Words of Radiance

“Would you have me turn them away?”

“Think how spectacular this victory would be if we did it on our own.”

“I hope we’re above such vainglory, old friend,” Dalinar said. They rode for a time, passing Adolin and Shallan again. Dalinar scanned his force and noticed something. A tall man in blue sat on a stone in the midst of Bridge Four’s bodyguards.

Speaking of fools . . .

“Come with me,” Dalinar said to Amaram.

Amaram let his horse lag behind. “I think I should go see to—”

“Come,” Dalinar said sharply. “I want you to speak to that young man so we can put a stop to the rumors and the things he’s been saying about you. Those don’t do anyone any good.”

“Very well,” Amaram said, catching up.

* * *

Kaladin found himself standing up amid the bridgemen, despite the pain of his leg, as he noticed Adolin and Shallan riding past. He followed the pair with his eyes. Adolin, astride his thick-hooved Ryshadium, and Shallan on a more modestly sized brown animal.

She looked gorgeous. Kaladin was willing to admit it, if only to himself. Brilliant red hair, ready smile. She said something clever; Kaladin could almost hear the words. He waited, hoping that she’d look toward him, meet his eyes across the short distance.

She didn’t. She rode on, and Kaladin felt like an utter fool. A part of him wanted to hate Adolin for holding her attention, but he found that he couldn’t. The truth was, he liked Adolin. And those two were good for one another. They fit.

Perhaps Kaladin could hate that.

He settled back down on a rock, bowing his head. The bridgemen crowded in around him. Hopefully they hadn’t seen Kaladin following Shallan with his eyes, straining to hear her voice. Renarin stood, like a shade, at the back of the group. The bridgemen were coming to accept him, but he still seemed very awkward around them. Of course, he seemed awkward around most people.

I need to talk to him more about his condition, Kaladin thought. Something seemed off to him about that man and his explanation of the epilepsy.

“Why are you here, sir?” Bisig asked, drawing Kaladin’s attention back to the other bridgemen.

“I wanted to see you off,” Kaladin said, sighing. “I assumed you’d be happy to see me.”

“You are like child,” Rock said, wagging a thick finger at Kaladin. “What would you do, great Captain Stormblessed, if you caught one of these men walking about with hurt leg? You would have that man beaten! Once he healed, of course.”

“I thought,” Kaladin noted, “that I was your commander.”

“Nah, can’t be,” Teft said, “because our commander would be smart enough to stay in bed.”

“And eat much stew,” Rock said. “I left you stew to eat while I am gone.”

“You’re going on the expedition?” Kaladin asked, looking up at the large Horneater. “I thought you were just seeing the men off. You aren’t willing to fight. What will you do out there?”

“Someone must fix food for them,” Rock said. “This expedition, it will take days. I will not leave my friends to the mercy of camp chefs. Ha! The food they cook will all be from Soulcast grain and meat. Tastes like crem! Someone must come with proper spices.”

Kaladin looked up at the group of frowning men. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go back. Storms, I . . .”

Why were the bridgemen parting? Rock looked over his shoulder, then laughed, backing away. “Now we shall see real trouble.”

Behind them, Dalinar Kholin was climbing from his saddle. Kaladin sighed, then waved for Lopen to help him to his feet so he could salute properly. He got upright—earning a glare from Teft—before noticing that Dalinar was not alone.

Amaram. Kaladin stiffened, straining to keep his face expressionless.

Dalinar and Amaram approached. The pain in Kaladin’s leg seemed to fade, and for the moment he could only see that man. That monster of a man. Wearing Plate Kaladin had earned, a golden cloak billowing out behind, bearing the symbol of the Knights Radiant.

Control yourself, Kaladin thought. He managed to swallow his rage. Last time it had gotten the better of him, he’d earned himself weeks in prison.

“You should be resting, soldier,” Dalinar said.

“Yes, sir,” Kaladin replied. “My men have already made that abundantly clear.”

“Then you trained them well. I’m proud to have them along with me on this expedition.”

Teft saluted. “If there is danger to you, Brightlord, it will be out there on the Plains. We can’t protect you if we wait back here.”

Kaladin frowned, realizing something. “Skar is here . . . Teft . . . so who is watching the king?”

“We’ve seen to it, sir,” Teft said. “Brightlord Dalinar asked me leave our best man behind with a team of his own selection. They’ll watch the king.”

Their best man . . .

Coldness. Moash. Moash had been left in charge of the king’s safety, and had a team of his own choosing.

Storms.

“Amaram,” Dalinar said, waving for the highlord to step up. “You told me that you’d never seen this man before arriving here on the Shattered Plains. Is that true?”

Kaladin met the eyes of a murderer.

“Yes,” Amaram said.

“What of his claim that you took your Blade and Plate from him?” Dalinar asked.

“Brightlord,” Amaram said, taking Dalinar by the arm, “I don’t know if the lad is touched in the head or merely starved for attention. Perhaps he served in my army, as he claims—he certainly bears the correct slave brand. But his allegations regarding me are obviously preposterous.”

Dalinar nodded to himself, as if this were all expected. “I believe an apology is due.”

Kaladin struggled to remain upright, his leg feeling weak. So this would be his final punishment. Apologizing to Amaram in public. A humiliation above all others.

“I—” Kaladin began.

“Not you, son,” Dalinar said softly.

Amaram turned, posture suddenly more alert—like that of a man preparing for a fight. “Surely you don’t believe these allegations, Dalinar!”

“A few weeks ago,” Dalinar said, “I received two special visitors in camp. One was a trusted servant who had come from Kholinar in secret, bringing a precious cargo. The other was that cargo: a madman who had arrived at the gates of Kholinar carrying a Shardblade.”

Amaram paled and stepped back, hand going to his side.

“I told my servant,” Dalinar said calmly, “to go drinking with your personal guard—he knew many of them—and talk of a treasure that the madman said had been hidden for years outside the warcamp. By my order, he then placed the madman’s Shardblade in a nearby cavern. After that, we waited.”

He’s summoning his Blade, Kaladin thought, looking at Amaram’s hand. Kaladin reached for his side knife, but Dalinar was already raising his own hand.

White mist coalesced in Dalinar’s fingers, and a Shardblade appeared, tip to Amaram’s throat. Wider than most, it was almost cleaverlike in appearance.

A Blade formed in Amaram’s hand a second later—a second too late. His eyes went wide as he stared at the silvery Blade held to his throat.

Dalinar had a Shardblade.

“I thought,” Dalinar said, “that if you had been willing to murder for one Blade, you would certainly be willing to lie for a second. And so, after I knew you’d sneaked in to see the madman on your own, I asked you to investigate his claims for me. I gave your conscience plenty of time to come clean, out of respect for our friendship. When you told me you’d found nothing—but in fact you had actually recovered the Shardblade—I knew the truth.”

“How?” Amaram hissed, looking at the Blade Dalinar held. “How did you get it back? I removed it from the cave. My men had it safe!”

“I wasn’t about to risk it just to prove a point,” Dalinar said, cold. “I bonded this Blade before we hid it away.”

“That week you spent ill,” Amaram said.

“Yes.”

“Damnation.”

Dalinar exhaled, a hissing sound through his teeth. “Why, Amaram? Of all people, I thought that you . . . Bah!” Dalinar’s grip on the weapon tightened, knuckles white. Amaram raised his chin, as if thrusting his neck toward the point of the Shardblade.

“I did it,” Amaram said, “and I would do it again. The Voidbringers will soon return, and we must be strong enough to face them. That means practiced, accomplished Shardbearers. In sacrificing a few of my soldiers, I planned to save many more.”

“Lies!” Kaladin said, stumbling forward. “You just wanted the Blade for yourself!”

Amaram looked Kaladin in the eyes. “I am sorry for what I did to you and yours. Sometimes, good men must die so that greater goals may be accomplished.”

Kaladin felt a gathering chill, a numbness that spread from his heart outward.

He’s telling the truth, he thought. He . . . honestly believes that he did the right thing.

Amaram dismissed his Blade, turning back to Dalinar. “What now?”

“You are guilty of murder—of killing men for personal wealth.”