Syl moved out in front of him, then paused, hovering, seeming curious.

“What?” he asked.

Highstorm coming, she said in his head.

Of course there was. It was that kind of day.

People in the atrium began to scatter as they saw him, accompanied by anticipationspren. As the place emptied, he picked out a hulking figure standing in the dead center of the chamber, blocking the way to the room on the other side—the infirmary.

Kaladin brandished his spear in challenge. But the Pursuer cared nothing for honor. He was here for the kill, and he came streaking at Kaladin to claim it.

Watch them struggle. Witness their writhing, their refusal to surrender. Humans cling to the rocks with the vigor of any Rosharan vine.

—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days

“There he is,” Teft said, ducking and moving with the crowd of people in the atrium. With a cloak over his uniform, he didn’t draw attention. He’d found that was often the case. Kaladin turned heads, even if he was dressed in rags. He was that kind of man.

But Teft? He looked forgettable. In this cloak he was simply another worker, walking with his daughter through the atrium. Hopefully Lift would keep her head down so the hood of her own cloak obscured her features—otherwise someone might wonder why his “daughter” looked an awful lot like a certain bothersome Radiant who was always making trouble in the tower.

“What took him so long?” Lift whispered as the two of them sidled over along the wall of the atrium, acting frightened of the sudden rush of people who made way for Kaladin and the Pursuer.

“Boy likes to grandstand,” Teft said. But storms, it was hard not to feel inspired at the sight of Kaladin framed in the entryway like that in a sharp blue uniform, his hair free, his scars bold and stark on his forehead. Eyes intense enough to pierce the darkest storm.

You did good with that one, Teft, he thought—giving himself permission to feel a little pride. You ruined your own life something fierce, but you did good with that one.

Phendorana whispered comfort in his ear. She’d shrunk, at his request, and rode on his shoulder. He nodded at the words. If his family hadn’t gotten involved with the Envisagers, he wouldn’t have known how to help Kaladin when he’d needed it. And then the Blackthorn probably would have died, and they wouldn’t have found this tower. So … maybe it was time to let go of what he’d done.

Together, they inched along the wall toward the infirmary. Storm him if having his own personal spren wasn’t the best thing that had happened to him, other than Bridge Four. She could be a little crusty at times, which made them a good match. She also refused to accept his excuses. Which made them an even better match.

Kaladin started fighting, and Teft couldn’t spare him much more than a wish of goodwill. The lad would be fine. Teft simply had to do his part.

They waited to see if the guards in the infirmary came out at the ruckus, and blessedly they did. Unfortunately, one remained at the door, gaping at the battle but apparently determined to remain at his post.

Stormform Regal too, which was just Teft’s luck. Still, he and Lift were able to work the press of the crowd to their advantage, pretending they were confused civilians. Maybe that stormform would let them “hide” in the infirmary.

Instead, the Regal at the door showed them an indifferent palm, gesturing for them to flee in another direction. He turned aside a number of other people who saw the infirmary as a convenient escape, so Teft and Lift didn’t draw undue attention.

People in the atrium cried out as Kaladin and the Pursuer clashed. Heavenly Ones floated down to watch the battle, their long trains descending like curtains, adding to the surreal sight. In fact, everybody’s eyes were fixed on the contest between Kaladin and the Pursuer. So, Teft took the Regal guard by the arm. These Regals had that captive lightning running through them, so touching the singer gave Teft a shock. He cried out and shook his hand, backing away as the stormform turned toward him in annoyance.

“Please, Brightlord,” Teft said. “What is happening?”

As the Regal focused on him, Lift slipped around behind and cracked the door open.

“Be on with you,” the Regal said. “Don’t bother—”

Teft rushed the singer, tackling him around the waist and throwing him backward through the open door. The Regal’s powers sent another shock through Teft, but in the confusion, Teft was able to get him to the ground and put him in a deadman’s hold.

Lift shut the door with a click. She waited, anxious, as Teft struggled to keep pressure on the creature’s throat. He pulled in all the Stormlight he had, but felt the stormform’s power growing—the creature’s skin crackling with red lightning.

“Healing!” Teft said.

Lift leapt over and pressed her hand against his leg as the stormform released a bolt of power straight through Teft into the floor. The crack it made was incredible. Teft felt a burning pain, like someone had decided to use his stomach as a convenient place to build their firepit.

But he held on, and Lift healed him. He even managed to roll to the side and use Stormlight to stick the Regal to the ground. That let him keep the pressure on and resist the shocks that followed—less powerful than the first.

Finally the Regal went limp, unconscious. Teft huffed and stood, though he first had to unstick his clothing from the floor. Storming Stormlight. He looked down and found the front of his shirt had been burned clean through.

He glanced to Phendorana, who had grown to full size. She folded her arms thoughtfully.

“What?” he asked.

“Your hair is standing up,” she said, then grinned. She looked like a little kid when she did that, and he couldn’t help returning the expression.

“Move!” she said to him. “Seal the door!”

“Right, right.” He stepped over and infused the doorframe with Stormlight. Someone would have heard that lightning bolt. “Lift,” he shouted as he worked, “get to it! I want these Radiants up and taking orders faster than an arrow falls.” He glanced to Phendorana, standing beside him and meeting his eyes. “We can do this. Get them up, grab Kal’s family, get out.”

“Through the window?” she asked.

Outside the east-facing window was a sheer drop of hundreds of feet. He felt moderately good about his ability to climb down it. How far would everyone have to get before their Radiant powers returned? He feared the Heavenly Ones would find out before then and come after them.

Well, he’d see what the others said, once they were awake. Teft turned from the now-sealed door to inspect the room and Lift’s progress. Where was that surgeon and his—

Lift screamed.

She leaped back as one of the bodies on the floor nearby emerged from beneath the sheet. The figure—dressed all in black—swung a Shardblade at her. She nearly managed to get away, but the Blade caught her in the thighs, cutting with the grace of an eel through the air.

Lift collapsed, her legs ruined by the Blade.

The figure in the black uniform turned from Lift and—blazing with Stormlight—focused on Teft. Sunken cheeks, prominent nose, glowing eyes.

Moash.

* * *

Kaladin didn’t run.

He knew what the Pursuer would do.

Tags: Brandon Sanderson The Stormlight Archive Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net