The pauldron on Adolin’s left shoulder exploded into a burst of molten metal, bits trailing smoke through the air, the main chunk of it skidding to the sands a short distance away. That left Adolin’s flesh exposed to the air, and to the Blades facing him.
Please . . . Almighty . . .
Dalinar turned upon the stands full of spectating lighteyes. “You can watch this?” he shouted at them. “My sons fight alone! There are Shardbearers among you. Is there not one of you who will fight with them?”
He scanned the crowd. The king was looking at his feet. Amaram. What of Amaram? Dalinar found him seated near the king. Dalinar met the man’s eyes.
Amaram looked away.
No . . .
“What has happened to us?” Dalinar asked. “Where is our honor?”
“Honor is dead,” a voice whispered from beside him.
Dalinar turned and looked at Captain Kaladin. He hadn’t noticed the bridgeman walking down the steps behind him.
Kaladin took a deep breath, then looked at Dalinar. “But I’ll see what I can do. If this goes poorly, take care of my men.” Spear in hand, he grabbed the edge of the wall and flung himself over, dropping to the sands of the arena floor below.
Malchin was stymied, for though he was inferior to none in the arts of war, he was not suitable for the Lightweavers; he wished for his oaths to be elementary and straightforward, and yet their spren were liberal, as to our comprehension, in definitions pertaining to this matter; the process included speaking truths as an approach to a threshold of self-awareness that Malchin could never attain.
—From Words of Radiance, chapter 12, page 12
Shallan stood up in her seat, watching Adolin’s beating below. Why didn’t he surrender? Give up the bout?
Four men. She should have seen that loophole. As his wife, watching for intrigue like this would be her duty. Now, barely betrothed, she’d already failed him disastrously. Beyond that, this fiasco had been her idea.
Adolin seemed about to give in, but then for some reason, he threw himself back into the fight instead.
“Fool man,” Sebarial said, lounging beside her, Palona on his other side. “Too arrogant to see that he’s beaten.”
“No,” Shallan said. “There’s something more.” Her eyes flicked down toward poor Renarin, completely overwhelmed as he tried to fight a Shardbearer.
For the briefest instant, she considered going down to help. Sheer stupidity; she’d be even more useless than Renarin down there. Why didn’t anyone else help them? She glared across at the gathered Alethi lighteyes, including Highlord Amaram, the supposed Knight Radiant.
Bastard.
Shocked at how quickly that sentiment rose inside of her, Shallan looked away from him. Don’t think about it. Well, as nobody was going to help, both princes seemed to stand a good chance of dying.
“Pattern,” she whispered. “Go see if you can distract that Shardbearer fighting Prince Renarin.” She would not interfere with Adolin’s fight, not as he’d obviously decided he needed to keep going for some reason. But she would try to keep Renarin from getting maimed, if she could.
Pattern hummed and slipped from her skirt, moving across the stone of the arena benches. He seemed painfully obvious to her, moving in the open, but everybody was focused on the fighting below.
Don’t you get yourself killed on me, Adolin Kholin, she thought, glancing back up at him as he struggled against his three opponents. Please . . .
Someone else dropped to the sands.
* * *
Kaladin dashed across the arena floor.
Again, he thought, remembering coming to Amaram’s rescue so long ago. “This had better end differently than it did that time.”
“It will,” Syl promised, zipping along beside his head, a line of light. “Trust me.”
Trust. He’d trusted her and spoken to Dalinar about Amaram. That had gone wonderfully.
One of the Shardbearers—Relis, the one in black armor—trailed Stormlight from a crack in the vambrace on his left forearm. He glanced at Kaladin as he approached, then turned back away, indifferent. Relis obviously didn’t think a simple spearman was a threat.
Kaladin smiled, then sucked in some Stormlight. On this bright day, with the sun blazing white overhead, he could risk more than he normally would. Nobody would see it. Hopefully.
He sped up, then lunged between two of the Shardbearers, ramming his spear into Relis’s cracked vambrace. The man let out a shout of pain and Kaladin pulled his spear back, twisting between the attackers and getting close to Adolin. The young man in blue armor glanced at him, then quickly turned to put his back toward Kaladin.
Kaladin put his own back toward Adolin, preventing either of them from being attacked from behind.
“What are you doing here, bridgeboy?” Adolin hissed from within his helmet.
“Playing one of the ten fools.”
Adolin grunted. “Welcome to the party.”
“I won’t be able to get through their armor,” Kaladin said. “You’ll need to crack it for me.” Nearby, Relis shook his arm, cursing. The tip of Kaladin’s spear had blood on it. Not much, unfortunately.
“Just keep one of them distracted from me,” Adolin said. “I can handle two.”
“I— All right.” It was probably the best plan.
“Keep an eye on my brother, if you can,” Adolin said. “If things go sour for these three, they might decide to use him as leverage against us.”
“Done,” Kaladin said, then pulled away and jumped to the side as the one with a hammer—Dalinar had named him Elit—tried to attack Adolin. Relis came in from the other side, swinging, as if to cut right through Kaladin and hit Adolin.
His heart thumped, but training with Zahel had done its job. He could stare down that Shardblade and feel only a mild panic. He twisted around Relis, dodging the Blade.
The black-Plated man glanced at Adolin and took a step in that direction, but Kaladin lunged as if to strike him in the arm again.
Relis turned back, then reluctantly let Kaladin draw him away from the fight with Adolin. The man attacked quickly, using what Kaladin could now identify as Vinestance—a style of fighting that focused on defensive footing and flexibility.
He went more offensive against Kaladin, but Kaladin twisted and spun, always getting just out of the way of the attacks. Relis started cursing, then turned back to the fight with Adolin.
Kaladin slapped him on the side of the head with the butt of his spear. It was a terrible weapon for fighting a Shardbearer, but the blow got the man’s attention again. Relis turned and swept out with his Blade.
Kaladin pulled back a hair too slowly, and the Blade sheared the pointed end off his spear. A reminder. His own flesh would put up less resistance than that. Severing his spine would kill him, and no amount of Stormlight would undo that.
Careful, he tried to lead Relis farther away from the fight. However, when he pulled back too far, the man just turned and moved toward Adolin.
The prince fought desperately against his two opponents, swinging his Blade back and forth between the men on either side of him. And storms he was good. Kaladin had never seen this level of skill from Adolin on the practice grounds—nothing there had ever challenged him this much. Adolin moved between sweeps of his Blade, deflecting the Shardblade of the one in green, then warding away the one with the hammer.
He frequently came within inches of striking his opponents. Two-on-one against Adolin actually seemed an even match.
Three would obviously be too much for him. Kaladin needed to keep Relis distracted. But how? He couldn’t get through that Plate with a spear. The only weak points were the eye slit and the small crack on the vambrace.
He had to do something. The man was striding back toward Adolin, weapon raised. Gritting his teeth, Kaladin charged.
He crossed the sands in a quick dash and then, right before reaching Relis, Kaladin jumped to put his feet toward the Shardbearer and Lashed himself that directi
on many times in quick succession. As many as he dared, so many that he burned through all of his Stormlight.
Though Kaladin fell only a short distance—enough that it wouldn’t look too unusual to those watching—he hit with the force of having fallen much farther. His feet smashed against the Plate as he kicked with everything he had.
Pain shot up his legs like lightning striking, and he heard his bones crack. The kick flung the black-armored Shardbearer forward as if he’d been struck by a boulder. Relis went sprawling on his face, Blade flung from his hands. It vanished to mist.
Kaladin crashed to the sand, groaning, his Stormlight exhausted and the Lashings ended. By reflex, he sucked in more Light from the spheres in his pocket, letting it heal his legs. He’d broken them both, and his feet.
The healing process seemed to take forever, and he forced himself to roll over and look at Relis. Incredibly, Kaladin’s attack had cracked the Shardplate. Not the center of the back plate where he’d hit, but at the shoulders and sides. Relis climbed to his knees, shaking his head. He looked back at Kaladin with what seemed like an attitude of awe.
Beyond the fallen man, Adolin spun and came in at one of his opponents—Elit, the one with the hammer—and slammed his Shardblade two-handed into the man’s chest. The breastplate there exploded into molten light. Adolin took a hit on the side of the helm from the man in green to do it.
Adolin was in bad shape. Practically every piece of Plate the young man wore was leaking Stormlight. At this rate, he’d soon have none left, and the Plate would grow too heavy to move in.
For now, fortunately, he’d basically incapacitated one of his adversaries. A Shardbearer could fight with his breastplate broken, but it was supposed to be storming difficult. Indeed, as Elit backed away, his steps were awkward, as if his Plate suddenly weighed a lot more.
Adolin had to turn to fight the other Shardbearer near him. On the other side of the arena, the fourth man—the one who had been “fighting” Renarin—was waving his sword at the ground for some reason. He looked up and saw how poorly things were going for his allies, then left Renarin and dashed across the arena floor.
“Wait,” Syl said. “What is that?” She zipped away toward Renarin, but Kaladin couldn’t spare much thought for her behavior. When the man in orange reached Adolin, he’d again be surrounded.
Kaladin scrambled to his feet. Blessedly, they worked; the bones had reknit enough for him to walk. He charged Elit, kicking up sand as he ran, spear clutched in one hand.
Elit wobbled toward Adolin, intending to continue the fight despite his disabled Plate. Kaladin reached him first, however, ducking under the man’s hasty hammer strike. Kaladin came in swinging from the shoulder, holding his broken spear in two hands, giving the attack all he had.
It smashed into Elit’s exposed chest, making a satisfying crunch. The man let out an enormous gasp, doubling over. Kaladin raised his spear to swing again, but the man lifted a wobbling hand, trying to say something. “Yield . . .” his weak voice said.
“Louder!” Kaladin snapped at him.
The man tried, out of breath. The hand he raised, however, was enough. The watching judge spoke. “Brightlord Elit yields the combat,” she said, sounding reluctant.
Kaladin backed away from the cowering man, light on his feet, Stormlight thundering inside of him. The crowd roared, even many of the lighteyes making noise.
Three Shardbearers remained. Relis had now returned to his companion in green, both harrying Adolin. They had the prince backed up against a wall. The final Shardbearer, wearing orange, arrived to join them, having left Renarin behind.
Renarin sat on the sand, head bowed, Shardblade stuck into the ground before him. Had he been defeated? Kaladin had heard no announcement from the judge.
No time to worry. Adolin once again had three people to fight. Relis scored a hit on his helm, and the thing exploded, exposing the prince’s face. He would not last much longer.
Kaladin charged up to Elit, who was trying to hobble off the field in defeat. “Remove your helm,” Kaladin shouted at him.
The man turned to him with a shocked posture.
“Your helm!” Kaladin screamed, raising his weapon to strike again.
In the stands, people shouted. Kaladin wasn’t sure of the rules, but he had a suspicion that if he struck this man, he would forfeit the duel. Maybe even face criminal charges. Fortunately, he wasn’t forced to make good on the threat, as Elit removed his helm. Kaladin snatched it from his hand, then left him and ran toward Adolin.
As he ran, Kaladin dropped his broken spear and shoved his hand into the helm from the bottom. He’d learned something about Shardplate—it attached itself automatically to its bearer. He’d hoped it might work for the helm now, and it did—the inside tightened around his wrist. When he let go, the helm remained on his hand like a very strange glove.
Taking a deep breath, Kaladin yanked out his side knife. He’d started carrying one meant for throwing again, as he had as a spearman before his captivity, though he was out of practice with that. Throwing wouldn’t work against that armor anyway; this was a pitiful weapon against Shardbearers. Still, he could not use the spear one-handed. He charged Relis again.
This time, Relis backed away immediately. He watched Kaladin, sword held out. At least Kaladin had managed to worry him.
Kaladin advanced, backing him away. Relis went easily, keeping his distance. Kaladin made a show of it, darting in, backing the man away as if to give the two of them space to fight. The Shardbearer would be eager for this; with his Blade, he would want a good open area around them. Tight quarters would favor Kaladin’s knife.
However, once a sufficient distance away, Kaladin turned and dashed back toward Adolin and the two men he was fighting. He left Relis standing there in an anxious pose, momentarily befuddled by Kaladin’s retreat.
Adolin glanced at Kaladin, then nodded.
The man in green turned with surprise at Kaladin’s advance. He swung, and Kaladin caught the blow on the Shardplate helm he carried, deflecting it. The man grunted as Adolin threw everything he had at the other Shardbearer, the one in orange, slamming his weapon down again and again.
For a short time, Adolin had only one foe to fight. Hopefully he could use that time well, though his steps were lethargic and his Plate’s leaking Stormlight had slowed to a trickle. His legs were nearly immobile.
Green Plate attacked Kaladin again, who deflected the blow off the helm, which cracked and began leaking Stormlight. Relis came charging up on the other side, but didn’t join the fight against Adolin—instead, he thrust at Kaladin.
Kaladin gritted his teeth, dodging to the side, feeling the Blade pass in the air. He had to buy Adolin time. Moments. He needed moments.
The wind began to blow around him. Syl returned to him, zipping through the air as a ribbon of light.
Kaladin ducked another blow, then slammed his improvised shield against the Blade of the other, throwing it back. Sand flew as Kaladin leaped back, a Shardblade biting the ground before him.
Wind. Motion. Kaladin fought two Shardbearers at once, knocking their Blades aside with the helm. He couldn’t attack—didn’t dare try to attack. He could only survive, and in this, the winds seemed to urge him.
Instinct . . . then something deeper . . . guided his steps. He danced between those Blades, cool air wrapping around him. And for a moment, he felt—impossibly—that he could have dodged just as well if his eyes had been closed.
The Shardbearers cursed, trying again and again. Kaladin heard the judge say something, but was too absorbed in the fight to pay attention. The crowd was growing louder. He leaped one attack, then stepped just to the side of another.
You could not kill the wind. You could not stop it. It was beyond the touch of men. It was infinite. . . .
His Stormlight ran out.
Kaladin stumbled to a halt. He tried to suck in more, but all of his spheres were drained.
The helm, he realized, noticing that
it was gushing Stormlight from its numerous cracks, yet hadn’t exploded. It had somehow fed upon his Stormlight.
Relis attacked and Kaladin barely scrambled out of the way. His back hit the wall of the arena.
Green Plate saw his opening and raised his Blade.
Someone hopped on him from behind.
Kaladin watched, dumbfounded, as Adolin grappled Green Plate, latching on to him. Adolin’s armor hardly leaked at all anymore; his Stormlight was exhausted. It seemed that he could barely move—the sand nearby displayed a set of lurching tracks that led away from Orange Plate, who lay in the sand defeated.
That was what the judge had said just earlier: the man in orange had yielded. Adolin had beaten his foe, then walked slowly—one laborious step after another—over to where Kaladin fought. It looked like he’d used his final bit of energy to hop up on Green Plate’s back and grab hold.
Green Plate cursed, swatting at Adolin. The prince held on, and his Plate had locked, as they called it—becoming heavy and almost impossible to move.
The two teetered, then toppled over.
Kaladin looked at Relis, who glanced from the fallen Green Plate to the man in orange, then to Kaladin.
Relis turned and dashed across the sands toward Renarin.
Kaladin cursed, scrambling after him and tossing the helm aside. His body felt sluggish without the Stormlight to help.
“Renarin!” Kaladin yelled. “Yield!”
The boy looked up. Storms, he’d been crying. Was he hurt? He didn’t look it.
“Surrender!” Kaladin said, trying to run faster, summoning every drop of energy from muscles that felt drained, exhausted from being inflated by Stormlight.
The lad focused on Relis, who was bearing down on him, but said nothing. Instead, Renarin dismissed his Blade.
Relis skidded to a stop, raising his Blade high over his head toward the defenseless prince. Renarin closed his eyes, looking upward, as if exposing his throat.
Kaladin wasn’t going to arrive in time. He was too slow compared to a man in Plate.
Relis hesitated, fortunately, as if unwilling to strike Renarin.
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