Chapter 41

We must travel to the Well of Control, within the shroud of the fragments of the dead moon.

S zeth strode forward through the monastery.

“Is this my path?” he asked his spren.

“It is.”

“Fighting an Honorbearer would be easier with both of my Surges.”

“It would.”

That was not permission, so he would use only the Lashings of flight. At least one small fact was clear to him: he had a debt to settle with the woman in front of him. If Rit wanted a fight, he would certainly indulge her.

The floor turned liquid.

Stoneward, he thought with a curse, Lashing himself upward as the ground tried to swallow him. The tiles began flowing and running as if suddenly molten, the mural of Talmut the Herald mixing like wet paint.

Szeth lurched upward. A Stoneward would have two Surges, and he’d never faced this combination before. During his youth, they hadn’t possessed this Blade. Still, he could guess how she would fight. The flowing control of stone echoed a Willshaper, mixed with some limited access to the strange abilities of a Bondsmith. It was a dangerous combination, but then again, they all were.

He sought the protection of height. If this duel followed the rules of those he’d fought when younger, leaving the room would be out of bounds. She wouldn’t go so far as to destroy the monastery by warping the walls or ceiling.

The ground rippled like the surface of a lake, then began to vibrate. A column speared upward—a waterspout of stone bearing her at the top. It showed amazing control of this Surge, more skillful than that of any Willshaper he’d known. She was good. And powerful … exceptionally powerful.

She must be using an incredible amount of Stormlight, he thought. How is she getting so much?

Rit speared straight at him atop her column of liquid stone, and as he dodged, the entire floor rose in a wave. Szeth flew around the top of the vaulted room, but there wasn’t space to flee. He was forced to engage her as she rode the center of the wave of stone. Their Blades met with a sequence of clangs, forcing his back against the upper wall of the chamber. The liquid stone surged around Rit—enveloping her completely—and tried to wash across Szeth.

His stomach jumped as he immediately Lashed himself downward, narrowly avoiding the stone—which splashed on the wall. As Szeth neared the ground, he saw an opening. She’d consolidated much of the liquid stone at the top to try to smash into him. This left gaps in the wave lower down. He zipped through one of these gaps, and as he did, he heard a faint cracking sound. The stone hardening. He remembered that sound well from his time training with the Willshaper Blade.

He landed cautiously in a skid across the floor, now hard once more—but uneven, a great portion of the stone forming a strange sloped and distorted column up to the left, melding with the wall. Rit descended this slope quietly, bare feet on the rock, leaving footprints—Shardblade out.

“She’s amazing,” Szeth whispered.

You are better, his spren said. Go. Destroy her.

“It is a duel,” Szeth said. “It is not about destruction.”

She will kill you if she can, my squire. Imagine a slow death encased by stone, the whispers all around you …

That image was cold and sharp, like a spear through his chest. It made him tremble, and something sparked inside him.

Control it, the spren warned.

Szeth nodded as Rit hopped down onto the warped stone ground. He felt … warm. The spren was speaking to him more than it usually did, and its attention felt approving. Like that of his father.

You have reached an important moment, Szeth, the spren said. Think of that stone tomb. Anticipate it.

Szeth danced forward, preparing to clash. His new Blade was starting to feel comfortable in his hand, curved but understated—without overbearing ornamentation. Rit’s weapon was straight. Talmut’s Blade seemed both less and more like a sword than many other Honorblades. So simple.

Szeth swung three times in sweeping arcs, forcing Rit back. He was the better swordsperson, judging by her reaction times and stance. He tried to use that, to throw her off balance so he could lay a hand on her and Lash her upward to gain an advantage. Unfortunately, the floor began to flow again, and he was forced into the air.

The proper way to fight someone like this was to keep moving—an excellent strategy in any fight. He flew the length of the large front hall, then rounded along the side and swept back down lower.

Beneath him, the ground undulated. Liquid ripples trembling, the column sloughing off and melting into the rest. The tiles re-formed just as they’d been, the destruction undone. Such control. Again he was troubled by the power she exhibited. Honorblades used far more Stormlight than a Radiant did—as a Radiant’s oaths aligned them to the will of Honor, making them stronger vessels.

At this rate, he should have been able to run her out of power—but she showed no signs of being concerned about that. Instead Rit vanished down into the stone, not needing to breathe. Szeth watched, and once more fear sparked within him. As ordered, he imagined that stone enveloping him—the panic it would inspire. He’d be alone with the whispers until he suffocated.

Yes … his spren said. Are you ready to prove yourself?

“It is not for me to decide, but you.”

An excellent answer. I am coming to genuinely like you, squire. The spren sounded more … personable than it ever had.

Szeth continued to zip around the large room, waiting for his enemy to make a move. The floor’s vibrations increased. Soon the ground distorted in a strange waveform, sections of stone rising up in a symmetrical pattern.

A moment later, jets of it launched upward like streamers, trying to catch him—splashing against the ceiling, then hardening. He narrowly wove among them, Lashing at the very edge of his skill. Each one of these new columns dropped the level of the floor a little, until an amazed Kaladin and Syl stood in the doorway before a drop of some twenty feet.

The stone had been drained as if from a pool to create a network of columns. Fortunately, Rit’s control over the stone didn’t extend so far as to let her raise the entire thing up as spikes—she had to directly control a few columns at a time, freeze them, then move to a new batch. That gave him a chance.

He began slashing through columns as he passed, the Shardblade cutting chunks from the stone—but each soon resealed. Then more columns launched, trying to catch him. When they missed, they left behind another obstacle. Sweating, he drew in more Stormlight from the pouch at his waist. Where was Rit getting this kind of strength? When he’d trained with the Willshaper Blade, he’d been able to affect an area of stone only two or three feet wide.

“Can you see her?” he asked the spren.

No. Prepare for the stone to capture you.

“That will be the end.”

Will it? You would give up your quest so easily?

“I …” Szeth Lashed himself to the wall, changing gravity so he could run along it as if it were the floor. He ducked beneath columns, then leaped—enhanced by a Lashing—over a flowing section of stone that tried to cut him off.

“I will fight until I am dead,” he whispered.

No.

“I will fight,” Szeth revised with a grunt, restoring gravity and dropping down a column of stone—scraping it with his fingers—to reach the undulating floor of the chamber. “I will fight until you tell me otherwise.”

Excellent.

He plunged his sword into the ground, then Lashed his body upward just enough to hover, before continuing to zip through the room—slicing the ground in large swaths. She would need to be near the surface somewhere to watch where he was.

It quickly became clear this method would not be effective. She could be hiding in any of the columns, and each new one created left more surface area to search—plus, being so low to the ground didn’t give him as much time to react to new columns.

There was one way to make sure she emerged. It was time to see if his spren was guiding him correctly. He gave a glance upward and saw that Kaladin had leaned out to watch. Then Szeth closed his eyes and landed.

Stone surrounded him. Swallowed him. Shadows became his entire world as the liquid stone hardened, capturing him. A tomb, created in exactly his shape. It even held each finger in place around his Blade. He couldn’t inhale. Not only was there no air, there was no room for his chest to expand.

Stone. Cold. Pressing against his cheeks, trapping his eyelids closed. So he held his breath, and heard a clicking tremble on the stone as Rit emerged. Walking across the rock.

I see her directly in front of you, the spren said. She has emerged as you hoped.

Yet the spren did not give him permission to use Division. The voices grew louder.

He would die here. Encased in stone. He would run out of Stormlight and suffocate in a place black and terrible. Death did not frighten him, but dying here … failing in his quest …

That legitimately terrified him.

Hold, the spren said.

His Stormlight was running out. He could feel it trickling away, and the voices condemned him for his murders. He could touch the second power, access it—and in so doing, free himself in an instant.

Hold, the spren said.

Sweating, trembling, almost whimpering, he held.

Some of the others said that you were not diligent or worthy, the spren said, because you did not choose the law as your guide. But now … now I prove them wrong. Well done, Szeth.

It was still. Not. Permission.

You may use your second Surge, the spren said. Fight. As a full Skybreaker.

Finally. Szeth swelled with a power that was immediately familiar. The stone had captured him, holding him, but that allowed him to touch it. Time to burn.

He exhaled Stormlight in a rush, infusing the stones around him with a mounting destruction. The column became char, the stone itself set alight. Szeth ripped from it, trailing ash like a second—no, third—shadow, pieces of it crumbling from his face. He forced his eyes open and lunged, Blade pointed forward, at something moving in front of him. Rit walking close to inspect her handiwork.

He set the very air alight as he moved.

Skybreaker.

Rit opened her mouth to scream, and he plunged his Blade straight through, out the back of her skull, into the next column of stone.

Her Blade dropped from her fingers.

She fell forward on his Blade, the top of her mouth catching on the rear edge of the weapon and holding her pinned—until Szeth commanded that edge of the Blade to become sharp. Then the corpse fell straight past it, leaving a slice this time—because the body was dead.

There was no blood.

Szeth hesitated, frowning. He knelt beside the corpse and heard the faintest words whispered from what should have been dead lips. “Your family awaits you, pilgrim.”

He stumbled back then, as the body disintegrated. Becoming black smoke, leaving only empty clothing behind.

Adolin faced off against the Fused who had named himself Abidi the Monarch. The Heavenly One had used moving soldiers as cover to get in close, and he didn’t fly as he lunged for Adolin, wielding his wicked maces.

Adolin sidestepped, then struck. Unfortunately, the Heavenly One expertly diverted his Blade by hitting it on the flat with one mace, then managed to ring Adolin’s bell with the other—hitting him square in the side of his head.

His helmet cracked, but held. Adolin grunted and retreated—but at that moment a pair of warforms dove for his legs, toppling him. Storms, he’d been ready for this, and they’d still gotten him. As good as his team was at handling Fused these days, the enemy were equally prepared to bring down Shardbearers.

He dropped Maya and punched, sending one of the singers flying, then he rolled and kicked the other free. Abidi slammed his maces down, hitting stone as Adolin barely managed to roll out of the way.

Adolin’s support squad was there a moment later, filling in around him. Several would be carrying roped hooks to try pulling him—or at least the armor—to safety, but as he pushed up to one knee, they’d see he didn’t need that. Instead they engaged the Heavenly One. A near-suicidal act, but the Shardbearer needed to be preserved. As Adolin gathered his bearings, he saw one man in particular—a bearded fellow he didn’t recognize, with long white Thaylen eyebrows and a white mustache—protecting him. The man stood squarely between the Fused and Adolin.

The Fused prepared to swing at the fellow, but Adolin growled, forming Maya and hurling her in a flash of spinning metal to slam into the Fused’s side. Adolin missed the gemheart, but got the attention of Abidi—who turned away from the soldier and glared at Adolin.

Adolin summoned Maya back to him—an action that was instantaneous now—and found his feet. The bearded Thaylen soldier stabbed the Fused with a spear, but the creature yanked it out and swept the man aside, advancing on Adolin. “It is you,” the Fused growled in accented Alethi. “The Bondsmith’s son.”

Adolin leveled Maya. “I thought I killed you,” he said. “Guess I’ll have to do it again.”

“You did not defeat me,” the Fused growled. “I survive for the end of all things. I will not go to Braize to await rebirth, and miss the glory of this conquest. I am Abidi the Monarch, and this land is mine. I will claim this city.”

Storms. Bless the Fused for their insistence on announcing their titles and accolades; it gave Adolin time to set his stance. Most of his support squad held off, wary—now that Adolin had his Blade resummoned, he needed space. He gave a quick sign, sweeping his left hand to the side, two fingers out. They began to reorganize, falling back, and Adolin—eyes on that Fused—helped the brave Thaylen man to his feet and sent him off with the others.

The Fused, of course, used that opening to attack, as Adolin had expected. They clashed, and storms, those maces were lined in aluminum—for Adolin tried and failed to slice one in half. He exchanged a few more blows with the Fused, but the creature was skilled. Last time, in Shadesmar, Abidi had mostly ignored Adolin, which had let Adolin get in an easy hit.

Abidi wasn’t flying, and the red light of his eyes pulsed, stuttered. Maybe Adolin had nicked the gemheart in Shadesmar, making it unable to hold enough Voidlight for Lashings. Unfortunately, the Fused was a skilled enough duelist that he didn’t need to fly—and Adolin, after just a short engagement, realized he didn’t need to prove anything by defeating this creature.

He backed up, then gave the signal to his team. Together, they began to withdraw.

“You run from me?” Abidi said. “You refuse me the honor of the fight?”

“Some other time perhaps,” Adolin said, jogging backward. Abidi twitched as if to give chase, then glanced at the line of bodies that Adolin had left, maybe realizing that letting himself be drawn too far forward without support of his own would be certain death.

Instead Abidi spun and walked away through the ranks of gathering singers. So, this Fused wasn’t one of the completely crazy ones. That was disappointing, but Adolin had a battle to win. He turned and approached a wide ring of human troops who now circled the platform at about the halfway point. Spearmen at the front with large shields, pikemen behind—capable of reaching over the front-rank soldiers to attack.

The large ring gave a lot of space in the center for the singers to bring in troops—which Adolin knew would be excruciating for the defenders to watch. Still, he was pleased by how quickly the Azish had responded, joining to make this formation.

He slipped past the ranks, and there spotted Kushkam on his horse. The man was looking at the ceiling, and the oil bags suspended far above. Adolin knew immediately what he was thinking: There were a lot of singers gathering at the center of the field now. Why not retreat and drop the fire to kill thousands?

That would cost them the city. Adolin shook his head, then held up a hand, pleading. Kushkam noticed him. Adolin waited an anxious moment, then the commandant raised a tasseled spear and pointed forward. That … that seemed an order to hold and not retreat.

Adolin relaxed as the next part played out. The singers formed up and advanced, but they weren’t nearly as skilled at holding formations as humans. Each singer—even the warforms—was stronger, but they relied on momentum, intimidation, and strength to overwhelm.

This advance worked more poorly than the initial one had. Once they drew close enough, arrows started to fall, and the Azish had the chance to put their killing field into practice. Singers tried to block them with shields, but enough arrows fell that it disrupted their lines. Adolin recognized the distinctive kchunk of crossbows being cocked from within the Azish lines. Those heavy Thaylen weapons took time to load and crank, but storms they packed a punch. He saw one bolt go clean through a singer’s breastplate, shattering the carapace. The crossbowmen—shooting from the Azish ground ranks—were able to target the Regals, then fall back once the enemy arrived.

The human lines held against the following clash, and the one afterward. Adolin barely had to jump in and support with his Plate. A half hour later, it was over. The enemy wasn’t defeated—not by far—but they’d obviously hoped to win this initial clash quickly. The human ring of defenders started to press inward, advancing, and—distantly—Abidi called the retreat. His forces pulled back to the control building. Then, surprisingly, they retreated into Shadesmar, one group at a time.

They’re leaving? Maya asked.

Not for good, I’m sure, Adolin thought. But they’ll be safe from our archers and any attacks in Shadesmar. Likely they know they need to revise their assault plan.

Adolin squinted and picked out Abidi the Monarch glaring in his direction.

That one is dangerous, Maya said. I know him from before. One of their best duelists, and often a leader among them.

He doesn’t fly, Adolin thought to Maya. Is that because I hit him in Shadesmar?

It happens sometimes. A crack can interfere with their powers. Normally they die and are reborn. But …

If this one dies, Adolin realized, he risks missing out on the remaining battle. There would be only one more Everstorm before Dalinar’s contest, and not every Fused was able to find a host every Everstorm.

Worse, Maya thought, he’d have to give up command to a different Fused, who would get the glory of claiming the city.

Adolin walked among painspren, guarding Azish squads who advanced to check the fallen for wounded. The enemy didn’t take this chance to surge out and attack again, so for the time being the skirmish had been won.

His gut said that the enemy would lick their wounds and strategize, now that they knew they wouldn’t take the city quickly. So he gave the order for his people to head out, letting the Azish keep ranks inside the dome. As he turned to go, he pointedly raised a fist to the distant archers in thanks. May would be watching with her spyglass.

That was well-handled, Maya said.

Thank you, he said back. But I still have work to do; we can’t leave the Azish feeling humiliated.

He’d need this army unified and working together. So he hurried to put the next part into motion.