Enough light seeped through the clouds for him to survey the landscape. Indeed, the city was close, and it was majestic, but he forced himself to look for enemies before marveling. He noted a broad plain before the city—a killing field kept free of trees or large boulders, so that neither could offer cover to an invading army. That was empty, which wasn’t unexpected.
The question was who held the city—Voidbringers or humans? He cautiously descended. The place glowed with a sprinkling of Stormlight from cages left out in the storm to recharge the gems. And … yes, from guard posts flew Alethi flags, raised now that the worst of the storm had passed.
Kaladin let out a relieved sigh. Kholinar had not fallen, though if their reports were right, all surrounding towns were occupied. In fact, looking closely, he could see that the enemy had begun building stormshelters on the killing field: bunkers from which they could prevent resupply to Kholinar. They were mere foundations of brick and mortar for now. During the times between storms, they were likely guarded—and built up—by large enemy forces.
He finally let himself stare at Kholinar. He knew it was coming, inevitable as a budding yawn; he couldn’t keep it down forever. First assess the area for danger, get the lay of the land.
Then gawk.
Storms, that city was beautiful.
He’d flown high above it once in a half dream where he’d seen the Stormfather. That hadn’t affected him the way it did to float here, looking over the vast metropolis. He’d seen proper cities now—the warcamps together were probably larger than Kholinar—so it wasn’t the size that amazed him, really, but the variety. He was accustomed to functional bunkers, not stone buildings of many shapes and roofing styles.
Kholinar’s defining feature, of course, was the windblades: curious rock formations that rose from the stone like the fins of some giant creature mostly hidden beneath the surface. The large curves of stone glittered with red, white, and orange strata, their hues deepened by the rain. He hadn’t realized that the city walls were partially constructed on the tops of the outer windblades. There, the lower sections of the walls literally sprouted from the ground, while men had built fortifications atop them, evening out the heights and filling spaces between the curves.
Towering over the northern side of the city was the palace complex, which rose high and confident, as if in defiance of the storms. The palace was like a little city unto itself, with bright columns, rotundas, and turrets.
And something was very, very wrong with it.
A cloud hung over the palace, a darkness that—at first glance—seemed like nothing more than a trick of the light. Yet the feeling of wrongness persisted, and seemed strongest around a portion at the east of the palace complex. This flat, raised plaza was filled with small buildings. The palace monastery.
The Oathgate platform.
Kaladin narrowed his eyes, then Lashed himself back upward, passing into the clouds. He’d probably let himself gape for too long—he didn’t want to start talk of a glowing person in the sky.
Still … that city. In Kaladin’s heart still lived a country boy who had dreamed of seeing the world.
“Did you see that darkness around the palace?” Kaladin asked Syl.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Something’s very wrong.”
Kaladin emerged from the clouds and found that his crew had drifted off to the west in the breeze. He Lashed himself toward them, and noticed—for the first time—that his Stormlight was no longer being renewed by the storm.
Drehy and Skar looked visibly relieved when he arrived. “Kal—” Skar started.
“I know. We don’t have much time left. Your Majesty, the city is right below us—and our forces still control the walls. The Parshendi are building storm bunkers and besieging the area, though the bulk of their army probably retreated to nearby towns in anticipation of the storm.”
“The city stands!” Elhokar said. “Excellent! Captain, take us down.”
“Your Majesty,” Kaladin said. “If we drop from the sky like this, the enemy scouts will see us entering.”
“So?” Elhokar said. “The need for subterfuge was predicated on a fear that we might have to sneak in. If our forces still hold the city, we can march up to the palace, assert command, and activate the Oathgate.”
Kaladin hesitated. “Your Majesty, something is … wrong with the palace. It looks dark, and Syl saw it too. I advise caution.”
“My wife and child are inside,” Elhokar said. “They might be in danger.”
You didn’t seem to worry much about them during six years away at war, Kaladin thought.
“Let’s go down anyway,” the king said. “We want to get to the Oathgate as soon as possible…” He trailed off, looking from Kaladin to Shallan, to Adolin. “Don’t we?”
“I advise caution,” Kaladin repeated.
“The bridgeman isn’t the jumpy type, Your Majesty,” Adolin said. “We don’t know what’s going on in the city, or what happened since the reports of chaos and a revolt. Caution sounds good to me.”
“Very well,” Elhokar said. “This is why I brought the Lightweaver. What do you recommend, Brightness?”
“Let’s land outside the city,” Shallan said. “Far enough away that the glow of Stormlight doesn’t give us away. We can use illusions to sneak in and find out what is going on without revealing ourselves.”
“Very well,” Elhokar said, nodding curtly. “Do as she suggests, Captain.”
We can record any secret we wish, and leave it here? How do we know that they’ll be discovered? Well, I don’t care. Record that then.
—From drawer 2-3, smokestone
The enemy army was letting refugees approach the city.
At first, this surprised Kaladin. Wasn’t the point of a siege to prevent people from getting in? And yet, a constant stream of people was allowed to approach Kholinar. The gates stood closed against an army invasion, but the side doors—which were still large—were wide open.
Kaladin handed the spyglass to Adolin. They’d landed in an inconspicuous location, then hiked back to the city on foot—but it had been dark by the time they’d arrived. They’d decided to spend the night outside the city, hidden by one of Shallan’s illusions. Impressively, her Lightweaving had lasted all night on very little Stormlight.
Now that morning had arrived, they were surveying the city, which was maybe a mile away. From the outside, their hideout would seem like merely another knob of stone ground. Shallan couldn’t make it transparent from only one side, so they had to see out using a slit that—if someone walked close by—would be visible.
The illusion felt like a cave—except for the fact that wind and rain went right through it. The king and Shallan had grumbled all morning, complaining of a damp, cold night. Kaladin and his men had slept like stones. There were advantages to having lived through Bridge Four.
“They let refugees in so they can drain the city’s resources,” Adolin said, watching through the spyglass. “A solid tactic.”
“Brightness Shallan,” Elhokar said, accepting the spyglass from Adolin, “you can give us each illusions, right? We can pretend to be refugees and enter the city easily.”
Shallan nodded absently. She sat sketching near a shaft of light pouring through a small hole in the ceiling.
Adolin turned his spyglass toward the palace, the top of which surmounted the city in the distance. The day was perfectly sunny, bright, and crisp, with only a hint of moisture in the air from the highstorm the day before. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
But somehow, the palace was still in shadow.
“What could it be?” Adolin said, lowering his spyglass.
“One of them,” Shallan whispered. “The Unmade.”
Kaladin looked back at her. She’d sketched the palace, but it was twisted, with odd angles and distorted walls.
Elhokar studied the palace. “You were right to recommend caution, Windrunner. My instinct is still to rush in. That’s wrong, isn’t it? I must be pru
dent and careful.”
They gave Shallan time to finish sketches—she claimed to need them for complex illusions. Eventually she stood, flipping pages in her sketchpad. “All right. Most of us won’t need disguises, as nobody will recognize me or my attendants. Same goes for Kaladin’s men, I assume.”
“If someone does recognize me,” Skar said, “it won’t cause any problems. Nobody here knows what happened to me at the Shattered Plains.” Drehy nodded.
“All right,” Shallan said, turning to Kaladin and Adolin. “You two will get new faces and clothing, making you into old men.”
“I don’t need a disguise,” Kaladin said. “I—”
“You spent time with those parshmen earlier in the month,” Shallan said. “Best to be safe. Besides, you scowl at everyone like an old man anyway. You’ll be a great fit.”
Kaladin glowered at her.
“Perfect! Keep it up.” Shallan stepped over and breathed out, and Stormlight wreathed him. He felt he should be able to take it in, use it—but it resisted him. It was a strange sensation, as if he’d found a glowing coal that gave off no heat.
The Stormlight vanished and he held up a hand, which now appeared wizened. His uniform coat had been changed to a homespun brown jacket. He touched his face, but didn’t feel anything different.
Adolin pointed at him. “Shallan, that is positively wretched. I’m impressed.”
“What?” Kaladin looked at his men. Drehy winced.
Shallan wrapped Adolin in Light. He resolved into a sturdy, handsome man in his sixties, with dark brown skin, white hair, and a lean figure. His clothing was no longer ornate, but in good repair. He looked like the kind of old rogue you’d find in a pub, with handy tales about the brilliant things he’d done in his youth. The kind of man that made women think they preferred older men, when in reality they just preferred him.
“Oh, now that’s unfair,” Kaladin said.
“If I stretch a lie too far, people are more likely to be suspicious,” Shallan said lightly, then stepped over to the king. “Your Majesty, you’re going to be a woman.”
“Fine,” Elhokar said.
Kaladin started. He’d have expected an objection. Judging by the way that Shallan seemed to stifle a quip, she’d been expecting one too.
“You see,” she said instead, “I don’t think you can keep from carrying yourself like a king, so I figure that if you look like a highborn lighteyed woman, it’s less likely that you’ll be memorable to the guards who—”
“I said it was fine, Lightweaver,” Elhokar said. “We mustn’t waste time. My city and nation are in peril.”
Shallan breathed out again, and the king was transfigured into a tall, stately Alethi woman with features reminiscent of Jasnah’s. Kaladin nodded appreciatively. Shallan was right; there was something about the way Elhokar held himself that bespoke nobility. This was an excellent way to deflect people who might wonder who he was.
As they gathered their packs, Syl zipped into the enclosure. She took the shape of a young woman and flitted up to Kaladin, then stepped back in the air—aghast.
“Oh!” she said. “Wow!”
Kaladin glared at Shallan. “What did you do to me?”
“Oh, don’t be that way,” she said. “This will only highlight your excellent personality.”
Don’t let her get to you, Kaladin thought. She wants to get to you. He hefted his pack. It didn’t matter what he looked like; it was only an illusion.
But what had she done?
He led the way out of their enclosure, and they fell into a line. The rock illusion melted away behind them. Kaladin’s men had brought generic blue uniforms with no insignias. They could have belonged to any minor house guard within the Kholin princedom. Shallan’s two had on generic brown uniforms, and with Elhokar wearing the dress of a lighteyed woman, they actually looked like a real refugee group. Elhokar would be seen as a brightlady who had fled—without even a palanquin or carriage—before the enemy’s advance. She’d brought a few guards, some servants, and Shallan as her young ward. And Kaladin was her … what?
Storms. “Syl,” he growled, “could I summon you not as a sword, but as a flat, shiny piece of metal?”
“A mirror?” she asked, flying along beside him. “Hmmm.…”
“Not sure if it’s possible?”
“Not sure if it’s dignified.”
“Dignified? Since when have you cared about dignity?”
“I’m not to be toyed with. I’m a majestic weapon to be used only in majestic ways.” She hummed to herself and flitted away. Before he could call her back to complain, Elhokar caught up to him.
“Slow down, Captain,” the king said. Even his voice had changed to sound womanly. “You’ll outpace us.”
Reluctantly, Kaladin slowed. Elhokar didn’t show what he thought of Kaladin’s face; the king kept his eyes forward. He never did think much about other people, so that was normal.
“They call it the Windrunner, you know,” the king said softly. It took Kaladin a moment to realize that Elhokar was referring to the river that ran past Kholinar. Their path took them across it on a wide stone bridge. “The Alethi lighteyes rule because of you. Your order was prominent here, in what was then Alethela.”
“I—”
“Our quest is vital,” Elhokar continued. “We can’t afford to let this city fall. We cannot afford mistakes.”
“I assure you, Your Majesty,” Kaladin said, “I don’t intend to make mistakes.”
Elhokar glanced at him, and for a moment Kaladin felt he could see the real king. Not because the illusion was failing, but because of the way Elhokar’s lips tightened, his brow creased, and his gaze became so intense.
“I wasn’t speaking of you, Captain,” the king said quietly. “I was referring to my own limitations. When I fail this city, I want to make sure you are there to protect it.”
Kaladin looked away, ashamed. Had he really just been thinking of how selfish this man was? “Your Majesty…”
“No,” Elhokar said firmly. “This is a time to be realistic. A king must do whatever he can for the good of his people, and my judgment has proven … deficient. Anything I have ‘accomplished’ in life has been handed to me by my father or my uncle. You are here, Captain, to succeed when I fail. Remember that. Open the Oathgate, see that my wife and child are ushered through it to safety, and return with an army to reinforce this city.”
“I’ll do my best, Your Majesty.”
“No,” Elhokar said. “You’ll do what I command. Be extraordinary, Captain. Nothing else will suffice.”
Storms. How was it that Elhokar could give a compliment and yet be insulting at the same time? Kaladin felt a weight at hearing words that reminded him of his days in Amaram’s army, back when people had first started talking about him, expecting things from him.
Those rumors had become a challenge, creating for everyone the notion of a man who was like Kaladin, but at the same time greater than he could ever be. He’d used that fictional man, relied upon him, to equip his team and to get soldiers transferred to his squad. Without it, he’d never have met Tarah. It was useful to have a reputation, so long as it didn’t crush you.
The king dropped back farther into the line. They crossed the killing field under the watchful eyes of bowmen atop the wall. It made Kaladin’s back itch, though they were Alethi soldiers. He tried to ignore it by focusing on studying the wall as they stepped into its shadow.
Those strata, he thought, remind me of the tunnels in Urithiru. Could there be some connection?
He glanced over his shoulder as Adolin came up to him. The disguised prince winced as he looked at Kaladin.
“Hey,” Adolin said. “Um … wow. That’s really distracting.”
Storming woman. “What do you want?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Adolin said. “We’ll want a place inside the city to hole up, right? We can’t follow either of our original plans—we can’t simply stride up to the palace, but we don’t
want to assault it either. Not until we’ve done a little scouting.”
Kaladin nodded. He hated the prospect of spending too much time in Kholinar. None of the other bridgemen had gotten far enough to swear the Second Ideal, so Bridge Four would be unable to practice with their powers until he returned. At the same time, the shadowed palace was disquieting. They did need to spend a few days gathering intelligence.
“Agreed,” Kaladin said. “Do you have any ideas for where we can set up?”
“I’ve got just the place. Run by people I trust, and close enough to the palace to do some scouting, but far enough away not to get caught in … whatever is going on there. Hopefully.” He looked concerned.
“What was it like?” Kaladin asked. “The thing beneath the tower that you and Shallan fought?”
“Shallan has pictures. You should ask her.”
“I’ve seen them in the reports Dalinar’s scribes gave me,” Kaladin said. “What was it like?”
Adolin turned his blue eyes back to their path. The illusion was so real, it was hard to believe it was actually him—but he did walk the same way, with that inborn confidence only a lighteyes had.
“It was … wrong,” Adolin finally said. “Haunting. A nightmare made manifest.”
“Kind of like my face?” Kaladin asked.
Adolin glanced at him, then grinned. “Fortunately, Shallan covered it up for you with that illusion.”
Kaladin found himself smiling. The way Adolin said things like that made it clear he was joking—and not only at your expense. Adolin made you want to laugh with him.
They drew close to the entrance. Though dwarfed by the main city gates, the side doors were wide enough to admit a cart. Unfortunately, the entrance was blocked by soldiers, and a crowd was accumulating, angerspren boiling on the ground around them. The refugees shook their fists and shouted at being barred entrance.
They’d been letting people in earlier. What was happening? Kaladin glanced at Adolin, then gestured with his chin. “Check it out?”
“We’ll go have a look,” Adolin said, turning toward the others of their group. “Wait here.”
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