Chapter 37

The impending events in Iri are another sign. The age of transitions has arrived.

C olot joined Adolin as he left Gallant and jogged toward where the emperor was finally emerging from his palanquin. As one, the sea of Azish soldiers and attendants bowed, and storms, Adolin wasn’t certain he’d seen so many awespren in one place—exploding like rings of blue smoke, almost in concert with the bows. As if the very spren showed deference to the emperor.

Adolin nudged Colot, and the two of them bowed too. His soldiers behind them, taking the cue, did as well.

“We bow to a foreign monarch?” Colot whispered.

“By coming here, we put ourselves in his command structure. Let’s show the man some respect.”

Per tradition, they bowed for ten seconds, until Noura—head vizier—clapped once. The formality of it itched against Adolin’s Alethi sensibilities. Not that they didn’t have their own moments of propriety—theirs simply made much more sense.

As Adolin straightened, Yanagawn walked down a little ramp—wearing a crimson and gold robe that seemed at least ten layers thick and a hat wider than his shoulders—and spread his hands out to welcome Adolin. “Thank you,” he said in Alethi, taking Adolin’s hand—prompting gasps across the field.

“I’m always good for a fight, Your Excellency.”

“It appears you’ll have more than enough opportunity here, unfortunately,” Yanagawn said. He waved to the side, gesturing for Commandant Kushkam to approach.

The man did so, with another bow. Noura—who often spoke for Yanagawn at meetings—also stepped up to join them; she was an older woman with her hair in a grey braid, topped by a cap with an intricate red and yellow pattern.

“Adolin, you’ve seen our defenses?” Yanagawn said. “What do you think?”

“They’re solid,” Adolin replied. “The enemy can bring forces in only a little at a time, as the way Oathgates work requires that transfers from Shadesmar use only the very center of the platform. I—”

“Yes,” Kushkam said in Alethi, stepping forward and pointedly addressing Adolin, not the emperor, “our defenses are solid. As soon as your men are off the platform, my troops will surround the control building. Not only that, but we’ll have one of the royal Soulcasters ready to help.”

Soulcasters. Right. “Can you transform all the air inside the control building to bronze?” Adolin asked.

“Regrettably,” Noura said, “our Soulcasters aren’t capable of such feats. We can transform many objects to bronze, but the air itself? No, alas.”

Adolin nodded. But as he thought about it, he wasn’t certain it would be useful. Alethi Soulcasters were limited to making specific shapes, and filling a room might have been impossible for them as well. Worse, it wouldn’t actually do much. The enemy could just transfer the metal into Shadesmar and tow it out of the way.

“We’re going to fill the building with as much water as we can,” Kushkam said, “then Soulcast that into bronze. We will pack soldiers in close around the outside so if the enemy does get through, we can kill them in droves. And even if they get past that, we’ll drop oil and cook them alive.”

“No,” Adolin said, shaking his head. “Set that building ablaze only as a last resort. And tell me, how often have your soldiers here faced combat?”

“They are time-tested veterans,” Kushkam said. “From campaigns against Marat and in the Yezier succession crisis.”

“I meant against singers,” Adolin said.

“We’re the Imperial Guard,” Kushkam said. “We’ve had the honor of protecting the emperor, and the city, this last year.”

“So your soldiers have never faced a singer charge,” Adolin said, thoughtful. “I think we should try a different tactic. The Soulcasting isn’t going to work when they can merely transfer the bronze to the other side, and your soldiers are going to need archer support. We should fill the field with debris: furniture, scrap metal, anything you can spare. Post soldiers behind it in a wide ring, with pikes and barricades.”

“What?” Kushkam said, then looked to Noura—addressing her instead of the emperor, and changing to their language. “Excellency, that’s nonsense! The enemy would immediately use any debris as cover. We have a perfect killing field inside the dome! Why would we ruin it?”

Adolin blinked in surprise as the words warped, seemed to shift, then entered his mind as if they’d been spoken clearly in Alethi. No, better. He understood the nuance of the inflections, as if he were a natural speaker of the language. Storms. His father’s touch was more effective than he’d imagined.

“We need to be careful,” Adolin said, drawing a few shockspren from the others as he spoke in perfect Azish. “They’ll send Regals, maybe Fused first, and I don’t trust your lines against those. You need that archer support, so it’s better to have larger, fortified lines farther back. If your men break in the initial assault, it could turn into a rout.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Kushkam said. “Throwing away the perfect advantage?”

“This is a Stuko Stem,” Adolin said, gambling on language he thought Kushkam would like. “Obstruction favors us.”

“It’s plainly not a Stuko Stem. If anything, it’s a Haramed Stem. You insult my troops!”

“At least listen to me about the fires,” Adolin said. “Singers are more resistant to heat than we are. If you turn the place into an oven, they’ll recover first—and we’ll lose the entire dome to them.”

The commandant hesitated, actually considering this. He ground his teeth, but didn’t object.

So he’s not a fool, Maya thought to Adolin. That’s good.

Agreed, he thought back. He just didn’t live with a siege mentality on the Shattered Plains for years.

Still, the man did glare at him, then looked to the emperor. Adolin immediately realized his mistake. He should never have voiced his objections in the presence of the emperor, embarrassing the commandant in front of his supreme authority. Adolin should have pulled the man aside and made suggestions, not stood in public and contradicted him. Storms, what a rookie mistake. He could tell from Kushkam’s posture, standing tall, chin raised, that he took it as a threat to his command.

“Excellency,” Adolin said to Yanagawn, “the commandant is obviously passionate and dedicated to the defense of this city. I pushed to see what he thought, but I went too far. I bow to his experience and wisdom; let us proceed as he suggests.”

Kushkam glanced at him, frowning.

“Very well,” Yanagawn said, studying Adolin. “Noura, please convey to the commandant that we trust his decisions.”

She did so. The thick-necked man bowed to the emperor, nodded to Adolin, and trotted off—an aide bringing his horse so he could swing into the saddle and begin calling orders.

“I would have done as you asked, if you’d pushed,” Yanagawn said softly to Adolin, in Alethi.

“I realize that,” Adolin said. “But I assume he’s a good officer?”

“One of our best,” Noura said, tapping a sheaf of papers against one hand. “Distinguished service in the fighting at Yulay when younger. He led our forces in several important battles, as recently as two years ago.”

“A field commander, promoted to defense of the city,” Adolin said, with a nod. “I’d rather have him on my side. Undermining the fellow in charge is not a way to make friends.”

“Some would argue that in the positions we hold, we don’t need friends,” Noura said.

“I would argue you need them more,” Adolin said, then pointed. “Your troops are disciplined and proud. If I undermine their commander, we’ll lose morale. If Kushkam is as good as you say, he’ll come around.” He gave them a smile. “Just have some furniture and scrap ready for when we need it.”

“Adolin,” the emperor said, his hands laced together. The clothing and headdress were so regal it was sometimes easy to forget the young man wearing them—a teen much the same age Adolin had been when he began his first bouts as a ranked duelist. “What was that you two said? Something about stems?”

“Oh! Those are shorthand expressions,” Adolin said, “for the opening moves of an enemy player in towers. They say Kushkam is an expert.”

“Towers?” the emperor asked.

Adolin started. “Do you call it something else?” he asked, glancing at Noura.

“No,” she said. “The Azish word is ‘ gunna ma ’—essentially, ‘the tower game.’”

“Never heard of it,” Yanagawn said.

“Storms!” Adolin said. “A leader who doesn’t know towers? Noura, what have you been teaching him?”

“Political history, social structures, languages, contracts …”

“Useless on the battlefield,” Adolin said. “A field commander has to know towers.”

“Pardon, Brightlord,” Noura said, sounding amused. “His Excellency is not a field commander.”

“We’re on a field of battle now,” Adolin said, gesturing around them. “And he’s ultimately in charge.” He leaned in toward the emperor, close enough that one of the man’s bodyguards stepped forward until Yanagawn waved him back.

“Listen, Excellency,” Adolin said. “We’ll remedy this, after the war is done. Noura can teach what to say in a meeting, but if you want to learn strategy, I’ll start you on towers.”

“I’d … like that,” Yanagawn said, smiling. “Thank you, Adolin. For all of it. For being here when you didn’t have to be. When this isn’t your fight.”

“Have you heard about the fixed brawl, Excellency?”

“That’s what they call the fight where you nearly lost your Shards,” Yanagawn said. “Stormblessed saved you.”

“I might not be here,” Adolin said, “if someone hadn’t stood up for me when it wasn’t their fight. I’m here for you and this city. I promise it.”

Yanagawn bowed his head in thanks. Adolin bowed in return, and withdrew. As he did so, Colot—who had been hovering nearby—rushed to catch up. “I’m impressed,” he said softly.

“Is it the cape?” Adolin asked, enjoying how it flowed behind him as he walked. “It’s the cape, isn’t it?”

Colot grinned, the sunlight catching the dark red patches in his hair. “I know a smattering of Azish. I didn’t know you were so good with the language.”

“I’m not,” Adolin said. “My father did something to allow me to speak it—I think Noura and the emperor realized that immediately. They’re used to dealing with him.” He nodded. “We’ll have to win over the commandant though. I can’t fight effectively beside someone who doesn’t want me there.”

“Yeah,” Colot said as they crossed the cobbled square. “I hear you. I tried that myself …”

Adolin winced, reminding himself how close Colot had gotten to full Windrunner before being rejected by the spren. After that, leaving entirely had been less painful than continuing as a squire.

“I’m sorry,” Adolin said. “I didn’t mean to dredge up painful experiences.”

“It’s fine,” Colot said. “Frankly, everything dredges them up.” He shook his head and gazed toward the sky, where a group of windspren passed as ribbons of blue light. “I don’t even know if it was something I did, Adolin. That’s what really hurts. The honorspren evaluating us were ones who hated the leadership at Lasting Integrity, and had left before you got there. They practically fawned over Kaladin and Bridge Four. Every spren wanted someone like him. Not someone like me.”

“You mean lighteyed.”

Colot nodded. “It comes around, I guess. Centuries of treating the darkeyes badly; when that turns on its head, it’s hard to complain. No one’s going to weep for me, the poor highborn boy who didn’t get what he wanted. I don’t imagine that they should.” He hesitated, drawing a few painspren crawling along at his feet. “Still feels like a punch to the gut.”

Adolin patted him on the back. The Windrunners’ loss was Adolin’s advantage. He could do far, far worse than a second with Colot’s training and discipline. And if he guessed right, the other hole in his command structure would be filled by someone ahead of them. While the rank and file of Adolin’s volunteer force were being interrogated and situated by the Azish officers, a small group stood apart: a cluster of eight women in vibrant Alethi gowns.

Since Shallan was off doing … well, he didn’t know what exactly. Shallan stuff—probably involving the fate of reality itself. He felt a stab of worry for her, but knew she was strong enough to handle it. And since he wouldn’t have his wife to scribe for him on this battlefield, he’d asked Highprince Aladar if he could spare some of his staff.

Aladar had taken that request to heart, and had sent his best: his daughter, May.

Well, this was going to be awkward.

“Is that May Aladar?” Colot asked.

“I asked for some scribes.”

“Storms,” Colot said. “Adolin, didn’t you two …”

“We never dated,” Adolin said. Then, with a wince, he corrected himself. “ I never thought we were dating. She … um … understood differently.” He took a deep breath and stepped up to the group of women. “May.”

She had black hair, chin-length in the front but shorter in the rear. A round button of a face, with light tan eyes. Features reminiscent of ancient stone sculptures by master artists.

“Adolin,” she said, her voice cool. Also like stone. That wasn’t merely for him—that was how May tended to be. “This is going to be a rough defense. The Fused will rip through this fortification like it’s last year’s cloak left out in the sun.”

“Reports say there aren’t many Fused,” Adolin said. “Though they’re bound to have stormform and direform Regals. We just have to keep them contained for a few days until the forerunners of our southern army arrive.”

“Even a few days is an eternity against enemies like these,” she said. “Regardless, I’m glad you spoke to my father. I was worried I would be trapped in the tower with nothing relevant to do. Where would you like me to begin?”

“Check out their triage and medical tents,” Adolin suggested. “Make sure we don’t need to send for any supplies before the Oathgate shuts down?”

“Excellent idea,” she said.

So cold, Maya thought. She’s not a good match for you. I’m surprised you considered it.

I considered a lot of women, Adolin thought back. There wasn’t a lot else to do on the Shattered Plains. I dated basically everyone eligible and at least halfway interested.

Wait, wait, Maya thought, laughing—something that was so good to hear from her. Adolin. Were you a slut ?

He about choked as she said it, but then smiled. She said it in the same exaggerated way some of his soldier friends did, good-naturedly laughing over one another’s failings.

I, he thought to her, was not a slut. A trollop at worst. Besides, I find that a wise commander investigates every strategy, so that he knows his options.

Of course, she thought. You are correct. A wise soldier knows all the best positions.

Adolin grinned. From speaking to Pattern and Syl, he’d gotten the impression that spren were innocent in the ways of romance and intimacy. Maya was different. He supposed it was what happened when you spent your life around soldiers.

His attention was drawn back to May as she pointed to one of her wards, then at him. The girl would stay close to Adolin, in case he needed a message read or written, as May herself looked over infrastructure. They probably didn’t need to worry about the Azish in this regard, but it never hurt to check.

“Father stopped by,” May added. “You should see him before he leaves.” Then she was off, leading her group of scribes toward their counterparts setting up a pavilion nearby. The Azish group would be mixed genders, as they did things oddly here, but May spoke their language fluently.

Really, she was the best he could have hoped for as an aide-de-camp. She had experience running the princedom for her father, and had an exacting and precise way to her. He just wished he didn’t feel like the temperature dropped ten degrees every time she walked past.

“You … dated her?” Colot asked softly.

Him too? “I specifically said I didn’t.”

“You contemplated it though?”

“She’s an expert sport archer,” Adolin said. “I thought we might have something in common.”

Archery wasn’t a feminine art—but most prestigious Alethi families made an exception for it, as well as a little dagger play. Women went to war with their husbands and brothers, and camps got attacked. Keeping your hand covered for propriety was one thing; leaving yourself defenseless to enemy raiders was another. It was considered unseemly for a woman to spend as many hours on archery as May did, but times had been changing there even before Adolin’s father started reading.

Adolin turned and sought out Highprince Aladar, a bald man who wore a mustache with a pointed beard below his bottom lip. Adolin was surprised at how fondly he thought of the man these days. Not so long ago, he’d regarded all of the other Alethi highprinces with a healthy measure of disgust. One had died by Adolin’s own hand.

Only two original highprinces had survived with their power intact. Sebarial, who was essentially Urithiru’s finance minister, and Aladar, who had fallen into being Navani’s right-hand administrator. Two others—Bethab and Hatham—had lesser, but respected, positions in the government. One in Thaylen City, the other in the field with the forces that should arrive at Azimir in a few days. Neither had the same power they’d once wielded; the days of highprinces as independent monarchs in Alethkar had passed.

Aladar’s position involved the day-to-day administration of Urithiru. It wasn’t glorious, but it was in the thick of things, and Aladar seemed to enjoy that. Adolin walked up offering a hand, and he took it, with a respectful nod.

Behind him, each company of Adolin’s troops was being informally attached to an Azish company. For now, it was best if their forces each had an Azish counterpart for things like mess hours and duty rotations.

“It’s an honorable task you do here, Kholin,” Aladar said. “I think we all stood a little taller after you insisted on coming to Azimir personally to help.”

“We’ll see if I actually manage to help,” Adolin said as horses passed pulling a wagon with the large wooden box he’d ordered brought in, holding a very large chain. Stormfather send that he wouldn’t need it, but if a thunderclast joined the battle …

Well, they’d deal with that if it happened.

“You have a good force here,” Aladar said, pointing. “Three hundred former Cobalt Guardsmen who took up the uniform again after hearing of your need. Another seventeen hundred volunteers from Urithiru, including many foreigners. I had each tested for competence, and while they’re a bit of a hodgepodge, all are decorated in battle.” The older man smiled. “I’m surprised we found anyone capable who hadn’t already been recruited, but it seems the word of ‘Prince Adolin’s need’ squeezed some juice even from the rind. They might be irregulars, but I think they’ll serve you well.” He paused. “No Shardbearers, I’m afraid. I sent Mintez to the Shattered Plains with mine, per your father’s request.”

“There’s one other Shardbearer among the Azish,” Adolin said. “They kept one back for the city’s Imperial Guard, when the rest were sent to battlefields to the south.”

“I don’t think they were sent,” Aladar said. “I think they were bought? Rented by Azish generals? Their system baffles me.”

“I’m sure it involves paperwork.”

Aladar nodded, then turned and offered Adolin his hand a second time. Adolin took it hesitantly.

“I’m proud, Adolin,” Aladar said. “Of what your family has done for Alethkar. Of what we’ve created. If you’d been able to read my innermost thoughts three years ago about what I wanted, they would have been of seizing land from my neighbors, of making a play for the throne by getting you betrothed to May. Of petty goals and small-minded aspirations. Instead we’ve built something.” His eyes took on a wistful expression. “I never knew how satisfying it was to build. ” He squeezed Adolin’s hand. “Help our allies, Adolin. Save this city. That’s what we are now.”

“People who build,” Adolin said softly.

“People whose lives mean something, ” Aladar added. “Your mother would be proud of you too.” He smiled, letting go. “And please keep an eye on May. She’s been getting ideas ever since Jasnah started going into battle directly.”

“She’s a fine archer, Aladar,” Adolin said. “Won the women’s division three times, I hear.”

“I used to find that embarrassing,” he said. “I asked her once if she could find a way to use a bow with only one hand …” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’ve been letting her practice with our Plate and Blade. She might do something foolish.”

“Aladar,” Adolin said, “I was never formally with May, but even I know she’s never attracted a foolishness spren. I’m glad you sent her. I’ll see that she stays safe—safe as any of us can be over these next seven days.” He nodded toward the dome. “You should go. This will be our last chance to use the Oathgate.”

Aladar stepped away, then—though it wasn’t really appropriate, as they were the same rank—he saluted Adolin. Adolin’s family had stumbled in building what they had, and he himself had blood on his hands. But … things were better than they had been. The whole kingdom was. So Adolin saluted back.

Aladar rushed off at the call for the final transfer. Some Azish civilians were leaving for Urithiru, but many more remained. They wouldn’t abandon their homeland. They knew that all too often, refugees who went to Urithiru ended up staying.

Most Azish would take their chances here, so he’d be fighting to protect a city with its heart still in it. With that in mind, Adolin went to find his armorers and his Plate. The battle would be upon them within the hour.