealized how Veil was able to live so relaxed, without worrying about her past or the things she’d done. Indeed, Shallan conflated this attitude with the life the Ghostbloods lived. A life she was beginning to envy … Get answers, Shallan thought. Stop thinking about this. We need to contact Mraize before time runs out. Veil sighed, but positioned Pattern near the open front of the tarp enclosure. He would be able to hear the conversation with Mraize, but could warn her if someone came onto the barge. Then she unlocked her trunk of personal effects. Here she paused. Then she let Shallan take over for a few moments. Long enough to be certain. Yes, Shallan thought. It has been moved again. They’d checked it every day since that first time, and this was only the
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second time it had been moved. The night she’d gotten drunk. Inside, Radiant groaned in annoyance. Sorry, Veil thought, taking over. But we can’t watch it all the time. Besides, we want the spy to feel comfortable using it, right? So that we have more chances to catch them? Regardless, she couldn’t deny it felt creepy to know someone had snuck in and somehow used the cube while she was snoring a few feet away. She lifted the cube and inspected it. Other than having been set so a different face was up, nothing about it seemed different. How did she activate it? Mraize had said to use his name. “I need to speak to Mraize. Um, that’s actually his title rather than his name.…” The cube’s corners began to shine from a bright light inside, as if the metal were thinner there. “I know him,” the cube said, making Veil start. “You can talk!” she said. It didn’t reply. She frowned, looking closely at the seams—the glow shimmered and changed. A short time later a strong voice came from inside, making the cube quiver in her hands. “Little knife,” Mraize said. “I’ve been waiting.” * * * Adolin kept to his own rules, and didn’t wander off alone. He and Maya stuck close to his soldiers and scribe, who walked the small town in a tight cluster, laughing too loudly as they chatted—as if trying to prove they were absolutely not nervous to be in such a strange location. Normally he would have joined in to put them at ease, but he found himself weighed down by the seriousness of the task ahead of him. His worries were resurfacing, now that the voyage was over. He needed to prove he could bring the honorspren to the coalition. After failing at Kholinar, he just … he needed to do this. Not for his father. For the coalition. For the war. For his homeland. He tried to focus on the next step, which involved getting supplies at this waystop. It was basically a market, meant to cater to caravans and merchant ships. Like in Celebrant—the other spren city he’d visited—most of the buildings were made up of a mishmash of types of stone, speckled a variety of colors. Manifested building materials. Real rock and metal were far more valuable here, as they had to be transported in through a portal like the Oathgates. There was no cohesive sense of architecture to the buildings. Azish influences were most common, but spren took what they could get, and so ended up with a patchwork of designs and styles. Most of the spren running the shops appeared to be cultivationspren. They called out offers in Azish or Alethi, offering fresh water or food supplies they knew humans might want. Browsing the goods were spren of all varieties. Of those, he found the ashspren the most transfixing. They looked like people, but their flesh would crumble off at times, exposing bone. As he passed one, she snapped her fingers, making all the ash of her hand blow
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away and vanish—then it quickly grew back. He even spotted a couple of highspren, like tears in reality in the shape of people. He gave them a wide berth, though they seemed to be just another pair of merchants. Spren clothing was as eclectic as their building materials. He passed one peakspren wearing a Veden uniform coat over a Tashikki wrap, of all things. It should have been garish—and certainly Adolin would never have worn any of it together—but he didn’t find himself bothered. They’d taken human clothing and made it their own; why should they follow the trends of kingdoms in another world? In that way, there was something fresh and interesting about the fashion here. Like the work of a talented but untrained artist. They came up with combinations that no member of Adolin’s culture could ever have dared imagine. Though, he thought, passing a tall willowy spren of a type he didn’t recognize, someone ought to tell that one what a protective cup is used for on our side.… His soldiers stopped to browse a weapon shop, though he’d warned them that they shouldn’t rely on manifested weapons. Still, it was difficult not to stare at the sheer variety of swords on display. In the Physical Realm a masterwork sword was an expensive purchase—and it often surprised people how valuable even an everyday side sword could be. Here though, manifesting a sword took roughly the same amount of Stormlight as manifesting a brick, so you could find them in barrels or stacked in piles outside shops. This bizarre economy would certainly fascinate Shallan. He’d heard they kept near-perfect gemstones in spren banks, storing vast amounts of Stormlight for future use. And of course, having so many humans nearby had attracted small emotion spren, Shadesmar’s equivalent of animals. Gloryspren darted overhead, and fearspren huddled in alleyways looking like large, multi-legged eels with long, globby antennae. A long flying spren with mustaches and a graceful body landed on the top of a building, then leaped off, ejecting an explosion of tiny crystalline shards that floated down and vanished. Was that a passionspren? He’d have to tell Shallan. He turned toward the distant barge, where Shallan remained. Maya dutifully stopped beside him, but just stared straight ahead with her scratched-out eyes. “I wonder why she stayed behind,” Adolin said. “It’s odd for her to want to rest when there’s so much to see.” Maya didn’t respond. That didn’t prevent him from talking to her. She had a … relaxing air about her. “Veil probably is in control,” Adolin said. “She’s worried about our things being stolen, I bet. Shallan says the other two exist to protect her or help her, and I see that. I want to understand. I don’t want to be like the others, who whisper about her being crazy and laugh.” He looked to Maya, who looked back. “It’s silly of me to be jealous of the time Veil controls her, isn’t it?” Adolin said. “Shallan created Veil as a tool. It’s just … I don’t know if I’m
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doing this right. I don’t know how to be supportive.” He wasn’t good with relationships. He never had been. He could admit that to himself now. He’d been in dozens, and they’d all fallen apart—so he had all kinds of experience doing this wrong, but very little doing it right. He wanted to do it right. He loved Shallan, in part because of her eccentricities. She felt alive in a different way from everyone else—she was also somehow more authentic. She was stuffed full of personas and covered in illusions. Yet incredibly, she felt more real because of them. Adolin lingered, not wanting to get ahead of the others, and wished he could shove his hands in his pockets. Unfortunately, this uniform’s pockets were sewn shut. The trousers looked better that way. He knew why he was feeling so off. Seeing another spren settlement reminded him of the last time they’d come to Shadesmar. When he’d been forced to leave Elhokar dead in his palace, the city fallen. Worse, Adolin had accidentally abandoned his troops to face the invasion while he ended up in Shadesmar. He wasn’t one to stew and brood … but storms, if there was a man who deserved his place in Damnation, it was the general who left his men to die. Adolin was drawn out of his brooding as he realized Maya was staring to the side, focused on something. That was odd enough, as she didn’t often pay much attention to her surroundings. But when he drew closer, he saw what had transfixed her. It was another deadeye. This deadeye was a Cryptic who stood beside a storefront. Cryptics didn’t have eyes, but there was no mistaking that the creature had suffered Maya’s fate: the pattern had halted completely, the normally graceful lines twisted and turned in jagged directions, like broken fingers. The same odd scraping marred its center. Maya released a kind of low whine from deep in her throat. “I’m sorry,” Adolin said. “I know it’s distressing. Let’s move on quickly.” She took his arm as he tried to walk off, which shocked him. It seemed to surprise her too, as she looked down at her hands holding his arm, then cocked her head. She held on and turned toward the deadeye Cryptic, pulling him. It was as if she wanted to say something. His men were still shopping, so Adolin turned in the direction Maya wanted, heading toward the store with the deadeye. Like most he’d seen here in Shadesmar, the shop was open-sided—an awning in front of a small building where the shopkeepers probably lived. There weren’t storms to worry about here, so structures tended to have open-air designs that left Adolin feeling exposed. The shopkeeper was an inkspren. Adolin had heard that there were fewer of them than there were of other varieties, and they kept to themselves. The creature was jet black, even reflective, like he was made out of stone—but with an oil-on-water shimmer of color when the light hit him right. He sold books, which he kept carefully
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on shelves, not in stacks and piles like many other shops. “You are Alethi,” he said, inspecting Adolin. He spoke with a sharp nasal accent. “And you are male. You have no need for books. This is.” “I wanted to ask after your deadeye,” Adolin said, nodding to the Cryptic. “A friend she was,” the shopkeeper said, his voice terse. “Back when there were Radiants.” “No. A sooner time that was. My partner in business, once.” He frowned. “Do you know something of this, human? The danger that is?” “What danger?” “New deadeyes,” the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. “Radiants should not have started again. Do you know that this thing is? In your kingdom it began, did it not?” “I don’t know of any Radiants betraying their oaths,” Adolin said. “You’re sure about this?” The inkspren waved to his friend. “She was my partner for many centuries. She left ten years ago to join others hunting for Radiants. Last year I found her like this, sitting alone on an island far to the east. She insisted on coming out this direction—at least, she walked this way incessantly. So I set up shop here.” “You’re sure,” Adolin said. “That she was afflicted like this recently.” “My memory is not flawed,” the inkspren said. “This is what you do, killing spren. You should feel ashamed.” He looked at Maya. “Is this another you killed?” “Of course not,” Adolin said. “I…” He trailed off, not wanting to say too much. He’d instructed everyone to be circumspect. But … a new deadeye? That seemed impossible. Maybe … maybe some young new Surgebinder out in the backwaters of Bavland could have been left without support or friends, and had broken their oaths. It wasn’t too outlandish; the more they learned, the more they realized that Kaladin, Jasnah, and Shallan hadn’t been unique in forming new Radiant bonds these last few years. A general revolution had been happening all across Roshar, with spren sensing the coming of the Everstorm, and some returning to bond with humans. He got nothing but more frosty accusations from the inkspren, so he returned to the street—and Maya let him. Had she somehow known this deadeye was strange? Was that why she’d wanted him to go in and talk to the shopkeeper? He moved to join his men, but stopped as he saw Godeke and his spren hastening up the street. The former ardent had a graceful way about him as he arrived and fluidly bowed. “Brightlord, I think you’ll want to see this.” “What? It’s not another deadeye spren, is it?” “No,” Godeke said. “It’s the humans.” But this does not get to the core of your letter. I have encouraged those who would speak to me to heed your warnings, but all seem content to ignore Odium for the time being. In their opinion, he is no threat as long as he remains confined in the Rosharan system. Light shimmered in the strange cube, seeping through at the corners as Mraize spoke. Veil watched, and suddenly felt disjointed—trapped between two
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moments. This experience … she’d done this before. She’d been here, kneeling on the ground, holding a cube that glowed from the corners. Exactly like this. She reached to the top of the cube, feeling the smooth metal, and expected it to be dimpled. She cocked her head, inspecting her fingers as she lifted them up and rubbed them against her thumb. This was wrong.… She glanced over her shoulder, and saw the enclosure beneath the tarp. She was on a mission into Shadesmar. Why should she expect to see gardens behind her? Her father’s gardens? Veil faded into Shallan. These memories … these were something lost to her. From the years leading up to her … her mother’s death. That twisted, knotted, overgrown time in her brain, hidden behind carefully cultivated flower beds. When she sorted through her memories, it didn’t feel like anything was missing. Yet she knew from other clues that there were holes. Remember, Veil thought. Remember. She’d trained with Pattern as a child. She’d spoken oaths. She’d summoned a Shardblade and struck down her own mother, frantic to survive. And—she looked back at the cube—she’d held one of these? She gripped the cube tightly, becoming hyperfocused on Mraize’s voice. She couldn’t think about the past. She couldn’t. Unfortunately, the sounds coming out of the cube seemed garbled to her. Her mind fixated on each syllable alone, and she couldn’t understand the Alethi as a language—it was instead a jumble of sounds. She shook herself, and the barge seemed to lurch beneath her. She gasped, forcing Veil to take over, and Mraize’s words started to make sense. “… have been careful,” Mraize was saying, “not to attract attention in this communication?” “I…” Veil said. “Of course I did this in secret. You know me better than that.” What had he been saying before? She’d missed it entirely. “It is always good,” he said, “to reinforce the behavior you want, little knife. In people as in axehounds. Your report?” “We have landed,” she said, “and the others went out to explore a small dockside town here on the coast. We have several weeks’ further travel via caravan, hopefully as uneventful as these, before reaching the fortress.” “Have you learned anything of interest about your fellow Radiants?” “Nothing I’d report to you, Mraize,” Veil said. “Mostly I wanted to make sure this cube of yours worked.” She considered. “What happens again if I pry the thing open?” “You will immediately destroy the spren that lives inside,” Mraize said. “You can’t kill spren.” “I didn’t say kill.” She held up the cube. Light escaped from the corners—had the cube opened a little? “Perhaps I do have a tidbit for you,” she said. “Something I might be willing to trade for information about this cube.” “That is not your mission, nor our arrangement, little knife,” Mraize said—sounding amused. “The hound does not withhold affection to get her feast. She performs first, and then receives her reward.” “You tell me to be the hunter, not the prey,” Veil said. “Yet snap at me
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when I show initiative?” “Initiative is wonderful, and your possession of it is commendable. However, our organization survives based on principles of hierarchy. A group of hunters working together could turn upon one another far too easily. “And so, I respect my babsk, and you respect me. We do not strike against our own, and we do not negotiate upward. To do otherwise is to invite anarchy. So continue to hunt, but do not think to hold hostage your results. Now, is there anything else to report on the mission that might be relevant?” He didn’t press her further on information about the other Radiants; so in essence, he conceded that point. She hadn’t been assigned to report on them, and he knew he had no right to press for that information. Note this fact, Veil thought. There is wiggle room in this arrangement, despite what he implies. “There have been some odd spren watching us,” Veil noted. “I only catch glimpses of them, but they seem the wrong color. As if they’d been corrupted.” “Curious,” Mraize said. “Sja-anat extends her influence. I am still waiting for the spren she promised would bond me.” “She promised to send a spren,” Veil said. “Not that the spren would choose you. Do not blame Shallan if you fail to secure what you want.” “And yet, Sja-anat spies on you during this trip. These spren you see? What can you tell me about them?” “They’re all the same variety, and they stay far away or obscured somehow. None of the others on our trip have seen them, though I’ve warned my team to watch for them.” “Sja-anat is important, little hunter,” Mraize said. “We must bind her to us. A spren of Odium willing to betray him? An ancient creature with equally ancient knowledge? I give you this secondary mission. Watch for these spren closely, and make contact if you can.” “I will,” Veil said. “Is there news of the tower or of Dalinar’s invasion?” “Oh, things here are subject to their usual flares of activity and surprise,” Mraize said. “Nothing unexpected for those who have been paying attention. I will let you know if anything here requires your involvement.” Veil nodded, feeling distracted as the sensation of holding the cube overcame her once more. She forced Shallan to take control again, to see the shadows of reflections of memories. She breathed in and out, trying to force herself to remain strong. To not run. Should she ask Mraize whether he knew anything of her past, and whether she’d ever communicated this way before? He’d be unlikely to answer, but that wasn’t why she hesitated. I don’t want to know, she thought. Instead she said, “I will contact you once we have traveled a distance on the caravan.” “Very well,” Mraize said. “Again, I must emphasize: Watch for any signs of these corrupted gloryspren. I worry that Sja-anat is playing us both, and I do not like the feeling.” Shallan almost dropped the cube in surprise. She intentionally hadn’t mentioned the specific variety of spren.
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Yet he called them gloryspren. HA! Veil thought. Oh, storms, Radiant thought. Veil’s plan worked. She’s going to be insufferable now. Insufferable? I’m incredible. Mraize has fallen into a common trap—that of being so clever, you start forgetting your fundamentals. Always question your information. “Understood,” Shallan forced herself to say. “I will keep diligent watch.” The glow in the cube faded. She carefully set it back in the chest, then took another Memory of it there before locking the lid. Word had gotten to Mraize, and the false tidbit—that she’d seen a gloryspren watching her—had revealed the truth. Beryl was the spy. * * * The humans that Godeke had found were an unexpected lot. They didn’t appear to be soldiers, but common workers with brown skin and black hair, both male and female. You found some Vorin people with that skin tone, but more likely you’d find it in midlands. Marat, Tukar, the Reshi Isles. They wore simple clothing of a cut Adolin thought he recognized as being from southeastern Makabak. It had colors similar to Azish patterns, but the cloth was thicker and coarser, the outfits more enveloping, with braided tassels that hung low from the waist. Yes, he thought. They look like they’re from Marat, or maybe Tukar. Multiple caravans had made camps outside town, and all the others had spren occupants. As Adolin and Godeke had passed, those had waved or gestured in friendly ways. One had even called out to Archinal—Godeke’s spren—recognizing her. This human camp, by contrast, was an unwelcoming place. While the spren camps had manifested fires, this one was dark, lit by neither flame nor Stormlight. The human caravan had brought no pack animals, but the people had piled their things in the center of camp while some of their number slept. The rest of them, mostly men with cudgels resting on shoulders, watched the perimeter. “Who are they?” Adolin asked softly, watching from beside the wall of a small shop. The landscape outside the town was relatively barren, an open field of obsidian with some small crystalline plants growing in clusters, bobbing with lifespren—which were larger on this side. “Traders from another land perhaps?” Archinal said. The short cultivationspren wrung her hands. “Oh, it does happen, and more and more these days. People come in caravans seeking to trade. They like your wines, human brightlord. And many have heard tales of your weapons, and I’ve known several to ask to trade for one! As if a Shardblade would be available for purchase.” “Other lands,” Adolin said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe some other traders you met are from far away, but these are wearing Marati or Tukari clothing. They seem like locals to me—but if that’s the case, I’m left wondering how they got here. We only recently learned how to cross into Shadesmar, and it requires the aid of a Radiant. How did a trading caravan from our world slip through into here?” “That’s why I fetched you,” Godeke said. “Something feels off about the whole group.” “They could still be foreigners,” Archinal
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said. “They could be wearing manifested clothing they traded for while here. Oh! You mustn’t assume that what you see here relates to what you know from your life, human highprince.” “We could ask them, right?” Godeke said. “See if they’ll talk to us?” The two exchanged a look, and then Adolin shrugged. Why not? He walked out, joined by Godeke and his spren, Maya trailing along behind. He was noticed immediately by the caravaneers. One pointed, and a small group rushed up. The lighting of this place—with that distant sun, but strangely omnipresent illumination—played tricks on Adolin’s eyes. The shadows stretched the wrong way, and distance was harder to judge. So Adolin was accustomed to things feeling off. Even with that considered, the way these people seemed to be constantly wreathed in shadow … it was unnerving. As they stepped up, he felt like he could see only hints of features, and no matter which way they turned, the pits of their faces—the eye sockets, the lines along their noses—were always dark. He saw occasional glimpses of their eyes. They spoke to him in a language he didn’t know. “Do you speak Alethi?” he asked. “Or Veden?” “Gthlebn Thaylen?” Godeke asked. “Alethi?” one of the men said. “Go away, Alethi.” Yes, that was a Tukari accent. “We just want to chat,” Adolin said. “We haven’t seen other humans here. We thought it would be nice to talk to others.” “Go away,” the man repeated. “We not talk.” Adolin glanced past him, to where some of the humans had moved to fish among their goods. Though the people he spoke with carried cudgels, he caught a glint of reflected light among the others. They were carrying real weapons, but didn’t want to hold them openly. “Fine,” Adolin said. “Suit yourselves.” He and the others retreated to the town. The Tukari watched them all the way. “Those were Tukari,” Godeke said. “Yeah,” Adolin said. “Their country is led by a man claiming to be a god—who is actually a Herald. Father is planning to push the singer army in Emul down to crush them against those zealots. A hammer-and-anvil advance.” Were these strange travelers somehow connected to that business in Tukar? Or was it a coincidence? Adolin met up with his soldiers, and they walked back toward the barge. They’d want to get on with unloading their supplies and making camp. Archinal had been to the honorspren stronghold before, and was confident she could lead them there. It shouldn’t be difficult; if they simply followed the coast to the west, they’d eventually end up at the place. As they approached the barge, however, Adolin slowed. A figure was speaking to Unativi in front of the barge—a figure of white, tinted blue. Tall, distinguished. Adolin was accustomed to seeing this spren in a sharp uniform, not a buttoned shirt and trousers, but it was the same person. “Is that an honorspren?” Godeke asked. “Yes,” Adolin said, continuing forward. “That’s Notum. The captain of the ship we sailed on last time we were in Shadesmar.”
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It seemed his confrontation with the honorspren might happen sooner than he’d planned. * * * Shallan finished sketching by the light of gemstones, still sitting underneath the canopy. The locked chest beside her held the strange communications device, now re-created in her sketches. She’d attracted a few spren out of the ocean. Creationspren, which here were little swirling shapes of changing colors of light. They evoked different impressions, often faces. But they were small, and easy to treat like spren in the Physical Realm. She shooed them away as Pattern sat down beside her. “Mmmm…” he said. “You have drawn the same cube four times, Shallan. Are you well?” “No,” she said, “but this isn’t a sign of that.” She flipped through her sketchbook. “Someone has been moving this cube. Between times I get it out.” Pattern’s pattern slowed to almost a crawl. “You are certain?” “Yes,” she said, showing him the sketches. “There’s a scratch on this side near the corner, and that face was up yesterday—but it’s to the side today.” “Mmmm…” he said. “That is a very fine detail. One nobody else would have noticed.” “Yeah,” she said. Her drawings were eerily accurate. Supernaturally so, even. “Beryl is the spy. I have evidence of this, and I know she’s been contacting Mraize with the cube. I’m extremely curious how she activated it without drawing attention. Did you see her doing it?” “No,” he said. “I did not.” “Well, it’s a relief to know who it is,” Shallan said—and was surprised to find that it was. She could accept this, the traitor being the new girl. Shallan had begun to retreat at the idea of it being Vathah or Ishnah. Beryl. She could accept it being Beryl. That hurt—being betrayed would always hurt—but it could have been worse. Damnation, Veil thought. What? Shallan thought. What’s wrong? Does this feel too easy? Veil asked. Too convenient? Veil, Radiant thought. You went to all this trouble to seed the information and find the spy. Now you’re questioning? I just mentioned fundamentals, Veil replied. We need to question every bit of information, and ask ourselves if we’re being fed it. I need to think about this more. Shallan sighed, then shook her head. If Veil hadn’t gotten them drunk, then maybe they’d have caught Beryl. She started sketching again, the cube one more time—but this time adding dimples to the top. Did she remember? Did she want to remember? “Shallan?” Pattern said. “Mmm … Something is wrong, isn’t it? Something more than there being a spy among us?” “I don’t know,” she said, rubbing her forehead. The remnants of her earlier hangover throbbed in the back of her mind. “Do … you remember me ever using a cube like this one when I was younger?” “Mmm. No?” “I did,” Shallan said. “I don’t know how, but I did. I can’t make sense of my own memories though.” “Perhaps … I can help you? Remember?” She stared at the sketchbook. “Shallan,” Pattern said. “I’m worried about you. Mmm. You say you’re getting better,
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but I worry. Adolin agrees, though I don’t think he sees what I do.” “What do you see?” she asked softly. “Something else looking out of your eyes, sometimes. Something new. It comes out when … when I try to talk about your past. So I’m afraid to do it. Sometimes you tease that you want me to say more. Then those other eyes see me.” “There’s another truth,” Shallan whispered. “Another…” “Another…” She squeezed her eyes shut. Veil, take over. But— Veil found herself in control again, and heard voices drifting in from outside the barge. Adolin, strong and confident. Veil didn’t love him like Shallan did, but she knew right then that they needed to be near him. Shallan needed to be near him. No, Shallan thought from deep within. No. He’ll hate me. He’ll hate … what I did.… Veil went to be near him anyway. But she couldn’t find it in herself to tell him of Shallan’s fears—she would not risk pain she wasn’t certain Shallan could handle. She couldn’t risk giving more meat to Formless, and so remained silent. * * * “So it is you,” Notum said to Adolin. “You did not learn from your last excursion into this land? You had to return?” Notum appeared as an Alethi man, sturdy and tall, with close-cropped hair and a militaristic attitude. He had a beard a little like that of a Horneater, with prominent sideburns running down his cheeks, but with an additional thin mustache. It, along with his simple clothing, was all part of him. Though some spren wore manifested clothing, honorspren created it from their own substance. Notum’s face was impassive, but his words dripped with condescension. Why wasn’t he wearing his captain’s uniform? Was he on leave? His ship certainly wasn’t anywhere nearby. The spren—as extremely formal as Adolin remembered him being—clasped his hands behind his back to wait for a reply, reminding Adolin of his father. Adolin waved for his soldiers to stay back, though Maya stuck by his side as he stepped closer to Notum. The honorspren gave her barely a glance; they tended to ignore deadeyes. “I’ve been sent on a diplomatic mission, Notum,” Adolin said, “to visit Lasting Integrity. I’m representing the new orders of Radiants and my father, the king of Urithiru. Our monarchs have sent letters of introduction. We hope to forge a new alliance.” The honorspren opened his eyes wide and drew in a sharp breath—something spren only did for effect, as they didn’t normally breathe. “What?” Adolin said. “It’s that surprising?” “It wouldn’t be polite for me to interrupt,” Notum said. “Please continue your insane rant.” “We merely want to enter a dialogue,” Adolin said. “Regularize diplomatic relations between the human world and the spren one. It’s a perfectly reasonable request.” The street nearby emptied as spren gave a wide berth to the honorspren. They’d glance at him and veer in another direction. He wasn’t liked here. His presence was suffered, but not enjoyed. “Let me posit a similar situation for you,” he said to Adolin.
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“A criminal, on the run, has stolen a precious memento from the king—his beloved goblet, perhaps. A memory of his lost wife. Would it be reasonable for this thief to stroll up to the palace one day and try to normalize relations between him and the king? Would that instead not be idiocy?” “We took nothing from the honorspren.” “Save the Stormfather’s most precious daughter.” “Syl made that choice,” Adolin said. “Even the Stormfather has acknowledged that. Besides, if she’s so precious, maybe you all could listen to her once in a while.” Maya growled softly at this comment, which drew both Adolin and Notum to glance at her. Sounds from a deadeye were always an oddity. “The Stormfather,” Notum said, “won’t be much help to you. Now that he’s agreed to be bound, the honorspren no longer revere him as they once did. They think he must have been wounded by the death of Honor, and that wound is now manifesting as irrational behavior. So yes, he no longer commands the return of the Ancient Daughter. But do not think that will make the honorspren welcome you.” “As soon as someone they respect tells them something reasonable, they cast him aside?” Adolin asked. “Spren are supposed to be better than men.” “I wish that were so,” Notum said, his voice quieter. “Prince Adolin. I am not an unreasonable person. You know this. I seek only to do my duty, the best I can. Still, I can tell you exactly what will happen if you approach Lasting Integrity. You will be turned away. Even friends of the honorspren are not allowed into the fortress currently, and you are anything but a friend. “To many there, you are a criminal. Your entire race is one of criminals. It isn’t about the Ancient Daughter so much as it is about what you did to us.” Notum nodded his chin toward Maya. “Again, we did nothing to them,” Adolin said, keeping his tone calm through sheer force of will. “Maya and the others were killed thousands of years ago.” “Not even a single lifetime to many spren,” Notum said. “We have long memories, Prince Adolin. Perhaps you would not be blamed, save for the fact that your people have returned to those oaths. You have not learned from the past, and are restarting the abomination, bonding spren and risking their lives.” “These Radiants won’t do what those of the past did,” Adolin said. “Look, for thousands of years before the Recreance, spren and humans got along. Will we let one event wipe that all out?” “One event?” Notum said. “One event that caused eight genocides, Prince Adolin. Pause and think on that. Nearly every honorspren was bound, and those were all killed. Can you imagine the betrayal? The pain of being murdered by the person you trusted with your life? Your very soul? Men die, and their souls travel to the Spiritual Realm to meld with deity. But what of us?” He waved to Maya, standing in her rags, eyes scratched away. “We are left,”
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Notum said, “to wander Shadesmar as dead souls, unable to think or talk. Our bodies are used, screaming, as weapons by the descendants of the ones who killed us. It was not a simple mistake that led us to this state, but a coordinated and calculated betrayal of oaths. “Your people are criminals. The sole reason there was no swift retribution was because you killed every spren who could have acted against you. Do not go to Lasting Integrity. They will not accept letters from your kings and queens. They will not even speak to you.” Notum turned and stalked toward a small caravan set up outside. Judging by the organized layout—and the two uniformed Reachers guarding the perimeter—Adolin guessed it was Notum’s own caravan. “Captain,” Adolin called after him. “Perhaps my task is doomed as you say. However, I can’t help but think that it would be helped if we had someone vouch for my intentions. Perhaps a respected honorspren, a ship’s captain and military man. Someone who understands the urgency of our mission.” Notum froze, then turned on his heel, his head cocked. “Ship’s captain? You didn’t see my clothing?” “You’re … on leave?” “I was removed from duty,” Notum said, “for letting the Ancient Daughter go after capturing her. I spent five months in prison, and when I was released I was demoted to the lowest rank an honorspren can hold. I’ve been assigned to spend two centuries patrolling the empty land between here and Lasting Integrity, traveling back and forth endlessly. I am not allowed to set foot in Lasting Integrity. I can see it, but not enter.” “Until when?” Adolin asked. “Until … your patrol is done?” “Until never, Prince Adolin. I am exiled.” He looked up at the sky, where shimmering lights revealed a highstorm beginning to pass in the Physical Realm. “I knew what I was doing, what I was tempting, when I let you go. At least tell me, did you save him? The Bondsmith?” Adolin swallowed, his mouth having gone dry. Exiled for eternity? Because he had done the right thing? Adolin had known not to expect the honorspren of Lasting Integrity to be like Syl was, but he’d been expecting to be able to speak with people such as Notum. Tough, strict, but ultimately fair-minded people capable of listening to reason. But if they had treated Notum—who had seemed the ultimate embodiment of propriety and honor—in such a terrible way … Stormwinds. Notum was still waiting for an answer. He’d let Syl and the rest of them go because Kaladin had insisted they needed to rescue Dalinar. Adolin wanted to offer some kind of quick assurance that Notum’s sacrifice had been vital … but the words wouldn’t come out. This spren deserved honesty. “He saved us, Notum,” Adolin said. “My father didn’t ultimately end up needing our help—though I think that Shallan and Kaladin helped turn the battle when we arrived.” Notum nodded. “I am marching along this road toward Lasting Integrity, but will be forced to turn back when I draw
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near. Perhaps we will meet again along the path, human prince, and I can dissuade you from this course.” He continued on. Ua’pam and Zu were already on the barge, and they’d apparently arranged for Adolin’s party to set up in one of the several camps established outside town. So Adolin joined the others as they unloaded their gear—helping with the horses, then moving his weapons—all the while lost in thought. Adolin had been useless in that battle at Thaylen City. The world was about gods and Radiants now, not handsome young lighteyes who fancied themselves skilled with the sword. Best thing he could do was accept that, then find a different way to be useful. He would find a way to get the honorspren to listen to him. Somehow. I do not share their attitude. If you can, as you suppose, maintain Odium’s prison for now, it would give us necessary time to plan. This is a threat beyond the capacity of one Shard to face. Even weeks after first meeting one, Venli caught herself staring at the new brand of Fused. These ones—called the makay-im, or “Those Ones of the Depths”—had access to one of her same Surges: the ability to turn stone into a liquid. The Deepest Ones had smooth skin, no hair, and barely any carapace—just shells over their heads and genitals. This put their vibrant patterns on display across the full lengths of their sinuous bodies. Long-legged and long-armed, they reminded Venli of her current form, which was tall without reaching the unnatural willowy level of Raboniel and the builders like her. The makay-im wore open-fronted robes, if they wore anything at all. They stayed aloof from the rest of the strike team as they moved through the frozen mountain passes. After weeks of traveling together, Venli still hadn’t been addressed directly by one of the Deepest Ones—though the pace Raboniel set left little time for chitchat. These mountains, as far as Venli could tell, weren’t claimed by any particular kingdom. The isolated valleys were too inaccessible from the outside. Her team had been dropped in by Heavenly Ones several weeks before, then left to travel the rest of the way to Urithiru on foot. The human fortress lay somewhere in here—presumed hidden and unassailable. Windrunner patrols made it impossible to fly in too close, but Raboniel felt that a small group of ground troops—moving carefully at night or during storms—would be able to approach the lower tunnels to the tower unseen. So it was that Venli joined the rest of the group in moving out from the shadow of tree cover, crossing the stone ground. As on other days, Raboniel set a characteristically difficult pace, though Venli knew she wouldn’t start to feel tired until they’d been going for a few hours. The ancient scholar had changed from stately robes into travel leathers suitable for battle, her topknot of pure red-orange hairstrands spilling down around her otherwise carapace-covered skull. She urged the group forward, increasingly eager. They were nearing the tower; only a few days now.
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This highland valley was mostly barren, supporting just the most rugged of rockbuds and the occasional clump of squat trees, their branches interwoven to create a storm-resistant snarl. Though leaves on these trees would retract before storms, the branches remained firm and interlocked. There wasn’t a single lifespren in sight, though coldspren lined the ground, pointing toward the sky. As one might expect, there were more rockbuds on the leeward slopes, but blasted scars of black ground and burned patches showed that when the Everstorm came through, it did not temper its fury. The heights seemed to suffer more lightning strikes than the lowlands did. She hiked more quickly to pass the soldiers and position herself next to the Deepest Ones. She liked watching them, because they melded with the stone, even as they moved. The bright azure light of Honor’s Moon revealed thirty figures, some in rippling robes, sliding across the ground while standing. It wasn’t quite like the shetel-im, the Flowing Ones, who could slide across any surface as if it were slick. This was something different. The Deepest Ones stood with their feet sunken into the ground up past their ankles. They moved like nothing Venli had ever seen. Like sticks in a current following a powerful highstorm, as if the stone were pushing them along while they stood perfectly still. Their eyes glowed red—like those of all Fused and Regals—but theirs seemed a more sinister, dark shade. “They interest you, I’ve noticed,” a voice said from Venli’s side. She jumped, and turned to find Raboniel walking alongside her. Venli attuned Anxiety, and Timbre thrummed within her, worried. Had she been paying too much attention? Would it be seen as suspicious? She lowered her head and hummed to Agony. Already she worried this mission risked exposing her bond. “No need to be ashamed,” Raboniel said to Conceit. “Curiosity is welcome in singers. It is a worthy Passion, Last Listener.” Venli held Anxiety as she walked—at a swift hike—beneath Raboniel’s gaze. She intended to serve this Fused well, as Leshwi had asked. Of the staff, only Venli was Regal, so only she could make this difficult trip. So far, she had served the femalen in quiet capacities: setting out her bedroll at night, fetching water for her to drink. She hadn’t been given many other duties, and had barely been addressed. She’d begun to think that serving Raboniel would be—if not easy—at least uneventful. Why was she now drawing the femalen’s attention? “You are such an odd choice by Leshwi,” Raboniel said. “When I discovered just who had been given as my new Voice … To so many, you are merely the child of traitors. Yet Leshwi gave you honor. Named you Last Listener.” “She was kind, Ancient One.” “She thinks highly of you,” Raboniel said. “Fused are not kind; they reward competence and Passion. Even if one is the daughter of traitors. I should have expected Leshwi’s Voice to be someone … irregular. She is among the most clever and capable of the Heavenly Ones.” “She … might dispute
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that, Ancient One.” “Yes, I realize how much work she does to make others underestimate her.” Raboniel said it to Satisfaction. “She is dangerous, and that is good.” She looked to Venli and blinked her red eyes once, humming softly to Satisfaction. Timbre thrummed within Venli. Raboniel knew too much. She’d plainly discerned that Venli was a spy for Leshwi. But how much more had Raboniel figured out? Surely she didn’t know the full truth. “Tell me,” Raboniel said. “What about the Deepest Ones interests you so? Why do you spend hours staring at them?” “I find their powers fascinating,” Venli said—best not to lie until she had to. “Nine brands of Fused,” Raboniel said. “Nine Surges. You know of the Surges?” “The innate forces by which all life, all reality, are connected. Gravitation. Transportation. Transformation. But … I thought there were ten?” “That is human talk,” Raboniel said to Derision. “They claim a tenth, of Honor alone. Adhesion is not a true Surge, but a lie that was presented to us as one. True Surges are of both Honor and Cultivation—Cultivation for life, Honor to make the Surge into natural law. Things must fall to the ground, so they created Surges to make it happen.” “And the Surge of these ones?” Venli asked, gesturing toward the Deepest Ones. “Cohesion,” Raboniel said. “The Surge of Axial Connection—the Surge that binds the smallest pieces of all objects to one another. The Surge that holds us together. The makay-im can meld their essence into the essences of other things, intermingling their axi. All things are mostly emptiness, though we cannot see that it is so. A stone, like a mind, exists to be filled by thought and Investiture.” Venli hummed to Craving. Answers. Finally, answers. She didn’t know what half of any of this meant, but to have one of the Fused answer so easily … It excited her, though Timbre thrummed to Caution. “The Radiants each have two Surges,” Venli said. “The Fused each have one. So are the Radiants more powerful?” “Powerful? Is it better to have more abilities, or to have one ability handled expertly? We of the Fused know our Surge with an intimacy a Radiant will never know. Humans. They were not created for this world, these Surges, or the storms. Light leaks from humans like water through fingers. They get flares of great power, but cannot hold what they have. “One of the Fused can contain Light and bask in it indefinitely. Even a Regal such as you knows this power in a lesser way—most don’t know it, but you contain a small amount of Voidlight in your gemheart. You can’t use it actively, of course, but you might have felt it enflaming your emotions. “As for Fused, our dominance over our Surge is eternal. Where humans visit, we reign.” She gestured toward the Deepest Ones. “Can any Radiant claim to know the stones as these do, melding with rock, mixing their very axi? Radiants are so outwardly focused. They change the world, but ignore themselves. Yes, a
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Radiant can cast a stone into the sky, but the shanay-im can soar without worry of ever dropping.” Venli hummed to Craving, though she wasn’t certain she agreed. Although she had been timid about using her Radiant powers in Kholinar, they excited her. Timbre said that she would be able to move stone, shape it. She glanced at the Deepest Ones, who moved so quietly, so smoothly. Next to them, Venli’s own hiking gait—and that of the five hundred stormform soldiers marching behind—felt awkward. And she did feel envy at the way they flowed. So … why was it that the powers manifested differently in Radiants than they did in Fused? She attuned Annoyance as she considered what Raboniel had said. Each answer seemed to give rise to a dozen new questions, but Venli knew that the Fused—even one that was in an accommodating mood like Raboniel—would not suffer questions forever. So, Venli settled on one last thing to ask. “If Surges are from Honor and Cultivation,” she said, “then why do we serve Odium?” “A dangerous question,” Raboniel said to Derision. “You truly are the daughter of traitors, aren’t you?” “I—” “Don’t cover up your ambition, child,” Raboniel said, leading Venli past a line of snarled shrubs, with little furry creatures scampering underneath in the night. “I like it in my servants. Still, there is a certain silliness to your question. Which would you rather worship? A god of plants? Or a god of emotions?” She waved to the southeast. “Cultivation hides in these mountains somewhere. She is everywhere, but she is also here. Alive, but frightened. She knows. She is not a god of people, but of creatures. “And Honor? A god of laws? Again, which would you prefer? A god who knows only how to make a rock fall to the ground? Or a god who knows us, understands us, feels as we do? Yes, Surges are bound by Honor. Yet as you can see, his death did not change the world in any appreciable manner. His power binds all things together, but this alone is not worthy of worship. Odium … Passion … he will grant rewards.” Venli hummed to Craving. “You want more, don’t you?” Raboniel said. “Only one with pure ambition would stand where you do now. Serve well, and you may find the blessings available to the worthy. True knowledge. True life.” Venli continued to hum, though her internal rhythm was something far more uncertain. The Rhythm of the Lost. She didn’t know what to make of Raboniel. Many Fused were some variety of unhinged: vengeful, destructive, conceited. Listening to this creature’s careful, insightful offers, Venli found herself afraid. This creature was far more dangerous than any she’d encountered before. Raboniel left, striding forward alongside the silent drifting figures of the Deepest Ones. Venli continued walking, and was surprised when Rothan worked his way up beside her. He was head of Lady Leshwi’s soldiers—not part of Venli’s staff, but analogous to her in authority. He, like most of Leshwi’s soldiers, had been given to Raboniel
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for this incursion. The soldiers of the Pursuer had also joined them—and they were a group Venli knew by their fearsome reputation. They’d been harsh to the humans of Kholinar, but were among the strongest and proudest singer troops, with distinctive uniforms always worn with pride. Now those intermingled with Leshwi’s carefully trained and calmer troops, forming a powerful strike force with both strength and discipline. Venli hadn’t interacted much with Rothan or the other soldiers, but she had nothing against him. Other than the fact that other Regals made her worried, as they held Voidspren in their gemhearts. With each step, his powerful figure seemed to crackle with energy. Sparks occasionally flashed across his deep red eyes. She remembered that feeling, holding stormform. The form she’d used when she’d led her people to their doom. “You should not bother the Fused, Venli,” Rothan said to Derision, looking toward Raboniel. “Most are not as lenient as Leshwi. Take care. I would not see you fall. You are useful to us.” “I … hadn’t noticed that you cared,” she said. “Leshwi values you,” he said. “Therefore, so do the rest of us.” He left her with that simple warning as he retreated. Rothan didn’t often want answers or even engagement. He simply stood tall, spoke his mind, then expected to be understood. He would be a good one to have on my side, Venli thought. But no, too dangerous. Far too dangerous. She couldn’t afford to think about recruitment right now. She had to focus on staying alive. For, as grueling as this hike through the mountains had been, she knew a more dangerous part was coming. Within the week, they would arrive at Urithiru. And then the real test would come. Unfortunately, as proven by my own situation, the combination of Shards is not always a path to greater power. Adolin joined Zu atop the obsidian outcropping. The golden-haired Stoneward still wore her traditional clothing, a wrap around the chest and loose, flowing trousers. She claimed she’d picked up scouting skills as a guide in the Reshi Isles, but he thought she moved with too much stealth for that. “There,” she said, pointing. “They are still following.” Adolin raised the spyglass, sighting where she pointed. Indeed, he could make out the Tukari caravan in the distance. Those strange humans had been following them—never more than a few hours’ march behind—since they’d left the port town weeks earlier. “Damnation,” Adolin said. “So they didn’t turn at the crossroads after all.” The terrain had grown uneven since this morning, full of crags and outcroppings, and it had been more difficult to spot their tail. “Wanna go confront them?” Zu asked, grinning. “Two on twenty?” “One of those two can shape stone at her will and make clothing into weapons.” “I don’t dare waste what Stormlight remains,” Adolin said. “It will run out soon anyway,” she said. “Might as well give it a last hurrah! A new experience for the One.” From below, Ua’pam called up, “Do not encourage her! She will do this foolish
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thing!” Zu grinned at Adolin, then winked, as if her bravado were partially just to unnerve her spren. Even after weeks traveling with her, Adolin didn’t know what to make of the strange Stoneward. She lightly leaped off the outcropping and slid down the smooth obsidian, graceful as an Edgedancer. Below, she slapped Ua’pam on the shoulder and the two of them wandered toward camp. He was tempted to do as Zu said, if only because their Stormlight was running out. They’d been in Shadesmar almost thirty days at this point, long enough that their spheres had all run out weeks ago. Though they’d spent much of their Stormlight at the caravan stop, they’d retained a few larger gemstones lent them by the Thaylens, capable of holding Light longer even than others the same size. Those were starting to dim, unfortunately. And once gems started to dim, they went dun quickly. Adolin took another long look at the Tukari, then shook his head. They didn’t seem like they were trying to catch up to Adolin’s group; they didn’t push fast or move during the nights. The latter would have been easy, as “night” in Shadesmar wasn’t a strict time set by the movement of the sun. Those humans could easily have done a double march and overtaken his team. He’d already sent a runner to ask Notum about them; his smaller patrol was marching a little ahead of Adolin’s group. The honorspren had said that it wasn’t illegal for those Tukari to use the road, but to report to him if they did anything expressly threatening. Adolin tucked away the spyglass and returned to meet with the others, who were preparing to break camp. He’d learned from his father that a commander was best seen doing things, so he inspected the work, set the forward and rear guard for the day, and checked on Maya—who had been traveling on Gallant’s back. The large midnight stallion had taken to her—he wouldn’t let just anyone ride him—and seemed to recognize that she was injured somehow. Gallant stepped extra carefully, moving gently so Maya wouldn’t be knocked from her seat. And Adolin was not simply imagining it, no matter what the others thought. He got everyone moving, then sought out Shallan. * * * The last few weeks, Shallan had been of two minds—well, three, technically—on how to use the information that Beryl was a spy. As the caravan started out for the day, she stuck close to Beryl, ostensibly to help her with Lightweaving. “I still need to find my focus, Brightness,” Beryl said, keeping pace easily with her long Alethi legs. It was almost criminal how luxurious her dark hair was, despite there being little water for bathing. “I have tried drawing as you suggest, but I’m not any good at it.” “You used Lightweaving with men in the warcamps,” Shallan said. “And I’ve seen you use it in sparring.” “Yes, but I can’t change anything but my own appearance!” she said. “I know I can do more. I’ve seen the rest of
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you.” “It’s limited for most of us at the start,” Shallan said, nodding toward Vathah, who was walking alongside the Cryptics. “The first time I caught him Lightweaving, he didn’t believe he’d actually done it. It seems to surprise him each time he makes it happen.” “I’ve tried his way,” Beryl said with a grimace. “He acts like the person or thing he’s trying to be, and then his Lightweaving takes over. If he wants to make an illusion of a large rock, he says he thinks like a rock. How does that even work?” She gave Shallan a weak smile. “I don’t mean to complain, Brightness. I’m sure I merely have to keep trying. It will come to me as it did the others, right?” “It will, I promise,” Shallan said. “I was frustrated like you at the start, unable to control it. But you can do this.” Beryl nodded eagerly. Inside, Veil was marveling. She’s an extremely good actor. I couldn’t spot any sign of a tell. I swear, either she hides her true emotions marvelously, or we have the wrong woman. Veil’s surety of that had been growing and building during the trip. Shallan didn’t want to accept it, but it was hard to continue pretending at this point. Perhaps we should speak with Ornament again, Radiant thought. I feel if we chat with her enough, she will let something slip. They’d been trying that too, but … Veil thought they were hitting a dead end there. If Beryl’s spren knew about her treason, then the Cryptic wasn’t letting on. It twisted Shallan about to consider this all might be for nothing. She wanted the spy to be Beryl. And they had a pretty damning confirmation, didn’t they? Well, Veil thought, let’s assume the worst. That the real spy is extremely careful and skilled. Is it too much of a stretch to wonder if they discovered, by speaking to the others, that we’d seeded a bit of misinformation? Mraize is clever. He could have purposely fed us a line to put suspicion on Beryl. What was the point of the inquiry, then? Shallan thought, frustrated. Why go to all that trouble if we were just going to doubt the results? Because I doubt everything, Veil said. It’s information, but not conclusive. I agree, Radiant thought. We have had time to investigate Beryl, and have uncovered nothing. To proceed further, we must find proof. Hard proof. We cannot erroneously condemn someone who might be innocent. Storms, Veil thought. You sound like a law officer, Radiant. I’m agreeing with you! Yeah, but you hurt my cause when you’re so stiff. Couldn’t you relax now and then? Shallan put her hands to her head, feeling … unsettled. She could remember a time not so long ago when her personas hadn’t held arguments inside her head. They’d mostly remained isolated; she would shift without noticing. Was it healthier now that they worked together, even if they argued? Or was it more dangerous, since the conflict was so difficult? Either way, she was growing
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exhausted of the struggle today. So, reluctantly, Veil took over. And for now she stuck close to Beryl, trying to catch her in a lie. Unfortunately, a short time later, Adolin came tromping up. Like an axehound looking for something to chase. However, even Veil had to admit that with his floppy hair and his can-do attitude, Adolin had a way of making you feel better. “Hey,” he said to Veil. “You have a moment?” “I suppose,” Veil said. “I’m Veil right now, by the way.” “Well, maybe you will have a useful perspective on this,” he said, walking her off from the others to speak in private. “The more I think about it, the more I worry we should change how we approach the honorspren. Notum was convinced the honorspren wouldn’t talk to us. Worse than Syl.” “Change our approach? How? You mean not give them the letters and gifts?” “I don’t think they’ll take either. I worry we’ll then be turned away immediately.” “That would be aggravating,” Veil admitted. She hadn’t forgotten her real duty—that of getting into the fortress and locating Restares, leader of the Sons of Honor. Even Radiant was eager to find this man, to discover what secrets he held that Mraize wanted so badly. Finding the spy was important, but this mission superseded it. “What if there’s a better way than delivering Father’s and Jasnah’s letters?” Adolin said. “What if we offered to give the honorspren as much Stormlight as they could take, delivered by my father, if they’d only send a representative back with us? What if we asked to exchange emissaries, and promised to build their representative a fantastic palace in Shadesmar near the Oathgate? We can bring tons of rock in from our side that is extremely valuable here.” “Hmmm,” Veil said. “Adolin, they’re like an entire race of spren who act like Radiant does—and they see us as criminals. If we worry they won’t even accept some letters and books, wouldn’t it be dangerous to offer extremely valuable gifts? They might see those as bribes, or as admissions of our guilt.” “Maybe,” he said, then punched one fist into the palm of his other hand a few times. “I agree with Veil, Brightlord,” Radiant said. “I would be highly suspicious of valuable gifts, if I were them. It is not a payoff they want, but isolation.” “All right then,” Adolin said. “An entirely different idea. We beg. Abjectly. We bow down and say that without them we’re doomed. If the spren are anything like Windrunners, then maybe they won’t be able to say no.” Radiant considered. “Perhaps. I would find that more appealing than bribes, I suppose.” “I wouldn’t,” Veil said. “But I guess I’m the wrong person to ask. Because at seeing you beg, I’d figure that I was correct to stay out of the conflict—because it’s unwinnable.” “Damnation,” Adolin said. “I hadn’t thought about that.” “Let me consider,” Radiant said. “I am Radiant again, by the way.” Adolin nodded. “This is a difficult challenge, Adolin,” Radiant finally said. “And I
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agree with your worries. We have exactly one chance to present ourselves properly to the honorspren. They are a hostile group—indeed, one that has self-selected toward hostility. We can surmise that the spren most willing to listen to our arguments have already joined the Knights Radiant. “Your ploy of acting weak and begging for help is a promising idea. I wonder, however, if appealing to the honorspren’s rational side would be a better plan.” “The way the honorspren insist on turning away from all of humankind is emotional though, right?” Adolin said. “They were hurt in the past. They are afraid of that pain.” “One might call that rational. If your entire species had essentially been wiped out by fraternization with humans, would you not—logically—be wary of reengaging in that same fraternization?” “But how’s it going to go for them if Odium wins?” Adolin asked. “He hates Honor. Well, I guess he hates everything. It’s kind of in the name.… Anyway, will they spend the rest of their existences inside their little bunker? Will they eventually bow before him? Decide to fight only once everyone else is dead or subjugated?” Radiant smiled. “I can feel your determination, Brightlord. That passion is admirable. The things you said to me could be good arguments to make to the honorspren.” “Those are the ones my father makes in his letter,” Adolin said. “That’s basically what Syl said before abandoning them and going to find Kaladin. I can’t help thinking that the arguments Father and Jasnah have made are the ones the honorspren will be prepared for, bracing themselves.…” He got a far-off look, then glanced behind him. Radiant frowned, trying to figure out what he was searching for. The line of people? His Ryshadium, clopping along with the deadeye on its back? The glittering obsidian hills overgrown with crystalline plants? “You have had a thought?” Radiant asked. “Kind of,” Adolin said. “I … realized that they’ll be ready for anything we can bring. I mean, these creatures have been alive for thousands of years—and have spent all of that time angry at us. I can’t possibly think of an argument they haven’t already considered. I doubt Father, or even Jasnah, could do so.” “A reasonable assumption,” Radiant said, nodding as they walked. “However, if they are anticipating all arguments, then perhaps the sole hope we have is the skill of the one arguing. Brightness Jasnah can be quite persuasive. I suggest, upon reflection, that we continue with the tactic of offering the letters.” “Either that or we could surprise the honorspren.” “How?” Radiant said. “You pointed out they’ve had thousands of years to consider these arguments.” Adolin shook his head, his expression still distant. “Look,” he eventually said, “could I speak to Shallan?” “Shallan is exhausted at the moment,” Radiant said. “She asks that I handle this conversation. Why do you ask?” “I just feel more comfortable with her, Radiant.” He glanced at Radiant. “Is … something wrong with Shallan? I thought everything was going better during the boat ride, but these last few weeks
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… I don’t know, she feels different. Off.” He noticed! Shallan thought in a panic. He noticed, Veil thought with relief. “She has been retreating more and more these days,” Radiant said. “She claims to be tired. But … there is something going on with us. I can try to make her emerge.” “Please.” She tried. She sincerely did. In the end though, she grimaced. “I’m sorry. Shallan is tired. Maybe scared. Veil can explain, perhaps.” “So … can I talk to her?” “You already are,” Veil said, sighing. “Adolin, look. This is really complicated. It’s wrapped up in Shallan’s past, and the pain she felt as a child. Pain that I was created specifically to help her overcome.” “I can help. I can understand.” “I barely understand, Adolin,” Veil said. “And I’m living in her head.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to see him as Shallan did. She loved Adolin. She’d chosen Adolin. The least Veil could do was try to explain. “All right,” she said. “Pretend you’re her, and you experienced some things that were so traumatic that you don’t want to believe they happened to you. So you pretend they happened to someone else. Someone different.” “That’s you?” Adolin said. “Not exactly,” Veil said. “This is hard to put into words. Radiant and I are coping mechanisms that, for the most part, work. But something deeper has started to manifest. “Shallan is worried that the person you see in her is a lie. That the person you love is a lie. And it’s not only you. Pattern, Dalinar, Jasnah, Navani—she worries that they all don’t know the real her. “Because of things that happened to her—and more, some of the things she was forced to do—she’s beginning to think that ‘Shallan’ is the fake one, the false identity. That there is a monster deep inside that is her real self. She fears it’s inevitable that the truth will come out, and everyone will leave her when it does.” Adolin nodded, his brow knit. “She couldn’t have told me that, could she?” “No.” Indeed, in saying those things, she’d made Shallan retreat into a little knot of fear. Right next to Formless. “You can say things she can’t,” Adolin said. “And that’s why we need you, isn’t it?” “Yes.” “I think I do understand, a little bit.” He met her eyes. “Thank you, Veil. Sincerely. I’ll find a way to help. I promise.” Huh. She believed him. How interesting. “I was wrong about you,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I was outvoted.” “If she’s listening,” he said, “make sure she knows that I don’t care what she did. And tell her I know she’s strong enough to deal with this on her own, but she should know she doesn’t have to anymore. Deal with it on her own, that is.” I wasn’t ever alone, part of her whispered. I had Pattern. Even in the dark days of our childhood, we had him. Although we don’t remember. So Adolin was wrong, but he was also right.
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They didn’t have to do this alone. If only they could persuade Shallan of that fact. We must assume that Odium has realized this, and is seeking a singular, terrible goal: the destruction—and somehow Splintering or otherwise making impotent—of all Shards other than him. There was more than one way to protect. Kaladin had always known this, but he hadn’t felt it. Feeling and knowing seemed to be the same to his father, but not to Kaladin. Listening to descriptions from books was never good enough for him. He had to try something to understand it. He threw himself into this new challenge: finding a way to help Noril and the others in the sanitarium. At his father’s recommendation—then insistence—Kaladin took it slowly, confining his initial efforts to men who shared similar symptoms. Battle fatigue, nightmares, persistent melancholy, suicidal tendencies. Lirin was correct, of course. Kaladin had complained that the ardents were treating all mental disorders the same; he couldn’t swoop in and treat each and every person in the entire sanitarium at once. First he needed to prove that he could make a difference for these few. He still didn’t know how his father balanced work and emotion. Lirin genuinely seemed to care for his patients, but he could also turn it off. Stop thinking about the ones he couldn’t help. Such as the dozens of people trapped in the darkness of the sanitarium, locked away from the sun, moaning to themselves or—in one severe case—writing gibberish all over her room using her own feces. Temporarily excused from seeing ordinary patients, Kaladin located six men in the sanitarium with similar symptoms. He released them and got them working to support each other. He developed a plan, and showed them how to share in ways that would help. Today they sat in seats on the balcony outside his clinic. Warmed by mugs of tea, they talked. About their lives. The people they’d lost. The darkness. It was helping. You didn’t need a surgeon or ardent to lead the discussion; they could do it themselves. Two of the six were mostly quiet, but even they grunted along when others talked about their problems. “Remarkable,” Kaladin’s mother said, taking notes as she stood with Kaladin to the side. “How did you know? Previous documentation indicated that they would feed each other’s melancholy, driving one another to destructive behavior. But these are having the opposite experience.” “The squad is stronger than the individual,” Kaladin said. “You simply need to get them pointed in the right direction. Get them to lift the bridge together…” His mother frowned, glancing up at him. “The ardents’ stories about inmates feeding each other’s despair,” Kaladin said. “They probably came from inmates who were situated next to one another in the sanitariums. In dark places, where their gloom could run rampant … Yes, there I could see them driving each other closer toward death. It happens sometimes to … to slaves. In a hopeless situation, it’s easy to convince one another to give up.” His mother rested her hand on his
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arm, and her face looked so sad he had to turn away. He didn’t like to talk to her about his past, the years between then and now. During those years she’d lost her loving boy, Kal. That child was dead, long ago buried in crem. At least by the time he’d found her again, Kaladin had become the man he was now. Broken, but mostly reforged as a Radiant. She didn’t need to know about those darkest months. They would bring her nothing but pain. “Anyway,” Kaladin said, nodding toward the group of men, “I suspected after talking to Noril that this would help. It changes something to be able to speak to others about your pain. It helps to have others who actually understand.” “I understand,” his mother said. “Your father understands.” He was glad she thought that, wrong though she was. They were sympathetic, but they didn’t understand. Better that they didn’t. For the men chatting together softly, the change was in being shown sunlight again. In being reminded that the darkness did pass. But perhaps most important, the change was in not merely knowing that you weren’t alone—but in feeling it. Realizing that no matter how isolated you thought you were, no matter how often your brain told you terrible things, there were others who understood. It wouldn’t fix everything. But it was a start. To combine powers would change and distort who Odium is. So instead of absorbing others, he destroys them. Since we are all essentially infinite, he needs no more power. Destroying and Splintering the other Shards would leave Odium as the sole god, unchanged and uncorrupted by other influences. “I like none of these proposals,” the Stump said, with her spren interpreting for her. She leaned forward to warm her gnarled hands—out of habit most likely, as this manifested fire gave very little heat. It could be packed up and carried in your pocket. All you had to do was grab the bead. It was more like a painting of a fire that flickered and crackled like the real thing. Veil sat with Shallan’s sketchbook open, her back to a large chunk of obsidian, pretending to draw as Adolin held counsel with the Radiants. So far, despite doing the worst job sketching, she hadn’t been able to coax Shallan out. “None of them?” Adolin asked. He stood tall, wearing a black uniform embroidered with silver around the cuffs. The polished buttons perfectly matched the silver of the sheathed side sword he wore on his hip. He was striking—brilliant, even, as he stood before the fire in a sharply tailored uniform. The fire was cold somehow, though it should have been warm. And he was warm somehow, when a stiff black uniform should have made him seem cold. Arshqqam, though coming from a very different background, was not timid about speaking her mind to him. Veil liked the old Truthwatcher. Too many people refused to look past a person’s age. To them this woman—as exemplified by her nickname—would be defined by how old she was.
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Veil saw more. The way Arshqqam kept her silver hair carefully braided. The engraved ring she wore on her right hand was her only jewelry, and it bore no valuable gemstone, just some milky white quartz. She argued with Adolin—one of the most powerful men in the world—as easily as she might have argued with a water bearer. There was so much to this woman, and yet they barely knew her. Don’t you want to draw that, Shallan? Veil thought. Don’t you want to come out and do a better job than I am? Instead, she felt a deep resentment from Shallan. For the things Veil had said to Adolin. The pain they threatened. The pain of a past best left forgotten. “Brightlord,” the Stump said to Adolin through her spren, “I understand why you are concerned. Dreaming-though-Awake has read the letters Dalinar and Jasnah sent, then told me the contents. If the honorspren are truly as antagonistic as they seem, then I doubt they will listen to these written pleas. Dreaming-though-Awake says that honorspren can be quite passionate, and would likely respond better to a personal plea. “However, the arguments you’ve offered tonight aren’t strong enough. Claiming that unless they agree, you’re going to go to the inkspren? They know how badly we need Windrunners, and they undoubtedly know the inkspren are being even more difficult to recruit. Trying to play upon their guilty consciences to provoke them to help? I don’t think they do feel guilty. That’s the problem.” “I agree,” Godeke said. The solemn Edgedancer clasped his hands before him, seated on an overturned rations box, his squared beard a reminder of his ardent past. “We can’t guilt them into agreeing, Brightlord. Nor can we win them over with threats. We must present our request: that we are in need, and we sincerely wish them to reconsider their lack of support.” “Zu?” Adolin asked the final Radiant. The golden-haired woman leaned back and shrugged. “I’m not one for politics. I’ll tell them they’re being storming stupid if they think they can ride this.” “Your people are trying to ride it,” Godeke said. “My people are storming stupid,” Zu said, shrugging again. Behind them, the soldiers packed up camp. It was morning—though that didn’t mean much in Shadesmar—and they were now one day away from Lasting Integrity. It was late in the mission to still be uncertain, and Adolin’s worry was making Veil nervous. If their delegation got turned away, she’d have to find a way to sneak in and locate Restares alone. Adolin looked down, seeming to wilt. He’d spent a good long time coming up with these plans, and Veil had helped him with some. Unfortunately, he hadn’t shown much confidence in the ideas, and the reactions of the others were further confirmation. Radiant emerged as Veil searched for a way to bolster his confidence. Unfortunately, Radiant couldn’t think of anything useful—though she did spot someone else sitting by the campfire. “Beryl,” Radiant found herself saying. “What do you think?” The stately woman was the only one of
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Shallan’s agents at the campfire meeting; the other two were preparing breakfast. She looked up sharply from where she’d been sitting behind the others. “I … I really don’t know,” she said, glancing back at her feet and blushing as everyone turned toward her. “You’re a knight,” Radiant said. “At least one in training. This is our mission as much as it is that of Highprince Adolin. You should have an opinion. Should we present the letters, or should we attempt something more dramatic?” “It’s … so outside my realm of experience, Brightness. Please.” It’s not her, Veil thought. It simply can’t be. “I’ll work on these ideas some more,” Adolin said. “Beryl, thank you.” “Highprince Adolin,” Arshqqam said. “There is something none of these proposals do properly that I think you should consider. How can you appeal to their honor? Are they not spren of this attribute? I suspect any success we have will relate to that.” Adolin nodded slowly, and Radiant cocked her head. Jasnah’s proposal tried to do as the Stump said, but Shallan had sensed something off about the arguments. Honor, Radiant thought. Yes. Jasnah thinks like a scholar, but not a soldier. There was something wrong about her lofty words and sweeping conclusions. Honor. How to appeal to the honor of these spren? Adolin dismissed everyone to get breakfast. He walked over to take another report from the soldier he had keeping watch over that strange band of Tukari humans, who continued keeping pace behind them. Beryl stood up, wearing a flowing dress—not a traditional havah, but something of an older classical style that covered both her hands in voluminous sleeves. She walked up to Radiant, who still sat with her back to the rock. Radiant quickly snapped closed the sketchbook; it wouldn’t do for someone to see how terrible Veil’s drawings were. “Why did you ask me to come to this meeting, Brightness?” Beryl asked. “You have to get used to playing a role in important events. I want you to gain experience with the politics of our current problem. Besides, you asked to come on this mission when Stargyle proved unavailable.” “I wanted to see Shadesmar,” she said. “But Brightness, I’ve barely had time to get used to the idea of being a Lightweaver. I’m no politician.” She folded her arms, and suddenly looked cold as she glanced at the rest of the camp. “I don’t belong here, do I? I’m not ready.” Radiant tapped the top of Shallan’s sketchpad with her pencil, trying to judge whether this woman was lying. But this was Veil’s area of expertise. She’d spent over a decade being a spy. Be careful, Shallan thought. Remember that decade of experience is imagined. True. It was hard to remember. Yeah … Veil thought. My empty past … being nothing back then … unnerves me. Radiant didn’t miss noting Shallan’s interjection. That was the most they’d gotten out of her in a few days. “Beryl,” Radiant said, “I want you to practice being around important people. You don’t need to solve Adolin’s
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problems; you just need experience giving your opinion in a place where it’s safe for you to fail.” “Yes, Brightness,” she said, relaxing visibly. “Thank you, Brightness.” She bowed and ducked away to go help with breakfast. I am not the expert, Radiant thought. But I increasingly agree with Veil’s skepticism. Shallan, lurking deep inside, started to budge. It would be painful to acknowledge that one of her friends, instead of Beryl, might actually be the spy. But it was better than insisting on believing the lie. No matter how expert they were at that particular trick. Adolin walked over. Radiant tucked her sketchbook under her arm as she stood up, noting the frown on Adolin’s lips. “The Tukari are still back there?” she guessed. He nodded. “They turn away any messenger I send, but they’re obviously following us.” “We could outrun them,” Radiant said. “It would involve putting the Stump and Maya on horseback, then pushing hard to reach the stronghold.” “Perhaps,” he said. “I kind of need another day to come up with something.…” He handed her a small bar of crushed lavis held together with sugar. A ration bar? She took it with a frown. “I thought we’d take a walk,” he said. “While the others eat breakfast. It feels strange to say this, but I feel like we haven’t had any time together since the boat ride.” Radiant nodded. Fine with her, though she gave way to Veil—who enjoyed conversation more. She tucked her sketchbook into her satchel and slung it over her arm. She wore her rugged travel clothing, with the darker coat and a nice solid pair of boots. Ones that fit her far better than the pair Shallan had stolen from Kaladin. Adolin waved to his men, then pointed. They waved back, and he started out of camp with Veil following. They didn’t get far before a glowing figure approached, riding on something incredible. Veil had grown accustomed to the wonders of this place. The way gloryspren would sail overhead in formations, or the way that their evening conversation last night had drawn a large joyspren—which manifested here as a spinning cyclone of color. Every now and then though, something came along that shocked away even Veil’s deliberate cynicism. Notum’s grand white steed was almost a horse, though it was more graceful and supple, with long legs and a neck that bent in a way no physical spine could manage. It had large eyes but seemingly no mouth, and its hair waved in a phantom wind, like long glowing ribbons. Shallan thought she had never in her life seen something so graceful. She didn’t deserve to see something so divine. As if merely by gazing at it, she sullied it with the cares of a world that it should never touch. Notum pulled up, controlling the grand spren with a simple bridle of twisted threads. “Human prince,” he said to Adolin, “it is here where I must turn another way. I am forbidden to approach Lasting Integrity. I’ll patrol along to the south, instead of
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continuing west.” They’d invited the honorspren to join them, since his patrol had been going along the coast nearby. He’d refused every invitation. “I wish you the best then, Notum,” Adolin said. “It was good to see you again. Thanks for your advice.” “I would prefer you take that advice. I assume you have not reconsidered your imprudent quest?” “I’ve reconsidered plenty,” Adolin said. “I’m still going to try it though.” “As you wish,” Notum said, then saluted. “If I don’t see you after you’re turned away, give my best to the Ancient Daughter. It is … well that she is not trapped in the stronghold. It would not suit her.” The honorspren turned to go. “Notum,” Adolin called. “That spren you ride. It’s strikingly similar to a horse.” “Is that odd?” he asked. “Most spren appear nothing like creatures from our world.” Notum smiled, a rare expression on the spren’s face, then gestured to himself. “Do we not?” “The humanoid ones, yes,” Adolin said. “I’ve never seen one in the shape of a horse.” “Not all spren were imagined by men, Adolin Kholin,” Notum called to him. “Farewell.” As he turned and rode his graceful animal away, Shallan nearly emerged to sketch the thing. “Storms,” Adolin said. “He’s so cold, and he’s one of the spren who seem to like us. I’m not feeling good about this entire mission.” “Maybe I can sneak in,” Veil said. “If they do turn us away.” “What would that accomplish?” Adolin asked. “I could see if all the honorspren feel the same way, perhaps. Or if there are a few tyrants in charge who refuse to listen to reason.” “That doesn’t feel like the way spren work, Veil. I have a terrible feeling this is going to go all wrong. And I’ll have come all this way, only to need to slink back to Father and tell him I failed. Again.” “Through no fault of your own, Adolin.” “Father talks about the importance of the journey, Veil, but he’s always been equally focused on results. He’s always able to get them himself, so it baffles him why everyone else always seems so incompetent.” Adolin had an unrealistic view of Dalinar. The Blackthorn had an enviable reputation, yes, but he’d clearly suffered his own failures—not the least of which had been letting his brother be assassinated. He’d certainly done less to help in that attack than Adolin had in trying to get Elhokar out of Kholinar as it fell. Arguing was, of course, useless. Adolin should know his father’s failings better than anyone. He wasn’t going to suddenly recognize them because Veil said something now. “Any luck getting Shallan to come out?” he asked her. “I got a thought from her a little earlier,” Veil said. “But other than that … no. I even did a sketch of you. A terrible one, I’ll note. I particularly liked the buck teeth.” Adolin grunted. And together they continued their walk. He led the way through a hollow in the obsidian, where the strange rock mimicked a rolling wave.
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The constant sound of clacking beads became a quiet hum as they moved farther from the shore, and Shallan stirred again. The landscape here was so interesting. Plants grew like frost here, coating much of the obsidian—and they crackled wherever she and Adolin stepped, breaking and tinkling to dust. Larger plants grew like cones, with spirals of color in their translucent skin, as if crafted by a master glassblower. She touched one, expecting it to be fragile like many other Shadesmar plants, but it was sturdy and thick. Tiny spren watched them from beneath the leaves of small clumping trees. Jagged lightning branches made of something that wasn’t quite glass—for it was too rough to the touch—sprouted silvery leaves that felt metallic and cold. The spren hopped from one branch to another, little more than shadows of swirling smoke with large eyes. And they move a little like smoke too, Shallan thought. Curling in the vectors of heat above a fire, alive like the soul of a flame long extinguished remembering its former light … Veil normally reviled such poetic nonsense, but sometimes she could see the world as Shallan did. And it became a brighter place. As they passed a larger stand of the trees, Adolin reached down to take her hand and help her up onto a ridge. Touching her freehand to his skin made something spark. His touch is a flame never extinguished. Bright and alive, and the only smoke is in his eyes … They walked along the ridge, and she could pick out the camp below, where the others were packing up their things. Was anyone lingering near her trunk? Thinking of that almost pushed Shallan away to hide again. Veil, however, had a thought. They needed to leave the device unguarded in a non-suspicious way, then catch who used it. Out here in the caravan, rather than cooped up on the barge, she should be able to make the opportunity extremely appealing. She could perhaps pretend to get drunk. As she had the evening before the last time she knew for certain the spy had moved the device. “I saw you in there, Shallan,” Adolin said, gripping her hand as they stood on the ridge. “Just now. I’m sure of it.” Veil glanced away. Feeling like she was intruding. He squeezed her hand. “I know it’s still you, Shallan. That they’re all you. I’m worried though. We’re worried. Veil says you feel like you need to hide from me. But you don’t. I won’t leave, no matter what you’ve done.” “Shallan is weak,” Shallan whispered. “She needs Veil to protect her.” “Was Shallan too weak to save her brothers?” Adolin asked. “To protect her family against her own parents?” She squeezed her eyes closed. He pulled her closer. “I don’t know the perfect words, Shallan. I just want you to know that I’m here, and I’m trying.” Then he gestured, leading her farther along the ridge. “Where are we going?” she asked. “This isn’t some casual stroll, is it?” “Ua’pam has walked this caravan route before,”
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Adolin replied. “He mentioned the view up along here is gorgeous.” Veil narrowed her eyes, but really, was she going to be suspicious of Adolin? She forced her attention back to the spy problem as she followed him, but storms, he was right. The view up here was breathtaking. The endless sea of beads reflected distant sunlight from a million different spheres. They caught the light, and for a moment she thought the entire ocean had caught fire. Her hand twitched on the strap of her satchel, to reach for her sketchbook, but she remained firm and left it alone. Instead she walked with Adolin to the end of the ridge where the obsidian rose in a low spire, overgrown with a type of delicate plant. Flowering blooms that looked almost fungal, though they glowed with their own inner light, red like molten rock. I should sketch those.… Then, overhead, the strange Shadesmar clouds began to churn. She gasped as something emerged from them high above: an incredible beast with an ashen carapace and a long neck. It resembled a greatshell, faintly echoing the sinuous look of a chasmfiend, but flew somehow on enormous insect wings—seven sets of them. It trailed clouds behind it, emerging as if from a shroud of dust. Others clung to its chin, giving it a beard made of clouds. She stared as it passed directly overhead, and she noticed sparkling lights along its wings and legs. They glowed beneath its skin or shell—like they were points on a constellation, marking its joints and outline. “Ash’s brush of endless paint…” Shallan said. “Adolin, it’s a starspren. That’s a starspren!” He grinned, taking in its majesty. “Holy halls!” Shallan said, scrambling to get out her sketchbook. “I have to draw it. Hold this.” She handed him her satchel and pulled out the sketchbook and charcoal. She could take a Memory—she took several as it passed—but she wanted to capture the moment, the grace, the majesty. “You knew,” she said, sitting to better brace the sketchbook. “Ua’pam told me,” Adolin said. “There are certain places where you can see them emerge. From other angles they’re invisible. This place is … a little weird.” “A little? Adolin dear, I’m a little weird. This place is downright bizarre.” “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Shallan grinned, getting down some sweeping lines of the thing as it landed on a different section of clouds above. A few creationspren peeked out of her satchel, little swirling bits of color. When had those hidden in there? Storms … she felt as if she could see the starspren’s every detail, though it was distant. As it reclined on the cloud, it leaned over—as if looking straight at her. Then it threw its head back, arching its neck, and held the position. “Storms!” she said. “It’s posing. Vainglorious spren monster. Here, hand me that smaller charcoal pencil. I need to do some detail.” He handed it to her, then settled on the ground beside her. “It’s good to see you drawing.” “You knew what this would do to me,” she
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said. “You deliberately put me in a position where I’d have to start sketching. And here I was thinking how ingenuous you are.” “I only wanted to see you enjoy yourself,” he said. “You’ve been so serious these last few weeks.” She sketched by instinct, absorbing the sight and bleeding it out on the paper. It wasn’t a completely automatic process, but it did leave her mind free. What she found, with barely any effort, left her feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just … I’m dealing with some difficult things.” He nodded and didn’t push her. Wonderful man. “Veil is really coming around to you lately,” she noted. “And Radiant always liked you.” “That’s great,” he said. “I still worry you’ve been … odd these last few weeks. And uncommonly unlike yourself.” “Veil is part of my self, Adolin. So is Radiant. We have a balance.” “Are you sure that’s the right word?” She didn’t particularly want to argue. She’d been Veil more lately because there was more for Veil to do. In Urithiru, she was Shallan or Radiant a much larger portion of the time. Nevertheless, it was good to … let go. Maybe she ought to break out the last of the wine and force some relaxation into their stomach. The way Adolin had been pacing so much, he could probably use a nice diverting evening in her arms. “I feel like he’s watching me,” Adolin said, gazing up at the majestic starspren. “That’s because it is,” Shallan said. “Spren notice when they’re being watched. Recent scholarly reports indicate spren will change based on direct individual perception. Like, you can be in another room and think about the spren, and it will respond.” “Now that’s bizarre,” Adolin said. “And somehow normal at the same time,” Shallan said. “Like you?” Adolin said. She glanced at him and caught a grin on his face, then found herself smiling in return. “Like every person, I think. We’re all strangely normal. Or normally strange.” “Not my father.” “Oh, especially your father. Do you think it’s normal for a person to look as if their parentage involved an anvil and an uncommonly stern stormcloud?” “So … what are you saying about me?” “That you take after your mother, obviously.” She drew a bold stroke, finishing off her sketch. She sprayed lacquer on it, then set it aside and started another one immediately. This was not a one-sketch experience. As soon as she put charcoal to paper, however, she found herself drawing Adolin as he stared up at the sky. “How in the world,” she said, “did I get lucky enough to grab you, Adolin Kholin? Someone should have snatched you up years ago.” He grinned. “They tried. I ruined it quite spectacularly each time.” “At least your first crush didn’t try to kill you.” “I recall you saying he tried to avoid killing you, but failed. Something about jam.” “Mmm…” she said. “I’m sick enough of rations, I’d probably eat some jam on Thaylen bread even if it was poisoned.” “My first crush
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didn’t try to kill me,” Adolin said, “but I probably could have died of embarrassment from the interaction.” She leaned forward immediately, opening her eyes wide. “Oooh…” He glanced at her, then blushed. “Storms. I really shouldn’t have said anything.” “Can’t stop now,” she said, poking him in the side with her foot. “Go on. Talk.” “I’d rather not.” “Tough.” She poked him again. “I can keep going. I’m a storming Knight Radiant. I have legendary endurance for annoying people. If I have to use up every last gemstone on this fight, I’ll—” “Ow,” he said. “Look, it’s not even that good a story. There was this girl, Idani, a cousin to the Khal boys. She was … uncommonly well put together for a fourteen-year-old. She was a bit older than I was, and let’s just say she understood the world better than I did.” Shallan cocked her head. “What?” “Well, she kept talking about how she loved swords. And how I was supposed to have a great sword. And how she wanted to see me wield my sword. And…” “And what?” “I bought her a sword,” he said, shrugging. “As a gift.” “Oh Adolin.” “I was fourteen!” he said. “What fourteen-year-old understands innuendo? I thought she actually wanted a sword!” “What is a girl going to do with a sword? A real one, mind you. This conversation could quickly get off track.…” “I don’t know!” he said. “I figured she thought they were nifty. Who doesn’t think they’re nifty?” He rubbed his side, where Shallan had been poking him. “It was a really nifty sword, too. Classic antique ulius, the style used in lighteyed challenges of honor during the Sunmaker’s reign. Had a little nick in it from the Velinar/Gulastis duel.” “I assume you told poor Idani about all this, at length?” “I went on for like an hour,” Adolin admitted. “She finally grew bored and drifted off. Didn’t even take her storming gift.” He glanced at Shallan, then grinned. “I got to keep the sword though. Still have it.” “Did you ever figure it out? What she was saying?” “Eventually,” he said. “But by then … things had changed.” She cocked her head, pausing in her sketch. “I overheard her making fun of Renarin to her friends,” Adolin said. “She said some … nasty things. That ruined something in me. She was gorgeous, Shallan. At the time, my little mind figured she must be the most divine thing that ever walked the land. “Then I heard her saying those things. I don’t think I’d ever realized, until that moment, that a person could be beautiful and ugly at the same time. When you’re a teenage boy, you want the beautiful people to be truly beautiful. It’s hard to see otherwise, stupid as it sounds. I guess I owe her for that.” “It’s a lesson a lot of people never learn, Adolin.” “I suppose. Thing is, there’s more to it. She was newly moved into the city, and was desperate to find a place. So her joking about Renarin was crass,
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yes, but she was trying so hard to find acceptance. I don’t see an evil child in her now. The others were unkind to Renarin, and she figured she could bond by doing likewise.” “Doesn’t excuse that kind of behavior.” “You used to think he was weird too,” Adolin noted. “Maybe,” Shallan said, as it was uncomfortably true. “But I came around, and I never gossiped about him. It merely took you showing me that while he was weird, it was the good kind. As an expert on weird, I’m uniquely qualified to know.” She returned to her sketch of Adolin, focusing on his eyes. There was so much in his eyes. “I don’t excuse the things Idani said,” Adolin said. “I simply feel it’s important to recognize that she might have had reasons. We all have reasons why we fail to live up to what we should be.…” Shallan froze, pencil hovering above the sketchbook page. So. That was what he was about. “You don’t have to live up to what your father wants you to be, Adolin.” “No one ever accomplished anything by being content with who they were, Shallan,” Adolin said. “We accomplish great things by reaching toward who we could become.” “As long as it’s what you want to become. Not what someone else thinks you should become.” He continued staring at the sky, stretched out, somehow making it seem comfortable to be lying with his head on a rock. Wonderfully messy hair, blond peppered black, impeccable uniform. And that face in between. Not messy, not impeccable, just … him. “It wasn’t long ago,” Adolin said, “that all I wanted was for everyone to respect my father again. We thought he was aging, losing his senses. I wanted everyone else to see him as I did. How did I lose that, Shallan? I mean, I’m proud of him. He’s becoming someone who deserves love, and not merely respect. “But storms, these days I can’t stand to be around him. He’s become everything I wanted him to be, and that transformation shoved us apart.” “It wasn’t what you found out he’d done? To … her?” “That’s part of it,” Adolin admitted. “It hurts. I love him, but can’t yet forgive him. I think I will, with time. There’s more though. Straining our relationship. He has this misguided notion that I’ve always been better than him. “To Father, I’m some pristine remnant of my mother—this noble little statue who got all of her goodness and none of his coarseness. He doesn’t want me to be me, or even him. He wants me to be this imagined perfect child who was born better than he ever could be.” “And that makes you not a person,” Shallan said, nodding. “It erases your ability to make choices or mistakes. Because you’re perfect. You were born to be perfect. So you can never earn anything on your own.” He reached over, putting his hand on her knee, and met her gaze—almost teary-eyed. Because she understood. And storms, she did. She rested her hand on
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his, then pulled him closer. Feeling his breath on her neck as he drew close. She kissed him then, and as she did, she caught a glimpse of the sky. The majestic spren had started to fade into the cloud—perhaps feeling ignored now that her attention was on someone else. Well, it wasn’t the spren’s fault. It simply couldn’t compete. You say that the power itself must be treated as separate in our minds from the Vessel who controls it. Adolin walked a little easier, knowing he could get through to Shallan. So, after returning from seeing the starspren, he gave Ua’pam a thumbs-up. It had been an excellent suggestion, and the alone time had been exactly what they needed. Shallan gave him a fond hug and a squeeze of the arms before hurrying off to gather her things. It made sense, he supposed, that she’d been nervous lately. A spy had infiltrated their quest here. Perhaps he hadn’t devoted enough thought to that particular problem. That was Shallan’s area of expertise though. Illusions, lies, art, and fiction. Politics was supposed to be his. He’d been raised as second in line for the throne—eventually third, following little Gav’s birth. Though Adolin had turned down that very throne when it had been offered to him, he should make a competent emissary to a foreign nation. Appeal to their honor, he thought, remembering Arshqqam’s suggestion. He sought out Gallant and took him from the grooms to load the horse’s burden himself: the swords in their sheaths, the box of other weapons, then the trunk of clothing on the opposite side. He stared into Gallant’s blue eyes. Adolin often felt he could see some kind of light deep within them. “Must be nice,” Adolin said, patting the horse, “to not have to worry about things like politics or relationships.” The horse snorted in a way that Adolin thought was distinctly dismissive. Well, perhaps there was more to complicate a horse’s life than a man could ever see. Malli, Felt’s wife, led Maya over. Adolin had asked the scribe to look after Maya while he went on his walk. He gestured toward the Ryshadium. “Shall we?” It was hard to get any kind of acknowledgment out of Maya, but he did prefer to ask. Indeed, he thought he got a nod out of her. He took it as permission, so he helped her up onto the horse. The first few times getting her mounted had been a difficult process, involving stepping on some boxes and pulling her awkwardly into the saddle. Now she knew what to do, though—and only needed a hand over the saddle to help her into place. Maya was heavier than she appeared, made of thick cords that were tight and dense, like muscle. Still, even at the start, it had been worth the effort to get her into the seat. It made traveling easier, as she would sit placidly on the horse and follow the rest of them. Plus, Adolin admitted that he felt better with Gallant watching over her. The Ryshadium
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understood. You took special care of a soldier who had left part of herself on the battlefield. They started out for the day, Adolin leading the column, though Godeke and his spren were scouting ahead. The solemn Edgedancer didn’t have any Stormlight—they’d used the last of it the previous night, making food stores for the trip home—but Godeke had practice scouting as part of his Radiant training. Adolin spent the early part of the hike trying to settle on a final strategy for approaching the honorspren. The others were right; the ideas he’d presented were unlikely to work. So, he’d start with the letters. Could he develop a backup plan though? Nothing came to him, and by midday he’d lost any sense of calm or satisfaction he’d gained from the morning with Shallan. With effort, he kept himself from snapping when Felt came up from the rear guard. The foreign scout had been a stable, valuable part of the mission so far. Felt might not be quite as spry as he’d once been, but he seemed to have a sixth sense for traveling in unknown places. “Brightlord,” the man said, wearing a floppy old hat. He’d inherited that when Bashin had retired from service, and he now wore it as a memento. While not regulation, it was the kind of thing you let a man like Felt get away with. “The humans just broke and turned away toward the south. Looks like they’ve given up on following us.” “Really?” Adolin asked. “Now, of all times?” “Yeah. Feels strange to me, though I can’t exactly pinpoint why.” Adolin gave the call for a break and a snack. Merit approached to unload Gallant to give him a rest, and Adolin followed Felt to the rear of the small column. Here they climbed up a small outcropping of obsidian—fragile glass plants crackling and shattering underfoot, lifespren dodging away—where they could use spyglasses to observe the Tukari. The strange group of humans was now far enough away that he could barely make them out in the dim Shadesmar landscape. They had indeed turned southward. “Why would they chase us all this way,” Adolin said, “then give up now?” “Maybe they weren’t chasing us. They could have simply been going this direction anyway; that would explain why they were always careful to stay away from us and not catch up.” A valid point—in fact, if the humans hadn’t seemed so unusual to him upon their first meeting, Adolin probably would have assumed this all along. He hadn’t thought it odd that Notum was traveling this same way. Why should he have worried so much about these humans? There is something odd about them, he thought. The way they hovered so close, the way they watched us … Adolin studied them through the spyglass, though at this distance he could make out little more than the shadows of figures carrying torches. “Well, they do appear to be leaving,” he said to Felt, handing back the spyglass. “Keep watch while we eat, just in case.” Adolin was halfway back
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to the front of the column when the truth struck him. * * * Veil closed the top of the trunk with the communication cube, then locked it. She couldn’t always rely on the spy to return the cube in a different orientation after moving it, so—using a trick she’d learned from Tyn long ago—she’d started dusting it with a faint bit of powder. It hadn’t been disturbed all this trip, so far as she could tell. She needed to find a way to use it as bait, leaving it alone in a tempting way. Pondering that, she walked over and took a bowl of mush from Ishnah. Veil braced herself to eat the terrible Soulcast stuff. She should force Radiant to take over for meals. Soldiers were accustomed to eating terrible rations in the field, right? Radiant would see it as an honor to eat this slop. It would build character, and— Adolin dashed past. Radiant dropped the cup and leaped to her feet. That was the posture of a man running toward a fight. She took off after him, reflexively trying to summon her Shardblade—which of course didn’t work. Not here in Shadesmar. Adolin scrambled up to the top of the outcropping where Felt was still watching their rear. Radiant started climbing, and was joined by two of Adolin’s other soldiers. The rest of the Radiants and agents—even Zu the Stoneward, who always seemed so eager and excitable—just stood looking back with confused expressions. At the top of the outcropping, she found Adolin peering through a spyglass, tense and alert. “What?” Radiant asked. “They weren’t following us,” he said. “Leave a spren or two to watch the camp, then bring everyone else after me! Be ready for a fight.” With that, he leaped off the outcropping. His boots slapped stone below—storms, he did remember he wasn’t in Shardplate, didn’t he? Adolin took off running toward the distant Tukari caravan, hand on the sheathed sword at his belt, holding it in place. Radiant stood stunned. Was Adolin going to walk all the way to— The sound of cracking stone thundered from behind. Radiant jumped, searching the nearby formations for some kind of avalanche. Only then did she realize it was the sound of hooves striking obsidian at high speed as Gallant galloped past. A panicked Maya clung to his mane with a two-fisted grip—but his supplies appeared to have been unloaded. Barely breaking stride, Adolin grabbed the dangling reins as Gallant pulled up beside him. Adolin did an odd running hop, then hoisted himself into the saddle behind Maya, a maneuver that a part of Radiant’s brain refused to believe was possible. “Rusts,” Felt said, lowering his spyglass. “How did the beast know? Did anyone hear Highprince Adolin whistle for it?” The other soldiers shook their heads. “Let’s move!” Radiant said. “Get the packhorses and send outriders to follow him. I’ll have Pattern watch our things. Everyone else get ready to march!” She had them all going in what she considered an impressively short amount of time. Three soldiers on horses
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went chasing after Adolin, but they were far slower than the Ryshadium. Something that large shouldn’t be so fast. She marched double-time beside Godeke and Zu, and they outpaced the Stump and some of the spren. However, while Radiant’s training with Adolin over the last twelve months meant she wasn’t soft, she also hadn’t done any forced marches. She’d come to rely on Stormlight. With it, she could have run at a full dash without tiring. Godeke could have slid out ahead of them, moving on the stone like it was ice. They didn’t have any Stormlight left, so they followed as best they could. What was it that Adolin had said? The strange humans hadn’t been following Adolin’s party? So who had they been following? It clicked almost immediately. The humans had skirted close, always in sight, seeming like they wanted to overtake the group—but never daring. They’d turned away today, heading south. The same direction Notum had gone. * * * Riding behind Maya as she clung to Gallant’s neck wasn’t particularly comfortable for Adolin. Fortunately, the Ryshadium didn’t need much direction from him. Adolin leaned low—gripping the reins, feeling the rhythm of Gallant’s hooves pounding the obsidian ground. The Tukari humans had likely planned to jump Notum soon after his patrol left the port town, but had held off once Adolin’s group started going the same way. They’d likely worried Adolin’s team would come to Notum’s defense. They’d stayed close, never daring to attack. Until at last Notum had turned south while Adolin continued west. Gallant was sweating heavily by the time they approached the humans’ caravan. They’d left some people behind with supplies and sent a larger group after Notum, bearing torches. Adolin ignored the ones guarding the supplies. He leaned lower, one hand around Maya’s waist, hoping he was wrong. Hoping this was all about nothing. Adolin’s worry mounted as he drew closer. Harsh torchlight. Figures shouting. “When we get there,” Adolin said to the horse, “stay out of the fight.” Gallant snorted his disagreement. “I’ll need you to get me out,” Adolin said, “and you’ll need to catch your breath to do that.” Ryshadium were far more than the average warhorse, with speed that seemed to defy their grand size. That said, they weren’t built for long gallops. And Adolin wasn’t built for fighting a large group on his own. The others would be far behind. So what was Adolin’s plan? If Notum really was in trouble, Adolin couldn’t very well face ten or more people without his Plate. He drew close, picking out men in thick, patterned Tukari clothing holding aloft torches and swords—short one-handed cutlasses with a steep curve to them. Chopping weapons, common sidearms. Only two of the enemy had shields, and there was no armor to speak of, though he did spot a few spears that he’d need to keep in mind. They’d stopped in a large circle, surrounding something at their center. Adolin gritted his teeth and guided Gallant with his knees to charge in close so he could survey better.
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Spren had been … cagey about whether they could be killed in Shadesmar. He’d seen them carry weapons, and during his earlier trip, Notum’s sailors had admitted that spren could be cut and would feel pain. “Killing” them involved hurting them so much that their minds broke and they became something akin to a deadeye. Stormfather! Adolin caught enough as he rode by; his worst fears were true. In the center of the group, a glowing figure lay huddled on the ground, bound in ropes. Over a dozen animated Tukari were repeatedly stabbing him with spears and swords. Notum’s attendants—a group of three Reachers—had been bound and set in a row. Perhaps they would be next to suffer torture. The assailants didn’t appear to have bows, fortunately, so Gallant made it past them without incident. In fact, Adolin was increasingly certain from their postures and lack of discipline that this was more a mob than a force of soldiers. Why would they attack an honorspren? How had they even gotten into Shadesmar in the first place? Adolin reined in once they were a safe distance away. He’d hoped to draw some of the Tukari away after him, but they remained clustered, a good twenty men with torches, spears, swords. After briefly glancing at Adolin, they returned to stabbing at Notum. Storms. How long could a spren last under such treatment? Adolin checked for help—spotting several figures on horseback approaching in the distance—but it would be precious minutes before they were close enough. Jeopardize the mission, or go save Notum on his own? Jeopardize it how? he thought. You barely know what you’re doing here. The others can deliver some letters. You’re nothing but a uniform and sword, Adolin. Use them. He swung off Gallant. “If this goes poorly, get Maya to the others,” he told the horse. “I’m going to stall those men.” Gallant blew out again. He was accustomed to riding into combat with Dalinar. “No,” Adolin said. “You’ll get hurt.” Maya grabbed his shoulder with a tense hand. She’d spent the ride holding tightly to Gallant’s mane, and he sensed terror from her—perhaps at moving so quickly. He looked to her scratched-out expression, feeling her grip on his uniform shoulder. “If I draw those men off, Maya,” he said, “can you get to Notum and cut him free? You could use one of the swords in the saddle sheaths.” Her reply was a low growl, half a whine, and a tightening of her grip on his shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said, prying her fingers free. “It’s not your fault. Stay here. Stay safe.” Adolin took a deep breath and heaved his greatsword from its scabbard on Gallant’s shoulder. His swordstaff was back at camp, in the box of weapons—along with his shield and helm. So his best option against this rabble was the weapon with the best reach. He hefted the massive sword. It was thinner than a Shardblade, but as long as many—and heavier. Many swordsmen he knew looked down on them as inferior to Shardblades, but you
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could use many of the same sword forms—and there was something solid about a greatsword that Adolin had always liked. He strode across the black obsidian ground and started shouting. “Hey!” he said, holding the sword out to the side with both hands. “Hey!” That got their attention. The dark figures moved away from Notum, a huddled form of soft white and blue. Right, then, Adolin thought. Stall for time. He didn’t have to defeat all twenty men here; he only had to last long enough for his soldiers to arrive and help even the odds. Unfortunately, even if these Tukari weren’t battle-trained, he was at a severe disadvantage. As a young man—his head full of stories of Shardbearers defeating entire companies on their own—he’d assumed he could easily take on two or three opponents at once in a bout. He’d been sorely disabused of this notion. Yes, one man could stand against many with proper training—but it was never preferable. It was too easy to get surrounded, too easy to take a strike from behind while you were engaging someone else. Unless your enemy didn’t know what they were doing. Unless they were frightened. Unless you could keep them from pressing their advantage. He wouldn’t win here because he outdueled anyone. He’d win because his opponents lost. “Hey, let’s talk!” Adolin said. “You’ve got an honorspren there. How much do you want for him?” They responded in Tukari, and as before—when he’d approached them in the camp—their postures were immediately hostile. They advanced on him with their weapons out, bearded faces and thick hair accenting their dark expressions. Adolin caught anticipationspren, like enormous lurgs, hovering around the outside of the battlefield. Even heard a painspren howl in the distance. “Don’t suppose you’d agree to fighting one at a time,” Adolin said. “A set of friendly duels? I’ll go easy on you, I promise.” They drew closer and closer, just a few feet away now. One spearman was out in front of the others. Spears would be most dangerous; Adolin would have reach against the ones with cutlasses. “I guess not,” he said with a sigh. Then he launched himself forward, greatsword in a firm two-handed grip. He batted away the first man’s spear thrust, then came in with a wide powerful swing and took off the man’s head. That was harder to do than people sometimes thought—even the sharpest blade could get caught in muscle or on the spine. Angle was everything, that and follow-through. Ignoring the gore of the strike, Adolin moved into Flamestance. Fast. Brutal. The other Tukari came at him, and Adolin rounded them to the side, trying to keep out of the point of their haphazard formation. His quick motions kept them off balance as they scrambled to try to surround him. Training, fortunately, was on Adolin’s side. He knew how to keep moving, putting as many of them in front of him as possible. Untrained soldiers would move in packs, letting you get around them and keep them from your back. And they shied away as
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he made great sweeps with his sword, more warding blows than actual attacks. As he dodged around the side, some of them glanced the other way as a soldier at the rear barked an order. That cost them. Adolin crashed into the pack’s flank, slamming the greatsword into one man’s side, then ripping it free with a heave and slashing across another’s throat with the backswing. He gutted one more with a lunge—another spearman, his primary goal for this offensive. The men shouted and scattered away in a panic, the man he’d speared through screaming and stumbling. Even those accustomed to battle could be intimidated by the casual brutality of a greatsword at work. Adolin managed to catch one final Tukari, who wasn’t quick enough to get away. Adolin connected with a large sweep into the man’s arm. The Tukari howled, dropping his weapon, and Adolin kicked him while yanking at the sword—which had gotten caught in the bone. Adolin pulled it free with effort and a spray of blood, then did a full-body spin and swept outward, making the others leap away in fear. This wasn’t the delicate beautiful dance of a duel—this wasn’t what he loved. This was butchery. Fortunately, he had some good role models in that realm. His best allies were speed and intimidation. As he’d hoped, these men responded poorly to losing several of their number in such a swift, terrible strike. They shied away instead of pressing their numerical advantage. They cried out in shock, anger, and fear as he engaged the next man—isolating this foe in a line between Adolin and the others, so they wouldn’t have a clear rush at him. Adolin struck in rapid succession to batter away the man’s shield, then cut him down with a strike at the collarbone. Not the cleanest kill, that, but the blood on Adolin’s uniform and face must have made him fearsome—for the Tukari scrambled even farther back, shouting in their language. Now, unfortunately, came the bad part. Adolin tried to keep them frightened by advancing on the nearest man, but they refused to engage him—and kept trying to surround him. When you were alone in the open, simply keeping from being surrounded was a chore. He had to dedicate all his attention to dancing backward, using sweeps to ward away foes, looking for an opening—but constantly wary of letting anyone get behind him. He could do that, so long as he didn’t get tired—but they’d wear him down eventually, and he’d slow. He tried another ploy, moving to Stonestance, a warding posture, trying to conserve energy. So long as they were circling him, afraid of him like they might fear a hissing skyeel, it gave more time for the others to arrive. This allowed him to move in close to Notum, who was groaning, his body pierced in a dozen places with wounds that bled a fine, white-blue mist. Unfortunately, his bonds were tight—and even if he could get free, Adolin doubted he’d be able to run for safety in his condition. Keep stalling, Adolin
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thought, but the enemy was closing in again. He’d brutalized them quickly and efficiently at first—but it was still fourteen on one, and they seemed to realize he was doomed. They pulled tighter around him, forcing him to keep moving and trying to watch all of them at once. There was one man left with a shield, and he shouted orders. Four came running, two from the left, two from the right. That leader must have had some combat experience—for he didn’t send everyone at once, as a chaotic jumble would have favored Adolin. Better to have the others wait until he was engaged, then come in and overwhelm him. With a soft curse, Adolin engaged the first pair swiftly, his sole hope being to fell those two, then get at the two behind. Unfortunately, these front two fought defensively, raising their swords and refusing to fully engage him. He was forced to spin and sweep at the two on the other side—then try to come back and keep the front two from taking him. He managed to land a blow, but as he was engaged in keeping from being surrounded, the leader sent others at him—just running. Storms. He had to dodge to the side to prevent himself from getting knocked over, and while he cut down two that came running, the resulting chaos was just what he’d feared. They managed to surround him as he was so distracted trying to keep from getting knocked down. In the jumble, he ended up getting pressed by two men with swords, who forced in so close as he came out of a spin that he had to half-sword his greatsword. That let him get a precision strike at the throat of one of the enemies, but left his back open. He heard the boots on stone, and while Adolin tried to spin in time, he was too late. The man’s off-center spear thrust took Adolin on his right side, near the stomach. Adolin grunted at the pain, but managed to get his sword in and batter the spearman away. Damnation. He’d taken exactly the kind of hit he’d feared—an unseen spear while he was overwhelmed. His own blood began to stain his uniform; the end had begun. They didn’t have to defeat him in some spectacular duel; they merely had to cut him a few times and let blood loss drop him. But if I can just hold on … The howl of a painspren echoed in the distance. Adolin fought off his nearest foes, intimidating them backward with a roar and several grand sweeps. However, the leader sent in four fresh swordsmen. They’d have done better if they all had spears, but it gave scant advantage to Adolin, as he had to fight wildly—with callous sweeps—to try to keep them all away. Adolin was proud that, as one attacker stumbled, he was able to strike at the man’s exposed thigh and send him screaming to the ground. The cries of their wounded friend frightened the others for a brief moment, until their
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captain shouted them back into place. Maybe if Adolin could get at that man, a figure wearing a blue-on-yellow-patterned overcoat … Adolin tried, but two men stepped in to defend the leader. Boots on stone behind made Adolin spin, block, then spin again. All around him, others danced in a strange motion, moving unexpectedly. Adolin was tiring, and it was getting harder and harder to keep them all on one side of him. Plus, they were untrained—which could be dangerous. Untrained soldiers were far more aggressive, not realizing that they were likely to just leave you both dead with those kinds of tactics. Adolin couldn’t watch them all, let alone fight them all, and he felt his own doom as he leaped away from an attack—and his back connected with someone behind him. They had gotten in that close? He braced himself for the blade that would follow. Instead he heard a low growl. Startled, Adolin glanced over his shoulder to find that the figure he’d run into had put her back to his. Maya had his shortsword out of its sheath, but she held it like a baton, her arm outstretched, sword straight up. Not an effective stance—plus, when the enemy drew close, she didn’t swing at them, but merely growled. “You shouldn’t have come,” Adolin said, warm blood from his wound leaking down his side and leg. He didn’t dare try to stanch it, or he’d leave his hand slippery for the fight. “But thank you.” She growled in return. Gallant approached to the left, completely disobeying orders, but two of the enemy who still had spears noticed and began forcing him away. The remaining Tukari moved around Adolin and Maya, predatory, circling. They seemed concerned about this new arrival, though Adolin wasn’t certain how long that hesitance would last. They’d soon realize she wasn’t much of a threat. Unless … “Maya!” Adolin said, resetting his stance with arms overhead, holding the sword in a distinctive manner. The way Zahel had taught him to do his morning kata. She glanced at him, and though he couldn’t read her scratched-out eyes, something changed in her posture. She seemed to understand. She’d done this kata with Adolin every morning out here, and before that he’d done it with her as his sword countless times. Blessedly, she moved into the same form, now holding the sword in a proper grip, her stance powerful. “Go,” he said. He began the kata, and she did likewise. It wasn’t meant for actual fighting, but it looked impressive, sweeping with glistening blades. The Tukari leader glanced toward the approaching horses bearing Adolin’s soldiers, then barked a command. His men pressed closer to Adolin, though they seemed terrified of Maya. And who wouldn’t be? A deadeye, fighting? A couple were distracted by Gallant, who came in snorting. Most importantly, Adolin’s biggest disadvantage had been mitigated. He didn’t have to watch his back. Even wounded, warm blood staining his side, Adolin felt his confidence surge. Three men came at him, and Adolin stood firm. No. He would not be
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pushed around. Never underestimate the strength of a soldier trained to stand fast. He roared at the men, swinging his greatsword before them, breaking their charge as they pulled up short. Yes, a crowd could overwhelm one, and sword skill could only hold them back so long. But training was about more than learning to swing a weapon. It was about confidence. Never underestimate the simple intimidating force of a man who won’t back down. The first came at Adolin with a sword, but hadn’t been caring for his weapon. The handguard had come off, so Adolin hacked the man’s fingers as they wrapped the hilt of the weapon, dropping them. A foolish mistake; a good swordmaster always taught you to watch your hands. As this man screamed, the other two came in, and Adolin did a full-bodied lunge, stretching out the greatsword with a reach that obviously surprised the men as Adolin speared right through the stomach of one from a full body-length away. Adolin reset, stepping forward and spinning, putting all his weight and momentum into the strike that hit the second man. And another head went flying. Movement at his side showed two others approaching, but as Adolin returned to his stance and put his back to Maya, they—they scrambled away. With their friends dying on the ground before them, these men had had enough. Trembling, they ran away yelling, joined by their friend who had lost his fingers, cradling his bloody hand. The Tukari leader himself came in with one bodyguard as others began to scatter. Adolin didn’t retreat a single step as he met the bodyguard, sidestepping his lunge. Never underestimate the worth of being willing to hold. Your. GROUND. He shouldered aside the stumbling bodyguard, then swept out and nearly managed to take the leader’s head—the man dodged just in time, escaping with a gash in his shoulder instead. Thundering sounds made it seem like Adolin’s soldiers were close, though it was only Gallant, brilliantly stomping loudly and letting out a scream. Together, it was too much for the men. Adolin didn’t win. But the Tukari lost, running toward their supply dump and the safety of the numbers they’d left behind. The leader finally joined them. When Felt and the others arrived a few minutes later, they found a bloodied Adolin propping up Notum—dazed, but alive—surrounded by the corpses of what had once been overwhelming odds against him. I find this difficult to do on an intrinsic level, as although I am neither Ruin nor Preservation, they make up me. “I cannot fathom this,” Notum said, staring ahead. He didn’t blink. “I just cannot fathom this.” Radiant had noticed that quirk in numerous spren in this world; they forgot to blink when they were distracted or overwhelmed. She shooed away the shockspren who were clustering around the spren, practically trying to climb in his lap. It was so strange for all the spren here to have physical forms; they sometimes had to be pushed away with a weapon. Adolin’s soldiers stood in a cluster on a
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nearby rise, spyglasses to their eyes, keeping a cautious watch on the enemy caravan. It was—fortunately—withdrawing. Shallan’s agents were circumspectly going through the pockets of the dead, searching for clues to their origins. She spotted Vathah depositing some spheres into his own pouch, and was going to shout at him, but Veil persuaded her to hold her tongue. What else were they going to do? Leave the money? The spheres, as expected, were dun. There was no Stormlight here. Though Godeke had inspected Adolin’s side wound and given a good prognosis, she would rather see him healed. Sepsis could claim any wound, but especially gut wounds. In addition, Radiant suspected Notum could use a little Stormlight. Though his wounds had stopped “bleeding,” his glow had dampened noticeably, and his cheery blue-white coloring had become a dull brown-white. He spoke in a daze. “Why … why would they do this? Humans have never … attacked spren. What would be the point, the use, the purpose? There is no honor in this!” His Reacher companions had been released from their bonds as well. In Radiant’s experience, the bronze-colored spren tended to be quiet. These three—one male, two female, wearing simple uniforms—gave no response. They seemed as baffled as Notum. “We need to take you to Lasting Integrity,” Adolin said, sitting on a rock nearby as Godeke bound his wound. “No,” Notum said. “No, I am exiled.” “You’re wounded, and we can’t guarantee those humans won’t return the moment we leave you,” Adolin said. “Exile or not, you’re coming with us.” Notum glanced from Adolin to Radiant, then looked down. “Your honor does you credit, Prince Adolin, but you must realize my presence in your party will do you harm. I was exiled precisely because I showed you leniency in the past. If I arrive with you now, whatever the reason, it will be seen as conspiracy between us.” “We’ll deal with that then,” Adolin said, wincing as Godeke pulled his bandage tight. “Kelek knows, it’s probably not going to matter—since they’re likely to turn us away regardless.” “I wish that were not true, but it is,” Notum said. Radiant joined her agents. Ishnah was speaking softly to Beryl, who sat on the ground nearby, picking through some of the loot. Beryl had thrown up several times upon first encountering the corpses, and she still seemed pallid from the sight, though her tan skin tone made that difficult to read. “Make sure you check the insides of rings, the backs of necklaces,” Ishnah was saying. “Sometimes there are inscriptions with names.” Beryl nodded. She kept glancing at the bloodied cloth they’d put over a dead Tukari man’s neck stump. She put her hand to her lips, pointedly turning away. All right, Shallan admitted, if she’s the Ghostblood, she’s an incredible actor. I agree with Veil. We need to rethink our conclusion there. Adolin stood up. “Let’s get moving,” he said to the others. “I want more space between us and the rest of those Tukari.” It took a little time to get Notum up on
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one of the horses, during which Godeke—oddly—began moving among the fallen, inspecting their faces. “Godeke?” Shallan asked. “They’re going to be left out here to rot,” Godeke said quietly. “Those others won’t come back for them.” “They tried to kill Notum,” Adolin said. “And me.” “I realize this,” Godeke said. “But we don’t know their story. These could be soldiers following orders. They could be confused, mistaking the honorspren for enemies. They could have motives we can’t even guess. I want to remember them. In case no one else does.” Edgedancers. Shallan shook her head, then checked on Adolin herself. She poked at his bloodied side. “That’s another uniform you’ve ruined.” “Cold water and a soak in salt can get the blood out,” he said. “And I brought my sewing kit. Bet I can have it presentable with a little work.” “Still,” she said, resting her head against his chest—careful not to touch the wound. “You need to be careful. We don’t have any Stormlight left to heal ourselves.” “So … basically it’s how it’s been for most of my life?” Adolin said. He rested his hand on her back. “Maybe I did get carried away, Shallan. But it was good to find something I could do. Successfully, I mean. These days it’s not common that I find a place where I’m useful.” “Adolin…” She pulled away and studied his face. He was smiling, but his tone wasn’t joking. “Sorry,” he said. “That sounded a lot like self-pity, didn’t it? I’m just tired. Come on, we really should get going.” That wasn’t the end of the discussion—she’d press him on it later—but for now it was probably best to do as he said. They left the corpses and trudged across the open field of obsidian toward their camp. About halfway back, they met the Cryptics—save Pattern—and the Stump with her spren, hiking slowly. Arshqqam took in the sight, then nodded in satisfaction and turned to start hiking back. Fortunately, Notum did seem to be looking better already. “Your deadeye,” he said, moving up beside Adolin. “How did you train her to fight for you like that?” Shallan glanced at Maya, who was riding on Adolin’s Ryshadium. Shallan hadn’t seen it, but she’d heard. The dead spren had picked up a sword and fought beside Adolin. “I didn’t train her, Notum,” Adolin said. “She chose to help me.” “Deadeyes can’t make choices,” Notum said. “They don’t have the presence of mind for it. I know this personally. My own father is a deadeye, cared for in the fortress now.” “Revise what you know, Notum,” Adolin said. “Maybe something changed once Radiants started returning. Or maybe some deadeyes are more responsive than others.” “It simply … it doesn’t make sense…” Notum said, but abandoned the argument. At their camp, a perky Pattern was happily waving to them. Shallan smiled at that. No matter what else happened, she could count on Pattern to be his same awkward—yet encouraging—self. Adolin didn’t give them time to rest. He ordered the horses watered, but supplies packed up so
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they could march straight for Lasting Integrity. Radiant took over from Shallan again as he gave the commands, and she immediately recognized the wisdom in them. Despite Adolin’s brilliant show of swordplay, their group was quite exposed. Without Stormlight, most of the Radiants barely counted as warriors. Adolin was wounded, and Notum struggled to remain upright. If the Tukari regrouped and decided to charge them … Well, best to remove the option and push—difficult as it would be—to reach the honorspren stronghold before the day was done. Veil checked with Vathah and Ishnah about the corpses they’d searched. The pilfering had been quick, and their findings slim. A few cloth bracelets had patterns Ishnah said she thought were Tukari clan writing. After that Radiant checked with Pattern, but nothing unusual had happened while they were gone. Finally, as their supplies were being loaded onto the packhorses, Shallan took over and moved to check on Mraize’s communication cube out of habit. Shallan unlocked the trunk and popped it open, then gave a quick glance inside. She didn’t expect … The powder had been disturbed. Suppressing her immediate shock, Shallan took a Memory, then shut the trunk and clicked the lock closed. She moved by rote, letting one of the soldiers load it on a horse. Then she stood there, stunned. The powder had been brushed faintly by fingers; she could visualize it distinctly. It had been returned in the right orientation, but Veil’s trick with the powder revealed the truth. How … She’d checked it earlier. Just before they’d all run off after Adolin. But then she’d left the camp under the watch of … Of Pattern. “Mmmm…” he said, making Shallan jump as she noticed him standing right behind her. “An eventful day with humans! Your lives are always so exciting. Mmm…” “Pattern,” Veil said, “nothing happened here while we were gone. You are sure?” “Yes, very sure. Ha ha. You had excitement, and I was bored. It is irony! Ha ha.” Veil, this can’t … this can’t be possible, Shallan thought. We can’t be suspicious of Pattern of all people. It … I can’t … Yet hadn’t he been standing nearby when she’d mentioned the secret to Beryl that had made its way to Mraize? And she’d told him about the orientation issue with the cube, so it was no wonder that this time—in using it—the spy had returned it exactly the right way. Radiant wasn’t convinced. And … it was ridiculous, wasn’t it? To think Pattern could be spying on her for the Ghostbloods? He loved lies, but she doubted he could manage one himself. At least not one that would fool Veil. Shallan took over, and tried to put the idea out of her mind as they began walking. But it wouldn’t leave her alone. Veil and even Radiant began to wonder. He’d had opportunity. He knew about the communication cube, and had been watching over it the night she’d been drunk. Shallan’s father had belonged to the Ghostbloods; her family had been involved with them all the way
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back in her youth. Perhaps in her childhood, during those shadowy days she’d forgotten? Could the conspiracy go back that far? Her association with Pattern stretched back to that time, for certain. She’d used him as a Blade to kill her mother. Shallan had suppressed many of those memories, but this fact was indisputable. Pattern and she had begun to bond nearly a decade ago. Could Pattern have been working with them all along? Feeding them information about her progress? Leading her to contact them when she’d first come to the warcamps? The implications of that shook her to the core. If her spren was a spy … could she trust anything? Could she even keep going? This revelation was far, far worse than discovering Vathah or Ishnah had been the spy. This … this made her tremble. Made her legs weak. Shallan, Radiant thought. Be strong. We don’t know all the facts yet. No. No, she couldn’t be strong. Not in the face of this. She crawled away, deep within, and started whimpering like a child. Something was odd about Pattern, about his interactions with her all along. The way he covered up what happened in the past. The timeline of her past … disregarding the holes in it … didn’t quite work. It never had worked.… Strength, Shallan, Veil thought. Take over, Shallan thought. You can face this. It’s why you were created. Try to keep going, Veil thought, refusing to take over. Just keep walking. You can do this. So Shallan reluctantly maintained control. When Adolin called a brief break two hours later, Shallan forced herself to make a quick sketch of the communication cube in its trunk. The Memory was perfect, and the details did not lie. The powder had been scuffed with finger marks. It was a very, very thin coating, almost invisible. But her Lightweaver ability allowed her to memorize such details. Shallan tried hard to ignore the problem, instead focusing on their surroundings, which had grown more uneven and rocky. The glass trees here were beautiful, like they were molten liquid, and made sweeping curls reminiscent of crashing waves. Yes, focus on those. That beauty. She was particularly thrilled when she spotted what had to be Lasting Integrity: a large fortress on a bleak outcrop of obsidian jutting out into the bead ocean. Imperious—with high walls crafted of some uniformly blue stone—the large boxy fortress was positioned perfectly to defend a natural bay to the north. You even had to cross a bridge to reach the place. Honorspren, it was clear, did not take fortification lightly. Shallan wanted to draw it. She could lose herself in the picture and not have to confront other facts. But then Pattern walked up beside her, and she instead whimpered and retreated again. Veil at last took control. For Shallan’s own good. “We are almost arrived!” Pattern said, his pattern rotating in an intensely excited manner. Veil needed proof, so she chose her words deliberately. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your early days with Shallan. It seems possible
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that the Ghostbloods were watching her when she was a child. If we can discover facts to confirm this, it might help us figure out how to beat them.” “Mm. That makes sense, I suppose!” he said. “I don’t remember much though.” “You were together once, in the garden, with Shallan,” Veil said—fabricating a complete lie. “I can see her memories. Shallan saw Balat speaking to someone who looked, in hindsight, like she might have been wearing a mask. Do you suppose he might be the spy?” “Oh!” Pattern said. “Your brother? Working with the Ghostbloods? Hmmm … That would be painful for you! But maybe it makes sense. Mraize always does seem to know too much about your brothers and where they are.” “Do you remember that day in Shallan’s past?” Veil pushed. “Anything about it?” “In the garden, with Balat meeting someone wearing a mask…” Pattern said. “An important moment,” Veil said. “You were there. I can remember you being with Shallan.” “Um … Yes!” he said. “I remember now. Ha ha. Yes, that happened. Balat and a mysterious figure. You have made my memory start to return, Veil! We were together then. And maybe Balat is a spy. My my. That is very naughty of him.” From deep inside, Shallan whimpered again. But Veil, Veil had been created to soldier through moments like this. She ignored the profound sickening feeling. Pattern was lying to her. Pattern was lying. Veil couldn’t take anything for granted any longer. She couldn’t assume anyone was trustworthy. She had to be careful, redouble her defenses, and keep Shallan safe. “Veil?” Pattern asked. “Are you well? Did I say something wrong?” “I’m merely thinking,” Veil said. “Have you seen any strange spren watching us?” “The corrupted gloryspren?” he asked. “Like you said to watch out for? No, I have not. Mmm…” She saw something ahead, a small group of riders glowing a faint blue-white. The honorspren had seen them approaching, and had sent a contingent to engage them. Adolin halted the column, dismounting and telling his soldiers to water the horses and settle everyone. Then he stepped forward, still wearing the bloodied uniform, his side bandaged. Veil moved to follow. “Keep your eyes—or whatever it is you have—open,” she said to Pattern as he ambled along beside her. “These are dangerous times, Pattern. We have to always be on the watch. Careful, lest we be taken advantage of…” “Yes, truly.” Shallan grew very small, very quiet. It’s all right, Veil thought. I’ll figure it out. I’ll find a way to keep you safe. I promise. * * * Adolin stopped in front of his caravan, Shallan at his side. The pain medication he’d taken was working, and he felt only a small ache from his gut wound. And the march here—during which he’d admitted he needed to ride, letting him rest—had helped with his light-headedness. He still required sleep and time to recover. This wound wouldn’t be debilitating, unless it started to rot. But he also wouldn’t be in fighting shape for weeks at least.
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For now, he kept a strong front. He had Notum stay back, though he was certain the three approaching honorspren had seen him. They rode on those same graceful not-horses that Notum had been riding earlier. His had run off in a panic when he’d been attacked, and they hadn’t been able to locate it. These newcomers wore sharp field uniforms after an unfamiliar style—long sweeping coats that trailed almost to the knees, with high collars. They wore crowns on their heads, and carried long swords at their sides, slim and beautiful. The swords were the only things they wore that weren’t made of their own substance—coats, crowns, shirts, all were simply created by the honorspren. A woman at the front had the highest collar of the three. She wore her hair up, tight save for one small tail of it pouring out the back. That, like the uniforms, was a fashion style unfamiliar to Adolin. She pulled her not-horse to a halt about five paces from him. “Human,” she said. “You’ve been recognized by our scouts. Are you Adolin Kholin, as we have surmised?” “Your intelligence is good,” he said to her, hand resting on his sheathed sword. “I’ve come by order of the Bondsmith, my father, to visit your lands and deliver a message on his behalf. I bring with me Knights Radiant of four different orders, all of whom work in concert against the rising Everstorm. Proof that men and spren once again need their bonds of old.” “Lasting Integrity is not accepting visitors or emissaries, regardless of their pedigree,” the woman said, her tone sharp, each word a barked order. “You are to leave. We are not interested in bonds with murderers and traitors.” Adolin took out the letters he’d been given, proffering them. He waited, sweating, hoping. One of the honorspren urged its mount forward, then took the letters. Adolin felt a wave of relief as the honorspren returned to the other two. “Those letters explain our position,” Adolin said. “My father hopes that we can forge a new—” He was interrupted as the spren deliberately ripped the letters in half. “We will not accept,” the woman said, “a contract from you.” “It’s not a contract!” Adolin said, stepping forward, ignoring a spike of pain from his side. “They’re just letters! At least read them!” “By reading these, we imply there is an argument you could make to persuade us,” the woman said as the other honorspren further shredded the letters. “You will withdraw from these lands and take with you the traitor Notum. Inform him that we now know his complicities run deeper than anticipated. His exile is complete.” Adolin gritted his teeth. “He was attacked,” he said. “Nearly killed before we could get there! The world is changing. Barricading yourselves in your fortress won’t stop the change, but it might leave you completely without allies when you finally realize you need to do something!” The honorspren unsheathed her sword and pointed it at him. “This is our realm. Our sovereign land. So you will leave
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as ordered. Humans never respect that, never accept that spren can own anything. We are possessions to you.” “I don’t—” “You will leave,” she said. “We reject your offer! We reject your bonds!” Adolin took a deep breath, each of his arguments dying like shriveled plants starved for rainwater. Until only one dangerous possibility remained. A plan he had barely dared consider, let alone suggest to the others. When he spoke, it was with the same brashness—but the same sense of instinctive rightness—that had led him to attack Sadeas. “You mistake me!” he snapped at the honorspren. “I didn’t come to offer you bonds with Radiants.” “What, then?” she demanded. “I’ve come,” Adolin said, “to face your judgment. You’ve named us murderers, traitors. I reject this, and vow to prove it. Take me, as a representative of the Kholin house and the new government of Urithiru. I am a highprince of Alethkar and the son of the Bondsmith. I will stand in the place of those humans whom you say betrayed you. You wish to reject us because of what they did? Prove, through judgment, that I deserve this treatment.” The lead honorspren fell silent, then she leaned to the side and whispered quickly to her companions. They seemed equally baffled. Behind, Shallan took Adolin by the arm on his good side, her face concerned. He stood firm. Not because he was confident, but because he was angry. They wanted to call him a traitor? They wanted to blame him for what had been done to Maya? Well, they were honorspren. He suspected they wouldn’t be able to resist a chance to formally defend their honor—as they saw it. “You would stand trial?” the honorspren said at last. “For your ancestors?” “I will stand trial for myself. In turning me away, you insult my sense of dignity, my integrity. You say I am not worthy, when you do not know me?” “We know humans,” one said. “I reject that argument. Honor demands you let me speak for myself, if you are going to punish me. Where is the trial? Where is the chance for me to speak? Where is your honor?” This provoked a reaction at last. The three began looking at one another. “You are honorspren, are you not?” Adolin said. “You believe in justice? In fairness? Let’s see if you can uphold those ideals while blaming me for what was done in the past. Let me speak for myself. Then prove that I, Adolin Kholin, deserve to be turned away.” Finally the leader sat up straight in her saddle. “Very well. We cannot reject a demand for judgment. Come with us. Know that if you enter Lasting Integrity, there is little chance of you ever leaving.” “We shall see,” Adolin said, then turned and waved to beckon the others. “No,” the honorspren said. “Just you.” “My party has traveled far,” Adolin said, “and they include representatives of—” “You may bring two others,” the honorspren said. “And that deadeye. You have bound her corpse, haven’t you, human? You’re not one of
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these new Radiants? Or have you already killed your spren?” “I’m not a Radiant,” Adolin said. “But yes, Maya is my Blade.” “Then we must be certain you are not mistreating her,” the honorspren said. “We care for all deadeyes. Bring her, and two others. Decide quickly.” Adolin ground his teeth. “Allow me to confer.” As he and Shallan returned to the others, she seized him by the arm. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “You can’t stand trial for what a bunch of people did thousands of years ago.” “I will if it gets us in those gates,” Adolin said. “Do we have a choice?” “Yes,” she said. “We could turn back.” And face my father, having failed him again? The others gathered around him. Adolin explained what was happening, the Stump’s spren translating for her. “I don’t like this,” Zu said, shaking her head, her golden hair shimmering. “I don’t like splitting us up.” “The first step to completing this mission is getting the honorspren to talk to me,” Adolin said. “If they turn us away here, we’re done. If I can get through those gates, I can maybe start a conversation.” “They’re not going to listen to you, Brightlord,” Godeke said. “They’re going to arrest you.” “If it gets me in, I don’t particularly care. We’ll send a small group back immediately to tell my father what I’ve done. The rest can camp out here for a few days, care for Notum, and wait for word from me. We have a few weeks until supplies make it necessary for you to return; we’ll decide what to do then.” The others offered a few more token objections. Shallan—actually, she seemed like Veil right now—merely listened as Adolin persuaded the others. She plainly knew he would take her in with him, as well as her spren. It seemed the natural choice. A short time later he approached the honorspren—leading Gallant, with Maya on his back—along with Veil, Pattern, and their trunks of clothing on pack animals. The honorspren spun about, then led them to the front of the fortress. There, they conferred with a few others who stood guard outside the walls. Then the gates opened. Adolin strode in, accompanied by Veil, Pattern, and Maya. He grunted at the pain from his wounded side as a group of glowing blue-white figures immediately seized him and slapped his wrists in chains. The gates swung shut behind them with a booming sound. So be it. He was not going to return to his father empty-handed. He would not abandon his mission. No matter the cost. To draw Stormlight out of a gemstone, I use the Arnist Method. Several large empty gemstones are brought close to the infused one while the spren is inspecting it. Stormlight is slowly absorbed from a small gemstone by a very large gemstone of the same type—and several together can draw the Light out quickly. The method’s limitation is, of course, the fact that you need not merely acquire one gemstone for your fabrial, but several larger ones to
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withdraw the Stormlight. Other methods must exist, as proven by the extremely large gemstone fabrials created by the Vriztl Guild out of Thaylenah. If Her Majesty would please repeat my request to the guild, this secret is of vital importance to the war effort. —Lecture on fabrial mechanics presented by Navani Kholin to the coalition of monarchs, Urithiru, Jesevan, 1175 When they awoke, Radiant immediately took charge and assessed the situation. She had a sack over her head, so nobody saw her disorientation, and she was careful not to move and warn her captors. Shallan had fortunately attached her Lightweaving in such a way that it would keep up their illusory face even while they were unconscious. Radiant didn’t appear to be bound, though she was being carried over someone’s shoulder. He smelled of chulls. Or maybe it was the sack. Her body had activated her powers, healed her, and let her wake sooner than she would have otherwise. Radiant didn’t like sneaking about or pretending, but she trusted that Veil and Shallan knew what they were doing. She instead did her part: judging the danger of the current situation. She seemed to be fine, though uncomfortable. Her head kept bouncing into the man’s back, pressing the sack against her face with each step. Deep down, she felt satisfaction from Veil. They’d nearly given up on this mission. It was nice to know that all their work hadn’t been in vain. Now, where were they taking her? That had proven one of the biggest mysteries: where the Sons of Honor held their little meetings. Shallan’s team had managed to get one person into the group months ago, but he hadn’t been important enough to be given the information they needed. A lighteyes had been required. They suspected Ialai had taken over the cult, now that Amaram was dead. Her faction was planning to seize the Oathgate at the center of the Shattered Plains. Unfortunately, Radiant didn’t have proof of these facts, and she would not move against Ialai without solid proof. Dalinar agreed with her, particularly after what Adolin had done to Ialai’s husband. Too bad he didn’t find a way to finish off the pair of them, Veil thought. That would not have been right, Radiant thought back. Ialai was no threat to him then. Shallan didn’t agree, and naturally Veil didn’t either, so Radiant let the matter drop. Hopefully Pattern was still following at a distance as instructed. Once the group stopped and began initiating Radiant, the spren would fetch Adolin and the soldiers in case she needed extraction. Eventually her captors halted, and rough hands hauled her off the shoulder. She closed her eyes and forced herself to remain limp as they set her on the ground. Wet and slimy rock, someplace cool. The sack came off, and she smelled something pungent. When she didn’t stir fast enough, someone dumped water on her head. It was time for Veil to take over. She gasped “awake,” shoving aside her first instinct, which was to grab a knife and make short
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work of whoever had drenched her. Veil wiped her eyes with her safehand sleeve, and found herself someplace dank and humid. Plants on the stone walls had pulled in at the ruckus, and the sky was a distant crack high in the air. Lifespren bobbed around many thick plants and vines. She was in one of the chasms. Kelek’s breath! How had they carried her down into the chasms without anyone seeing? A group of people in black robes stood around her, each holding a brightly shining diamond broam in one palm. She blinked at the sharp light. Their hoods looked a fair bit more comfortable than her sack. Each robe was embroidered with the Double Eye of the Almighty, and Shallan had a fleeting thought, wondering at the seamstress they’d hired to do all this work. What had they told her? “Yes, we want twenty identical, mysterious robes, sewn with ancient arcane symbols. They’re for … parties.” Forcing herself to stay in character, Veil gazed up with wonder and confusion, then shied back against the chasm wall, startling a cremling with dark purple colorings. A figure at the front spoke first, his voice deep and resonant. “Chanasha Hasareh, you have a fine and reputable name. After the legacy of Chanaranach’Elin, Herald of the Common Man. Do you truly wish for their return?” “I…” Veil raised her hand before the light of the spheres. “What is this? What is happening?” And which one of you is Ialai Sadeas? “We are the Sons of Honor,” another figure said. Female this time, but not Ialai. “It is our sworn and sacred duty to usher in the return of the Heralds, the return of storms, and the return of our god—the Almighty.” “I…” Veil licked her lips. “I don’t understand.” “You will,” the first voice said. “We’ve been watching you, and we find your passion to be worthy. You wish to oust the false king, the Blackthorn, and see the kingdom rightfully returned to the highprinces? You wish the justice of the Almighty to fall upon the wicked?” “Of course,” Veil said. “Excellent,” the woman said. “Our faith in you is well placed.” Veil was pretty sure that was Ulina, a member of Ialai’s inner circle. She’d initially been an unimportant lighteyed scribe, but was rapidly climbing the social ladder in the new power dynamic of the warcamps. Unfortunately, if Ulina was here, Ialai probably was not. The highprincess often sent Ulina to do things she did not wish to do herself. That indicated Veil had failed in at least one of her goals: she hadn’t made “Chanasha” seem important enough to deserve special attention. “We guided the return of the Radiants,” the man said. “Have you wondered why they appeared? Why all of this—the Everstorm, the awakening of the parshmen—is happening? We orchestrated it. We are the grand architects of the future of Roshar.” Pattern would have enjoyed that lie. Veil found it wanting. A good lie, the delicious kind, hinted at hidden grandeur or further secrets. This was instead the lie of a
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drunken has-been at the bar, trying to drum up enough pity to get a free drink. It was more pathetic than interesting. Mraize had explained about this group and their efforts to bring back the Heralds—who had actually never been gone. Gavilar had led them along, used their resources—and their hearts—to further his own goals. During that time, they’d briefly been important movers in the world. Much of that glory had faded when the old king had fallen, and Amaram had squandered the rest of it. These scattered remnants weren’t architects of the future. They were a loose end, and even Radiant agreed that this task—given them by both Dalinar and secretly Mraize—was worthy. It was time to end the Sons of Honor once and for all. Veil looked up at the cultists, walking a careful line between appearing cautious and fawning. “The Radiants. You’re Radiant?” “We are something greater,” the man said. “But before we say more, you must be initiated.” “I welcome any chance to serve,” Veil said, “but … this is quite sudden. How can I be sure you’re not agents of the false king seeking to trap people like me?” “All will be made clear in time,” the woman said. “And if I insist on proof?” Veil said. The figures glanced at one another. Veil got the feeling they hadn’t encountered much resistance during their previous recruitments. “We serve the rightful queen of Alethkar,” the woman finally said. “Ialai?” Veil breathed. “Is she here?” “Initiation first,” the man said, gesturing to two others. They approached Veil—including a tall one whose robes came down only to midcalf. He was notably rough as he grabbed her by the arms and hauled her upward, then repositioned her on her knees. Remember that one, she thought as the other figure removed a glowing device from a black sack. The fabrial was set with two bright garnets, and had a series of intricate wire loops. Shallan was particularly proud of that design. And although Veil had initially found it showy, she now recognized that was good for this group. They seemed to trust it implicitly as they held it up to her and pressed some buttons. The garnets went dark, and the figure proclaimed, “She bears no illusions.” Selling them that device had been delicious fun. Wearing the guise of a mystic, Veil had used the device to “expose” one of her Lightweavers in a carefully planned scheme. Afterward Veil had charged them double what Shallan had wanted—and the extravagant price had seemed only to make the Sons believe in its power more. Almighty bless them. “Your initiation!” the man said. “Swear to seek to restore the Heralds, the church, and the Almighty.” “I swear it,” Veil said. “Swear to serve the Sons of Honor and uphold their sacred work.” “I swear it.” “Swear to the true queen of Alethkar, Ialai Sadeas.” “I swear it.” “Swear you do not serve the false spren who bow before Dalinar Kholin.” “I swear it.” “See,” the woman said, looking to one of her companions. “If she’d
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been a Radiant, she couldn’t have sworn a false oath.” Oh, you sweet soft breeze, Veil thought. Bless you for being so naive. We’re not all Bondsmiths or their ilk. The Windrunners or Skybreakers might have had trouble being so glib with a broken promise, but Shallan’s order was founded on the idea that all people lied, especially to themselves. She couldn’t break an oath to her spren without consequences. But this group of human debris? She wouldn’t think twice about it—though Radiant did express some discontent. “Rise, Daughter of Honor,” the man said. “Now, we must replace your hood and return you. But fear not; one of us will soon contact you with further instructions and training.” “Wait,” Veil said. “Queen Ialai. I need to see her to prove to myself whom I’m serving.” “Perhaps you will earn this privilege,” the woman said, sounding smug. “Serve us well, and eventually you will receive greater rewards.” Great. Veil braced herself for what that meant: more time in these warcamps pretending to be a fussy lighteyed woman, carefully worming her way up through the ranks. It sounded dreadful. Unfortunately, Dalinar was genuinely concerned about Ialai’s growing influence. This little cult here might be gaudy and overacted, but it would be unwise to let a martial presence grow unchecked. They couldn’t risk another incident like Amaram’s betrayal, which had cost thousands of lives. Besides, Mraize considered Ialai to be dangerous. That was recommendation enough for Veil to see the woman brought down. So she’d have to keep working on this—and they’d therefore also have to find more ways to sneak Adolin out to spend time with Shallan. The girl wilted if not given proper loving attention. For her sake, Veil tried again. “I don’t know if waiting is wise,” she said to the others as the tall man prepared to replace her sack. “You should know, I have connections to Dalinar Kholin’s inner circle. I can feed you information about his plans, if I’m properly incentivized.” “There will be time for that,” the woman said. “Later.” “Don’t you want to know what he’s planning?” “We already know,” the man said, chuckling. “We have a source far closer to him than you.” Wait. Wait. Shallan came alert. They had someone near Dalinar? Perhaps they were lying, but … could she risk that? We need to do something, she thought. If Ialai had an operative in Dalinar’s inner circle, it could be life-threatening. They didn’t have time for Veil to slowly infiltrate her way to the top. They needed to know who this informant was now. Veil stepped back, letting Shallan take over. Radiant could fight, and Veil could lie. But when they needed a problem solved quickly, it was Shallan’s turn. “Wait,” Shallan said, standing up and pushing aside the man’s hands as he tried to shove the sack over her head. “I’m not who you think I am.” Regardless, I will try to do as you suggest. However, you seem more afraid of the Vessel. I warn you that this is a flaw in
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your understanding. Weeks after destroying the spanreed, Navani still hadn’t made headway discovering the nature of the spren who had contacted them. Their triangulation of the spanreed had led them to a strange dark location on the fourth floor of the tower, near a monastery. The measurements hadn’t been precise enough to tell them exactly where, and searches had revealed nothing. Nevertheless, Navani had plenty of other things to occupy her. Running a kingdom—even one consisting of a single enormous city—was a wearying task. She rarely got a break from the demands of merchants, lighteyes, ardents, and the thousands of others who needed her attention. Whenever she did, she retreated to the basement of the tower, where she could peek in on the efforts of her scholars. Today she could spare only an hour—but she wanted to make the most of it. As soon as she entered, Tomor—the young relative of Falilar—ran over and intercepted her, carrying a strange device. “Brightness!” he said, with a quick bow. “You’re here! See, it’s finally done!” Tomor held up a device that resembled a leather glove. He was working on that lifting fabrial, she remembered. I told him to connect it to those weights in the deep shaft. She was still excited by that prospect: the idea of using the power of the storms to wind up weights, then activate them with a fabrial to raise a lift. This lifting fabrial was only a small part of that larger, more important device. Navani took the fabrial from him, hesitant. “You … made it into a glove?” “Yes, like you asked!” Tomor said. “I didn’t ask for a glove,” Navani said. “I wanted the device to be more portable and elegant.” “Like … a glove?” he said. “It’s intended to be mounted to a lift, Ardent Tomor,” Navani said. “I don’t see how this shape enhances its function.” “But with this, you don’t need a lift!” he explained with enthusiasm. “Look, here, put it on!” He nodded eagerly as Navani fit the device over her hand and wrist, then had Tomor tie the straps to brace it up to her elbow. Made of stiff leather, it was almost more a gauntlet than a glove. The gemstones were hidden in a compartment at the side, affixed with metal caging that could be covered over with another piece of leather. “See, see!” Tomor said. “You can conjoin different fabrials with this dial on the side of the index finger. You can move it with your thumb, allowing single-handed manipulation! By making a fist, you can slow the unwinding of the weight! Open palm, you go at maximum speed. Closed fist, you stop!” “Maximum speed…” It registered what he was saying. He expected people to rise through the central shaft of the tower being pulled by their hand. It was a wildly imaginative application of what she’d wanted—and also a terrible design. “Tomor,” Navani said, trying to find a way to explain without dampening his enthusiasm. “Don’t you think this might be a little dangerous? We should be designing
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lifts.” “But we already have fabrials for that!” he said. “Think of the flexibility this would allow Brightlord Dalinar. Wearing this gauntlet, he could go zip all the way to the top without needing to wait for a lift! Walking outside the tower, and don’t want to go all the way to the central shaft to catch a lift? No problem. Zip! All the way up high.” She tried to imagine Dalinar dangling in the sky after going “zip” because he activated this insane device, and couldn’t help smiling. If her husband wanted, he could have a Windrunner fly him up—but he never did. As efficient as that sounded, it really wasn’t worth the hassle and inconvenience, rather than simply riding a lift like everyone else. “It’s a wonderfully creative design, Tomor,” she said. “I sometimes miss the flexibility of a young mind—it truly does lead one to explore paths that we, in our aged wisdom, never think to notice. You’ve done well here.” He beamed. Now, if she could get him to do what she’d actually asked— “Try it!” he said. Try it. Oh dear. She glanced at his animated smile, and didn’t miss Kristir—the head scholar on duty today—passing behind, hiding her own smile with a stack of papers as she walked. The other scholars in the room pretended to be busy amid their logicspren, but Navani could feel their eyes. “I assume,” she said to Tomor, “you’ve tested this yourself.” “Yes!” he said. “I’ve been doing it in here for days!” Well, at least it was probably safe. Navani gave him a polite smile, then inspected the controls. Yes … so this fabrial held several separate rubies, each attached to a distant weight. You pointed the glove in the direction you wanted to go—presumably up, but it could move you laterally as well—then conjoined one of the rubies. Then you unhooked the weight with a different control, and the glove pulled you along—using the force of the falling weight. She took a deep breath, then raised her hand in the air. “Be sure to make a fist first!” Tomor said. She did so, then conjoined the device. The glove locked into place. She released one of the distant weights, then carefully relaxed her fist, and the distant weight slowly moved down. Navani went up. Pulled somewhat uncomfortably by her arm, she rose several feet into the air. Tomor let out a whoop, and a number of the watching scribes applauded. Navani tightened her fist, halting her ascent. She floated there, dangling by her arm roughly four feet in the air, her fist nearly touching the ceiling. “See!” Tomor said. “See!” “And … exactly how does one get down, Tomor?” she asked. “Um…” He ran to the side and grabbed a large stepstool by the wall. “I’ve been using this.…” He placed it for her, and—thankfully—she was allowed to deactivate the device. She dropped a few inches onto the stepstool to further applause. Now they were just baiting her. Still, Tomor was sincere. And maybe there could be some use
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for this device. If someone needed to reach a flying ship that had already taken off, for example. “I like it,” she told Tomor. “It’s a little hard on the shoulder though. I wonder if it would be better as some kind of belt, instead of a glove.” “A belt…” he said, eyes opening wide. “A flying belt.” “Well, a levitating belt,” Navani said, unstrapping the device. “Our fabrials still have the problem that they can only move in one direction at a time.” “Yes, but with two belts,” he said, “you could fly up high, then shoot off into the distance!” “Only until the weight hits the bottom of the shaft and you stop moving,” Navani said. “Unless we want to use an entire chull rig with dozens of attendants to keep you going, like we do with the Fourth Bridge.” “Hmm,” Tomor said. “So many knots to untangle…” “I also suggest,” Navani said before he could get distracted by the belt idea, “changing the method of speeding up and slowing down. It is more natural to open your fist when surprised, I think, so that should halt the device. Make it so that there is a bar—like a throttle for opening a pressure valve—across the hand. Squeeze it to get speed.” “Right, right…” He sat and began sketching. “I’ll keep it as a gauntlet for now, and iterate … And maybe the dial on the finger is too easy to shift by accident. Perhaps we give up single-handed manipulation in favor of more specific control.…” Navani left him and walked over to Kristir. She was short of stature, but not of personality, and bore a smile on her rosy cheeks. Navani leaned in to whisper, “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” “We’ve had a pool going on whether you would actually try it out, Brightness,” Kristir whispered. “I won seven clearmarks.” She grinned. “You want me to point him back at making a lift, like he was supposed to be doing?” “No,” Navani said. “Encourage him to keep going in this direction. I’d like to see what he comes up with.” “Understood—though it would help us all immeasurably if you could break the altitude/lateral movement exclusivity problem for us.” “It will take a better mind than mine to do that, Kristir,” Navani said. “Put our best mathematicians on it—but not Rushu. I have her thinking about how to protect the tower from—” A shout came from outside the room. Navani turned and strode toward the door—but was stopped by a young soldier with his hand out toward her. He waved for the room’s guards to check the noise first. “Sorry, Brightness,” he said. “The Blackthorn would have my spheres if I let anything happen to you.” “I’m pretty sure I know what this is, Lieutenant,” she said, but folded her arms and waited. The gathered scholars in the room behind her murmured in concerned tones. Navani peeked out into the hallway, where a couple of soldiers—men she’d assigned to Kalami’s investigation—were holding a struggling figure, surrounded by fearspren. Hopefully this wasn’t
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a false alarm. “What is it?” the lieutenant asked as one of his guards jogged over. “Not sure,” he said. “Those men say they’re working at Brightness Navani’s request.” “I apologize, Brightness,” the lieutenant said, stepping back. He let her pass, though his soldiers maintained close proximity to her as she stepped into the hallway. The man they’d captured was a wiry fellow, Alethi, but with skin on the paler side. He searched about, wild-eyed, struggling but not saying anything. The bait had been her workstation, which she’d set up unoccupied across the hall, in the room used mostly for storing books and as a quiet reading nook. Her station there had been a tempting prospect, easy to reach from the door, and mostly ignored this last week. Chananar—one of the soldiers she’d had secretly watching the workstation—stepped over to her and proffered half of a small ruby, illuminated faintly by the light of the spren trapped inside. A spanreed fabrial. The phantom spren in the tower had taken the bait. It had heard that she’d lost the previous spanreed, and had decided to send a replacement. Navani plucked the ruby from the soldier’s hands and approached the captive. He looked around wildly, though he’d stopped struggling. “Who gave this to you?” Navani asked, holding the ruby before him. “Who told you to hide it among my things?” He just stared at her and didn’t speak. “Did you hide the other one too?” Navani asked. “The one in my traveling sphere? Speak, man. You’re in some serious trouble—but I will be lenient if you cooperate.” The man trembled, but said nothing. The ruby started flashing in Navani’s fingers, indicating the phantom spren wished to talk with her. It might be a distraction, but in any case, she wanted to be in the presence of a Lightweaver when she replied this time—they had the ability to see spren in Shadesmar even when they were invisible to others. “Bring him,” she said to the soldiers. “We’re going to my audience chamber for a proper interrogation. Isabi, please write to Kalami and have her meet me there.” The young ward—who was among the increasingly large crowd of gawking scholars—hurried off. Navani gestured for the soldiers to tow the captive away, then moved to follow, but one of the other soldiers approached her. “Brightness,” he whispered. “I think I recognize that fellow. He’s with the Radiants.” “A squire?” Navani asked, surprised. “More a servant, Brightness. He was there helping with meals when I tried out for the Windrunners last month.” Well, that would explain how he’d gotten into her traveling sphere to place the first gemstone—the Windrunners often practiced with it, training to keep the device in the air. Was she wrong about her phantom spren correspondent? Was it possible they were an honorspren? Many of those did have a somewhat antagonistic relationship with the current Knights Radiant. She tucked the blinking gemstone away in her glove’s wrist pouch. You can wait, she thought to the phantom spren. I’m in control of this conversation now. Unfortunately,
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as she was leaving, Navani noticed Isabi taking a message from one of her spanreeds and looking anxious. Navani stepped over to the girl’s table, mentally preparing herself. What would it be this time? More tariff complaints from the Thaylens? She leaned in, reading over Isabi’s shoulder, and got to the words “explosion” and “dead” before she snapped alert and realized this was not what she’d been expecting. * * * The Everstorm didn’t arrive like a highstorm. Honor’s storm would come as a violent tempest, with a crashing stormwall full of wind and fury. It was an abrupt scream, a battle cry, an intense moment of exultation. Odium’s storm came as a slow, inevitable crescendo. Clouds boiled from one another, ever expanding, creeping forward until they smothered the sunlight. Like a single spark that grows to consume a forest. The Everstorm was a trance of extended passion—an experience, not an event. Venli couldn’t say which she preferred. The highstorm was violent, but somehow trustworthy. It had proved the listeners for generations, granting safe forms, fulfilling the Rider’s ancient promise to her people. Allegiances might have changed, but that couldn’t separate the souls of her people from the storm that—in the ancient songs—was said to have given them birth. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the arrival of the Everstorm, with its vivid red lightning and its persistent energy. She hated Odium for what he’d done to her people, and for the constant lure he—even now—could place in her mind. Voidlight, the emotions it stoked, and the beauty of crossing the landscape by the light of crackling red fire upon the sky … Beneath those irregular eyes of an angry deity, Venli joined the others in a quick jog. Their several-week journey was at an end, their food stores exhausted. They’d spent this last day hiding in a forest, waiting for the Everstorm. As it arrived, the mountain landscape took on a nightmare cast. The company of five hundred scrambled up the final incline. Flash. A glimpse of gnarled trees casting long, terrible shadows. Flash. Rubble and broken stone on the slope ahead. Stones doused in fire-red light. Flash. Skin with vibrant patterns and wicked carapace, loping alongside her. Each burst of lightning seemed to catch a moment frozen in time. Venli ran near the front, and though her form wasn’t as athletic as some, she held her own as the strike force reached the top of the slope. Here they were confronted by a cliff face, more sheer than a normal mountain should have allowed. They were far, far below the tower. From this angle, she couldn’t see the city. Perhaps it was above the black clouds. If so … storms. Until this moment, she hadn’t been able to fully conceive of something inhabitable being built so far up. One of the Deepest Ones glided toward Venli and Raboniel, her feet sunken in rock. She moved with an unnatural grace, as if her bones weren’t completely solid. This was the scout Raboniel had sent ahead this morning to
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search for a proper incursion point. “Come,” she said to Command. Venli followed, joining Raboniel, Rothan, three Deepest Ones, and a soldier she didn’t know. Raboniel didn’t forbid Venli, and none of the others seemed to care that she was there. They made their way around the side of the mountain, passing a pile of what looked like rotting grain and some broken wood boxes. Did humans travel this way? No, she realized. This must have fallen from above. Perhaps a shipment of food, coming via Oathgate to the city. “Here,” the Deepest One said, bringing out a Stormlight sphere to light a particular patch of rock. She then sank her hand into the stone as if it were liquid. Or … no, that wasn’t exactly correct. When the Deepest One put her hand into the ground, she didn’t displace anything, and the stone seemed to meld to her skin. “The ancient protections have not been maintained,” the scout said. “I can feel that the ralkalest has fallen from the walls of the tunnel below. How could they allow this oversight?” “These new Radiants know nothing,” another Deepest One said to Craving. “Raboniel, Lady of Wishes, you are correct in pushing to strike now. Yours is wisdom that the Nine do not share. They have been too timid.” Venli did not miss the Fused using Raboniel’s title. All of them had similar formal names; the Deepest One using Raboniel’s here—to the Rhythm of Craving—conveyed respect. “The Nine,” Raboniel said, “are taking care to not lose our footing in this world. We have waited thousands of years for this chance; they do not wish to trip by running too fast.” She said it, however, to Satisfaction. Her words were respectful, but the tone of the rhythm was clear. She appreciated the compliment, and she agreed. The other Fused with them hummed to Subservience, something Venli almost never heard from their kind. “The Sibling sleeps,” the scout said. “Just as the Midnight Mother felt. Perhaps the Sibling has truly died. Permanently made into an unthinking creature.” “No,” said another. “The Sibling lives.” Venli started. The one she’d mistaken for a soldier earlier, in the dark, was something more. A Fused malen with rippling patterns that shifted and changed on his skin. That was the mark of the mavset-im, Those Ones of Masks. The Masked Ones, illusionists, had the power to change how they appeared. “My form is disrupted,” the Masked One said. “The ralkalest might have fallen from the wall, but that is a mere physical barrier. The tower’s spiritual protections are at least partially in effect—and as we determined months ago, the mavset-im cannot bear our many images while near Urithiru.” “This is as we anticipated,” Raboniel said. “And we do not need your mask to proceed. As long as the Deepest Ones can move through the tunnels, our mission is viable. Go. We will meet you at the southwest opening.” The Deepest Ones dropped their robes, exposing naked skin and carapace-covered privates. Then they slid into the rock, sinking as if into
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a dark ocean up to their necks. Then, eyes closed, they vanished beneath the stone. * * * “I feel blind,” Lirin explained as Kaladin sat with him. Today Hesina was taking Kaladin’s patients—the ones with battle shock—to see the tower stables. She insisted that taking care of animals would help, though Kaladin couldn’t fathom how being around those beasts could help anyone’s mood. Still, several of the patients had expressed eagerness at the idea of going riding. “Blind?” Kaladin asked. “I’ve had seven textbooks on sanity read to me over the last week,” Lirin said. “I hadn’t realized how little most of them would say. Mostly the same few quotes repeated over and over, traced to fewer sources. I can’t believe that we have spent so long knowing so little, documenting nothing!” “It’s not so odd,” Kaladin said, building a tower of blocks for his little brother to knock down. “Surgeons are looked at with suspicion even in some of the larger cities. Half the population thinks mental illness is caused by staying out in storms, or by taunting deathspren, or some nonsense.” Lirin rested a hand on the charts on his lap. Oroden laughed, walking among the blocks and kicking them. “I spent my entire life trying to help,” Lirin said softly. “And I thought that the best way to help lunatics was to send them to the ardents. Storms, I did it a few times. Lakin’s son, remember? I assumed they’d be specialists.…” “Nobody knows anything,” Kaladin said. “Because they don’t want to know. People like me scare them.” “Don’t include yourself in that group, son,” Lirin said, adjusting his spectacles as he held up a medical chart written in glyphs. His father read glyphs far better than Kaladin had ever known. Lirin used them like a stormwarden. “Why shouldn’t I?” Kaladin asked, stacking blocks again. “You’re not…” Lirin lowered the chart. “Insane?” Kaladin asked. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? We don’t see them as our brothers, sisters, children. They make us feel helpless. We are afraid because we can’t bind a broken mind the way we do a broken finger.” “So we pretend we’ve done the best we can by sending them away,” Lirin said. “Or we tell ourselves they’re not really hurt. Since we can’t see their wounds. You’re right, son. Thank you for challenging me.” He picked up another of his pages of notes, scribbled on in glyphs. Pictures, not letters, so it wasn’t actual writing. Storms. This was wrong. Doctors couldn’t read about diagnoses on their own. Ardents were forced to take in patient after patient just so everyone else could breathe a little easier. Many people believed that seeing a surgeon was unnatural—that if the Almighty wanted them to heal, he’d see it done. The Edgedancers, ironically, were reinforcing that opinion. “We need a medical revolution,” Kaladin said, starting another tower. Oroden stood hopping up and down, barely able to contain himself as it was built. “We need to change everything.” “Change is hard, son,” Lirin said. “And little men like us don’t often
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get heard.…” He trailed off, perhaps realizing that excuse didn’t work any longer. Not when his son was one of the most powerful men alive—despite his retirement. Kaladin could change things. He could get doctors some kind of religious appointment, so they could learn to read without feeling like they were breaking social mores. Everyone was saying it was okay for Dalinar because he was a Bondsmith, after all. Kaladin could change the way people thought about those afflicted by battle shock or melancholia. Lirin’s textbooks listed no recommended medication other than sedatives. But no proper tests or research had been done to determine other options. There was so much here. So much to do. And as Kaladin thought about it, stacking block after block, it occurred to him that he was starting to see his oaths in a new way. He thought about that monastery with the sanitarium, and realized something chilling. I could have ended up in there, Kaladin thought. The patients surrendered to the ardents, those were the ones who came from homes and cities where people cared enough to try something, even if it was the wrong thing. There was a chance that if he hadn’t gone to war, he’d have found his way to one of those dark, terrible rooms. A low rumble shook him out of his reverie. Was that thunder outside? He stood up and glanced out the window. Dark clouds blanketed the horizon. The Everstorm. Right, he’d heard there would be one today. Up here it was easy to lose track. Oroden dashed forward, smashing through the blocks. Kaladin smiled, then heard the outer door of the clinic open and shut. Teft marched into the room a moment later. “Kal, he ain’t at his quarters, and they say he ain’t come in for days.” “What?” Kaladin asked. “When was the last time anyone saw him?” “Three days ago.” Three days? “Who is this?” Lirin asked. “Friend of ours,” Teft said. “Named Dabbid.” “The nonverbal?” Lirin asked. “Badly battle shocked?” “I thought maybe he’d do well meeting with the men I’m treating,” Kaladin said. “Maybe,” Lirin said, “you shouldn’t have left someone that troubled without supervision.” “He does fine on his own,” Kaladin said. “He’s not an invalid. He just doesn’t talk.” Or … well, that might be understating it. “Let’s check with Rlain,” Teft said. “Dabbid goes to help in the fields sometimes.” Kaladin had been delighted to find that Rlain had chosen to remain at the tower instead of going with the army. He thought his work in the fields was more useful than running water and things for the Windrunners, and Kaladin honestly couldn’t blame him. Being with your friends, watching them fly, but not being able to do so yourself … that had to be even worse than what Kaladin had been experiencing lately. I should have gone to him more, Kaladin thought. Been a better friend. He thought he finally understood what Rlain must be feeling. He stood up and nodded to Teft, who was again rubbing his forehead. “You
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all right?” Kaladin asked. “Fine,” Teft said. “Cravings?” Kaladin guessed. Teft shrugged. “Thought I’d gotten past the headaches a few months ago. Guess they’re back.” * * * Venli smashed the human soldier’s skull against the stone wall, and the bone cracked with a sickening sound—like a wooden shell breaking. In a flash of red lightning from one of the stormforms, she saw the soldier’s eyes cross, dilating. But he clung to her, his knife scraping her carapace, so—driven by the Rhythm of Panic—she slammed his head against the ground. This time he fell still. She crouched above him, breathing heavily, then suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She gasped, hoarse, and pulled her hands away. For a moment, the only sound she could hear was her rhythm. The dying man twitched on the ground. She barely felt where he’d cut her along the side of her head. Within her, Timbre thrummed the Rhythm of the Lost. I didn’t mean to … Venli thought. I … Sound suddenly returned to Venli. She started, looking around. In the heat of the moment, her own struggle had consumed all of her attention. Now, the intense fighting at the mouth of the cavern overwhelmed her. She cringed, trying to make sense of it all. “The spanreed!” someone shouted to the Rhythm of Command. “Don’t let them—” Raboniel suddenly dashed through the center of the frenetic scramble. The others were all limbs and shadows, but she was somehow haloed by the crimson light of the Everstorm behind. Raboniel stepped directly into a spear strike—though when the weapon rammed into her, it immediately transformed to dust. She sidestepped the soldier and approached a human woman at the side of the cavern. The woman was fumbling with a glowing ruby. Raboniel’s thin blade—shorter than a sword, but narrow and pointed like a spike—rammed up through the human woman’s chin. Raboniel yanked her blade free, then turned back toward the soldier, who had pulled out his side knife. She breathed out toward him, and something black left her lips—something that sent the man stumbling away, clawing at his face. Raboniel plucked the spanreed from the dead woman’s hands, then casually wiped her blade on a handkerchief. She saw Venli kneeling nearby. “Your first kill, child?” the Fused asked to Ridicule. “Y … yes, Ancient One.” “I thought your kind fought the humans for years on the Shattered Plains.” “I was a scholar, Ancient One. I did not go into battle.” “Do not let them bring you to the ground,” Raboniel said. “As a Regal—even in envoyform—you are stronger than most humans; use that. And carry a knife, for Ado’s sake.” “I … Yes, Ancient One. I didn’t see him coming at me, I mean … I thought…” That she could remain aloof, as she’d always done with the listeners. Even during the battle at Narak, where they’d lost so many, she hadn’t been directly involved in the fighting. She hadn’t lost her mind to the spren that inhabited her; she’d told herself it was because she was so
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strong. In truth, she had already been selfish and ambitious. Timbre pulsed comfortingly, but Venli couldn’t accept the sentiment. She bore the humans no love—they had murdered thousands of her people. But Venli herself had doomed many listeners. She didn’t want to kill anyone. Not anymore. She climbed to her feet, shaken. Nearby, the last few human soldiers were subdued and killed as the Everstorm crashed outside, pouring red light in through the mouth of the cavern. Venli turned away from the deaths, then felt embarrassed. What had she expected, in coming on this mission? What did she hope to accomplish here? Make contact with the Radiants while actively invading their base? Look for allies as a massacre occurred? No. Neither. She was just trying to stay dry during the storm. Raboniel got out a Stormlight sphere as a group of their Deepest One scouts finally emerged from the rock, sliding up out of the floor like spirits. “How?” Raboniel asked. “You said you’d cleared the guards at this entrance.” “We did,” a scout said to Agony. “This was a patrol that came to check on them, it seems. We did not hear them on the stones until it was too late.” “We assumed they were all up higher,” another said. “We are sorry.” “Sorrow is meaningless,” Raboniel said. “And bad assumptions are the last failing of many dead. We will not have another chance at this. Ever. Make certain the rest of the way is clear.” They hummed again to Agony, then melted into the rock floor of the cavern. The soldiers formed up, and Raboniel strode inward, not waiting to see if anyone followed. The group left the rumbling sound of the storm behind and started upward. Though they’d begun midway up through the caverns at an entrance in a highland valley, it would take hours to reach the tower itself. Tense hours, hoping that there wouldn’t be any more mistakes or missed human patrols. Hoping that silence from the dead wouldn’t be noticed. Venli walked, disquieted, uncertain which was worse: the feeling of primal terror that had stabbed her when she’d heard the human behind her, or the haunting feeling of watching the light fade from his eyes. You have not felt what I have. You have not known what I have. You rejected that chance—and wisely, I think. Accompanied by several of her scholars and an entire host of soldiers, Navani arrived at the scene of the explosion. It was less damaging than she’d feared when reading that initial spanreed report: only two dead, and the explosion had destroyed the contents of only a single room in the tower. It was still deeply troubling. The two dead were Nem and Talnah, the lensmakers, astronomers, and gemstone experts. The destroyed room was their shared laboratory. Thousands of broams’ worth of equipment ruined. And one invaluable sphere. Szeth’s sphere. The Voidlight one that Gavilar had considered most important out of all his strange spheres. As Navani stood in the hallway outside the destroyed room—smelling smoke, hearing the weeping of the
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cleaning woman who had first rushed to help at the sound of the detonation—she had a sinking feeling. She had caused this somehow by asking those two women to study the sphere. Now she’d likely lost it and the lives of two expert scholars. Storms. What had happened? The guards wanted a scholar to inspect the room for other possible dangers before letting Navani enter. She probably could have ordered them aside, but they were just doing their best to keep her safe. So she let Rushu go in first. Navani doubted that anything dangerous could have survived what seemed to be complete destruction—but then again, she’d never known a fabrial or sphere to explode. Rushu slipped out a short time later and nodded for her to enter. Navani stepped in, her shoes grinding against broken glass as she surveyed the wreckage. Smoldering wood marked the remnants of tables. The bodies were under several bloody sheets. Not two sheets: five. For two corpses. Storms. Navani picked through carefully, avoiding larger bits of broken glass. The smoke was nearly overpowering. Civilized people used spheres for light, and she rarely kept a hearth burning these days. Smoke was a dangerous scent. If anything was salvageable in the mess, Navani didn’t spot it. And of course there was no sign of the strange sphere. Rushu stepped up beside Navani. “I … had dinner scheduled with Talnah later this week…” she whispered. “We were … were going to talk about weather readings.…” Navani steeled herself. “I need you to do something for me, Rushu,” she said. “Catalogue everything in this room. Don’t let the soldiers move a single bit of glass. Remove the bodies, see them properly cared for, but otherwise leave this room pristine. Then go through every inch of it. Save every scrap of paper. Every broken lens or cracked beaker.” “If you wish, Brightness,” Rushu said. “But … if I might ask … why? What do you hope to find?” “Have you ever known a fabrial accident to cause an explosion like this?” Navani asked. Rushu pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “No.” “I have some details on what they might have been working on. I’ll explain them to you later. For now, secure this area. And Rushu, please don’t get distracted.” The ardent glanced again toward the shrouded corpses. “I doubt that will be a problem this time, Brightness.” Navani nodded and moved out, walking toward where the prisoner was being kept—the voiceless man who had delivered the ruby. She also sent for a few Radiants to see if they could identify him for certain. She didn’t know if this explosion was tied to the mysterious communications she’d been getting—but things had certainly been off about the tower lately. And she had grown tired of wanting answers. * * * By the time the second hour had passed—judged by the Rhythm of Peace—Venli’s legs were aching, her breathing ragged from the hike. As a Radiant, she could have used Stormlight to strengthen her. But that would have been far too
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dangerous. She would have to be satisfied with the strength her Regal form gave her. Certainly she was better off than an average singer would have been. The rest of the force, however—in stormform—was stronger than she was, and Raboniel kept an aggressive pace. Each moment became excruciating, and Venli focused only on taking the next step. Yet Raboniel kept pushing. No breaks. No rests. Onward, ever upward. Timbre thrummed inside her, helping with a comforting rhythm. Venli used that to keep herself moving, putting one leaden foot in front of the other. After what seemed like an eternity, light shimmered in the tunnel ahead. She tried to smother the spark of hope that gave her. The last twenty times, the light had been only a sphere lantern set into an intersection, placed by the humans to help navigate. Raboniel called a halt. Venli leaned against the side of the tunnel, breathing deeply but as softly as she could. And the wall … the wall was straighter than the ones below. This was of worked stone. And shadows moved in the light ahead. They were here. Finally. The tunnel had come up beneath the city of Urithiru, and would now emerge into the basement chambers. Squinting, Venli made out the source of light—a large wooden door up ahead, glowing at the edges. And … there were lumps on the ground. Guards who had been killed silently by the Deepest Ones. Other than the light around the door, the only illumination came from the red-ember eyes of the people around her. The sign that a person’s soul had been mingled with that of a Voidspren. Her own eyes glowed as well, lying on her behalf. She had a Voidspren too; Timbre simply held it captive. Some of the nearby eyes sank, then vanished as the Deepest Ones slid into the stone. The rest of them waited in agonizing silence. This was the point where their invasion was most likely to be thwarted. Deepest Ones worked well as surprise troops, but—from planning meetings she’d attended—she knew they didn’t have the skill or strength to challenge Radiants in direct battle. So if Radiants could be gathered to defend the crystalline heart of the tower, they could rebuff this attack. Venli waited, tense, sweat from the climb dripping down her cheeks and from her chin. The door ahead rattled. Then opened. A Deepest One scout stood beyond. As soon as Raboniel started moving, Venli shoved forward, staying at the front of the crowd as they passed into the basement chamber. It was a horrific scene. The bodies on the ground included a few soldiers, but were mostly human scholars—women in dresses or priests in their robes. A couple were still alive, held to the ground by arms that reached up out of the stone. Most of those who were dead had been away from the walls, and it seemed Deepest Ones had dropped from the ceiling to grapple them. It had all been accomplished without a single human crying out. Venli shuddered, imagining being pulled to
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