Chapter 34

The time has at last come for our stewardship to end.

A s Adolin transferred to Azimir, he heard the overlapping, echoing voices of the spren of the Oathgate.

Use this time well, human, they said. When our new allies arrive, we will stop aiding you.

“And when my father wins his contest?” Adolin asked, appearing in Azimir. “Will you help us again then?”

We shall see. For now, our transformation approaches.

Well, the enemy was still an hour or so away. There was time enough to transfer the rest of Adolin’s forces to Azimir. After that, they would be isolated here until the reinforcements arrived.

He emerged onto the Oathgate platform along with a small group of leaders from the Cobalt Guard—including Colot, the tall former Windrunner squire with flashes of red in his hair. Adolin took a deep breath, remembering how much he liked the smells of Azish spices from the nearby market. With a pat to calm Gallant, Adolin inspected his surroundings: a large dome with gaps in the bronze ceiling to let in light. The Oathgate at Azimir had been a sheltered marketplace before the discovery of Urithiru. Now the stalls had been torn down, leaving a wide expanse of stone.

This would be his battlefield: a space well over two hundred yards across, with a control building at the center. The huge bronze dome was slightly larger than the platform—essential so that it didn’t transfer when the people did. There was a large wooden balcony halfway up the wall, maybe thirty feet in the air, surrounding the entire dome. He squinted, pleased to see Azish archers in position up there. Unfortunately, singers tended to be more resilient against arrows than humans because of their natural carapace armor.

Adolin inspected the round control building. Maybe twenty-five feet across, that room was the sole incursion point from Shadesmar. When going from Urithiru to a city, you could use the whole platform—but when traveling to or from Shadesmar, you could only transfer from within the control building, something that had come as a horrible surprise to Adolin in Kholinar. He’d hoped to save the soldiers he’d been leading by transferring them all—but he, in the control building, had instead gone without them.

The entire place felt like a bunker. He turned around, examining the dome, and noted some interesting sacks hung high in the air along its interior. Oil, he guessed, to drop and burn on any enemies who might transfer here. Another good precaution, but also one that might not work as well against singers as the Azish hoped.

Our most important task, Adolin thought, is to not let them claim ground inside this dome.

If the enemy could take the dome, then they’d have a large, fortified staging area in Azimir. The defenders would need more than archers and oil—they’d need boots on the ground inside the dome, keeping the enemy from seizing the entire thing from within.

Interesting, Maya said in his mind.

She had been changing quickly, ever since their visit to the tower. A living Urithiru appeared to have invigorated her, and had also somehow strengthened whatever was happening between them. She said the Light of the tower made her feel refreshed, and he felt her in his mind stronger now. She could see into the Physical Realm through his eyes, including when he hadn’t summoned her as a Blade, and she’d been responding more and more, even volunteering comments.

Your Herdazian general, she said. He was worried about this defense.

“The Mink. Yeah,” Adolin whispered. “I can see why, but only if I look hard. On first glance, this seems easy. A good killing field, the enemy trapped in this dome, only one small incursion point. We could guard the doors of that control building and just slaughter singers as they appear, then torch the entire place with oil if they manage to break out of the center.”

So what’s the problem?

“Singers attack through aggression and momentum,” Adolin explained. “They’re not formation fighters—they usually flood across a battlefield in a rush, fighting in expert pairs trained to defend one another. We often have superior tactics, but each of their soldiers is stronger, tougher, and harder to kill than a human.

“Our strength is large-scale troop formations. If we try to surround the control building and fight them in a tight ring as they come at us—my gut says they’ll break through because we’ll be fighting them their way, pitting the aggression of a few singers against a few humans.”

The best way to defeat singers was with large pike blocks and shield walls—although there was barely room for that, he thought it would be possible. Particularly if they dumped a bunch of debris in here to slow enemy advances. That would give his men a kind of barricade.

He gazed again at the control room. Azimir’s had eleven openings in its round wall, reminiscent of a gazebo. If he were the enemy, he’d send through Fused and Regals first—and overwhelm the small ring of defenders, winning space for the next groups of troops to transfer quickly in a flood. If this wasn’t handled well, the humans could lose the entire dome on the first day.

The fire, though, Maya sent. From above.

“Oil,” Adolin said. “But if it drops, we lose the dome. Remember last year, when we burned the fields along the Alethi border—back when we were trying to push out of the Unclaimed Hills? That’s a common Alethi tactic, but the singers simply ran through the fire. They’re not immune to heat, but they’re better at handling it than humans.

“I bet dropping oil in here turns this place into an oven, which would likely kill a wave of singers. But they’d be able to send the next wave in much sooner than human defenders could return—plus, fire would likely destroy those archer balconies. We can maybe burn the place once—but when we do, we’re giving up the dome for good, and the singers can use it to gather their strength and pour out into the city.”

He nodded to himself. The key was to keep them contained and fighting for each foot of space in the dome until human reinforcements arrived. The enemy had a much larger force, but he could stall, make them bleed for each step. That oil was an absolute last resort. Defensive siege tactics were going to fail if the humans tried them here—they needed battlefield tactics, with troops on the ground. They could not allow the enemy to fill this dome, like a blister waiting to pop, because they would find a way to break out—and with so few defenders, the city would inevitably be lost.

I think you have a good point. Singers … singers use intimidation, speed, and force. They’re like heavy cavalry, in infantry form. You need a stout line to … to break them.

“Maya,” he whispered, “that’s the most I think I’ve ever heard from you at once!”

Tactics. Strategy. Thinking about it helps me focus.

Once Adolin’s officers had inspected the battlefield enough, he got them moving toward the exits. Needing no reins to lead him, Gallant trotted at Adolin’s side.

“What do you think?” Colot asked softly, jogging up to Adolin. “Good killing field in here.”

“How far do you think those Azish archers can shoot, accurately, into battle?”

“In here, with this light?” Colot said. “The Azish use the shorter, isri-style bows—they pack a punch, but don’t have the range of something like an Oldblood longbow. I’d put them at a hundred yards. They could stretch farther, but I wouldn’t count on them being accurate beyond that.”

So if Adolin put his armies around the control building at the center, they wouldn’t have archer support. Another good data point. At the edge, ten-foot-thick stone walls supported the bronze dome, which held the wide exits, meant for carts and wagons. The Azish had built up the exits: instead of a simple door, you had to walk through a stone corridor some thirty feet long, with a bend at the middle—even a little nook going the wrong way—to slow and momentarily confuse aggressors. Adolin could see sunlight shining into the stone hallway through arrow slits built into the walls. It wasn’t truly a maze, not with just one turn, but hallways like these were common for protecting castles.

“Your thoughts?” Adolin asked Colot as they followed Azish guards through the hallway.

“This fortification is solid,” Colot said. “And we’re low on manpower. I say we let them break themselves on these walls, with arrows raining from above. I could hold these hallways against a superior force for months if I had to.”

“Against singers?” Adolin said. “With Fused who can fly up to the balcony? Or what if they build ramps up to it and start breaking out that way? What if they have some Magnified Ones who can tear holes in the dome, or a stolen Shardblade to cut new exits?”

“Storms,” Colot said. “Storms, you’re right. We can’t let them take the interior of the dome. But what should we do instead?”

“We’ll see what the Azish commanders think.”

“You should take command,” Colot said. “You have the most experience fighting singers.”

Adolin shook his head as they reached the end of the hallway. “We don’t lead here, Colot. We come to help, not control.”

Together, he and his officers stepped out into the sunlight, and the breeze caught his cape, making it flutter.

Yes. He was wearing a cape. It wasn’t standard. It was a little ostentatious. But Damnation, it looked good with this uniform, and he’d wanted to wear a formal uniform cape for literally a decade. Dalinar thought they went poorly with regular uniforms—too old-fashioned. He was wrong. It was classic, distinguished, not old-fashioned.

Adolin’s father thought he was an absolute embarrassment anyway, so why not throw in the towel on that fight and make some decisions for himself?

It is good, Maya said in his mind. It feels right.

“You’re as old-fashioned as capes are,” Adolin whispered to her, with a smile.

I am a soldier. I know what inspires soldiers. You look good. It is good. Each sentence still felt labored when she spoke, but she made the effort, and he felt her resolve to keep doing so. Like a wounded soldier learning to walk again.

I’m worried Colot is correct, Maya said to him. Your Azish friends’ instincts will lead them wrong here. You might need to take command.

No, Adolin thought, testing the ability to merely think answers to her. There will be a better way.

Just hope, she replied, that our intelligence is accurate, and there aren’t many Fused with the enemy.

A functionary in a patterned conical hat met him as he emerged from the corridor—as did the Azimir Imperial Guard. Thousands of soldiers lined up in ranks, wearing full kit. Striking bronze armor, Soulcast using the imperial Azish Soulcaster. Fine steel weapons—spears, swords, and also kattari as sidearms. Those thick triangular weapons were between a large dagger and small sword, excellent for close confines.

The soldiers were a brilliant sight: polished armor in the sunlight, each wearing a sash over their shoulder and a similar one over their shield—the geometric Azish patterns indicating their battalion. Their helms were marked with different patterns. Seemed to be family affiliations, judging by how each was different from his neighbor’s. But … knowing the Azish, this could also be a mark of how well they did in specific essays or tests to join the military. They were an odd people.

Effective though, as soldiers. Azir had often fallen to Eastern raids in the past—but had just as often held them off. Even the Sunmaker. He’d sacked Azimir, but then his army had turned back, unable to hold the entire country.

“They report having about three thousand soldiers,” Colot whispered to him.

Not many at all. Storms, but this would be a strange siege. He’d never been in a fight where his job was to keep the enemy in instead of out. But the Shattered Plains had been an odd siege as well. He could take some of the lessons learned during five and a half hard years of fighting and apply them here.

Adolin saluted the Azish soldiers with hand to shoulder, knuckles out, the Alethi way. In turn, they raised their spears. Not a salute—the Imperial Guard saluted only the emperor, he’d heard. Or maybe they had a special salute only for him? They had such an odd way of doing things. But then again, who was he to judge? The Azish had the oldest code of laws on Roshar, and had been building an empire when the early Alethi had still been nomadic, according to Jasnah.

The leader of the city’s Imperial Guard—Commandant Supreme Kushkam—came riding up on a brilliant white horse dressed in fine barding. The horse had tassels adorning its head and flanks, as well as a spiraling Azish pattern down its legs. More extravagant an equine outfit than any Adolin had ever seen, particularly with that glowing steel barding. Storms. The beast could have gone to a royal ball and been the best dressed on the dance floor.

Gallant snorted. Adolin patted him. “I’ll get you some if you want.”

Commandant Kushkam was a shorter man, but thick of neck and limb. Adolin had asked around, and had discovered Kushkam was well regarded as a premier player of the card game towers—especially the more complex version that generals preferred. He was missing an eye and didn’t wear an eye patch, though tattoos circled the wound like rays of sunlight and seemed to spell out something in Azish.

He looked Adolin up and down from horseback. “I hear,” he said in perfect Alethi, “you think you’re going to lead the defense of my city.”

“Just here to help,” Adolin replied in Alethi, offering his hand. It wasn’t taken.

“I can use the troops,” Kushkam said. “How many did you bring?”

“I have two thousand,” Adolin said.

“Only two thousand?” Kushkam said. “I was hoping for more.”

“Many are infantry veterans,” Adolin said. “I recruited them myself from among our best. Elite soldiers, Commandant. I think they’ll impress you.”

“My men fight for their homeland,” he replied, leaning down on his horse. “What do yours fight for, Alethi?”

“The good of all Roshar.”

“You can say that with a straight face?” Kushkam asked. “I suppose that’s impressive. I’ll take your swords—I’m in no position to reject them—but … well, we will see. I still think you have no stakes here. Either you’ll flee when the fighting grows difficult, or …”

“Or?” Adolin prompted.

The man settled back in his saddle. “Or we’ll end up indebted to the Alethi.” He hesitated. “Every time Easterners have fought in this city, it has ended with Azimir being sacked. I don’t think you’re looking for loot—I’m no fool, and I have read the reports of Alethi aid in the battles for Emul. But I don’t like you being here.” He started his horse forward. “Don’t assume I’ll dance whenever you sing.”

Brusque, Maya thought. We won’t last long in defense if our armies can’t work together.

The blocks of troops turned in unison, saluting all of a sudden, hands to foreheads. There was only one reason they’d do that—Adolin climbed up into Gallant’s saddle to get a little height, and spotted the emperor’s incredibly ornate palanquin coming down a thoroughfare. Yanagawn was here.

As the armies waited for it to arrive, Adolin whispered for Colot to remain behind, then went for a trot around the perimeter of the large dome. He liked what he found—the dome was in the center of a large open area. A wide, flat cobbled space in all directions. The marketplace was apparently out here now on most days, but had been disassembled in anticipation of battle. Azimir was a fine city, with grand bronze domes topping the most important structures. Straight, wide roads. Many clustered buildings, tall and thin, for housing—they called them “apartments.” They were in good repair, and sturdy.

It was all so organized, as if the entire place had been laid out by Aunt Navani. And the number of statues and fountains he saw, accompanied by bronze frontings to many of the buildings … well, the place was beautiful. There was heritage here, bespoken in each structure. And it was full of people watching from buildings or streets. So many civilians, mostly women and children, as most fighting-aged men had been recruited to the war already.

These flooded into the city from the south as battles there raged, seeking safety in the capital. Now war came to them anyway. Storms … he couldn’t help but remember another grand city full of history and beauty. One he’d last seen from its Oathgate platform—witnessing as the palace fell, the walls crumbled, and the people screamed to him for help. He could still hear the soldiers shouting as they carried their wounded to join Adolin …

He’d abandoned his own troops.

Shamespren trailed him in the shape of red and white petals. He still had nightmares about that day. Imagining those wounded soldiers, stumbling toward the only way out, as an overwhelming force of enemies harried them from behind. Among them were a few of the loyal Palace Guard that had resisted Aesudan, who he had rescued from confinement less than an hour before. He pictured their captain, Sidin, watching as his prince, his leader, his friend … vanished to safety and left him to die.

He gripped Gallant’s reins tighter and completed his circuit. As he’d guessed, Yanagawn’s procession had taken its time, and was only now setting up. Adolin’s two thousand were beginning to flow out of the dome, arriving now that he and the officers had surveyed the battlefield. He would do better here than he had before. It wasn’t merely victory that Adolin sought here, but redemption as well. Wrongheaded though that was—Kadash and his father would have both chided him on that being the wrong attitude for entering a conflict—he knew he needed to at least acknowledge it.

His mother though … she’d have agreed with him.

Thoughts of her were painful these days, and he hated how his fond memories of her were invaded by thoughts of what his father had done. So he tried instead to imagine her blond hair as she’d held him on an early campaign with his father, some border dispute with the Vedens. What would she have told him today?

Care, he thought. Fight for something, not simply because you’re pointed that way by a monarch, no matter how beloved.

It was something she’d whispered to him, even as he trained, even as Dalinar insisted Adolin become a soldier. Don’t just fight. Fight for something—something worthy of your heart. Adolin nodded to himself. He couldn’t save the men he’d left behind. But storms, he could do better this time. He would protect Azimir, whatever it took.