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“You’re still worrying about that, Brightness?” Rushu pursed her lips. “It’s not your fault we haven’t decoded the tower’s secrets. It’s a puzzle one woman—or an army of women—can’t be expected to unlock after only a year.”
Navani winced. Was she truly that transparent? “This is about more than the tower, Rushu,” Navani said. “Everyone is praising the effectiveness of this ship. Brightlord Kmakl is imagining entire fleets of airships blotting out the sun. Dalinar speaks of moving tens of thousands of troops in an assault on Kholinar. I don’t think either of them realistically understands how much work goes into keeping this one ship in the air.”
“Hundreds of laborers in Urithiru turning winches to raise and lower the ship,” Rushu said, with a nod. “Dozens of chulls used to move it laterally. Thousands of fabrials to facilitate both—all needing to be perpetually reinfused. Careful synchronization via a half dozen spanreeds to coordinate maneuvers. Yes, it is highly improbable we could field more than two or three of these vessels.”
“Unless,” Navani said, stabbing her finger at her notes, “we discover how the ancients made the tower work. If we knew that secret, Rushu, we would not only be able to restore Urithiru—we might be able to power these airships. We might be able to create fabrials beyond what anyone has ever imagined.”
Rushu cocked her head. “Neat,” she said. “I’ll write down my thoughts.”
“That’s all? Just … ‘neat’?”
“I like big ideas, Brightness. Keeps my job from getting boring.” She glanced to the side. “But I still think it’s odd how many Windrunners are standing around.”
“Rushu,” Navani said, rubbing her forehead. “Do try to focus.”
“Well, I do try. I simply fail. Like that fellow over there? What’s he doing? Not guarding the ship. Not helping with the refugees. Shouldn’t he be fighting?”
“He’s probably a scout,” Navani said. She followed Rushu’s gaze past the edge of the ship, toward the fertile stone fields. “Obviously he…”
Navani trailed off as she picked out the man in question standing atop a hill—distinctly separated from the battle. Navani could see why Rushu would think him a Windrunner. He wore a uniform after the exact cut of Bridge Four. In fact, Rushu—who paid attention to the oddest things, but never seemed to notice important details—might have once seen this man in their ranks. He’d often been at Kaladin’s side during the early months of Bridge Four’s transition into Dalinar’s army.
Rushu missed the fact that this man’s uniform was black, that he wore no patch on his shoulder. That his narrow face and lean figure would mark him as a man interdicted. A traitor.
Moash. The man who had killed Navani’s son.
He seemed to meet her eyes, despite the distance. He then burst alight with Stormlight and dropped out of view behind the hill.
Navani stood there, frozen with shock. Then she gasped, heat washing over her as if she’d suddenly stepped into burning sunlight. He was here. That murderer was here!
She scrambled over to one of the Windrunner squires on the deck. “Go!” she shouted at him, pointing. “Warn the others. Moash, the traitor, is here!”
* * *
Kaladin again chased Leshwi through a chaotic battlefield. The flight gave him the chance to quickly survey how his soldiers were doing, and what he saw was encouraging.
Many of them had pushed back their opponents. The bulk of the Heavenly Ones were hovering in a wide perimeter, pulling away from fights. Kaladin suspected they’d realized there was little to discover by looking at the outside of the ship.
The Heavenly Ones, unsupported by ground troops or other Fused, didn’t seem to want to fully commit. Only a few contests continued, and Kaladin’s was the most furious. Indeed, he had to turn his full attention to the chase, lest he lose Leshwi.
Kaladin found himself grinning as he followed her through a wide loop, weaving and dodging around other combatants. When he’d begun training, he’d have thought maneuvers like this turn impossible. To perform the feat, he had to constantly dismiss and renew his Lashings, each at a different angle in a loop—doing so without conscious thought—all while sculpting his motion with the rushing wind to avoid obstacles.
He could now execute such a maneuver. If not easily, at least regularly. It left him wondering what else Windrunners could do with enough training.
Leshwi seemed to want to buzz past every other combatant on the battlefield, forcing Kaladin to constantly reorient. A test. She wanted to push him, see how good he truly was.
Let me get close, and I’ll show you how good I am, he thought, cutting out of the loop and flying down to intercept her. That put him close enough to strike with his spear.
She deflected, then darted to the side. He Lashed himself after her, and the two of them shot through the air parallel to the ground, curling around one another while each tried to get in a hit. The wind was a huge factor, tugging at his spear. At these speeds, it was like dueling in a highstorm.
They quickly left the town and the main battle. Kaladin had Syl re-form as a sword—but Leshwi was prepared for his lunge. She slid her spear through her hands and gripped it near the head, then dove in and struck at his neck, throwing off his next attack.
Kaladin took a slice on the neck—but not enough for her to siphon away his Stormlight. He pulled away farther, still flying parallel to her, the wind making his hair whip and twist. He didn’t want to end up isolated, so he curved back toward the main battlefield.
Leshwi followed. Apparently she’d determined he could keep up with her, and now wanted to spar. Their loop took them toward the manor, coming in from the north side.
This land was so familiar to Kaladin. He’d played on these hills with Tien. He first touched a spear—well, a length of wood he pretended was a spear—right over there.…
Stay focused, he thought. This is a time for fighting, not reminiscing.
Only … this wasn’t some random battlefield off in the Unclaimed Hills. For the first time in his life, he knew the terrain. Better than anyone else in this battle.
He smiled, then came in close to Leshwi for a clash, slowing and nudging them to the east. He allowed a slice along his arm, then pulled away as if in shock. He shot toward the ground, leveling off and darting among the hills, Leshwi following.
There, he thought. That one.
He ducked around the side of a hill, pulling his water flask off his belt. Here, on the leeward side of the hill, the rock had been carved away into a cavern for storing equipment. And as it had always been when he was young, the door was slightly ajar and crusted over with the cocoons of lurgs: little creatures that spent days hiding inside their coverings, waiting for rain to wake them up.
Kaladin sprayed water from his canteen across the door, then dropped the canteen and ducked around the next hill over, falling still near the ground. He heard Leshwi come in behind him. She slowed—evidenced by the sound of rustling cloth. She’d have found the discarded canteen.
Kaladin peeked around and spotted her hovering between the hills, maybe two feet off the ground, her long clothing dragging on the stone. She slowly turned in a circle, trying to locate him.
The lurgs started dropping from their cocoons, thinking rain had come. They began hopping around, causing the door to creak. Leshwi immediately spun and leveled her lance toward them.
