The chase took him in a long loop, eventually swinging back down near where Dalinar was walking through the edge of the red mist. The whispered voices grew louder, and Szeth put his hands to his ears as he flew.
The Fused was smooth and graceful, but sped up and slowed less quickly than Szeth did. He took advantage of this, anticipating the enemy’s move, then cutting to the side as they turned. Szeth collided with the enemy, and they twisted in the air. The Fused—gemstone in one hand—stabbed Szeth with a wicked knife.
Fortunately, with Stormlight, that didn’t do anything but cause pain.
Szeth Lashed them both downward, holding tight, and sent them crashing to the stone. The gemstone rolled free as the Fused groaned. Szeth Lashed himself gracefully to his feet, then slipped along the stone at a standing glide. He scooped up the ruby with his free hand, the one not carrying his sheathed sword.
Wow, the sword said.
“Thank you, sword-nimi,” Szeth said. He restored his Stormlight from nearby fallen spheres and gemstones.
I meant that. To your right.
Three more Fused were swooping down toward him. He appeared to have gotten the enemy’s attention.
* * *
Adolin and his men reached a covered stairwell leading up onto the wall. Aunt Navani waved from up above, then gestured urgently. Adolin hurried inside the stairwell, and at the top found a jumble of Sadeas troops chopping at the door with hand axes.
“I can probably get through that a little easier,” Adolin said from behind them.
A short time later, he stepped onto the wall walk, leaving five more corpses on the steps. These didn’t make him feel quite so melancholy. They’d been minutes from reaching Aunt Navani.
Navani hugged him. “Elhokar?” she asked, tense.
Adolin shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled him tight, and he dismissed his Blade, holding her as she shook, letting out quiet tears. Storms … he knew how that felt. He hadn’t really been able to take time to think since Elhokar’s death. He’d felt the oppressive hand of responsibility, but had he grieved for his cousin?
He pulled his aunt tighter, feeling her pain, mirror to his own. The stone monster crashed through the city, and soldiers shouted from all around—but in that moment, Adolin did what he could to comfort a mother who had lost her son.
Finally they broke, Navani drying her eyes with a handkerchief. She gasped as she saw his bloodied side.
“I’m fine,” he explained. “Renarin healed me.”
“I saw your betrothed and the bridgeman down below,” Navani said. “So everyone … everyone but him?”
“I’m sorry, Aunt. I just … We failed him. Elhokar and Kholinar both.”
She blotted her eyes and stiffened with determination. “Come. Our focus now has to be on keeping this city from suffering the same fate.”
They joined Queen Fen, who was surveying the battle from atop the wall. “Estnatil was on the wall with us when that thing hit,” she was saying to her son. “He got thrown down and likely died, but there’s a Shardblade in that rubble somewhere. I haven’t seen Tshadr. Perhaps at his manor? I wouldn’t be surprised to find him gathering troops at the upper tiers.”
Counting Shardbearers. Thaylenah had three sets of Plate and five Blades—a solid number of Shards for a kingdom of this size. Eight houses passed them down, father to son, each of whom served the throne as a highguard.
Adolin glanced over the city, assessing the defense. Fighting in city streets was difficult; your men got divided up, and were easily flanked or surrounded. Fortunately, the Sadeas troops seemed to have forgotten their battle training. They didn’t hold ground well; they had broken into roving bands, like axehound packs, loping through the city and looking for contests.
“You need to join your troops,” Adolin said to the Thaylens. “Block off a street below, coordinate a resistance. Then—”
A sudden whooshing sound cut him off.
He stumbled back as the wall shook, then the broken gap in it mended. Metal grew like crystals to fill the hole, springing into existence out of a tempest of rushing, howling air.
The end result was a beautiful, brilliant section of polished bronze melding with the stonework and completely sealing the gap.
“Taln’s palms,” Fen said. She and her consort stepped closer to the edge and looked down at Jasnah, who dusted off her hands, then rested them on her hips in a satisfied posture.
“So … change of tactics,” Adolin said. “With the gap filled, you can get archers in position to harry the army outside and hold the inside square. Set up a command position here, clear the street below, and then hold this wall at all costs.”
Below, Jasnah strode away from the marvel she’d created, then knelt beside some rubble and cocked her head, listening to something. She pressed her hand against the rubble and it vanished into smoke, revealing a corpse beneath—and a brilliant Shardblade beside it.
“Kdralk,” Adolin said, “how are your Shardblade stances?”
“I … I’ve practiced with them, like other officers, and—I mean—”
“Great. Take ten soldiers, go get that Blade, then rescue that cluster of troops over there at the base of the Ancient Ward. Next try to rescue that other group fighting on the steps. Station every archer you can up here on the wall, and put the rest of the soldiers to work guarding the streets.” Adolin glanced over his shoulder. Shallan’s distraction was working well, for now. “Don’t stretch too far, but as you rescue more men, make a coordinated effort to hold the entire Low Ward.”
“But Prince Adolin,” Fen said, “what will you be doing?”
Adolin summoned his Blade and pointed with it toward the back of the Ancient Ward, where the gigantic stone monstrosity swept a group of soldiers from a rooftop. Others tried—in futility—to trip it with ropes.
“Those men seem like they could use the help of a weapon designed specifically to cut through stone.”
* * *
Amaram fought with striking fury—a frenetic kind of harmony, an unending assault of weaving Shardblades and beautiful stances. Kaladin blocked one Blade with the Sylspear, and they locked for a moment.
A sharp violet crystal burst out of Amaram’s elbow, cracking the Shardplate there, glowing with a soft inner light. Storms! Kaladin flung himself backward as Amaram swung his other Blade, nearly connecting.
Kaladin danced away. His training with the sword had been short, and he’d never seen anyone use two Blades at once. He would have considered it unwieldy. Amaram made it look elegant, mesmerizing.
That deep red glow within Amaram’s helm grew darker, bloody, somehow even more sinister. Kaladin blocked another hit, but the power of the blow sent him skidding backward on the stone. He’d made himself lighter for the fight, but that had repercussions when facing someone in Plate.
Puffing, Kaladin launched himself into the air to get some distance. That Plate prevented him from using Lashings against Amaram, and it blocked hits from the Sylspear. Yet, if Amaram landed a single strike, that would immobilize Kaladin. Healing the wound from a Shardblade was possible, but was slow and left him horribly weakened.
This was all complicated by the fact that, while Amaram could focus only on their duel, Kaladin had to keep watching Dalinar in case—