“I’ll check,” Rlain said. “You keep going with Teft?”

Kaladin nodded, not wanting to speak and waste Stormlight. He took Teft toward the steps as Rlain jogged off. The people Kaladin passed didn’t seem to sense anything wrong; they only looked curiously at Kaladin and his burden. Some saluted, others bowed, but Radiants were common enough in these halls that most simply stepped aside.

He was halfway up the first flight of the grand staircase when Rlain came running up at a sprint. People gave way for him, even made superstitious gestures when they saw him.

“Thank the storms I can wear warform around you people now,” he said, reaching Kaladin. He was puffing from the run, but didn’t seem exhausted. “I’d hate to try to make that run in dullform. Someone found a Stoneward unconscious in the hallway. Something is striking at the Radiants specifically. One of the Unmade?”

“It feels like that fabrial I found in Hearthstone,” Kaladin said. “But it’s obviously on a much grander scale, and more powerful, if it’s knocking out Radiants. The one I faced must have been some kind of prototype.”

“What do we do?”

“My mother has my spanreed to Dalinar’s scribes, so the clinic is probably still our best course for now.”

The other flights passed in a flash, though Rlain had drawn three different exhaustionspren—like jets of dust—by the time they reached the sixth floor. He waved Kaladin ahead. They’d meet up at the clinic.

Kaladin sucked in another breath of Stormlight and redoubled his efforts, dashing through the hallway, Teft across his shoulders. He shoved past the people waiting outside the clinic—that was another oddity, since it was after hours—and pushed through the door.

The waiting room was lit with spheres and crowded with worried people. When Kaladin’s mother saw him, she immediately began clearing room for him to pass.

“Lirin!” she shouted. “Another one!”

Kaladin jogged down the hall to the first exam room, where a Radiant—in an Aladar uniform—lay on the exam table. He recognized her. Another Stoneward.

Lirin looked up from examining her pupils. “Sudden unconsciousness?” he asked.

“I thought it might be a stroke at first,” Kaladin said, carefully unslinging Teft and settling him on the floor. A quick check told Kaladin that his friend was still breathing, and his heartbeat was still regular, though his face was spasming. As if he was dreaming.

“We found others too,” Kaladin said. “Different orders. All unconscious.”

“I have two of this one’s squires in the other room,” Lirin said, nodding to the prone Stoneward. “Her friends and family hauled her up here in a big mess. I don’t know what it’s going to take to get people not to move an injured person. Fortunately, this doesn’t seem to be a neck injury.”

“It’s striking only Radiants,” Kaladin said.

“Not you though?”

“Something’s happening to me,” Kaladin said, feeling exhaustion hit him now that his Stormlight was running out. “My powers are inhibited and…”

He trailed off as he felt something new tugging on him. New, but familiar at the same time.

Syl? he thought, throwing himself to his feet, sweat spraying from his skin. “Syl!” he shouted.

“Son, a surgeon must be calm during—”

“Storm off with the lectures for once, Father!” Kaladin shouted. “Syl!”

… here … He felt her voice. He tried to concentrate on that feeling, and he sensed something tugging on his soul. It was as if … as if someone was using his mind like a proffered arm to help them climb out of a pit.

Syl exploded into sight in front of him in the shape of a small woman, growling softly, her teeth clenched.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I don’t know! I was in the winehouse, and then … Teft! What’s wrong?”

“We don’t know,” Kaladin said. “Do you see Phendorana?”

“No. Not anywhere. My mind feels cloudy. Is this what it feels like to be sleepy? I think I’m sleepy.” She scrunched up her face. “I hate it.”

Rlain arrived, huffing, trailed by Kaladin’s mother, who peeked around him, appearing worried.

“Kal,” Rlain said. “I passed people in the hall who were shouting warnings. There are Fused in the tower. It’s another raid.”

“Why haven’t we heard about this via spanreed?” Kaladin asked.

“They don’t work,” his mother said. “We tried to write to Brightness Navani the moment these Radiants arrived. You activate the reed, but nothing happens. It just falls over.”

Kaladin felt cold. He pushed past Rlain and walked down the hall to the living room of his family’s quarters. It had a window out into the evening sky. The sun had set, though fading sunlight painted the sky, so he could see the hundreds of flying figures—trailing long clothing and infused with Voidlight—descending upon the tower.

“You were wrong, Rlain,” Kaladin said. “It’s not a raid. This is an invasion.”

* * *

Several of the women clustered around Red, who was breathing, but unconscious. Navani let the others deal with the Lightweaver. She reread the lines the phantom spren had written.

The Sibling. The third Bondsmith spren. Not dead after all, not even asleep. But why spend over a year saying nothing? Why let everyone think you were dead?

Navani picked up the pen, which had fallen to the paper. Twisting the gemstone did nothing; the fabrial was lifeless.

The enemy, the Sibling had written. They are doing something to me.…

Navani rushed to her spanreed satchel, which was usually watched by one of her scribes’ wards. It had leather sheaths for each reed, positioned in a row so that the ruby was visible through a slit in the leather. A dozen of her most important spanreeds.

None of them were blinking. Indeed, the two she pulled out gave no response when she twisted the rubies. They were as dead as the one on the table. She glanced at Red lying on the floor. Kalami was checking his eyes; she was an officer’s daughter, and had been taught field medicine. She’d already sent one of the girls to run for an Edgedancer.

An attack. With no spanreeds to communicate? Storms, it would be chaos.

Navani stood up. If it was going to be chaos, then someone had to fight it. “Soldiers, I need you in here! Spanreeds aren’t working. Who is the fastest runner among you?”

The scribes gaped at her, and all three of her soldiers—the ones who had been watching the captive in the other chamber—stepped in. The men looked at one another, then one of the soldiers raised his hand. “I’m probably fastest, Brightness.”

“All right,” Navani said, dashing to the table and pulling out a sheet of paper. “I need you to run to the first floor—use the stairs, not the lifts—and get to the scouting office near the second sector. You know it, the place where we’re organizing the mapping of the Plains? Good. Have them mobilize every runner they have.

“They are to send someone to each of the tower’s seven garrisons with a copy of this message. Every remaining runner, and all the scribes in the office, are to meet me on the second floor at the maps room. It’s the largest secure place I can think of right now.”