Chapter 32

As a king leaves a people with the gift of his absence, so that they may grow and solve their own problems, without his hand to always guide them.

—From The Way of Kings , fourth parable

A glowing rift tore reality apart before Dalinar, a melding of three realms.

It took the form of a pillar of light emerging from his clasped hands, gloryspren exploding into existence around him. The light soon washed out everything else, and power flowed like water in a mighty river—forming a puncture in reality that defied natural laws … or no, this was an expression of natural laws too. Simply ones that were higher, more fundamental.

“All right,” Dalinar said. “It’s open.”

“Step in,” Wit said, though Dalinar had lost track of him in the omnipresent light. “Both of you. Let the light bathe you, then seek the Spiritual Realm.”

Dalinar moved forward, holding the portal open as one might part drapes at a window.

“Dalinar,” Navani said, joining him, “I can hear the tones of Roshar … They’re familiar to me now. This place … it’s been calling to me for weeks.”

She took Dalinar’s hand in her safehand, then reached out toward the sound with her fingers, which he could see making streaks in the light. He could feel that realm too. Could feel her welcoming it … as they stretched toward another place.

Panic speared Shallan. Those people outside …

Oh no, Veil thought. Remind me, what do you do when there’s a guard watching for you?

Storms. You became the guard.

Unfortunately, Mraize saw her looking through the wall at him, and knew they’d been spotted. A second later the three Ghostbloods burst through the door, still wearing their false faces—though Mraize had pulled a dagger out. One that glowed and warped the air.

“Protect the spren!” Shallan shouted, pointing. “Those three guards are the enemy!”

The room became chaos. Three Ghostbloods pretending to be common Alethi guards faced two Windrunners and their spren, along with Renarin, Rlain, Radiant, Pattern, and Testament. So many figures suddenly moving, responding, or panicking.

Mraize raised his dagger and stayed back, though when the dagger got too close to his side, it made the Lightweaving spark and rip apart. Iyatil and Lieke leaped for Breteh, perhaps identifying the Windrunner as the strongest.

Radiant moved, shoving past Pattern and trying to get to Breteh, who clashed with Lieke, holding back his dagger. Nearby, Isasik—the other Windrunner—tackled Iyatil.

Storms, no, Radiant thought, pulling to a stop. There was no way Isasik could handle Iyatil. Indeed, the woman spun expertly and grabbed the younger Windrunner by the arm, slashing in a single smooth motion. She tossed him aside, blood spraying from a slit across his neck.

Right then, Dalinar’s perpendicularity opened.

Power thrummed through the room, pulsing with the energy of storms, and Shallan felt it surge through her like hot water in her veins. She gasped in awe, and outside the room spren began to scramble and scratch at the door.

Iyatil jumped for her, knife—fortunately a conventional one—bloody. Radiant separated from Shallan then, fully armored despite being in Shadesmar—formed of Lightweaving given physical weight. Radiant snatched Iyatil straight from the air, then slammed her to the glowing crystalline ground.

Iyatil grunted and slashed at Radiant, the weapon bouncing ineffectively off the Shardplate. It wasn’t real, but was anything real on this side? What had made this entire tower, if not raw Investiture from the Sibling?

Radiant pinned Iyatil down by one arm—but the Ghostblood performed an expert wrestling twist and slipped away. She spun around Radiant—who tried and failed to grab her. The woman’s Lightweaving began to evaporate, letting her mask show through, and her eyes—rimmed by wood—fixated on Shallan.

If she has an anti-Stormlight dagger, Shallan realized, dancing backward by instinct, she’ll use it against me. That kills both me and Radiant, and likely negates Pattern and Testament.

Not that either were very useful. Testament hid behind Pattern, who stood with one hand to his chest, pattern spinning, like a woman whose garden party had just been spoiled by unexpected rain.

As Iyatil struck, Shallan dodged backward, blessing Adolin for his insistence on training her in knife combat. As she had expected though, this was a feint—Iyatil slid another knife from her sheath and kept her hand back as if to hide it. This one warped the air.

Shallan had been wrong about them only having a little bit of anti-Light—there had been one bolt, but at least two daggers. Shallan continued to dodge, passing Isasik, whom Renarin was helping sit up after healing. A second later, Breteh—careening in an uncontrolled Lashing—came crashing past. Iyatil dodged, and Shallan saw her chance, bringing Radiant in to tackle the woman, forcing her to drop the dagger—which went skidding across the floor.

While Iyatil quickly slipped out of Radiant’s grip again, Shallan was able to scoop up the dagger. She glanced up, met Iyatil’s furious gaze, then smiled in triumph.

A second later, Shallan took a blowgun dart to the eye. She stumbled back and barely managed to dodge—through the pain—as Iyatil sent more darts after her. When had the woman gotten out that blowgun? Shallan scrambled away, making illusions of herself to distract, and pulled the dart free.

Puffing, she assessed the situation. Isasik had been healed but still sat on the floor, right hand to his bloodied neck. Lieke was facing Rlain and one of the Windrunner honorspren. The female who had spoken earlier, wearing a uniform and carrying a light dueling sword—which she wielded effectively to force the outsider up against the wall, then run him through.

Shallan nodded in appreciation—so far, Maya and Notum were the sole spren she’d known with the air of soldiers. But it stood to reason there would be others, particularly among the honorspren who had chosen to come and form bonds rather than hide in Lasting Integrity.

The Ghostbloods were losing this fight. They might be better individual warriors, but they faced five Radiants, plus the spren and Shallan’s illusions. Radiant backed Iyatil into a corner, and Lieke—who didn’t appear to have a spren—died in the attack, falling limp and covered in blood. As quickly as the ruckus had begun, it was over.

As Adolin had warned her so many months ago, combat was often short, brutal, and overwhelming. Years of training came down to a few key clashes. Shallan had even missed important parts while fixated on Iyatil; she only now noticed that Mraize was on the ceiling, having apparently been Lashed there by Breteh. The honorspren and Rlain joined Radiant in holding Iyatil at bay, while Shallan and Isasik—regaining his feet—turned weapons on Mraize, trapped on the ceiling.

“Wait,” Isasik said. “Where did that other Knight Radiant come from? And … how did she get Shardplate in Shadesmar?”

Breteh looked at Radiant, then frowned. “Another Lightweaver?” he guessed. “Shallan?”

“Well,” she said. “It’s kind of complicated—”

“You haven’t asked,” Iyatil whispered from the corner, “what happened to the guards whose places we took.”

Isasik turned toward her. “What did you do to them?”

“They’re being held at the base of the pillar where you arrived,” Iyatil said. “As insurance. They will be executed unless I give a signal. Or you get to them first.”

“She’s toying with you, Isasik,” Shallan said. “Don’t let her get inside your head.”

“It’s true,” Mraize said from the ceiling. “You know I wouldn’t lie about this, little knife. You can save them, but you only have a few minutes.”

“Is he lying?” Isasik demanded. “Shallan?”

She gazed up at Mraize. Who smiled. Confident.

Damnation.

“He’s probably not,” she admitted. “But—”

Both Windrunners dashed away, their spren following.

“Windrunners,” Iyatil said dismissively. “So easy to play with.”

“We still have you all,” Shallan said. Mraize on the ceiling, Lieke down, Iyatil trapped in the corner, holding her blowgun but apparently out of darts. “You’re captured. We win.”

“Ah,” Iyatil said softly, “but Mraize still has his dagger.”

Shallan looked up at him, her eyes locking on to the dagger. It was difficult to make anything out as the perpendicularity raged—washing out the room with brilliant white light. Spren in the distance were going haywire, a thousand shadows dancing up on the ground floor. But she could make out that warping. That light that somehow repelled natural light—including that of the perpendicularity—in a bubble around Mraize’s hand. It stood out like a single dot on an otherwise white canvas.

“Mraize,” Shallan said, suddenly filled with dread. “Mraize, what are you doing?”

“Have you ever seen a perpendicularity collapse on itself, little knife?” he asked.

“Mraize …”

“I haven’t either,” he said. “But it’s reportedly spectacular.” He threw the dagger.

Shallan leaped for it, but she was in the wrong position. The anti-Light struck the center of the portal.

The blast that followed shattered the room.

It was working.

Dalinar could feel the vision begin to form, slowly at first, as if the Spiritual Realm was resisting. He and Navani pushed forward, as through a thick tar, holding hands—trailing cords of light to Connect to the Physical Realm.

Images began to form around him from swirling light. Visions of places, people—ephemeral, winking away in seconds. The tones thrummed through him.

It was working.

He looked at Navani, grinning. Then, behind them, something snapped.

Their Connection to the Physical Realm vanished, and something came rushing toward them: power, wind, and screams.