Kaladin pulled up near the ground, skimming the stone by inches, orange blood raining down around him. Ahead, Leshwi dodged through a crowd of screaming refugees.
Kaladin followed, darting between Leven the cobbler and his wife. Their horrified screams, however, made him slow. He couldn’t risk colliding with bystanders. He flew up to the side, then pulled to a stop in the air, watching, anticipating.
Nearby, Lopen skimmed past. “You all right, gancho?” he called to Kaladin.
“I’m fine,” Kaladin said.
“I can fight her if you want a breather!”
Leshwi emerged on the other side, and Kaladin ignored Lopen, zipping after. He and Leshwi brushed the outer buildings of the town, rattling stormshutters. He discarded his spear, and Syl appeared near his head as a ribbon of light. He controlled his general direction with Lashings, using his hands, arms, and the contours of his body to govern fine motions. This much air rushing around him gave him the ability to sculpt his trajectory, almost as if he were swimming.
He increased his speed with another Lashing, but Leshwi dodged down through the crowds again. Her recklessness almost cost her as she buzzed a group under the protection of Godeke the Edgedancer. He was a hair too slow, and his Shardblade only sliced off the end of her trailing robes.
She turned away from the people after that, though she stayed near the ground. The Heavenly One couldn’t go as fast as a Windrunner, and so she focused on sudden turns or weaving around obstacles—requiring Kaladin to moderate his speed and remain unable to press one of his strongest advantages.
He followed, the chase thrilling him in part because of how well Leshwi flew. She turned again, this time coursing in close to the Fourth Bridge. She slowed as they skimmed along the side of the enormous vehicle, and she peered at the wooden construction keenly.
She’s intrigued by the airship, Kaladin thought, following. She likely wants to gather as much information about it as she can. In Jasnah’s interviews with the two Heralds—who had lived thousands of years—it had come out that they too were amazed by this creation. As incredible as it seemed, modern artifabrians had discovered things that even the Heralds hadn’t known.
Kaladin broke off the chase for a moment, instead soaring over the top of the large ship. He spotted Rock standing at the side of the vehicle with his son, delivering water to the refugees. When Rock saw Kaladin gesturing, the large Horneater snatched a spear from a pile placed there and Lashed it into the air. It shot up to Kaladin, who grabbed it, then Lashed himself after Leshwi.
He got on her tail again as she rose in a wild loop. She often tried to wear him down—leading him in intricate chases—before coming in to fight at close quarters.
Syl, flying beside Kaladin, eyed the spear Rock had thrown. Despite the wind rushing in his ears, Kaladin heard her dismissive sniff. Well, she couldn’t be infused with Stormlight. Trying to push it into her was like trying to fill an already brimming cup with more water.
The next few turns strained Kaladin’s abilities to their fullest as Leshwi dove and dodged through the battlefield. Most of the others were engaged directly in duels, fighting with spear or Blade. Some led one another on chases, but none were as intricate as the weaving Kaladin was required to do.
His focus narrowed. The other combatants became nothing more than obstacles in the air. His entire being, the fullness of his attention, fixated on chasing that figure ahead of him. The roaring air seemed to fade, and Syl shot ahead of him, leaving a trail of light—a beacon for Kaladin to follow.
Windspren darted from the sky and fell in beside him as he curved in a gut-wrenching turn, spinning as Leshwi arrowed between Skar and another Fused. Kaladin followed, sliding directly through the space between the two spears—narrowly avoiding being stabbed—then Lashed himself around to follow Leshwi. Sweating, he gritted his teeth against the force of the turn.
Leshwi glanced back at him, then dove. She was going to make another pass at the Fourth Bridge.
Now, Kaladin thought, pouring Light into his weapon as he dove after Leshwi. It tried to pull out of his hand, but he held it back even as he thrust it forward. As Leshwi neared the ground, he finally let go of the spear, launching it toward her.
She, unfortunately, glanced behind at just the right moment, allowing her to narrowly dodge the spear. It crashed to the ground, splintering, the head smashed up into the shaft. Recovering, Leshwi pulled upward in a stunning move, soaring past Kaladin, who—in the moment—lost concentration and nearly collided with the ground.
He landed roughly, catching himself on the stone—hard enough that he’d have broken bones without Stormlight—then cursed and looked upward. Leshwi disappeared into the fight, leaving him behind with an exultant swirling maneuver in the sky. She seemed to revel in losing him when she could.
Kaladin groaned, shaking his hand where he’d hit the ground. His Stormlight healed the sprain in moments, but it still hurt in a phantom way, like the echoing of a loud noise in one’s mind after it left one’s ears.
Syl appeared in the air before him in the shape of a young woman, hands on her hips. “And don’t you dare return!” she shouted up at the departing Fused. “Or we’ll … um … come up with a better insult than this one!” She glanced at Kaladin. “Right?”
“You could have caught her,” Kaladin said, “if you’d been flying on your own without me.”
“Without you, I’d be as dumb as a rock. And without me you’d fly like one. I think we’re better off not worrying about what we could do without the other.” She folded her arms. “Besides, what would I do if I caught her? Glare at her? I need you for the stabby-stabby part.”
He grunted, climbing to his feet. A moment later, a Radiant with a white beard hovered down nearby. It was odd how much difference a small change in perspective could make. Teft had always seemed … rumpled. Beard a little ragged, skin a little rough, mood a lot of both.
But hovering in the sky, the glow of Stormlight making his beard shine, he seemed divine. Like a wise god from one of Rock’s stories.
“Kaladin, lad?” Teft asked. “You all right?”
“Fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine. How’s the battlefield?”
“Mostly quick engagements,” Teft said. “No casualties so far, thank Kelek.”
“They’re more interested in inspecting the Fourth Bridge than they are in killing us,” Kaladin said.
“Ah, that makes sense,” Teft said. “Shall we try to stop them?”
“No. Navani’s fabrials are hidden in the hold. A few flybys won’t tell the enemy anything.”
Kaladin surveyed the town, then studied the battlefield in the air. Rapid clashes, with the Heavenly Ones generally backing away quickly. “They aren’t committed to a full assault; they’re testing our defenses and surveying the flying machine. Spread the word. Have our Windrunners lead the enemy in chases; have them fight defensively. Minimize our casualties.”
Teft saluted as another group of townspeople was led up into the ship. Roshone ushered them on, and the old blowhard looked concerned for the people under his care. Perhaps he’d been taking acting lessons with the Lightweavers.
Atop the ship, Dalinar glowed with a near impenetrable light. Though it wasn’t the enormous pillar of radiance he’d created the first time he’d done this, today’s beacon was still powerful enough that it was difficult to look directly at it.
In the past, the Fused had focused their attacks on Dalinar. Today they buzzed the ship—but didn’t try to strike at the Bondsmith. They were afraid of him for reasons nobody yet understood, and only committed to a full assault on him if they had overwhelming numbers and ground support.
“I’ll pass the word,” Teft told Kaladin, but seemed hesitant about him. “You sure you’re well, lad?”
“I’d be better if you’d stop asking.”
“Right, then.” Teft shot into the sky.
Kaladin dusted himself off, eyeing Syl. First Lopen, t
hen Teft, acting like he was fragile. Had Syl told the others to keep watch over him? Just because he was feeling a tad tired lately?
Well, he didn’t have time for that nonsense. A Heavenly One was approaching, red clothing fluttering, spear proffered toward him. It wasn’t Leshwi, but Kaladin was happy to accept the challenge. He needed to be up and flying again.
* * *
The cultists froze, staring at Shallan through the eyeholes in their hoods. The chasm fell silent, save for the noises of scuttling cremlings. Even the tall man with the sack didn’t move, though that wasn’t as surprising. He’d be waiting for her to take the lead.
I’m not who you think I am, Shallan had said, implying she was going to make some startling revelation.
Now she had to think of one.
I’m really curious to see where this goes … Radiant thought at her.
“I am no simple tradeswoman,” Shallan said. “You obviously don’t trust me yet—and I’m guessing you’ve seen the oddities about my lifestyle. You want an explanation, don’t you?”
The two lead cultists glanced at one another.
“Of course,” the woman said. “Yes, you should not have tried to hide things from us.”
Remember Adolin, Radiant thought. Making a disturbance could be tactically dangerous.
She’d told Pattern and Adolin—who might be watching by now—that if she was in distress, she’d create a distraction so they could attack. They’d try to take the cultists captive, but it could lose them the chance to capture Ialai.
Hopefully they’d see she wasn’t in distress, but was instead prying information out of these people.
“Did you ever wonder why I disappear from the warcamps sometimes?” Shallan asked. “And why I have far more money than I should? I have a second business, a hidden one. With the help of agents at Urithiru, I’ve been copying schematics the Kholin artifabrians have been developing.”
“Schematics?” the woman said. “Like what?”
“Surely you’ve heard news of the enormous flying platform that left Narak a few weeks ago. I have the plans. I know exactly how it was done. I’ve sold smaller fabrial schematics to Natan buyers, but nothing on this level. I’ve been searching for a buyer of enough means to purchase this secret.”
“Selling military secrets?” the male cultist said. “To other kingdoms? That is treason!”
Says the man wearing a silly hood and trying to depose the Kholin monarchy, Veil thought. These people …
“It’s only treason if you accept Dalinar’s family as rightful rulers,” Shallan said to him. “I do not. But if we can truly help House Sadeas assert itself … These secrets could be worth thousands of broams. I would share them with Queen Sadeas.”
“We will take them to her,” the woman said.
Radiant affixed her with a calculated stare, level and calm. A leader’s stare, one Shallan had sketched a dozen times over as she watched Dalinar interact with people. The stare of one in power, who didn’t need to say it.
You will not take this from me, the stare said. If you want favor for having been involved in this revelation, you’ll do it by assisting me—not by taking it for yourself.
“I’m certain that someday this might—” the man began.
“Show me,” the woman said, interrupting him.
Hooked, Veil thought. Nice work, you two.
“I’ve got some of the plans in my satchel,” Shallan said.
“We searched the satchel,” the woman said, waving to a nearby cultist to produce the bag. “There were no plans.”
“You think I’d be foolish enough to leave them where they could be discovered?” Shallan said, taking the satchel. She dug inside and covertly took a quick breath of Light as she pulled out a small notebook. She flipped to a rear page, then took out a charcoal pencil. Before the others could crowd around, she breathed out carefully, snapping a Lightweaving in place. Fortunately, she’d been asked to help with the schematics—Shallan had real trouble creating a Lightweaving of something she hadn’t previously drawn.
By the time the lead cultists had positioned themselves to peer over her shoulder, she had the Lightweaving in place. As she carefully rubbed her charcoal across the page, it seemed to reveal a hidden schematic.
Your turn, Shallan said as Veil took over.
“You trace the schematic on a piece of paper above this one,” Veil explained, “and press very hard. That leaves an indentation in the page. A light brush of charcoal reveals it. This isn’t the entire thing, naturally; I keep it as proof for potential buyers.”
Shallan felt a little stab of pride at the complicated illusion. It appeared exactly as she wanted it to, making a complicated series of lines and notations appear magically on the page as she did the rubbing.
“I can’t make any sense of that,” the man complained.
The woman, however, leaned closer. “Replace her sack,” the woman said. “We’ll bring the matter to the queen. This might be interesting enough for her to grant an audience.”
Veil steeled herself as a cultist snatched away her notebook, probably to try applying charcoal to the other pages, which would of course do nothing. The tall man pulled the sack over her head, but as he did so he leaned close.
“What now?” he whispered to Veil. “This feels like trouble.”
Don’t break character, Red, she thought, bowing her head. She needed to get to Ialai and discover if the woman really did have a spy in Dalinar’s court. That meant taking a few risks.
Red was the first one they’d embedded into the Sons of Honor, but his persona—that of a darkeyed workman—hadn’t been important enough to get any real access. Hopefully, together they could—
Shouts rose nearby in the chasm. Veil spun, blinded by the sack. Storms alight. What was that?
“We’ve been followed,” the male leader of the conspirators said. “To arms! Those are Kholin troops!”
Damnation, Veil thought. Radiant was right.
Adolin, seeing her sack replaced, had decided it was time to take this group captive and cut their losses.
* * *
Kaladin traded blows with his enemy, landing one hit, then another. As he came back around, the Heavenly One thrust down with his lance. But Kaladin had drilled spearplay until he could practically fight in his sleep. Hovering in the air, surging with Stormlight, his body knew what to do and deflected the thrust.
Kaladin made his own lunge, scoring another hit. As they danced, they rotated around one another. Much of Kaladin’s formal training had been with spear and shield, intended for formation tactics, but he’d always loved the longspear, wielded two-handed. There was a power to it, a control. He could move the weapon so much more deftly this way.
This Heavenly One wasn’t as good as Leshwi. Kaladin scored yet another slice along the enemy’s arm. The Shardspear did no physical damage other than greying the flesh around where the cut would have been. It soon healed, but each healing came more slowly. The enemy’s Voidlight was running out.
The enemy started humming one of the Fused songs, gritting his teeth as he tried to spear Kaladin. They saw Kaladin as a challenge, a test. Leshwi always got to fight Kaladin first, but if he disengaged or defeated her, another was always waiting. A part of him wondered if this was why he was so tired lately. Even little skirmishes were a slog, never giving him a break.
A deeper part of him knew that wasn’t the reason at all.
His enemy prepared to strike, and Kaladin reached with his off hand for one of his belt knives, then whipped it into the air. The Fused overreacted and fumbled his defense. That let Kaladin score a spear hit along the thigh. Defeating a Fused was a test in endurance. Cut them enough, and they slowed. Cut them more, and they stopped healing entirely.
His opponent’s humming grew louder, and Kaladin sensed the wounds weren’t healing any longer. Time to go for the kill. He dodged a strike—then changed Syl into a hammer, which he swung down on the enemy’s weapon, smashing it. The powerful b
low threw the Heavenly One completely off balance.
Kaladin dropped the hammer and thrust his hands forward; Syl was instantly a spear, steady in his grip. His aim was true, and he speared the enemy right through the arm. The Fused grunted as Kaladin whipped the spear out by reflex, then spun it around and leveled it at the enemy’s neck.
The Fused met his eyes, then licked his lips, waiting. The creature began to slowly drop from the sky, his Light expended, his powers failing.
Killing him does no good, Kaladin thought. He’ll simply be reborn. Still, that was one Fused out of combat for a few days at least.
He’s out anyway, he thought as the creature’s arm flopped down at his side, useless and dead from the Shardspear cut. What good is another death?
Kaladin lowered his spear, then gestured to the side. “Go,” he said. Some of them understood Alethi.
The Fused hummed a different tone, then raised his broken spear to Kaladin—holding it in his off hand. The Heavenly One dropped the weapon toward the rocks below. The creature bowed his head to Kaladin, then drifted away.
Now, where had—
A ribbon of red light streaked in from the side.
Kaladin immediately Lashed himself backward and spun, weapon out. He hadn’t realized he’d been dedicating a part of his energy to watching for that red light.
It darted away from him now that he’d noticed it. Kaladin tried to follow it with his eyes, but couldn’t keep track of it as it maneuvered among the homes below.
Kaladin breathed out. The fog was all but gone, letting him scan the entirety of Hearthstone—a little cluster of homes bleeding people toward the Fourth Bridge in a steady stream. The citylord’s manor stood on the hilltop at the far edge of town, overlooking them all. It had once seemed so large and imposing to Kaladin.
“Did you see that light?” he asked Syl.
Yes. That was the Fused from before. When she was a spear, her words came directly into his mind.
“My quick reaction scared it away,” Kaladin said.
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