Chapter 127

I know that to this day, people are confused by how at the end, spren began arriving in the East without the need for bonds. Notum, now among the most famous of honorspren, is an example. The answer is simple, however.

As the lands began to think of them, and remember them, they needed less the bond of a single person to give them purchase in the Physical Realm. For the thoughts of an entire people bolstered them.

—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 46

A dolin tried to sleep.

And failed.

He’d nearly died, and had survived. There was meaning in that, wasn’t there? Or was he just reacting against his earlier lack of emotion. He knew he was exhausted, and maybe not rational, but in the end—when he’d been about to die—it wasn’t honor Adolin had felt, but fatalism. That terrified him.

Adolin Kholin had no purpose. He hadn’t had one since the day of the Radiants had dawned.

You’ve been here helping all this time, Maya said. Her voice was stronger. She was close now.

So?

So you’ve always had a purpose.

I’m not enough, though.

Good! she replied.

Good? he thought, shocked.

Yes. Because … She took a mental breath, and he could feel this much talking remained difficult for her. Because if you could do it all yourself, you wouldn’t need a sword at your side.

There was a wisdom in that, but wisdom wasn’t what Adolin wanted to hear at the moment. Storm you, he thought.

Storm you! she thought back. With a hint of a smile somehow suffusing the words. Which helped.

But still … he wished his life meant something.

It does, she said.

Nothing matters.

You brought me back, Adolin, because I mattered. Were —mental breath— were you wrong? Should I return to being fully dead?

That’s unfair.

Life is unfair, she said. Only existence is fair, once it’s all done, and God has made it so.

There is no God.

Then what am I a piece of?

It was … odd to hear such overtly religious words. The lighteyes rarely spoke that way these days, even if his father did. Maya was from another time though—a time when religion had been different.

A short while later, Adolin heard the door to the basement saferoom slip open. That set them all on edge, until Notum zipped down. A group of people followed, cloaks obscuring their Windrunner uniforms.

“Skar?” Adolin said, standing. “Drehy?”

The two Windrunners were followed by five squires. The last quickly shut the door.

Adolin stood and limped over to the two familiar Radiants, one tall and one short, who were surveying the room, their expressions grim.

“Went about as well for you as it did us, eh?” Skar asked.

“That bad?” Adolin asked.

“It was a storming mess,” Drehy said. “Enemy threw everything they had at the Shattered Plains, Everstorm included. We lost a lot of people, Highness. Good people. Sigzil is down, alive but without a spren. Leyten and Deti are dead. I don’t feel like we ever had a chance.”

“Did anyone hold any of the battlefields?” Adolin asked. “What about the Mink, and Herdaz?”

“Last we’d heard,” Drehy said, “they didn’t even make it in time. They got bogged down fighting to reach the capital.”

“Brightness Jasnah was right,” Skar said. “That excursion was of the ten fools.”

“Looks like our entire defense was of the ten fools,” Drehy said. “We failed on every storming front.”

“Unless my father wins,” Adolin said. “Then we get Herdaz and Alethkar back, regardless.”

The two nodded, but seemed grim. If Dalinar lost … that was it. The whole world, save Urithiru itself—and, well, no one knew what was up with Shinovar—was done.

But his father wouldn’t lose, would he?

Adolin, for the first time in quite a while, found … hope in Dalinar? Admiration for his father?

Why now? It had been a long, dark year without that hope. But standing there, he thought he could finally see his father as he was. Not as a paragon. Not as a villain.

Something had changed in Adolin during that night, feeling helpless, watching Azimir fall. Those moments when he’d been absolutely certain he was going to die—and had briefly lost the ability to care. Building himself back up from that was taking effort, and when he started … he reached for his father. Accepting, at last, that Dalinar wasn’t perfect and didn’t need to be perfect for Adolin to rely upon him.

That … helped. A little.

Adolin sat by the wall again. “Take the next step,” he whispered.

“What was that, Brightlord?” Skar asked. “We … You should know we’re under orders from your aunt to bring you and the emperor to safety. We can take a few others, but we can’t be too encumbered, or we won’t be able to stay ahead of the Heavenly Ones if they spot us.”

“I’m not going,” Yanagawn said, standing up.

Noura sighed. “Your Excellency, please see reason. We must see the empire preserved.”

“The empire is no more,” Yanagawn said, “but Azir remains. And I am its leader. I am the only one who can fight for it. So I’m not leaving, Noura, not as long as there is hope.”

“What hope can there be?” she asked.

“As long …” Adolin whispered from his seat by the wall. “As long as the emperor is on his throne …”

“Azir stands,” Yanagawn said. “The fifth dynasty troubles, Noura. You taught me of them, when two rival emperors fought for the city. In a disputed city, the one who holds the throne physically has legitimacy.”

“An impossible chance,” Noura said. “The enemy will fill the palace—even if they don’t know about that precedent, they’ll be searching for you, for our riches. That location will have one of the highest troop concentrations in the city. We’ll never get in.”

Something sparked in Adolin.

That light. He realized and recognized it right before Yanagawn spoke.

“If only,” the young emperor said, a hint of awe in his voice, “we had someone to lead us who had experience sneaking into the palace.”

Storms. Adolin blinked, then forced himself to stand on foot and peg. Yanagawn’s origin … was as a thief who had infiltrated the Azish palace with Lift so long ago.

“This is why,” Adolin whispered, meeting the emperor’s eyes. “Why you are here. This … means something.”

“What’s this?” Drehy asked. “I’m lost. Are we leaving or not?”

“No, we aren’t,” Adolin said. “Because Yanagawn is going to sneak us into the palace, where he and I will seize the throne room and save this storming city. ”

Light coalesced around Dalinar, then he appeared in his rooms in Urithiru.

He was home. Though, as he rested his hand on one of the chairs, a part of him wondered. Could he ever again trust anything he saw? Was there a chance this was all some vision?

How would he know?

“Ah, right on time,” Wit said from behind him.

Dalinar spun and found the man in his black suit, sitting in Dalinar’s favorite chair, one leg across the other knee. He’d been reading a book. Dalinar stepped forward and looked Wit in the eyes. Finding …

It was him. The real Wit. No sign of the insanity that had plagued the fake ones.

“Alas,” Wit said, checking his curious offworld pocket watch, “as much as I’d like for you to stare at me lovingly all day, Dalinar, you have things to do. Also, I’ve been sleeping with your stepdaughter so, you know, it would be awkward.”

“Wit,” Dalinar said. “Please. No jokes.”

Wit tucked away his watch. “Navani had a similar air around me when she returned. What happened in there?”

“The visions tried to replicate you and found it impossible.”

Wit smiled.

“Please don’t let that pad your ego,” Dalinar said. “Wit, did you know the Stormfather held Tanavast’s memories?”

“He’s a kind of off-white, half-finished version of his Cognitive Shadow,” Wit said, with a nod. “A … replica of Tanavast, maybe an avatar, that had taken on its own will.”

“With his memories. Tanavast put them all into the Stormfather. It’s … like he is Tanavast, more than we thought. He showed me the entire history of the gods on this planet, and has known all along what happened in the years we were seeking.” Dalinar hesitated. “I think I needed to see and experience them anyway … but still …”

Wit cocked his head. “Huh.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Dalinar, I only pretend to know everything.”

“Doesn’t that just lead to disappointing people?”

“I find I can often confuse them instead.” Wit stood and walked past. “Your wife is waiting above. You have around two hours remaining. I told her you’d appear in your rooms, but she was hesitant to come down in case you appeared elsewhere and went looking for her.”

“You knew I’d be here? How?”

Wit smiled.

“Or did you not actually know, ” Dalinar said, “and you … guessed? But …”

Wit paused by the door. “Coming?”

Dalinar stood in place. “I … Wit, I failed. I saw it all—the origin of humankind on Roshar, the creation of the Heralds, the Recreance … I know how it happened and why, but I don’t know how I’m to defeat Odium! I have learned so much my head spins, and I can’t decide what’s relevant and what isn’t.”

Wit smiled fondly, then waved for Dalinar to join him. “Walk with me, Dalinar. And listen.”

A dozen objections occurred to Dalinar. He’d just spent the better part of two weeks traveling the visions. He was tired of listening. He wanted to do.

At the same time, he was in no position to turn from help, even if it was offered by Wit in his Wittish ways. So Dalinar joined him. Together they started down the halls of Urithiru, walls marked by spiraling strata, Stormlight shining from their glowing sections.

“Long ago,” Wit said softly, “on a planet where half the trees are white, a child was born to a lumberman. A curious, whimsical child who wanted all of the answers in the world—but such were not offered to the children of common laborers. Even kings and jesks didn’t have all the answers, though we often lied about that fact, and still do.”

As they walked, a faint wind blew against Dalinar’s back, as if urging him forward. Listen, it whispered. Listen.

“Now, the king of that land was a good man,” Wit continued. “I rather liked him, for all his faults. One day, he started pondering the nature of nobility. He had a discussion with his lords—though on this planet, it was not the color of the eyes that marked nobility. They claimed it was about birth, naturally: the acts of god, the sanctity of the crown. The dirty secret is that all governments are quietly republics—the voting is simply done with the sword or with coin. Everyone conveniently neglects to tell the lower class that it’s their coin, and their lack of swords.

“Regardless, the king had listened to the wrong kind of philosophers. The kind who spoke of concepts like the innate equality of all people. He began wondering about the flimsy rationalizations given for elevating one person above another, and he got into an argument with his lords.

“It was a foolish argument, with some measure of wine involved. The king claimed he could take any lowborn child in the land and raise him to be as noble, to be as learned and talented as any highborn child. One of his barons took the bet. And so, the lumberman’s son was brought to the palace.”

“Were you that boy?” Dalinar asked.

“No,” Wit said. “But I was young then, frightfully so. I’d somehow found a weapon destined to kill a god, and was carrying it un-wittingly.”

Oddly, as they entered the main thoroughfare toward the lifts, nobody made way for Dalinar. “What did you do to me?” he asked as they walked—Wit strolling, Dalinar marching.

“Just a little Lightweaving,” Wit said. “We don’t have time for you to be mobbed. Besides, Dalinar, I want you to enjoy it.”

“The story?”

“No, this,” Wit whispered, his hands out toward the people they passed.

This. Dalinar let the silence linger as they continued, and … he noticed a Connection to the people. They’d followed him through rain and ruin to make a new home at the tops of these unnamed mountains.

As he walked, at first each step felt as if he were marching to the gallows. His last confrontation, the conflict that would save or destroy him. Then … he started sensing their souls. The woman who carried a basket of clothing, the potter with his bucket of clay. The child and the guard, both running, both shouting, dreams spinning in their minds. Even the Stormfather, still there in the back of his head.

So many of them. So many stories. Dalinar thought he felt it, the same thing that Tanavast mentioned: the cords that bound all of humankind into one family.

Today, he was their dream. He was their champion.

“What happened?” Dalinar asked. “To the lumberman’s son?”

“He failed,” Wit said softly. “I wasn’t able to stop him from doing so, and it haunts me to this day.”

Noura, in her colorful and patterned vizier’s robes, immediately stepped up to confront Adolin.

“Save the city?” she demanded. “You will not pull the emperor into some suicide mission! He needs to retreat and be safe, to inspire the people to fight for their freedom.”

“It’s not a suicide mission,” Adolin said. “You yourself told me that the person who controls the throne controls the empire. If we can obtain it before the deadline, and hold it until the moment arrives, the kingdom will belong to Yanagawn.”

“Because of a single precedential ruling,” Noura said.

“The enemy is bound by laws like that,” Adolin said. “It can work. My father’s confrontation with Odium is in …”

“Just under two hours,” May said.

“Around two hours,” Adolin said. “All we have to do is sneak into the throne room!”

“People will be rushing out of the city,” Kushkam said, standing. That gash across his nose and cheeks was really something—like he’d taken an axe straight to the face. “The enemy will likely just be letting refugees leave—fewer people to feed and watch as they secure the city.”

“The Windrunners made it in here,” May said, pointing. “That’s proof that the city isn’t locked down. I think he’s right!”

“People are fleeing the city,” Drehy said. “The enemy is busy setting up barracks, supply depots, checkpoints.”

“Common methods of securing a city,” Colot said, with a grunt. “There will be chaos for a little longer, and the checkpoints won’t all be up yet. We could probably make it most of the way to the palace by acting like scared citizens.”

“Where,” Kushkam said, “His Imperial Excellency implies he can get us in quietly.”

“I can!” Yanagawn said. “I was in the planning meetings with my uncle. I know all the options to sneak in.” Hope rose in Yanagawn’s voice, a single gloryspren appearing above him.

That spark of light inside Adolin found purchase, and started to build into a flame. He’d been broken down entirely … and it felt like a fresh start.

Sometimes, Maya said, you don’t need a Radiant or a Shardbearer. A person’s life isn’t meaningless because they can’t hit the hardest anymore, Adolin. At some point, you’re going to realize why you’re really here.

Thank you, he thought. For believing in me.

It’s kind of our job, she replied, and took a breath. Warning. My plan to help you probably won’t matter anymore … I was counting on there being an army with you. You might not need me.

I’ll always need a good friend, Adolin thought. A person’s life isn’t meaningless because you—

Shove it, she said, though he felt amusement from her.

“We can do this,” Yanagawn continued. “We bring a small force, sneak in, and—”

“Maybe they can try,” Noura said, gesturing to Adolin. “But not you.”

“I must lead them, Noura,” Yanagawn said.

“Just tell them how to get in. Stay here, safe.”

Yanagawn drew himself up. Met her eyes. And spoke with a voice that seemed not wholly his own. “I am emperor. I will lead them. ”

They locked gazes. Then Noura started crying. Not because she’d lost the argument, Adolin realized, but because she was afraid. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she whispered. “I don’t want to lose you. Please.”

Storms … that wasn’t the face of a bureaucrat trying to enforce rules. It was the face of a mother speaking to a son. They might not be related by blood, but suddenly her resistance to Adolin’s efforts took on a new light.

“After all we’ve done to you,” she said, grasping Yanagawn’s hands, “after all we’ve asked of you, Yanagawn, I don’t want to see you get killed. We elevated you out of shame, and you proved better than any of us. Please. I want you to be safe.”

“I …” He took a deep breath. “I can’t be safe. Not if my people need something more.” He looked to Adolin. “You’re with me?”

“To the end, Your Majesty,” Adolin said.

“Then gather and prepare my forces, please.”

“We’ll accept anyone,” Adolin said, turning to the room, “who can stand and walk.”

Nearby, a small figure scrambled up from among the scribes. The spindly Azish girl, Zabra, who he had sent to understudy with May. “Anyone?”

“Remember how I told you,” Adolin said, “that if you did what I said, you’d someday get your chance, Zabra?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Well, I’m in no position to turn down anyone who can hold a blade. Find yourself one.” He scanned the room as a small band formed from among the survivors—including Kushkam, Sarqqin the blacksmith, Hmask, and Colot. Rahel the teenage Truthwatcher. A few other soldiers.

“And what of them?” Gezamal said, nodding to the Windrunners. “They have orders to bring you to safety.”

Adolin glanced at Drehy and Skar, who seemed offended by the implication. “Orders last until the situation changes,” Skar said. “Any good soldier knows that. What do you need from us, Adolin? We’re in.”

Drehy nodded in agreement.

Adolin smiled, and did not look at Gezamal, who might take that as gloating. “Thank you, my friends. How many Heavenly Ones did you see out there?”

“A good thirty, I’m afraid,” Drehy said.

“Only a handful of other Fused though,” Notum added, standing on May’s shoulder, small sized, “from what I saw.”

“We’ll never succeed if too many Fused come for us,” Adolin said. “But if Drehy and Skar can lead those Heavenly Ones away …”

“We can do that,” Skar said. “We’ve had practice. We should be able to imply a whole force of Windrunners is coming—which will mobilize the enemy Fused, send them into offensive patterns. We should be able to keep them all out of your way for a few hours.”

Yanagawn began taking off his robes. He dumped the whole mess onto the floor, leaving him in an undershift.

“What are you doing, Majesty?” Noura asked.

“Those robes will draw attention,” he said, suddenly seeming just an ordinary youth. “My people don’t need an emperor right now, Noura. They need a thief.”