Good lad, Dalinar thought as Renarin immediately set to healing his brother.
Two more people crossed the battlefield. Lift he had anticipated. But the assassin? Szeth scooped the silvery sheath off the ground and slammed his black Shardblade into it, before stepping up to join Dalinar.
Skybreaker, Dalinar thought, counting them off. Edgedancer. That was seven.
He would have expected three more.
There, the Stormfather said. Behind your niece.
Two more people appeared in the shadow of the wall. A large, powerful man with an impressive physique, and a woman with long, dark hair. Their dark skin marked them as Makabaki, perhaps Azish, but their eyes were wrong.
I know them, the Stormfather said, sounding surprised. I know them from long, long ago. Memories of days when I did not fully live.
Dalinar, you are in the presence of divinities.
“I’ve grown accustomed to it,” Dalinar said, turning back toward the field. Odium had retreated into nothingness, though his Fused remained, as did most of the troops, and one strange spren—the one like black smoke. Beyond it, of course, the Thrill still encompassed the north side of the landing, near the water.
Amaram had ten thousand men, and maybe half of those had made it into the city so far. They had wilted before Dalinar’s display, but now …
Wait.
Those two only make nine, he thought to the Stormfather. Something told him there should be one more.
I don’t know. Perhaps they haven’t been found yet. Regardless, even with the bond you are just one man. Radiants are not immortal. How do you face this army?
“Dalinar?” Kaladin said. “Orders, sir?”
The enemy ranks were recovering. They lifted weapons, eyes glowing deep red. Amaram stirred as well, some twenty feet away. The Thrill had Dalinar most worried, however. He knew what it could do.
He glanced down at his arm, and noticed something. The lightning that had struck him earlier, shredding The Way of Kings, had broken his arm fabrial. The clasp was undone, and Dalinar could see the tiny gemstones Navani had placed to power it.
“Sir?” Kaladin asked again.
“The enemy is trying to crush this city, Captain,” Dalinar said, lowering his arm. “We’re going to hold it against his forces.”
“Seven Radiants?” Jasnah said, skeptical. “Uncle, that seems a tall order, even if one of us is—apparently—the storming Assassin in White.”
“I serve Dalinar Kholin,” Szeth-son-son-Vallano whispered. His face, for some reason, was streaked with grey. “I cannot know truth, so I follow one who does.”
“Whatever we do,” Shallan said, “we should do it quickly. Before those soldiers—”
“Renarin!” Dalinar barked.
“Sir!” Renarin said, scrambling forward.
“We need to hold out until troops arrive from Urithiru. Fen doesn’t have the numbers to fight alone. Get to the Oathgate, stop that thunderclast up there from destroying it, and open the portal.”
“Sir!” Renarin saluted.
“Shallan, we don’t have an army yet,” Dalinar said. “Lightweave one up for us, and keep these soldiers busy. They’re consumed by a bloodlust that I suspect will make them easier to distract. Jasnah, the city we’re defending happens to have a big storming hole in its wall. Can you hold that hole and stop anyone who tries to get through?”
She nodded, thoughtful.
“What about me?” Kaladin asked.
Dalinar pointed at Amaram, who was climbing to his feet in his Shardplate. “He’s going to try to kill me for what I do next, and I could use a bodyguard. As I recall, you have a score to settle with the highlord.”
“You could say that.”
“Lift, I believe I already gave you an order. Take the assassin and get me that ruby. Together, we hold this city until Renarin returns with troops. Any questions?”
“Um…” Lift said. “Could you maybe … tell me where to get something to eat…?”
Dalinar glanced at her. Something to eat? “There … should be a supply dump just inside the wall.”
“Thanks!”
Dalinar sighed, then started walking toward the water.
“Sir!” Kaladin called. “Where are you going?”
“The enemy brought a very big stick to this battle, Captain. I’m going to take it away.”
If the journey itself is indeed the most important piece, rather than the destination itself, then I traveled not to avoid duty—but to seek it.
—From The Way of Kings, postscript
Kaladin rose into the sky, alive with Stormlight.
Below him, Dalinar walked toward the red mist. Though tendrils of it moved among the soldiers of Amaram’s army, the bulk of it swirled closer to the coast, to the right of the bay and the destroyed docks.
Storms, Kaladin felt good to be in the real world again. Even with the Everstorm dominating the sun, this place felt so much more bright than Shadesmar. A group of windspren dodged around him, though the air was relatively still. Perhaps they were the ones who had come to him on the other side, the ones he had failed.
Kaladin, Syl said. You don’t need another reason to berate yourself.
She was right. Storms, he could be down on himself sometimes. Was that the flaw that had prevented him from speaking the Words of the Fourth Ideal?
For some reason, Syl sighed. Oh, Kaladin.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said.
For now, he’d been given a second chance to protect Dalinar Kholin. Stormlight raging inside of him, the Sylspear a comfortable weight in his hand, he Lashed himself downward and crashed to the stones near Amaram.
The highlord, in turn, fell to his knees.
What? Kaladin thought. Amaram was coughing. He tipped his head back, faceplate up, and groaned.
Had he just swallowed something?
* * *
Adolin prodded at his stomach. Beneath the bloodstained rip, he felt only smooth, new skin. Not even a hint of an ache.
For a time, he’d been sure he would die.
He’d been there before. Months ago, he’d felt it when Sadeas had withdrawn, leaving the Kholin troops alone and surrounded on the Shattered Plains. This had been different. Staring up at that black sky and those unnatural clouds, feeling suddenly, appallingly fragile …
And then light. His father—the great man Adolin could never match—somehow embodying the Almighty himself. Adolin couldn’t help feeling that he hadn’t been worthy to step into that light.
Here he was anyway.
The Radiants broke apart to do Dalinar’s bidding, though Shallan knelt to check on Adolin. “How do you feel?”
“Do you realize how fond I was of this jacket?”
“Oh, Adolin.”
“Really, Shallan. Surgeons should take more care with the clothing they cut open. If a man’s going to live, he’ll want that shirt. And if he dies … well, he should at least be well dressed on his deathbed.”
She smiled, then glanced over her shoulder toward the troops with red eyes.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll be fine. Save the city. Be Radiant, Shallan.”
She kissed him, then turned and stood. That white clothing seemed to glow, the red hair a striking swatch, as Stormlight rose from her. Pattern appeared as a Shardblade with a faint, almost invisible latticework running up the length. She wove her power, and an army climbed from the ground around her.