Still … that city. In Kaladin’s heart still lived a country boy who had dreamed of seeing the world.
“Did you see that darkness around the palace?” Kaladin asked Syl.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Something’s very wrong.”
Kaladin emerged from the clouds and found that his crew had drifted off to the west in the breeze. He Lashed himself toward them, and noticed—for the first time—that his Stormlight was no longer being renewed by the storm.
Drehy and Skar looked visibly relieved when he arrived. “Kal—” Skar started.
“I know. We don’t have much time left. Your Majesty, the city is right below us—and our forces still control the walls. The Parshendi are building storm bunkers and besieging the area, though the bulk of their army probably retreated to nearby towns in anticipation of the storm.”
“The city stands!” Elhokar said. “Excellent! Captain, take us down.”
“Your Majesty,” Kaladin said. “If we drop from the sky like this, the enemy scouts will see us entering.”
“So?” Elhokar said. “The need for subterfuge was predicated on a fear that we might have to sneak in. If our forces still hold the city, we can march up to the palace, assert command, and activate the Oathgate.”
Kaladin hesitated. “Your Majesty, something is … wrong with the palace. It looks dark, and Syl saw it too. I advise caution.”
“My wife and child are inside,” Elhokar said. “They might be in danger.”
You didn’t seem to worry much about them during six years away at war, Kaladin thought.
“Let’s go down anyway,” the king said. “We want to get to the Oathgate as soon as possible…” He trailed off, looking from Kaladin to Shallan, to Adolin. “Don’t we?”
“I advise caution,” Kaladin repeated.
“The bridgeman isn’t the jumpy type, Your Majesty,” Adolin said. “We don’t know what’s going on in the city, or what happened since the reports of chaos and a revolt. Caution sounds good to me.”
“Very well,” Elhokar said. “This is why I brought the Lightweaver. What do you recommend, Brightness?”
“Let’s land outside the city,” Shallan said. “Far enough away that the glow of Stormlight doesn’t give us away. We can use illusions to sneak in and find out what is going on without revealing ourselves.”
“Very well,” Elhokar said, nodding curtly. “Do as she suggests, Captain.”
We can record any secret we wish, and leave it here? How do we know that they’ll be discovered? Well, I don’t care. Record that then.
—From drawer 2-3, smokestone
The enemy army was letting refugees approach the city.
At first, this surprised Kaladin. Wasn’t the point of a siege to prevent people from getting in? And yet, a constant stream of people was allowed to approach Kholinar. The gates stood closed against an army invasion, but the side doors—which were still large—were wide open.
Kaladin handed the spyglass to Adolin. They’d landed in an inconspicuous location, then hiked back to the city on foot—but it had been dark by the time they’d arrived. They’d decided to spend the night outside the city, hidden by one of Shallan’s illusions. Impressively, her Lightweaving had lasted all night on very little Stormlight.
Now that morning had arrived, they were surveying the city, which was maybe a mile away. From the outside, their hideout would seem like merely another knob of stone ground. Shallan couldn’t make it transparent from only one side, so they had to see out using a slit that—if someone walked close by—would be visible.
The illusion felt like a cave—except for the fact that wind and rain went right through it. The king and Shallan had grumbled all morning, complaining of a damp, cold night. Kaladin and his men had slept like stones. There were advantages to having lived through Bridge Four.
“They let refugees in so they can drain the city’s resources,” Adolin said, watching through the spyglass. “A solid tactic.”
“Brightness Shallan,” Elhokar said, accepting the spyglass from Adolin, “you can give us each illusions, right? We can pretend to be refugees and enter the city easily.”
Shallan nodded absently. She sat sketching near a shaft of light pouring through a small hole in the ceiling.
Adolin turned his spyglass toward the palace, the top of which surmounted the city in the distance. The day was perfectly sunny, bright, and crisp, with only a hint of moisture in the air from the highstorm the day before. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
But somehow, the palace was still in shadow.
“What could it be?” Adolin said, lowering his spyglass.
“One of them,” Shallan whispered. “The Unmade.”
Kaladin looked back at her. She’d sketched the palace, but it was twisted, with odd angles and distorted walls.
Elhokar studied the palace. “You were right to recommend caution, Windrunner. My instinct is still to rush in. That’s wrong, isn’t it? I must be prudent and careful.”
They gave Shallan time to finish sketches—she claimed to need them for complex illusions. Eventually she stood, flipping pages in her sketchpad. “All right. Most of us won’t need disguises, as nobody will recognize me or my attendants. Same goes for Kaladin’s men, I assume.”
“If someone does recognize me,” Skar said, “it won’t cause any problems. Nobody here knows what happened to me at the Shattered Plains.” Drehy nodded.
“All right,” Shallan said, turning to Kaladin and Adolin. “You two will get new faces and clothing, making you into old men.”
“I don’t need a disguise,” Kaladin said. “I—”
“You spent time with those parshmen earlier in the month,” Shallan said. “Best to be safe. Besides, you scowl at everyone like an old man anyway. You’ll be a great fit.”
Kaladin glowered at her.
“Perfect! Keep it up.” Shallan stepped over and breathed out, and Stormlight wreathed him. He felt he should be able to take it in, use it—but it resisted him. It was a strange sensation, as if he’d found a glowing coal that gave off no heat.
The Stormlight vanished and he held up a hand, which now appeared wizened. His uniform coat had been changed to a homespun brown jacket. He touched his face, but didn’t feel anything different.
Adolin pointed at him. “Shallan, that is positively wretched. I’m impressed.”
“What?” Kaladin looked at his men. Drehy winced.
Shallan wrapped Adolin in Light. He resolved into a sturdy, handsome man in his sixties, with dark brown skin, white hair, and a lean figure. His clothing was no longer ornate, but in good repair. He looked like the kind of old rogue you’d find in a pub, with handy tales about the brilliant things he’d done in his youth. The kind of man that made women think they preferred older men, when in reality they just preferred him.
“Oh, now that’s unfair,” Kaladin said.
“If I stretch a lie too far, people are more likely to be suspicious,” Shallan said lightly, then stepped over to the king. “Your Majesty, you’re going to be a woman.”