Dalinar rode off in the direction indicated. He noticed that, incredibly, a pair of bridgemen were still tailing him, only now catching up to where he’d found Sebarial. They saluted as Dalinar noticed them.
He told them where he was going, then sped up. Storms. In terms of pain, riding with broken ribs wasn’t much better than walking with them. Worse, actually.
He did find Aladar on the next plateau over, supervising his army as it seeped onto the perfectly round plateau that Shallan had indicated. Rust Elthal was there as well, wearing his Plate—one of the suits Adolin had won—and guiding one of Dalinar’s large, mechanical bridges. It settled down next to two others that spanned the chasm here, crossing in places the smaller bridges wouldn’t have been able to.
The plateau everyone was crowding onto was relatively small, by the scale of the Shattered Plains—but it was still several hundred yards across. It would fit the armies, hopefully.
“Dalinar?” Aladar asked, trotting his horse over. Lit by a large diamond—stolen from one of Navani’s fabrial lights, it seemed—hanging from his saddle, Aladar sported a soaked uniform and a bandage on his forehead, but appeared otherwise unharmed. “What in Kelek’s tongue is going on out here? I can’t get a straight answer from anyone.”
“Roion is dead,” Dalinar said wearily, reining in Gallant. “He fell with honor, attacking the assassin. The assassin, hopefully, has been distracted for a time.”
“We won the day,” Aladar said. “I scattered those Parshendi. We left well over half of them dead on that plateau, perhaps even three quarters. Adolin did even better on his plateau, and from reports, the ones on Roion’s plateau have fled. The Vengeance Pact is fulfilled! Gavilar is avenged, and the war is over!”
So proud. Dalinar had difficulty finding the words to deflate him, so he just stared at the other man. Feeling numb.
Can’t afford that, Dalinar thought, sagging in his saddle. Have to lead.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Aladar asked more softly. “That we won?”
“Of course it matters.”
“But . . . shouldn’t it feel different?”
“Exhaustion,” Dalinar said, “pain, suffering. This is what victory usually feels like, Aladar. We’ve won, yes, but now we have to survive with our victory. Your men are almost across?”
He nodded.
“Get everyone onto that plateau,” Dalinar said. “Force them up against one another if you have to. We need to be ready to move through the portal as quickly as possible, once it is opened.”
If it opened.
Dalinar urged Gallant forward, crossing one of the bridges to the packed ranks on the other side. From there, he forced his way—with difficulty—toward the center, where he hoped to find salvation.
* * *
Kaladin shot into the air after the assassin.
The Shattered Plains fell away beneath him. Fallen gemstones twinkled across the plateau, abandoned where tents had blown down or soldiers had fallen. They illuminated not only the central plateau, but three others around it and one more beyond, one that looked oddly circular from above.
The armies gathered on that one. Small lumps dotted the others like freckles. Corpses. So many.
Kaladin looked toward the sky. He was free once again. Winds surged beneath him, seeming to lift him, propel him. Carry him. His Shardblade shattered into mist and Syl zipped out, becoming a ribbon of light that spun around him as he flew.
Syl lived. Syl lived. He still felt euphoric about that. Shouldn’t she be dead? When he’d asked on their flight out, her response had been simple.
I was only as dead as your oaths, Kaladin.
Kaladin continued upward, out of the path of the oncoming storms. He could see those distinctly from this vantage. Two of them, one rolling from the west and bursting with red lightning, the other approaching more quickly from the east with a dark grey stormwall. They were going to collide.
“A highstorm,” Kaladin said, shooting up through the sky after Szeth. “The red storm is from the Parshendi, but why is there a highstorm coming? This isn’t the time for one.”
“My father,” Syl said, voice growing solemn. “He brought the storm, rushing its pace. He’s . . . broken, Kaladin. He doesn’t think any of this should be happening. He wants to end it all, wash everyone away, and try to hide from the future.”
Her father . . . did that mean the Stormfather wanted them dead?
Great.
The assassin disappeared above, vanishing into the dark clouds. Kaladin gritted his teeth, Lashing himself upward again for more acceleration. He shot into the clouds, and all around him became featureless grey.
He kept watch for glimmers of light to announce the assassin coming for him. He might not have much warning.
The area around him lightened. Was that the assassin? Kaladin extended his hand to the side, and Syl formed into the Blade immediately.
“Not ten heartbeats?” he asked.
Not when I’m here with you, ready. The delay is primarily something of the dead. They need to be revived each time.
Kaladin burst out of the clouds and into sunlight.
He gasped. He’d forgotten that it was still daytime. Here, far above the earthy darkness of war, the sunlight beat upon the cover of clouds, making them glow with pale beauty. The thin air was frigid, but raging Stormlight inside him made that easy to ignore.
The assassin hovered nearby, toes pointed downward, head bowed, silvery Shardblade held to the side. Kaladin Lashed himself so that he stopped, then sank level with the assassin.
“I am Szeth-son-son-Vallano,” the man said. “Truthless . . . Truthless.” He looked up, eyes wide, teeth clenched. “You have stolen Honorblades. It is the only explanation.”
Storms. Kaladin had always imagined the Assassin in White as a calm, cold killer. This was something different.
“I possess no such weapon,” Kaladin said. “And I don’t know why it would matter if I did.”
“I hear your lies. I know them.” Szeth shot forward, sword out.
Kaladin Lashed himself to the side, jerking out of the way. He swiped with his Blade, but didn’t come close to connecting. “I should have practiced more with the sword,” he muttered.
Oh. That’s right. You probably want me to be a spear, don’t you?
The weapon fuzzed to mist, then elongated and grew into the shape of a silvery spear, with glowing, swirling glyphs along the sharpened sides of the spearhead.
Szeth twisted in the air, Lashing himself back into a hovering position. He looked at the spear, then seemed to tremble. “No. Truthless. I am Truthless. No questions.”
Stormlight streaming from his mouth, Szeth threw his head back and screamed; a futile, human sound that dissipated in the infinite expanse of sky.
Beneath them, thunder rumbled and the clouds shivered with color.
* * *
Shallan dashed from lamp to lamp in the circular chamber, infusing each one with Stormlight. She glowed brightly, having drawn the Light from the ardents’ lanterns. There wasn’t time for explanation.
So much for keeping her nature as a Surgebinder hidden.
This room was a giant fabrial, powered by the Stormlight of those lamps. She should have seen it. She passed Inadara, who stared at her. “How . . . how are you doing this, Brightness?”
Several of the scholars had settled onto the ground where they hurriedly sketched glyphward prayers onto cloths, using chalk because of the moisture. Shallan didn’t know if those prayers were a request for safety from the storms or from Shallan herself. She did hear the words “Lost Radiant” murmured by one.
Two more lanterns. She infused a ruby with Stormlight, bringing it to life, but then ran out of Light.
“Gemstones!” she said, spinning on the room. “I need more Stormlight.”
The people inside looked to one another, all but Renarin, who continued to scratch identical glyphs on the rocks as he wept. Stormfather. She’d bled them all dry. One of
the scholars had dug an oil lantern from her pack, and it paled beside the lamps on the walls.
Shallan ducked out of the opening in the door, looking at the mass of soldiers who gathered there. Thousands upon thousands shuffled in the darkness. Fortunately, some of them carried lanterns.
“I need your Stormlight!” she said. “It—”
Was that Adolin? Shallan gasped, other thoughts fleeing for the moment as she spotted him in the front of the crowd, leaning on a bridgeman for support. Adolin was a mess, the left side of his face a patchwork of blood and bruises, his uniform ripped and bloodied. Shallan ran to him, pulling him close.
“Good to see you too,” he said, burying his face in her hair. “I hear you’re going to get us out of this mess.”
“Mess?” she asked.
Thunder rumbled and cracked without pause as red lightning blasted down not in streaks but in sheets. Storms! She hadn’t realized it was so close!
“Mmm . . .” Pattern said. She looked left. A stormwall was approaching. The storms were like two hands, closing in to crush the armies between them.
Shallan breathed in sharply, and Stormlight entered her, bringing her to life. Adolin had a gemstone or two on him, apparently. He pulled back, looking her over.
“You too?” he said.
“Um . . .” She bit her lip. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Sorry? Storms, woman! Can you fly like he does?”
“Fly?”
Thunder cracked. Impending doom. Right.
“Make sure everyone is ready to move!” she said, dashing back into the chamber.
* * *
Storms crashed together beneath Kaladin. The clouds broke apart, black, red, and grey mingling in enormous swirls, lightning arcing among them. It seemed to be Aharietiam again, the ending of all things.
Above all this, atop the world, Kaladin fought for his life.
Szeth flew by in a sweeping flash of silvery metal. Kaladin deflected the blow, the spear in his hand vibrating with a plangent ding. Szeth continued on, passing him, and Kaladin Lashed himself in that direction.
They fell westward, skimming the tops of the clouds—though to Kaladin’s eyes, that direction was down. He fell with his spear aimed, point straight toward the murderous Shin.
Szeth jerked left, and Kaladin followed, quickly Lashing himself that way. Violent, churning, angry clouds mixed beneath him. The two storms seemed to be fighting; the lightning that lit them was like thrown punches. Crashes sounded, and not all of them thunder. Near Kaladin a large stone churned up through the clouds, spinning vapors across its length. It breached in the light like a leviathan, then sank back into the clouds.
Stormfather . . . He was hundreds, perhaps thousands of feet in the air. What kind of violence was happening below if boulders were thrown this high?
Kaladin Lashed himself toward Szeth, picking up speed, moving along the top surface of the storms. He drew close, then eased back, letting his acceleration match that of Szeth so they flew side by side.
Kaladin drove his spear toward the assassin. Szeth parried deftly, Shardblade held in one hand while supporting the Blade from behind with the other, diverting Kaladin’s thrust to the side.
“The Knights Radiant,” Szeth screamed, “cannot have returned.”
“They have,” Kaladin said, yanking his spear back. “And they’re going to kill you.” He Lashed himself slightly to the side as he swung, twisting in the air and sweeping toward Szeth.
Szeth jerked upward, however, passing over Kaladin’s spear. As they continued to fall through the air, clouds just beside them, Szeth dove inward and struck. Kaladin cursed, barely Lashing himself away in time.
Szeth dove past him, disappearing into the clouds below, becoming just a shadow. Kaladin tried to trace that shadow, but failed.
Szeth burst up beside Kaladin a second later, striking with three quick blows. One took Kaladin in the arm, and he dropped Syl.
Damnation. He Lashed himself back away from Szeth, then forced Stormlight into his greying, lifeless hand. With an effort, he made the color return, but Szeth was already upon him with an airborne lunge.
Mist formed in Kaladin’s left hand as he raised it to ward, and a silvery shield appeared, glowing with a soft light. Szeth’s Blade deflected away, causing the man to grunt in surprise.
Strength returned to Kaladin’s right hand, the severing healed, but forcing that much Stormlight through it left him feeling drained. He fell away from Szeth, trying to keep his distance, but the assassin kept on him, jerking each direction that Kaladin did as he tried to escape.
“You are new at this,” Szeth called. “You cannot fight me. I will win.”
Szeth zipped forward, and Syl formed into a spear in Kaladin’s hands again. She seemed to be able to anticipate the weapon he wanted. Szeth slammed his weapon against Syl. It brought them face-to-face and they tumbled, eye to eye, their Lashings pulling them along the clouds.
“I always win,” Szeth said. He said it in a strange way, as if angry.
“You’re wrong,” Kaladin said. “About me. I’m not new to this.”
“You only just acquired your abilities.”
“No. The wind is mine. The sky is mine. They have been mine since childhood. You are the trespasser here. Not me.”
They broke apart, Kaladin throwing the assassin backward. He stopped thinking so much about his Lashings, about what he should be doing.
Instead, he let himself be.
He dove for Szeth, coat flapping, spear pointed for the man’s heart. Szeth got out of the way, but Kaladin dropped the spear and swung his hand in a great arc. Syl formed an axehead halberd. It came within inches of Szeth’s face.
The assassin cursed, but responded with his Blade. A shield was in Kaladin’s hand a split second later, and he slammed away the attack. Syl shattered even as he did so, forming back into a sword as Kaladin thrust forward with empty hands. The sword appeared, and the weapon bit deeply into Szeth’s shoulder.
The assassin’s eyes widened. Kaladin twisted his Blade, pulling it out of the assassin’s flesh, then tried a backhand to end the man permanently. Szeth was too fast. He Lashed himself backward, forcing Kaladin to follow, piling on Lashing after Lashing.
Szeth’s hand still worked. Damnation. The strike to the shoulder hadn’t fully severed the soul leading to the arm. And Kaladin’s Stormlight was running out.
Szeth’s looked even lower, fortunately. The assassin seemed to be using it up at a much faster rate than Kaladin, judging by the decreased glow around him. Indeed, he didn’t try to heal his shoulder—which would have required a lot of Light—but continued to flee, jerking back and forth, trying to outrun Kaladin.
The shadowy battle continued below, a tangle of lightning, winds, and spinning clouds. As Kaladin chased Szeth, something gargantuan moved beneath the clouds, a shadow the size of a city. A second later, the top of an entire plateau broke through the dark clouds, twisting slowly, as if it had been thrown upward from below.
Szeth almost ran into it. Instead, he Lashed upward enough to crest it, then landed on the surface. He ran along it as it turned lethargically in the air, its momentum running out.
Kaladin landed behind him, though he retained most of a Lashing upward, keeping himself light. He ran up the side of the plateau, heading almost directly upward toward the sky, dodging to the side as Szeth suddenly twisted and cut through a rock formation, sending boulders tumbling downward.
Rocks clattered along the surface of the plateau, which itself began to tumble back down toward the ground. Szeth reached the peak and threw himself off, and Kaladin followed shortly thereafter, launching from the stone surface, which sank like a dying ship into the roiling clouds.
They continued their chase, but Szeth did it falling backward along the stormtop, his eyes on Kaladin. Wild eyes. “You’re trying to convince me!” he shouted. “You can’t be one of them!”
“You’ve seen that I am,” Kaladin shouted back.
“Th
e Voidbringers!”
“Are back,” Kaladin shouted.
“THEY CAN’T BE. I AM TRUTHLESS!” The assassin panted. “I need not fight you. You are not my target. I have . . . I have work to do. I obey!”
He turned and Lashed himself downward.
Into the clouds, down toward the plateau where Dalinar had gone.
* * *
Shallan rushed into the room as the storms crashed together outside.
What was she doing? There wasn’t time. Even if she could open a portal, those storms were here. She wouldn’t have time to get people through.
They were dead. All of them. Thousands had probably already been swept to their deaths by the stormwall.
She ran to the last lamp anyway, infusing its spheres.
The floor started to glow.
Ardents jumped to their feet in surprise and Inadara yelped. Adolin stumbled in through the doorway, a crashing wind and a spray of angry rain trailing him.
Beneath them, the intricate design shone from within. It looked almost like stained glass. Gesturing frantically for Adolin to join her, Shallan ran across to the lock on the wall.
“Sword,” she shouted at Adolin over the sounds of storms outside. “In there!” Renarin had long since dismissed his.
Adolin obeyed, scrambling forward, summoning his Shardblade. He rammed it into the slot, which again flowed to fit the weapon.
Nothing happened.
“It’s not working,” Adolin shouted.
Only one answer.
Shallan grabbed the hilt of his sword and whipped it out—ignoring the scream in her mind that came from touching it—then tossed it aside. Adolin’s sword vanished to mist.
A deep truth.
“There is something wrong with your Blade, and with all Blades.” She hesitated for just a second. “All but mine. Pattern!”
He formed in her hands, the Blade she’d used to kill. The hidden soul. Shallan rammed it into the slot, and the weapon vibrated in her hands and glowed. Something deep within the plateau unlocked.
Outside, lightning fell and men screamed.
Now the mechanism’s operation became clear to her. Shallan threw her weight against the sword, pushing it before her like the spoke on a mill. The inner wall of the building was like a ring inside a tube—it could rotate, while the outer wall remained in place. The sword moved the inner wall as she pushed on it, though it stuck at first, the fallen blocks of the cut doorway getting in the way. Adolin threw his weight against the sword with her, and together they pushed it around the circle until they were above the picture of Urithiru, half the circumference from Natanatan where she’d begun. She pulled her Blade free.