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Rushu pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “No.”
“I have some details on what they might have been working on. I’ll explain them to you later. For now, secure this area. And Rushu, please don’t get distracted.”
The ardent glanced again toward the shrouded corpses. “I doubt that will be a problem this time, Brightness.”
Navani nodded and moved out, walking toward where the prisoner was being kept—the voiceless man who had delivered the ruby. She also sent for a few Radiants to see if they could identify him for certain. She didn’t know if this explosion was tied to the mysterious communications she’d been getting—but things had certainly been off about the tower lately. And she had grown tired of wanting answers.
* * *
By the time the second hour had passed—judged by the Rhythm of Peace—Venli’s legs were aching, her breathing ragged from the hike. As a Radiant, she could have used Stormlight to strengthen her. But that would have been far too dangerous.
She would have to be satisfied with the strength her Regal form gave her. Certainly she was better off than an average singer would have been. The rest of the force, however—in stormform—was stronger than she was, and Raboniel kept an aggressive pace.
Each moment became excruciating, and Venli focused only on taking the next step. Yet Raboniel kept pushing. No breaks. No rests. Onward, ever upward.
Timbre thrummed inside her, helping with a comforting rhythm. Venli used that to keep herself moving, putting one leaden foot in front of the other. After what seemed like an eternity, light shimmered in the tunnel ahead. She tried to smother the spark of hope that gave her. The last twenty times, the light had been only a sphere lantern set into an intersection, placed by the humans to help navigate.
Raboniel called a halt. Venli leaned against the side of the tunnel, breathing deeply but as softly as she could. And the wall … the wall was straighter than the ones below. This was of worked stone. And shadows moved in the light ahead.
They were here. Finally. The tunnel had come up beneath the city of Urithiru, and would now emerge into the basement chambers. Squinting, Venli made out the source of light—a large wooden door up ahead, glowing at the edges. And … there were lumps on the ground. Guards who had been killed silently by the Deepest Ones.
Other than the light around the door, the only illumination came from the red-ember eyes of the people around her. The sign that a person’s soul had been mingled with that of a Voidspren. Her own eyes glowed as well, lying on her behalf. She had a Voidspren too; Timbre simply held it captive.
Some of the nearby eyes sank, then vanished as the Deepest Ones slid into the stone. The rest of them waited in agonizing silence. This was the point where their invasion was most likely to be thwarted. Deepest Ones worked well as surprise troops, but—from planning meetings she’d attended—she knew they didn’t have the skill or strength to challenge Radiants in direct battle. So if Radiants could be gathered to defend the crystalline heart of the tower, they could rebuff this attack.
Venli waited, tense, sweat from the climb dripping down her cheeks and from her chin.
The door ahead rattled. Then opened.
A Deepest One scout stood beyond. As soon as Raboniel started moving, Venli shoved forward, staying at the front of the crowd as they passed into the basement chamber.
It was a horrific scene. The bodies on the ground included a few soldiers, but were mostly human scholars—women in dresses or priests in their robes. A couple were still alive, held to the ground by arms that reached up out of the stone. Most of those who were dead had been away from the walls, and it seemed Deepest Ones had dropped from the ceiling to grapple them. It had all been accomplished without a single human crying out.
Venli shuddered, imagining being pulled to the floor while other arms reached up to grab your mouth and neck. The living humans struggled with wide eyes. Some of those phantom hands had long knifelike carapace fingernails. One at a time, they slit the throats of the captives.
Venli looked away, sick to her stomach. She had to walk through blood to follow Raboniel toward the center of the room—and the monolith of crystal that stood here. The wide pillar was made of a thousand different gems. Other than the tunnel they had emerged from, only one exit led from this circular chamber: a larger, well-lit corridor with tile murals on the walls and ceiling.
“I hope your slumber is peaceful, Sibling,” Raboniel said, resting a hand upon the imposing pillar. “You shall not awake, at least not as yourself.”
Voidlight—glowing violet on black—surged along Raboniel’s arm. She’d said she would need time to accomplish her task: corrupting the pillar and fully activating the tower’s defenses, but in a way that muted Radiants, not Fused.
Please, Venli thought to the Rhythm of the Lost, let it happen without more killing.
* * *
“Can’t believe how dead this place is,” Teft said as they passed through the winehouse.
“I’d guess a lot of the patrons were soldiers,” Kaladin said, gesturing toward Adolin’s corner booth. It felt strange to visit without him and Shallan. In fact, it felt strange to be going out anywhere without those two.
Kaladin tried to remember the last time he’d gone out for fun without Adolin forcing him. Skar’s wedding? Yes, Lyn had made him go right before their breakup. That had been the last time he’d gone out with Bridge Four.
Blood of my fathers, he thought, sliding into the booth. I really have been withdrawing from them. From everyone. Except Adolin, who wouldn’t stand for it. Half the reason Kaladin had begun courting Lyn was due to Adolin and Syl conspiring against him. Storming man. Storming spren. Bless them both. Though the relationship hadn’t worked out, he could now see that they’d both grown because of it.
Teft went to fetch drinks. Orange for both of them. As Kaladin settled into the seat, he noted some of the scratched-in sketches Shallan had done with a knife on the tabletop. One was a rather unflattering picture of him in oversized boots.
When Teft returned, Kaladin eagerly took a long drink from his mug.
Teft just stared at his. “What happens if I get some red?”
“Tonight? Probably nothing. But you’ll get it next time.”
“And then I’ll get some violet,” Teft said. “Then something clear. Then…” He sighed, then took a sip of the orange. “This is storming unfair, you realize.”
Kaladin held out his cup. Teft clicked his against it.
“To unfairness,” Kaladin said.
“Storming straight,” Teft said, then downed his entire mug at once in an impressive display.
Syl darted in a short time later. The place wasn’t busy, but there were some people about. Relaxing into their seats, complaining jovial complaints, laughing ornery laughs, all of it lubricated by a little alcohol.
That stopped when Rlain stepped in behind Syl. Kaladin winced at how obvious it was. The people of the tower knew about Rlain—he was nearly as famous as Kaladin—but … well, Kaladin heard what they said about him. The “savage” that Dalinar had somehow “tamed.”
Many treated Rlain like some dark unknown quantity that should be locked away. Others, ostensibly more charitable, spoke of Rlain as some noble warrior, a mystical representative of a lost people. Both groups shared a similar problem. They saw only their own strange ideal of what he should be. A controversy, a curiosity, or a symbol. Not who he was.
