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It darted away from him now that he’d noticed it. Kaladin tried to follow it with his eyes, but couldn’t keep track of it as it maneuvered among the homes below.
Kaladin breathed out. The fog was all but gone, letting him scan the entirety of Hearthstone—a little cluster of homes bleeding people toward the Fourth Bridge in a steady stream. The citylord’s manor stood on the hilltop at the far edge of town, overlooking them all. It had once seemed so large and imposing to Kaladin.
“Did you see that light?” he asked Syl.
Yes. That was the Fused from before. When she was a spear, her words came directly into his mind.
“My quick reaction scared it away,” Kaladin said.
“Kal?” a feminine voice called. Lyn came swooping in, wearing a brilliant blue Alethi uniform, Stormlight puffing from her lips as she spoke. She wore her long dark hair in a tight braid, and carried a functional—but ordinary—lance under her arm. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You sure?” she said. “You seem distracted. I don’t want anyone stabbing you in the back.”
“Now you care?” he snapped.
“Of course I do,” she said. “Not wanting us to be more doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”
He glanced at her, then had to turn away because he could see genuine concern in her face. Their relationship hadn’t been right. He knew that as well as she did, and the pain he felt wasn’t for the end of that. Not specifically.
It was simply one more thing weighing him down. One more loss.
“I’m fine,” he said, then glanced to the side as he felt the power from Dalinar end. Was something wrong?
No, the time had merely passed. Dalinar generally didn’t keep his perpendicularity open for entire battles, but instead used it periodically to recharge spheres and Radiants. Holding it open was taxing for him.
“Run a message to the other Windrunners in the air,” Kaladin said to Lyn. “Tell them I spotted that new Fused, the one I told them about earlier. He moved toward me as a ribbon of red light—like a windspren, but the wrong color. He can fly incredibly quickly, and could strike at one of us up here.”
“Will do…” she said. “If you’re sure you don’t need any help…”
Kaladin pointedly ignored that comment and dropped toward the ship. He wanted to make sure Dalinar was being watched, in case the strange new Fused came after him.
Syl landed on his shoulder and rode downward with her hands primly on her knees.
“The others keep checking on me,” Kaladin said to her, “like I’m some delicate piece of glasswork ready to fall off the shelf at any moment and break. Is that your doing?”
“What? That your team is considerate enough to watch out for one another? That would be your fault, I’d say.”
He landed on the deck of the ship, then turned his head and looked straight at her.
“I didn’t say anything to them,” she told him. “I know how anxious the nightmares make you. It would be worse if I told anyone about them.”
Great. He hadn’t liked the idea of her talking to the others, but at least it would have explained why everyone was acting so strangely. He crossed over to Dalinar, who was speaking with Roshone, who had come up from below.
“The town’s new leaders keep prisoners in the manor’s stormcellar, Brightlord,” Roshone was saying, pointing at his former dwelling. “There are currently only two people there, but it would be a crime to abandon them.”
“Agreed,” Dalinar said. “I’ll send one of the Edgedancers to free them.”
“I will accompany them,” Roshone said, “with your permission. I know the layout of the building.”
Kaladin sniffed. “Look at him,” he whispered to Syl, “acting like some hero now that Dalinar is around to impress.”
Syl reached up and flicked Kaladin on the ear, and he felt a surprisingly sharp pain, like a jolt of power.
“Hey!” he said.
“Stop being a stumer.”
“I’m not being a … What’s a stumer?”
“I don’t know,” Syl admitted. “It’s a word I heard Lift using. Regardless, I’m pretty sure you’re being one right now.”
Kaladin glanced at Roshone, who headed toward the manor with Godeke. “Fine,” Kaladin said. “He has maybe improved. A little.”
Roshone was the same petty lighteyes he’d always been. But during this last year, Kaladin had seen another side to the former citylord. He seemed to legitimately care. As if realizing, only now, his responsibility.
He’d still gotten Tien killed. For that, Kaladin didn’t think he could ever forgive Roshone. At the same time, Kaladin didn’t intend to forgive himself for that loss either. So at least Roshone was in good company.
Rock and Dabbid were helping the refugees, so Kaladin told them he’d seen the strange Fused again. Rock nodded, understanding immediately. He waved to his older children—including Cord, who carried Amaram’s old Shardbow strapped to her back and wore the full set of Shardplate she’d found in Aimia.
Together they moved in a not-so-subtle way over near Dalinar, keeping a watch on the sky for red lines of light. Kaladin glanced upward as one of the Heavenly Ones shot past, chased by Sigzil.
“That’s Leshwi,” Kaladin said, launching into the air.
With a captured spren, you may begin designing a proper fabrial. It is a closely guarded secret of artifabrians that spren, when trapped, respond to different types of metals in different ways. A wire housing for the fabrial, called a “cage,” is essential to controlling the device.
—Lecture on fabrial mechanics presented by Navani Kholin to the coalition of monarchs, Urithiru, Jesevan, 1175
Radiant backed up, the sack on her head. She pressed her fingers against the cool stone of the wall as the shouting continued. Yes, that was Adolin’s voice. As she’d feared, he’d come to rescue her.
Radiant considered pulling off the hood, summoning her Shardblade, and demanding the conspirators surrender. However, she acknowledged what Veil and Shallan wanted. They needed to meet Ialai face-to-face.
A scraping sounded nearby. Radiant turned toward it. Rock on rock. And … some sort of mechanism turning?
She strode blindly toward the sound. “Bring me,” she shouted. “Don’t leave me to them!”
“Fine,” Ulina said from somewhere nearby. “You two, grab her. You, guard the doorway from inside. Try to jam the mechanism closed. Quickly!”
Rough hands grabbed Radiant by the shoulders and pulled her along, steering her into what sounded—from the echoing footsteps—like a tunnel. Stone ground on stone behind them, cutting off the noise of the skirmish in the chasm. At least she knew how the cultists were getting in and out of the chasms. Radiant stumbled and purposefully fell to her knees so she could put her hands on the ground. Smooth, cut rock. Done with a Shardblade, she suspected.
The others forced her to her feet and pushed her up an incline. They didn’t remove the sack, even when she protested that it wasn’t necessary.
Well, a tunnel made sense. This warcamp had been occupied by Sadeas and Ialai for years before everyone else moved to Urithiru. They would have wanted a secret escape route from their warcamp, particularly during the early years on the Plains when everyone—Adolin said—had been so certain the princedoms would shatter apart and start fighting one another.
