Words of Radiance

  Kaladin arrived. Relis spun around and swung at him instead.

  Kaladin skidded to his knees in the sand, momentum carrying him forward a short distance as the Blade fell. He raised his hands and snapped them together.

  Catching the Blade.

  Screaming.

  Why could he hear screaming? Inside his head? Was that Syl’s voice?

  It reverberated through Kaladin. That horrible, awful screech shook him, made his muscles tremble. He released the Shardblade with a gasp, falling backward.

  Relis dropped the Blade as if bitten. He backed away, raising his hands to his head. “What is it? What is it! No, I didn’t kill you!” He shrieked as if in great pain, then ran across the sands and pulled open the door to the preparation room, fleeing inside. Kaladin heard his screams echoing inside the hallways there long after the man vanished.

  The arena grew still.

  “Highlord Relis Ruthar,” the judge finally called, sounding disturbed, “forfeits by cause of leaving the dueling arena.”

  Kaladin climbed, trembling, to his feet. He glanced at Renarin—the lad was fine—then slowly crossed the arena. Even the watching darkeyes had grown silent. Kaladin was pretty sure they hadn’t heard that strange scream, though. It had only been audible to him and Relis.

  He stepped up to Adolin and Green Plate.

  “Stand up and fight me!” Green Plate shouted. He lay faceup on the ground, Adolin buried beneath him and holding on in a wrestling grip.

  Kaladin knelt down. Green Plate struggled more as Kaladin retrieved his side knife from the sand, then pressed the tip of it into the opening in Green Plate’s armor.

  The man grew perfectly still.

  “You going to yield?” Kaladin growled. “Or do I get to kill my second Shardbearer?”

  Silence.

  “Storms curse you both!” Green Plate finally shouted inside his helm. “This wasn’t a duel, this was a circus! Grappling is the way of the coward!”

  Kaladin pressed the knife in farther.

  “I yield!” the man yelled, holding up his hand. “Storm you, I yield!”

  “Brightlord Jakamav yields,” the judge said. “The day goes to Brightlord Adolin.”

  The darkeyes in their seats cheered. The lighteyes seemed stunned. Above, Syl spun with the winds, and Kaladin could feel her joy. Adolin released Green Plate, who rolled off him and stomped away. Underneath, the prince lay in a depression in the sand, head and shoulder exposed through broken pieces of Plate.

  He was laughing.

  Kaladin sat down beside the prince as Adolin laughed himself silly, tears streaming from his eyes.

  “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” Adolin said. “Oh, wow. . . . Ha! I think I just won three full suits of Plate and two Blades, bridgeboy. Here, help me get this armor off.”

  “Your armorer can do that,” Kaladin said.

  “No time,” Adolin said, trying to sit up. “Storms. Completely drained. Hurry, help with this. There’s something yet for me to do.”

  Challenge Sadeas, Kaladin realized. That was the point of all of this. He reached in under Adolin’s gauntlet, helping him undo the strap there. The gauntlet didn’t come off automatically, as it was supposed to. Adolin really had completely drained the suit.

  They pulled the gauntlet off, then worked on the other one. A few minutes later, Renarin wandered over and helped. Kaladin didn’t ask him about what had happened. The lad provided some spheres, and after Kaladin had tucked those in under Adolin’s loosened breastplate, the armor started to function again.

  They worked to the roar of the crowd as Adolin finally got free of the Plate and stood up. Ahead, the king had stepped up beside the judge, one foot on the railing around the arena. He looked down at Adolin, who nodded.

  This is Adolin’s chance, Kaladin realized, but it can be my chance too.

  The king raised his hands, quieting the crowd.

  “Warrior, duelmaster,” the king shouted, “I am greatly pleased by what you have accomplished today. This was a fight the like of which hasn’t been seen in Alethkar for generations. You have pleased your king greatly.”

  Cheering.

  I could do this, Kaladin thought.

  “I offer you a boon,” the king proclaimed, pointing to Adolin as the cheering quieted. “Name what you wish of me or of this court. It shall be yours. No man, having seen this display, could deny you.”

  The Right of Challenge, Kaladin thought.

  Adolin sought out Sadeas, who had stood and was making his way up the steps to flee. He understood.

  Far to the right, Amaram sat in his golden cloak.

  “For my boon,” Adolin shouted to the quiet arena, “I demand the Right of Challenge. I demand the chance to duel Highprince Sadeas, right here and now, as redress for the crimes he committed against my house!”

  Sadeas stopped upon the steps. A murmur ran through the crowd. Adolin looked as if he were going to say something more, but hesitated as Kaladin stepped up beside him.

  “And for my boon!” Kaladin shouted, “I demand the Right of Challenge against the murderer Amaram! He stole from me and slaughtered my friends to cover it up. Amaram branded me a slave! I will duel him here, right now. That is the boon I demand!”

  The king’s jaw dropped.

  The crowd grew very, very still.

  Beside him, Adolin groaned.

  Kaladin didn’t spare either one a thought. Across the distance, he met the eyes of Brightlord Amaram, the murderer.

  He saw horror therein.

  Amaram stood up, then stumbled back. He hadn’t known, hadn’t recognized Kaladin, until just then.

  You should have killed me, Kaladin thought. The crowd started to shout and yell.

  “Arrest him!” the king bellowed over the din.

  Perfect. Kaladin grinned.

  Until he noticed the soldiers were coming for him and not Amaram.

  So Melishi retired to his tent, and resolved to destroy the Voidbringers upon the next day, but that night did present a different stratagem, related to the unique abilities of the Bondsmiths; and being hurried, he could make no specific account of his process; it was related to the very nature of the Heralds and their divine duties, an attribute the Bondsmiths alone could address.

  —From Words of Radiance, chapter 30, page 18

  “Captain Kaladin is a man of honor, Elhokar!” Dalinar shouted, gesturing toward Kaladin, who sat nearby. “He was the only one who went to help my sons.”

  “That’s his job!” Elhokar snapped back.

  Kaladin listened dully, chained to a seat inside Dalinar’s rooms back in the warcamp. They hadn’t gone to the palace. Kaladin didn’t know why.

  The three of them were alone.

  “He insulted a highlord in front of the entire court,” Elhokar said, pacing beside the wall. “He dared challenge a man so high above his station, the gap between them could hold a kingdom.”

  “He was caught up in the moment,” Dalinar said. “Be reasonable, Elhokar. He’d just helped bring down four Shardbearers!”

  “On a dueling ground, where his help was invited,” Elhokar said, throwing his hands into the air. “I still don’t agree with letting a darkeyes duel Shardbearers. If you hadn’t held me back . . . Bah! I won’t stand for this, Uncle. I won’t. Common soldiers challenging our highest and most important generals? It is madness.”

  “What I said was true,” Kaladin whispered.

  “Don’t you speak!” Elhokar shouted, stopping and leveling a finger at Kaladin. “You’ve ruined everything! We lost our chance at Sadeas!”

  “Adolin made his challenge,” Kaladin said. “Surely Sadeas can’t ignore it.”

  “Of course he can’t,” Elhokar shouted. “He’s already responded!”

  Kaladin frowned.

  “Adolin didn’t get a chance to pin down the duel,” Dalinar said, looking at Kaladin. “As soon as he was free of the arena, Sadeas sent word agreeing to duel Adolin—in one year’
s time.”

  One year? Kaladin felt a hollowness in his stomach. By the time a year had passed, chances were the duel wouldn’t matter anymore.

  “He wiggled out of the noose,” Elhokar said, throwing up his hands. “We needed that moment in the arena to pin him down, to shame him into a fight! You stole that moment, bridgeman.”

  Kaladin lowered his head. He’d have stood up to confront them, except for the chains. They were cold around his ankles, locking him to the chair.

  He remembered chains like those.

  “This is what you get, Uncle,” Elhokar said, “for putting a slave in charge of our guard. Storms! What were you thinking? What was I thinking in allowing you?”

  “You saw him fight, Elhokar,” Dalinar said softly. “He is good.”

  “It’s not his skill but his discipline that is the problem!” The king folded his arms. “Execution.”

  Kaladin looked up sharply.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Dalinar said, stepping up beside Kaladin’s chair.

  “It is the punishment for slandering a highlord,” Elhokar said. “It is the law.”

  “You can pardon any crime, as king,” Dalinar said. “Don’t tell me you honestly want to see this man hanged after what he did today.”

  “Would you stop me?” Elhokar said.

  “I wouldn’t stand for it, that’s certain.”

  Elhokar crossed the room, stepping right up to Dalinar. For a moment, Kaladin seemed forgotten.

  “Am I king?” Elhokar asked.

  “Of course you are.”

  “You don’t act like it. You’re going to have to decide something, Uncle. I won’t continue letting you rule, making a puppet of me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I say the boy is to be executed. What do you say of that?”

  “I’d say that in attempting such a thing, you’d make an enemy of me, Elhokar.” Dalinar had grown tense.

  Just try to execute me . . . Kaladin thought. Just try.

  The two stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Elhokar turned away. “Prison.”

  “How long?” Dalinar said.

  “Until I say he’s done!” the king said, waving a hand and stalking toward the exit. He stopped there, looking at Dalinar, a challenge in his eyes.

  “Very well,” Dalinar said.

  The king left.

  “Hypocrite,” Kaladin hissed. “He’s the one who insisted you put me in charge of his guard. Now he blames you?”

  Dalinar sighed, kneeling down beside Kaladin. “What you did today was a wonder. In protecting my sons, you justified my faith in you before the entire court. Unfortunately, you then threw it away.”

  “He asked me for a boon!” Kaladin snapped, raising his manacled hands. “I got one, it seems.”

  “He asked Adolin for a boon. You knew what we were about, soldier. You heard the plan in conference with us this morning. You overshadowed it in the name of your own petty vengeance.”

  “Amaram—”

  “I don’t know where you got this idea about Amaram,” Dalinar said, “but you have to stop. I checked into what you said, after you brought it to my attention the first time. Seventeen witnesses told me that Amaram won his Shardblade only four months ago, long after your ledger says you were made a slave.”

  “Lies.”

  “Seventeen men,” Dalinar repeated. “Lighteyed and dark, along with the word of a man I’ve known for decades. You’re wrong about him, soldier. You’re just plain wrong.”

  “If he is so honorable,” Kaladin whispered, “then why didn’t he fight to save your sons?”

  Dalinar hesitated.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kaladin said, looking away. “You’re going to let the king put me in prison.”

  “Yes,” Dalinar said, rising. “Elhokar has a temper. Once he cools down, I’ll get you free. For now, it might be best if you had some time to think.”

  “They’ll have a tough time forcing me to go to prison,” Kaladin said softly.

  “Have you even been listening?” Dalinar suddenly roared.

  Kaladin sat back, eyes widening, as Dalinar leaned down, red-faced, taking Kaladin by the shoulders as if to shake him. “Have you not felt what is coming? Have you not seen how this kingdom squabbles? We don’t have time for this! We don’t have time for games! Stop being a child, and start being a soldier! You’ll go to prison, and you’ll go happily. That’s an order. Do you listen to orders anymore?”

  “I . . .” Kaladin found himself stammering.

  Dalinar stood up, rubbing his hands on his temples. “I thought we had Sadeas cornered, there. I thought maybe we’d be able to cut his feet out from under him and save this kingdom. Now I don’t know what to do.” He turned and walked to the door. “Thank you for saving my sons.”

  He left Kaladin alone in the cold stone room.

  * * *

  Torol Sadeas slammed the door to his quarters. He walked to his table and leaned over it, hands flat on the surface, looking down at the slice through the center he’d made with Oathbringer.

  A drop of sweat smacked the surface right beside that slot. He’d kept himself from trembling all the way back to the safety of his warcamp—he’d actually managed to paste on a smile. He’d shown no concern, even as he dictated to his wife a response to the challenge.

  And all the while, in the back of his mind a voice had laughed at him.

  Dalinar. Dalinar had almost outmaneuvered him. If that challenge had been sustained, Sadeas would quickly have found himself in the arena with a man who had just defeated not one, but four Shardbearers.

  He sat down. He did not look for wine. Wine made a man forget, and he didn’t want to forget this. He must never forget this.

  How satisfying it would be to someday ram Dalinar’s own sword into his chest. Storms. To think he’d almost felt pity for his former friend. Now the man pulled something like this. How had he grown so deft?

  No, Sadeas told himself. This was not deftness. It was luck. Pure and simple luck.

  Four Shardbearers. How? Even allowing for the help of that slave, it was now obvious that Adolin was at last growing into the man his father had once been. That terrified Sadeas, because the man Dalinar had once been—the Blackthorn—had been a large part of what had conquered this kingdom.

  Isn’t this what you wanted? Sadeas thought. To reawaken him?

  No. The deeper truth was that Sadeas didn’t want Dalinar back. He wanted his old friend out of the way, and it had been such for months now, no matter what he wanted to tell himself.

  A while later, the door to his study opened and Ialai slipped in. Seeing him lost in thought, she stopped by the door.

  “Organize all of your informants,” Sadeas said, looking up at the ceiling. “Every spy you have, every source you know. Find me something, Ialai. Something to hurt him.”

  She nodded.

  “And after that,” Sadeas said, “it will be time to make use of those assassins you’ve planted.”

  He had to ensure that Dalinar was desperate and wounded—had to guarantee that the others viewed him as broken, ruined.

  Then he’d end this.

  * * *

  Soldiers arrived for Kaladin a short time later. Men that Kaladin didn’t know. They were respectful as they unchained him from the chair, though they left the chains binding his hands and feet. One gave him a lifted fist, a sign of respect. Stay strong, the fist said.

  Kaladin bowed his head and shuffled with them, led through camp before the watching eyes of soldiers and scribes alike. He caught a glimpse of Bridge Four uniforms in the crowd.

  He reached Dalinar’s camp prison, where soldiers did time for fighting or other offenses. It was a small, nearly windowless building with thick walls.

  Inside, in an isolated section, Kaladin was placed in a cell with stone walls and a door of steel bars. They left the chains on as they locked him in.

  He sat down on a stone bench, waiting, until Syl finally drifted into
the room.

  “This,” Kaladin said, looking at her, “is what comes of trusting lighteyes. Never again, Syl.”

  “Kaladin . . .”

  He closed his eyes, turning and lying down on the cold stone bench.

  He was in a cage once again.

  THE END OF

  Part Three

  Lift had never robbed a palace before. Seemed like a dangerous thing to try. Not because she might get caught, but because once you robbed a starvin’ palace, where did you go next?

  She climbed up onto the outer wall and looked in at the grounds. Everything inside—trees, rocks, buildings—reflected the starlight in an odd way. A bulbous-looking building stuck up in the middle of it all, like a bubble on a pond. In fact, most of the buildings were that same round shape, often with small protrusions sprouting out of the top. There wasn’t a straight line in the whole starvin’ place. Just lots and lots of curves.

  Lift’s companions climbed up to peek over the top of the wall. A scuffling, scrambling, rowdy mess they were. Six men, supposedly master thieves. They couldn’t even climb a wall properly.

  “The Bronze Palace itself,” Huqin breathed.

  “Bronze? Is that what everythin’ is made of?” Lift asked, sitting on the wall with one leg over the side. “Looks like a bunch of breasts.”

  The men looked at her, aghast. They were all Azish, with dark skin and hair. She was Reshi, from the islands up north. Her mother had told her that, though Lift had never seen the place.

  “What?” Huqin demanded.

  “Breasts,” Lift said, pointing. “See, like a lady layin’ on her back. Those points on the tops are nipples. Bloke who built this place musta been single for a looong time.”

  Huqin turned to one of his companions. Using their ropes, they scuttled back down the outside of the wall to hold a whispered conference.

  “Grounds at this end look empty, as my informant indicated would be the case,” Huqin said. He was in charge of the lot of them. Had a nose like someone had taken hold of it when he was a kid and pulled real, real hard. Lift was surprised he didn’t smack people in the face with it when he turned.

  “Everyone’s focused on choosing the new Prime Aqasix,” said Maxin. “We could really do this. Rob the Bronze Palace itself, and right under the nose of the vizierate.”