Words of Radiance

The horse snorted again, and Kaladin found himself laughing. Storms, but that had felt good! He couldn’t explain why, but the act of clinging for dear life to the thrashing animal had been truly exhilarating.

As Kaladin stood and dusted himself off, Dalinar himself broke through the crowd, brow furrowed. Kaladin hadn’t realized the highprince had still been nearby. He looked from Dreamstorm to Kaladin, then raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t chase down assassins on a placid mount, sir,” Kaladin said, saluting.

“Yes,” Dalinar said, “but it is customary to start training men by using weapons without edges, soldier. Are you all right?”

“Fine, sir,” Kaladin said.

“Well, it seems your men are taking to the training,” Dalinar said. “I’m going to put in a requisition release. You and five others you select are to come here and practice every day for the next few weeks.”

“Yes, sir.” He’d find the time. Somehow.

“Good,” Dalinar said. “I received your proposal for initial patrols outside of the warcamps, and thought it looked good. Why don’t you start in two weeks, and bring some horses with you to practice out in the field.”

Jenet made a strangled sound. “Outside the city, Brightlord? But . . . bandits . . .”

“The horses are here to be used, Jenet,” Dalinar said. “Captain, you’ll be sure to bring enough troops to protect the horses, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Kaladin said.

“Good. But do leave that one behind,” Dalinar said, waving toward Dreamstorm.

“Er, yes, sir.”

Dalinar nodded, moving off and raising his hand toward someone Kaladin couldn’t see. Kaladin rubbed his elbow, which he’d smacked. The remaining Stormlight in his body had healed his head first, then run out before getting to his arm.

Bridge Four moved to their horses as Jenet called out for them to remount and start a second phase of training. Kaladin found himself standing near Adolin, who remained mounted.

“Thanks,” Adolin said, grudgingly.

“For?” Kaladin asked, walking past him toward Spray, who continued to chew at grass, uncaring of the fuss.

“Not telling Father I put you up to that.”

“I’m not an idiot, Adolin,” Kaladin said, swinging into his saddle. “I could see what I was getting myself into.” He turned his horse away from her meal with some difficulty, and got some more pointers from a groom.

Eventually, Kaladin trotted over toward Natam again. The gait was bouncy, but he mostly got the hang of moving with the horse—they called it posting—to keep from slapping around too much.

Natam watched him as he moved up. “That’s unfair, sir.”

“What I did with Dreamstorm?”

“No. The way you just ride like that. Seems so natural for you.”

Didn’t feel that way. “I want to talk some more about that night.”

“Sir?” the long-faced man asked. “I haven’t thought of anything yet. Been a little distracted.”

“I have another question,” Kaladin said, bringing their horses up beside one another. “I asked you about your shift during the day, but what about right after I left? Did anyone other than the king go out onto the balcony?”

“Just guards, sir,” Natam said.

“Tell me which ones,” Kaladin said. “Maybe they saw something.”

Natam shrugged. “I mainly watched the door. The king remained in the sitting room for a time. I guess Moash went out.”

“Moash,” Kaladin said, frowning. “Wasn’t his shift supposed to be done soon?”

“Yeah,” Natam said. “He stayed around a little extra time; said he wanted to see the king settled. While waiting, Moash went out to watch the balcony. You usually want one of us out there.”

“Thanks,” Kaladin said. “I’ll ask him.”

Kaladin found Moash diligently listening to Jenet explain something. Moash seemed to have picked up riding quickly—he seemed to pick up everything quickly. Certainly, he’d been the best student among the bridgemen when it came to fighting.

Kaladin watched him for a few moments, frowning. Then it struck him. What are you thinking? That Moash might have had something to do with the assassination attempt? Don’t be stupid. That was ridiculous. Besides, the man didn’t have a Shardblade.

Kaladin turned his horse away. As he did, however, he saw the person Dalinar had gone to meet. Brightlord Amaram. The two were too far away for Kaladin to hear them, but he could see the amusement on Dalinar’s face. Adolin and Renarin rode up to them, smiling broadly as Amaram waved to them.

The anger that surged within Kaladin—sudden, passionate, almost chokingly strong—made him clench his fists. His breath hissed out. That surprised him. He’d thought the hatred buried deeper than that.

He turned his horse pointedly the other direction, suddenly looking forward to the chance to go on patrol with the new recruits.

Getting away from the warcamps sounded very good to him.

They blame our people

For the loss of that land.

The city that once covered it

Did range the eastern strand.

The power made known in the tomes of our clan

Our gods were not who shattered these plains.

—From the Listener Song of Wars, 55th stanza

Adolin crashed into the Parshendi line, ignoring weapons, throwing his shoulder against the enemy at the front. The Parshendi man grunted, his song faltering, as Adolin spun about himself and swept with his Shardblade. Tugs on the weapon marked when it passed through flesh.

Adolin came out of his spin, ignoring the glow of Stormlight coming from a crack at his shoulder. Around him, bodies dropped, eyes burning in their skulls. Adolin’s breath, hot and humid, filled his helm as he puffed in and out.

There, he thought, raising his Blade and charging, his men filling in around him. Not those bridgemen, for once, but real soldiers. He’d left the bridgemen back on the assault plateau. He didn’t want men around him who didn’t want to fight Parshendi.

Adolin and his soldiers pushed through the Parshendi, joining up with a frantic set of soldiers in green uniforms with gold accents, led by a Shardbearer in matching colors. The man fought with a large Shardbearer’s hammer—he had no Blade of his own.

Adolin pushed through to him. “Jakamav?” he asked. “You all right?”

“All right?” Jakamav asked, voice muffled by his helm. He slammed the faceplate up, revealing a grin. “I’m wonderful.” He laughed, pale green eyes alight with the Thrill of the fight. Adolin recognized that feeling well.

“You were almost surrounded!” Adolin said, turning to face a group of Parshendi running up in pairs. Adolin respected them for coming at Shardbearers, rather than fleeing. It meant almost certain death, but if you won, you could turn the tide of a battle.

Jakamav laughed, sounding as pleased now as when enjoying a winehouse singer, and that laughter was infectious. Adolin found himself grinning as he engaged the Parshendi, sweeping them down with blow after blow. He never enjoyed simple warfare as much as a good duel, but for the moment, despite its crassness, he found challenge and joy in the fight.

Moments later, the dead lying at his feet, he spun about and searched for another challenge. This plateau was shaped very strangely; it had been a tall hill before the Plains were shattered, but half of it had ended up on the adjacent plateau. He couldn’t imagine what kind of force would have split the hill down the center, as opposed to cracking it at the base.

Well, it wasn’t an ordinary-shaped hill, so maybe that had something to do with the split. It was shaped more like a wide, flat pyramid with only three steps. A large base, a second plateau atop it that was perhaps a hundred feet across, then a third, smaller peak atop the other two, placed right in the center. Almost like a cake with three tiers that had been cut with a large knife right down the center.

Adolin and Jakamav fought on the second tier of the battlefield. Technically, Adolin wasn’t required to be on this run. It wasn’t his army’s turn in the rotation. However, the time had come to implement another part of Dalinar’s plan. Adolin had arrived with only a small strike force, but it was a good thing he had. Jakamav had been surrounded up here, on the second tier, and the regular army hadn’t been able to break through.

Now, the Parshendi had been pushed back to the sides of this tier. They still held the top tier completely; it was where the chrysalis had appeared. That put them in a bad position. Yes, they had the high ground, but they also had to hold the slopes between tiers to secure their withdrawal. They’d obviously hoped to get the harvesting done before the humans arrived.

Adolin kicked a Parshendi soldier over the edge, toppling him down thirty feet or so onto those fighting on the bottom tier, then looked to his right. The slope upward was there, but the Parshendi had the approach clogged. He’d really like to reach the top. . . .

He looked at the sheer cliff face between his tier and the one above. “Jakamav,” he called, pointing.

Jakamav followed Adolin’s gesture, looking upward. Then stepped back from the fighting.

“That’s crazy!” Jakamav said as Adolin jogged up.

“Sure is.”