Chapter 80

I accept that we cannot continue as we have.

A dolin climbed onto the watchpost at the top of one of Azimir’s towers. From up here, the sea of bronze domes was truly impressive, each one polished to reflect golden sunlight like a mirror.

Azimir was a city of suns.

Colot stood a couple of inches taller than the Azish scouts up here, his solid blue and white uniform a stark contrast to their many-colored sashes and hats.

“All right,” Adolin said, crossing the top of the small tower, straight to the railing. “Let me see.”

Colot handed him the spyglass …

Wait. What was this?

Adolin held up the device, which looked like two small spyglasses attached together, with a metal hinge between them.

“They’re called binoculars,” Colot said.

“Fabrial?” Adolin asked, noting the gemstone contraptions at the bottom.

“Yes,” Colot said, “but the lenses don’t need that apparently. Here, turn this dial at the top to change the focus.”

Adolin lifted the thing to his eyes, scanning the city and adjusting as he was told. Storms … they worked beautifully, and magnified better than any spyglass he’d used—with the added benefit of depth perception.

“Look up to your right,” Colot said. “Then, to activate the fabrial portion, acknowledge that you’re seeking living things seen only through the lenses.”

Adolin frowned.

“Don’t ask me,” Colot said. “Evidently you need to indicate what you want to the fabrial spren, otherwise it will just locate the nearest people—which would be us.”

Just locate the nearest … Adolin jumped as lights inside the lenses lit up when he passed a certain section of the sky. He focused there and moved the dial, zooming in, and found he could make out a group of four Heavenly Ones in the air.

“Storms …” He lowered the binoculars, squinted, and couldn’t make anything out. He raised the binoculars again, and while the figures were still somewhat small, he could make out the long ribbons of clothing they wore, flapping in the wind.

“I need as many of these devices as we can get,” Adolin said. “I want a hundred. I want them in the hands of every scout, every scribe, every rear guard and bodyguard.”

Colot chuckled. “The Azish have one pair, which they finally got working yesterday. I don’t think it’s for sale. But … well, we’re seeing the future when we look through them, eh?”

“Storming right,” Adolin said, studying the figures. “There aren’t many, but I don’t like seeing any enemy reinforcements.” What did it mean? “Put everyone on alert, quietly. Find Notum and send him to me. Something’s going to happen today, and likely soon.”

Navani walked the halls of Urithiru in the past. And it was so very wrong.

Back in the Physical Realm, she’d been growing accustomed to the new version of the tower, with bright glowing lights within the stone, spren at every corner, and a feeling of vibrant alertness. Pumps churning, air blowing, people thriving.

She also remembered well the slumbering version. The lights having drifted off, sleepily, thousands of years before. The machinery working in a state of basic maintenance. A city waiting for renewal.

The tower of this vision was between those two. The lights were there, buried in the stone strata, but they were weak and frail. The machinery worked in fits and starts, and spren hid in the corners, frightened. She knew, from recovered records, what was happening: the Radiants were abandoning the tower. It was going to sleep.

That half state, like a creature half-formed, unnerved her. She carried Gav, and found herself checking over her shoulder nervously at each intersection.

Dalinar didn’t seem to notice the wrongness; his attention was on that Radiant from his other vision. The one who would be first to give up his Shards. They followed the man down one of the main thoroughfares of Urithiru, and people made way for him, with his flowing blue cape and magnificent living Shardplate. Windrunner, she assumed from the armor— which was sleeker than most, and glowed the right shade, though his glyph was an antiquated version of the one that read “peace.”

Navani and Dalinar followed after, joining the traffic working its way outward toward the Oathgates. These people were wheeling their belongings in carts and were dressed for travel, carrying children. The limited records that had been left behind didn’t say why the tower had been abandoned. The Sibling probably could have told her, but there had been so much to do in the last few days, Navani hadn’t thought to ask.

People pooled at the front gates, but the Windrunner took to the air and soared over them. Navani didn’t know how they looked to these people, but it didn’t seem they were anyone important, as she and Dalinar had to work to get through. Fortunately, Dalinar was good at this sort of thing.

Eventually they reached the front of the crowd—forcing their way out the front gates—and saw a standoff. A large group of Radiants, over a hundred strong, in a variety of dress had gathered outside. There appeared to be no standardized uniform, though many of them wore takamas with open-fronted robelike shirts for the men and chest wraps for the women.

It was strangely invigorating for her to see the ancient dress, her people’s heritage, here. It was something familiar, after the very odd ways and dress of the far ancient peoples. Many of the darkeyes around her were wearing similar clothing, though those from other countries—like the Azish—were dressed differently.

These gathered Radiants were either Windrunners or Skybreakers, judging by how many hovered. She guessed they were all the latter, for when the man they’d been following lowered down in his Plate before them, they—virtually as one—had turned hostile postures toward him. Three even summoned their own armor.

A man in green seasilk clothing got between them, then thrust his hands out to the sides—one toward the Windrunner, one toward the Skybreakers. He said something, but Navani was too distant to hear. She nodded to Dalinar, and they tried to move forward—but a line of other Radiants barred the way.

“Radiant business,” one of them said to him. “Let the Bondsmith handle it.”

“I have urgent information for him,” Dalinar said.

“It can wait.”

“But—”

“It can wait, ” the Radiant said, trying a glare on Dalinar. Who glared right back.

Navani pulled him away. “Starting a fight won’t accomplish anything.”

“These visions are useful,” Dalinar said, “but I hadn’t appreciated how the other ones were curated for me.”

“What do you mean?” Navani said, soothing Gavinor with a hug, who was looking at the tower and asking if they were home.

“When I was experiencing that first set of visions years ago,” Dalinar said, “they placed me right at the center of events, in a prime spot to observe or even participate. They were selected for that purpose. These are more haphazard. We’re just showing up in whatever body happens to be available.”

“So what do we do?”

He narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder past the Radiants. “Navani, there’s a line of light Connecting you to that man between the Windrunner and the Skybreakers.”

“He’s the tower’s Bondsmith during this time. We learned his name from the records: Melishi.”

“I’m … going to try something,” Dalinar said. “If it’s all right with you. I think if I enhance that Connection …”

In the blink of an eye, Navani had shifted across the plateau. She now took the place of that Bondsmith—standing between angry Skybreakers and that solitary Windrunner. She shook herself, reorienting. She looked like herself, at least to her own eyes, but it was clear she had taken the Bondsmith’s spot in everyone else’s eyes.

Storms. Dalinar could have given her a moment to agree before doing that.

“Please reconsider,” the Windrunner was saying. “We need to stay together.”

“It’s far too late for that, Garith,” said an armored woman at the head of the Skybreakers, her feet hovering a foot off the ground. “The time for being ‘together’ ended years ago, when you condemned Kazilah.”

“I’ve apologized for—”

“There is a rift here,” the woman said, raising her voice, drawing angerspren as a pool on the ground below her. “A rift formed by lies. No one admits the truth anymore. No one lives by order or reason.”

“Whose reason?” Garith demanded, lifting off the ground himself. “Yours? We should make the laws together. ”

“And then? No one wants our oversight, so why bother?”

“Because,” Garith said, “after years, we actually have a duty to perform!”

“You speak of this new movement among the singers, the parsh,” the Skybreaker said.

“Something must be done about them,” the Windrunner said. “For over two thousand years the Radiants haven’t had a true enemy—save for flare-ups of the Unmade. Now an enemy presents itself. This is a chance to unify us again! The parsh have Surges. This was all supposed to be over, yet they fight on. Using forms of power. ”

“They can’t be reborn,” the Skybreaker said. “It’s not a Desolation. They don’t have the abilities of the creatures of lore, so this fight is not ours.”

“Any fight to defend people is our fight.”

The Skybreaker sniffed and rolled her eyes. It seemed that dealing with Windrunners was the same regardless of the era. At any rate, both glanced at Navani. Blast. They expected her to mediate? Yes, apparently so.

“I think,” she said, “we’re all a little too emotional right now. Why don’t we talk it over in a calmer setting?”

“Calm?” the Skybreaker said. “Melishi, the tower is dying. The protections are vanishing. You yourself called for the evacuation!”

“He said we’d return,” Garith said. “It’s temporary.”

“Then why all those barriers around the Sibling?” the Skybreaker demanded. “If it’s temporary, why not just weather it, ship in food?” She narrowed her eyes. “No, something is happening. I will not live here if even the Bondsmith is lying.”

“Show Melishi a little trust,” Garith said. “He—”

“Trust?” the Skybreaker said. “Trust, Garith? What about your lies? What cons are you running, while pretending you are so valiant?”

The Windrunner recoiled, floating back a foot as if by instinct, his eyes wide.

“Yes, I’m well aware of how you keep holding things back from us, and even the other Windrunners,” the Skybreaker said. “What are you hiding?” She spat on the ground before Navani. “The truth becomes a frailer memory here, day by day. Our new leader has told us where we came from, what humankind did to its homeworld, and you two refuse to let me tell everyone. Liars. Liars to the core. ” The flying woman stared straight at Navani and continued. “We’ve told everyone else the truth anyway. Deal with it.” She gave what appeared to be a salute—arm overhead—but done ironically, then waved to the others. They flew off in a group.

Navani forced herself not to feel insulted or ashamed. This wasn’t her fault. She was rescued by the scholarly side of her brain, which was putting pieces together. The records they’d found indicated a mass abandonment of the tower, led by Melishi. They had also referenced the tensions between Windrunners and Skybreakers.

Garith the Windrunner lowered down next to her. “It’s unraveling, Melishi,” he said softly. “I warned you this might happen, if you couldn’t persuade the Sibling. The tower is a symbol. Losing it …”

“I have done all I could,” Navani said, needing to give some response.

“I wish I could be convinced that was true,” he said. “I sincerely wish it.” Storms. The coldness from him was practically palpable. “I will gather the Radiants at the camp near Cabridar and try to make a new place for us there. But the enemy moves toward Iri, and Feverstone. Fighting will come for us soon—and if the Skybreakers have told everyone the truth of our history … there will be more disagreements.”

He rose off the ground to go, but Navani realized she needed to try for more information. “Wait,” she said. “What of this accusation, Garith? That you’ve been lying? About what?”

He drew his lips to a line, and offered no excuse or explanation as he soared away toward the upper reaches of the tower. Navani was left alone on the empty plateau before the Oathgates, enveloped in a familiar coldness.

Adolin found Commandant Kushkam in one of his customary locations, on the balcony in the dome, surveying the Oathgate battlefield. It had changed dramatically in the four days since the fighting had begun, and was unlike any that Adolin had ever seen. The bronze fortification at the center, roughly circular with a rounded top, had expanded further. It could hold several thousand now. Outside it was a long, wide ring of stone ground that—despite the dim light—Adolin knew was coated in crusted blood and corpses. No rainwater would fall in here to wash that away.

That wide field was also strewn with debris that had been pushed outward, in columns, thirty or forty yards by the attackers as they made their assaults: forming barricades behind which the defending soldiers sometimes took up positions. All together, it formed a star pattern.

More debris was on its way—the emperor’s own furniture, as he’d insisted. Yanagawn confessed he had rooms full of it that he’d never used, and so what was now being thrown down onto the field was their finest—gold and red, occasionally jeweled, glittering in the darkness. No aluminum, though evidently there was a ton of that in the palace just hanging around as picture frames and dining ware. What a strange place Azir was.

Regardless, they were at a lull in the fighting for the moment—something that was becoming rarer and rarer as the enemy tried for consistent attacks. Adolin liked to think the defenders had done enough damage to make the enemy wary; they had the numerical advantage, but their forces weren’t infinite. They sometimes had to pause to reassess.

Adolin walked up to Kushkam—pushing aside a yawn, refusing to give in to the fatigue—and leaned against the rail by him. Kushkam didn’t speak at first. The commandant was like a small chull in the shadows: stout but sturdy.

“We still have that oil,” Kushkam said, referencing the oil sacks tied to the top of the dome, rigged to fall upon command. A trap set up before the enemy had even arrived. “We might have to use it soon, Adolin. They almost broke us last time, and half my forces had retreated into the hallways before the Shardbearers hit the enemy.”

“If we use the oil, we lose the dome.”

“I know. I believe you.” He heaved a sigh. “We might not have a choice. What about caltrops? Our remaining Soulcaster can make bronze ones.”

“Singer feet are tough, Kushkam,” Adolin said. “I don’t think they’ll be stopped by that.” He ground his teeth in thought. “I like your other idea though. Plugging the passageways.”

The idea was to fill some of the hallways with Soulcast bronze, so when the enemy battered down the door, they found the path had turned solid. Trouble was, if they plugged too many, their own forces couldn’t make it in to fight.

But … Kushkam was right. They were close to losing the dome entirely. Plugging the exits, then, might be another last-ditch method of slowing the enemy.

Kushkam nodded. “I’m trying to find a towers analogue that move would mirror.”

“Don’t think there is one except for Zenaz’s Final Adage.”

“‘Never assume,’” Kushkam quoted, “‘the game actually replicates real life.’ Well, I’ll see about plugging some of the exits.” He pointed to the field. “For now, see that larger corridor across the way, where they’ve pushed debris to the sides more than others? I think that happened intentionally, not as part of a failing line. I suspect they’re preparing that corridor for a large assault today.”

“We’ve spotted the Heavenly Ones hovering right outside the city,” Adolin said. “Hopefully that’s all there are—the enemy keeps patrols all through this region, and might have assigned one to come here for support.”

“And if they brought other, more dangerous Fused with them?”

“That could be catastrophic.”

Kushkam grunted. “Let’s put the reserves on alert. We’re likely looking at a large offensive either way.” He paused. “You think they could have gotten more Fused here on the other side? Flown in through Shadesmar?”

“Yeah,” Adolin said. “Heavenly Ones are slower than Windrunners, but given several days … Well, we should be ready.”

Kushkam leaned toward Adolin. Sensing the man’s mood, Adolin also leaned in so they could speak more privately. The archers and scribes on the balcony were already giving them some space, but the two lowered their voices anyway.

“Adolin,” Kushkam said, “how do we stand against this? Please tell me you have some way we can be ready for more Fused. My men are exhausted, wounded, and now demoralized because the reinforcements have failed to arrive.”

“I … I don’t know,” he said. “Zarb, I wish I had an answer, but … I don’t. Fused are going to be tough no matter what. We can watch for Masked Ones—I’ve already been telling the men to be suspicious of any humans trying to escape out the doors from inside here. But Flowing Ones, Magnified Ones, Altered Ones, Husked Ones … storms. We have trouble facing them with Radiants.”

“This will break us,” Kushkam whispered. “I won’t speak these fears even to my high officers, but to you …” He glanced at Adolin. “What do we do?”

It broke Adolin’s heart to have no answers. Again, he felt as if he were back in Kholinar as it fell. Then, whispered into his mind from somewhere distant, Maya’s voice. Three words.

Hold. Help. Comes.

Storms, he would not give in to this despair. “Help is coming,” he promised Kushkam.

“Your spren?” Kushkam said. “When will she arrive?”

“I don’t know,” Adolin admitted.

“What good can more honorspren do though? Notum is helpful, yes, but we don’t need more scouts—and we don’t have time for Radiant bonds.”

Adolin hesitated, uncertain.

Help. Comes, Maya promised.

“We just have to hold,” Adolin said. “Help is coming.”

“A miracle? Is that what you’re promising, Adolin?”

Was he? He floundered, for while he trusted Maya, the more he thought about what he’d asked her to do—fetch more honorspren—the less he thought it would help.

Storms, he should be able to protect this city without that, shouldn’t he? He was the Blackthorn’s son. His father would have found a way.

“The enemy can’t merely defeat us,” Adolin said. “They have to hold the city. Maybe we can win even if we lose the dome. I still don’t have a good legal definition of what it means to hold the city. My scribes and yours have been going in circles over the relevant statutes.”

“Likely it means conquering the palace,” Kushkam said, “and holding the throne itself. ‘As long as the emperor is on his throne, Azir stands.’”

Adolin cocked his head, remembering hearing Noura say the same thing. “Is that a common phrase among your people?”

“Yes. Three centuries ago, during the chaos at the fall of the Dusqqa Dynasty, it was proven in court. One family tried to set up a rival imperial seat in another city, but the judges decided that the family that held the palace—specifically the throne room—was the true ruler.”

Adolin smiled. “Sometimes you talk like Jasnah, Zarb. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you all needing to take history lessons to become soldiers.”

“There are certain advantages,” he replied. “Then again, the Alethi method has its charm. You don’t waste time teaching men to read or sing. You put them in armor, give them a sword, and train them to kill … There’s a reason you’re the most feared military in the world.”

“Well, if you’re right about the throne, then we know their goal. The palace should be our fallback position.”

“Know your enemy’s goals,” Kushkam said. “It’s always an advantage. I’ll ponder how we can reinforce that fallback, but … if things keep going as they are, we might not even have the troops to man the palace walls. So for now, I want to make sure our reserves are ready for a push today.”

Adolin nodded and withdrew, meaning to go check on his Plate. On his way along the balcony, however, he encountered an Azish girl struggling to pull back a bow. He fought off a yawn, nodding to May Aladar, and tried to remember the young girl’s name.

Zabra. That was it. “Harder than it looks, Zabra?” he asked.

“They made it too hard,” Zabra complained. “I know there are bows with less of a draw than this.”

“We’re fighting singers,” he said. “Warforms mostly. They’re well equipped, and naturally armored. We need bows with a good draw weight to have any hope of bringing them down.”

Zabra deflated. She wasn’t much shorter than many of the soldiers, but she had a willowy form.

“May does it,” Zabra whispered.

“Captain Aladar,” Adolin said, “has been training in the bow for a decade. I believe I told you that it would take you years to get to fighting shape.”

“It’s not taking the emperor years,” Zabra muttered. Then she cringed, glancing around to make sure none of the Azish archers were near. “I know you’re training him. Everyone whispers about it. He’s never held a sword, yet you’re going to put him on the front lines.”

Adolin chuckled. “The front lines?”

“Well, you might. What’s the difference? You’re going to tell me it’s because he’s a man, aren’t you? And an important one?”

“Well, the ‘important’ part would keep him out, in your culture,” Adolin said. “But you know he had training with knives as a boy, right?”

“We’re … not supposed to talk about that time.”

“Must be hard,” Adolin said. “Regardless, he has some good fighting instincts, and I can work with those. Finally, there’s one important factor.”

She frowned in the dim light, trying to figure it out.

“Shardplate,” Adolin said. “Technically, all of the empire’s Plate belongs to the emperor. If he ever has to put that on to keep him safe, I want him to be capable of using it. If he’s ever on the battlefield, he’ll be in Plate. It does a great job equalizing for skill.”

“So …” she said softly. “You’re saying I need to get me a set of Shardplate.”

“Good luck,” Adolin said.

“I could do it,” she said. “Simply gotta kill someone who has some, right?” She eyed Adolin, as if sizing him up. Then she smiled at his shocked expression. “Or I could do the reasonable thing and find me a spren. I think I’d like being able to melt stone with a glare.”

He gave her a smile as May reclaimed the bow and sent Zabra running with a message to check on arrow supplies.

“Sorry about that,” Adolin said as Zabra left. “I should have asked before handing her off to you.”

“Eh,” May said. “She’s easy to motivate, which is useful. You look tired.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You look it.”

“Too dark in here for you to tell.”

“You just yawned. How much have you been sleeping?”

“Are you my mother?”

“I’m your ex. Which makes me the closest thing your wife has to an advocate here, plus I’m technically your head scribe for this deployment. So …”

“Not sleeping enough,” he admitted, his mind drifting toward Shallan, and his worry for her. “But sleeping more than I feel I should. I’m good for now, May. I promise.”

One of his usual scribes would have accepted that—they knew if they pushed, and he pushed back, he could be trusted to make that decision. May remained skeptical. Before she could order him to sleep though, a line of blue light came shooting through one of the balcony doorways.

Notum appeared as a human-size spren. “Sir, you need me?”

“Can you still see into Shadesmar?” Adolin asked. “You’re not fully bonded.”

“I’m not any bonded,” Notum said, and closed his eyes. “I can catch glimpses. I don’t think I can tell you much—the enemy has gathered many of their assault troops on this side, I believe. It …” He paused. “ Wait. ”

“Fused?” Adolin asked, stomach sinking.

“Yes,” Notum said. “And worse. Large shadow. Red eyes. That’s a thunderclast soul, Adolin. It—”

Adolin went running, shouting the alarm and calling for his armor. Trumpets of warning started sounding as he burst out of the dome. On the elevated ramp around the outside he spun, searching until he saw something huge and hulking rising from the field right outside Azimir.

His greatest fear had arrived, in the form of a mountain of stone bent on breaking open the dome.