Kaladin looked at him, surprised.
“Best to ignore Beard,” Lieutenant Noro said. “It’s what the rest of us do.”
“Beard” didn’t have a beard. Maybe the hairy hands were enough. He nudged Kaladin. “It’s a good story. I’ll tell it to you sometime.”
“You can’t just brand a lighteyed man a slave,” Lieutenant Noro said. “You need a highprince’s permission. There’s more to this story.”
“There is,” Kaladin said. Then he continued eating his stew.
“Oooh,” said a tall member of the squad. “Mystery!”
Noro chuckled, then waved at the room. “So what do you think?”
“You said you weren’t going to press me,” Kaladin said between bites.
“I’m not pressing you, but you won’t find a place out there in the city where you’ll eat as well as you do here.”
“Where do you get it?” Kaladin asked, spooning the stew into his mouth. “You can’t use Soulcasters. The screamers will come after you. Stockpile? I’m surprised one of the highlords in the city hasn’t tried to appropriate it.”
“Astute,” Lieutenant Noro said with a smile. He had a disarming way about him. “That’s a Guard secret. But in here there’s always a stew bubbling and bread baking.”
“It’s my recipe,” Beard added.
“Oh please,” the tall man said. “You’re a cook now too, Beard?”
“A chef, thank you very much. I learned that flatbread recipe from a Horneater mystic at the top of a mountain. The real story is how I got there.…”
“It’s where you landed, obviously,” the tall soldier said, “after someone in your last squad kicked you.”
The men laughed. It felt warm in here, on this long bench, a well-laid fire burning steadily in the corner. Warm and friendly. As Kaladin ate, they gave him some space, chatting among themselves. Noro … he seemed less a soldier and more a chummy merchant trying to sell you earrings for your beloved. He dropped very obvious dangling hints for Kaladin. Reminders of how well-fed they were, of how good it was to be part of a squad. He spoke of warm beds, of how they didn’t have to go on watch duty that often. Of playing cards while the highstorm blew.
Kaladin got a second bowl of stew, and as he settled back into his place, he realized something with a shock.
Storms. They’re all lighteyes, aren’t they?
Every person in the room, from the cook to the armorers, to the soldiers doing dishes. In a group like this, everyone had a secondary duty, like armoring or field surgery. Kaladin hadn’t noticed their eyes. The place had felt so natural, so comfortable, that he’d assumed they were all darkeyed like him.
He knew that most lighteyed soldiers weren’t high officers. He’d been told that they were basically just people—he’d been told it over and over. Somehow, sitting in that room finally made the fact real to him.
“So, Kal…” Lieutenant Noro asked. “What do you think? Maybe reenlist? Give this another try?”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll desert?” Kaladin asked. “Or worse, that I can’t control my temper? I might be dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as being short manned,” Beard said. “You know how to kill people? That’s good enough for us.”
Kaladin nodded. “Tell me about your commander. That will be a big part of any group. I only just got into town. Who is this Highmarshal Azure?”
“You can meet him yourself!” Beard said. “He does rounds every night around dinner time, checking on each barracks.”
“Um, yes,” Noro said.
Kaladin eyed him. The lieutenant seemed uncomfortable.
“The highmarshal,” Noro said quickly, “is incredible. We lost our former commander during the riots, and Azure led a group who held the wall when the Cult of Moments tried—in the chaos—to seize the city gates.”
“He fought like a Voidbringer,” another squad member said. “I was there. We were almost overwhelmed, then Azure joined us, holding aloft a gleaming Shardblade. He rallied our numbers, inspired even the wounded to keep fighting. Storms. Felt like we had spren at our backs, holding us up, helping us fight.”
Kaladin narrowed his eyes. “You don’t say…”
He pried more from them as he finished his bowl. They had nothing but praise for Azure, though the man hadn’t displayed any other … odd abilities that Kaladin could discover. Azure was a Shardbearer, maybe a foreigner, who had been previously unknown to the Guard—but with the fall of their commander, and the subsequent disappearance of their highlord patron at the palace, Azure had ended up in command.
There was something else. Something they weren’t saying. Kaladin helped himself to a third bowl of stew, more to delay to see if the highmarshal really would make an appearance or not.
Soon, a disturbance near the door sent men standing up. Kaladin followed suit, turning. A senior officer entered wearing a glittering chain and a bright tabard, accompanied by attendants, inspiring a round of salutes. The highmarshal wore an appropriately azure cloak—a lighter shade than the traditional Kholin blue—with a mail coif down around the neck and a helm carried in hand.
She was also a she.
Kaladin blinked in surprise, and heard a gasp from Syl up above. The highmarshal was of average height for an Alethi woman, maybe just under, and wore her hair straight and short, reaching halfway down her cheeks. Her eyes were orange, and she wore a side sword with a glistening silver basket hilt. That wasn’t Alethi design. Was it the aforementioned Shardblade? It did have an otherworldly look about it, but why wear it instead of dismissing it?
Regardless, the highmarshal was lean and grim, and had a couple of serious scars on her face. She wore gloves on both hands.
“The highmarshal is a woman?” Kaladin hissed.
“We don’t talk about the marshal’s secret,” Beard said.
“Secret?” Kaladin said. “It’s pretty storming obvious.”
“We don’t talk about the marshal’s secret,” Beard repeated, and the others nodded. “Hush, all right?”
Hush about it? Storms. This sort of thing simply didn’t happen in Vorin society. Not like in the ballads and stories. He’d been in three armies, and had never seen a woman holding a weapon. Even the Alethi scouts carried only knives. He’d half expected a riot when he’d armed Lyn and the others, although for Radiants, Jasnah and Shallan had already supplied precedent.
Azure told the men they could sit down. One of the men offered her a bowl of stew, and she accepted. The men cheered after she took a bite and complimented the cook.
She handed the bowl to one of her attendants, and things returned to normal—men chatting, working, eating. Azure walked to speak with the various officers. First the platoon leader, who would be a captain. The other lieutenants next.
When she stopped at their table, she took in Kaladin with a discerning gaze.
“Who’s the new recruit, Lieutenant Noro?” she asked.
“This is Kal, sir!” Noro said. “Found him haunting the street outside. Deserter, with a shash brand.”
“On a lighteyes? Storms, man. Who did you kill?”
“It’s not the one that I killed that got me my brands, sir. It’s the one I didn’t kill.”
“That has the sound of a practiced explanation, soldier.”
“That’s because it is.”
Kaladin figured she, at last, would push for more information. She merely grunted. He couldn’t place her age, though the scars probably made her look older than she really was.
“You joining up?” she said. “We have food for you.”
“Frankly, sir, I don’t know. On one hand, I can’t believe nobody cares about my past. On the other, you’re obviously desperate, which also makes me reluctant.”
She turned toward Lieutenant Noro. “You haven’t shown him?”
“No, sir. We just got some stew in him.”
“I’ll do it. Kal, come with me.”
* * *
Whatever they wanted to show him w
as at the top of the wall, as they hiked him up an enclosed stone stairwell. Kaladin wanted to learn more about the supposed “secret” that Azure was a woman. But when he asked, Lieutenant Noro shook his head quickly and made a hushing motion.
Soon they’d assembled atop the fortifications. The Kholinar wall was a powerful defensive structure, reportedly over sixty feet tall at points, with a wide wall walk on the top, ten feet across. The wall rolled across the landscape, enclosing all of Kholinar. It had actually been built on top of the outer windblades, fitting onto them like an inverted crown, the raised portions matching crevasses between windblades.
The wall was interrupted by guard towers every three hundred feet or so. These large structures were big enough to house squads, perhaps entire platoons, on watch.
“Guessing from that brand,” Azure said to him, “you were in one of the armies that recruits in the north. You joined up to fight on the Shattered Plains, didn’t you? But Sadeas used that army up north to funnel him veterans, plus maybe seize some land now and then from rival highprinces. You ended up fighting other Alethi, scared farmboys, instead of shipping off to avenge the king. Something like that?”
“Something like that,” Kaladin admitted.
“Damnation me if I blame a man for deserting that,” Azure said. “I don’t hold it against you, soldier.”
“And the brand?”
Azure pointed northward. Night had finally fallen, and in the distance, Kaladin could see a glow.
“They advance back into place after each storm,” Azure said softly. “And camp a portion of their army out there. That’s good battle sense, to prevent us from being resupplied—and to make sure we don’t know when they’ll attack. Nightmares, Kal. A real Voidbringer army.
“If that were an Alethi force, the people in this city wouldn’t have much to worry about. Sure, there would be casualties on the wall, but no would-be king of Alethkar is going to burn and pillage the capital. But those aren’t Alethi. They’re monsters. At best, they’ll enslave the entire populace. At worst…” She let the thought dangle, then looked at him. “I’m glad you have a brand. It says you’re dangerous, and we have narrow confines up here on the wall. We can’t simply press every eligible man; I need real soldiers, men who know what they’re doing.”
“So that’s why I’m here?” Kaladin asked. “To see that?”
“I want you to think,” Azure said. “I tell the men—this Wall Guard, this is redemption. If you fight here, nobody will care what you did before. Because they know if we fall, this city and this nation will be no more.
“Nothing matters, except holding this wall when that assault comes. You can go hide in the city and pray that we are strong enough without you. But if we aren’t, you’ll be no more than another corpse. Up here, you can fight. Up here, you have a chance.
“We won’t press you. Walk away tonight. Lie down and think about what is coming; imagine another night when men are up here dying, bleeding for you. Think about how powerless you’ll feel if the monsters get in. Then when you come back tomorrow, we’ll get you a Wall Guard patch.”
It was a potent speech. Kaladin glanced to Syl, who landed on his shoulder, then took a long look at the lights on the horizon.
Are you out there, Sah? Did they bring you and the others here? What of Sah’s little daughter, who had collected flowers and clutched playing cards like a treasured toy? Was Khen there, the parshwoman who had demanded Kaladin retain his freedom, despite being angry at him for the entire trip?
Winds send that they hadn’t been dragged further into this mess.
He joined the others in clattering back down the stairwell. Afterward, Noro and the rest of the squad bade him a happy farewell, as if certain he’d return. And he probably would, though not for the reasons they assumed.
He went back to the mansion and forced himself to chat with some of the guards at the lighteyed tent, though he learned nothing, and his brands made something of a stir among them. Adolin and Elhokar finally emerged, their illusions intact. So what was wrong with Kaladin’s? The sphere Shallan had given him was still infused.
Kaladin gathered Drehy and Skar, then joined the king and Adolin as they started the walk home.
“What has you so thoughtful, Captain?” Elhokar asked.
“I think,” Kaladin said, eyes narrowed, “I might have found us another Radiant.”
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
There weren’t enough boats for an amphibious attack on Rathalas, so Dalinar was forced to use a more conventional assault. He marched down from the west—having sent Adolin back to Kholinar—and assigned Sadeas and his forces to come in from the east. They converged toward the Rift.
Dalinar spent much of the trip passing through pungent smoke trails from the incense Evi burned in a small censer attached to the side of her carriage. A petition to the Heralds to bless her marriage.
He often heard her weeping inside the vehicle, though whenever she left it she was perfectly composed. She read letters, scribed his responses, and took notes at his meetings with generals. In every way, she was the perfect Alethi wife—and her unhappiness crushed his soul.
Eventually they reached the plains around the lake, crossing the riverbed—which was dry, except during storms. The rockbuds drank so fully of the local water supply, they’d grown to enormous sizes. Some were taller than a man’s waist, and the vines they produced were as thick as Dalinar’s wrist.
He rode alongside the carriage—his horse’s hooves beating a familiar rhythm on the stones beneath—and smelled incense. Evi’s hand reached out of her carriage’s side window, and she placed another glyphward into the censer. He didn’t see her face, and her hand retreated quickly.
Storming woman. An Alethi would be using this as a ploy to guilt him into bending. But she wasn’t Alethi, for all her earnest imitations. Evi was far too genuine, and her tears were real. She sincerely thought their spat back in the Veden fortress boded ill for their relationship.
That bothered him. More than he wanted to admit.
A young scout jogged up to give him the latest report: The vanguard had secured his desired camp ground near the city. There had been no fighting yet, and he hadn’t expected any. Tanalan would not abandon the walls around the Rift to try to control ground beyond bowshot.
It was good news, but Dalinar still wanted to snap at the messenger—he wanted to snap at someone. Stormfather, this battle couldn’t come soon enough. He restrained himself and sent the messenger woman away with a word of thanks.
Why did he care so much about Evi’s petulance? He’d never let his arguments with Gavilar bother him. Storms, he’d never let his arguments with Evi bother him this way before. It was strange. He could have the accolades of men, fame that stretched across a continent, but if she didn’t admire him, he felt that he had somehow failed. Could he really ride into combat feeling like this?
No. He couldn’t.
Then do something about it. As they wound through the plain of rockbuds, he called to the driver of Evi’s carriage, having him stop. Then, handing his horse’s reins to an attendant, he climbed into the carriage.
Evi bit her lip as he settled down on the seat across from her. It smelled nice within—the incense was fainter here, while the crem dust of the road was blocked by wood and cloth. The cushions were plush, and she had some dried fruit in a dish, even some chilled water.
“What is wrong?” she demanded.
“I was feeling saddle sore.”
She cocked her head. “Perhaps you could request a salve—”
“I want to talk, Evi,” Dalinar said with a sigh. “I’m not actually sore.”
“Oh.” She pulled her knees up against her chest. In here, she had undone and rolled back her safehand sleeve, displaying her long, elegant fingers.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Dalinar said, looking away from the safehand. “You’ve been praying nonstop.”
“For the Heralds to soften your heart.”
“Right.
Well, they’ve done that. Here I am. Let’s talk.”
“No, Dalinar,” she said, reaching across to fondly touch his knee. “I wasn’t praying for myself, but for those of your countrymen you are planning to kill.”
“The rebels?”
“Men no different from you, who happened to be born in another city. What would you have done, had an army come to conquer your home?”
“I’d have fought,” Dalinar said. “As they will. The better men will dominate.”
“What gives you the right?”
“My sword.” Dalinar shrugged. “If the Almighty wants us to rule, we’ll win. If He doesn’t, then we’ll lose. I rather think He wants to see which of us is stronger.”
“And is there no room for mercy?”
“Mercy landed us here in the first place. If they don’t want to fight, they should give in to our rule.”
“But—” She looked down, hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I don’t want another argument.”
“I do,” Dalinar said. “I like it when you stand up for yourself. I like it when you fight.”
She blinked tears and looked away.
“Evi…” Dalinar said.
“I hate what this does to you,” she said softly. “I see beauty in you, Dalinar Kholin. I see a great man struggling against a terrible one. And sometimes, you get this look in your eyes. A horrible, terrifying nothingness. Like you have become a creature with no heart, feasting upon souls to fill that void, dragging painspren in your wake. It haunts me, Dalinar.”
Dalinar shifted on the carriage seat. What did that even mean? A “look” in his eyes? Was this like when she’d claimed that people stored bad memories in their skin, and needed to rub them off with a stone once a month? Westerners had some curiously superstitious beliefs.
“What would you have me do, Evi?” he asked softly.
“Have I won again?” she said, sounding bitter. “Another battle where I’ve bloodied you?”
“I just … I need to know what you want. So I can understand.”
“Don’t kill today. Hold back the monster.”
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