Words of Radiance

Dalinar brought the heels of his palms together as the Blade fell, and he caught it just before it hit.

The assassin grunted in surprise.

At that moment, Kaladin plowed into him, using his weight and momentum to throw the assassin against the wall. Except there wasn’t a wall here. They hit the place where the assassin had cut his entrance into the corridor.

Both tumbled out into the open air.

33. Burdens

But it is not impossible to blendTheir Surges to ours in the end.It has been promised and it can come.

Or do we understand the sum?We question not if they can have us then,But if we dare to have them again.From the Listener Song of Spren, 10th stanza

Kaladin fell with the rain.

He clung to the assassin’s bone-white clothing with his one working hand. The assassin’s dropped Shardblade exploded into mist beside them, and together they plummeted toward the ground a hundred feet below.

The tempest within Kaladin was almost still. Too little Stormlight!

The assassin suddenly started glowing more powerfully.

He has spheres.

Kaladin breathed in sharply, and Light streamed from spheres in pouches at the assassin’s waist. As the Light streamed into Kaladin, the assassin kicked at him. One handhold was not enough, and Kaladin was thrown free.

Then he hit.

He hit hard. No preparation, no getting his feet beneath him. He smacked against cold, wet stone, and his vision flashed like lightning.

It cleared a moment later, and he found himself lying on the rocks at the base of the rise that led to the king’s palace, a gentle rain sprinkling him. He looked up at the distant light of the hole in the wall above. He’d survived.

One question answered, he thought, struggling to his knees on the wet rock. The Stormlight was already working on his skin, which was shredded along his right side. He’d broken something in his shoulder; he could feel its healing as a burning pain that slowly retreated.

But his right forearm and hand, faintly lit by the Stormlight rising from the rest of him, were still a dull grey. Like a dead candle in a row, this part of him did not glow. He couldn’t feel it; he couldn’t even move the fingers. They drooped, limp, as he cradled the hand.

Nearby, the Assassin in White stood up straight in the rain. He’d somehow gotten his feet beneath him and landed, in control, with poise. This man had a level of experience with his powers that made Kaladin look like a new recruit.

The assassin turned on Kaladin, then stopped short. He spoke softly in a language Kaladin didn’t understand, the words breathy and sibilant, bearing lots of “sh” sounds.

Got to move, Kaladin thought. Before he summons that Blade again. Unfortunately, he failed to shove down the horror at having lost the hand. No more spear fighting. No more surgery. Both men he had learned to be were now lost to him.

Except… he could almost feel…

“Did I Lash you?” the assassin asked in accented Alethi. His eyes had darkened, losing their sapphire blue quality. “To the ground? But why did you not die falling? No. I must have Lashed you upward. Impossible.” He stepped back.

A moment of surprise. A moment to live. Perhaps… Kaladin felt the Light working, the tempest within straining and pushing. He gritted his teeth and heaved somehow.

The color returned to his hand, and feeling—cold pain—suddenly flooded his arm, hand, fingers. Light began to stream from his hand.

“No…” the assassin said. “No!”

Whatever Kaladin had done to his hand had consumed much of his Light and his overall glow faded, leaving him barely alight. Still on his knees, gritting his teeth, Kaladin grabbed the knife from his belt, but found his grip weak. He almost fumbled the weapon as he got it free.

He swapped the knife to his off hand. It would have to do.

He threw himself to his feet and charged the assassin. Have to hit him quickly to have a chance.

The assassin jumped backward, soaring a good ten feet, his white clothing rippling in the night air. He landed with a lithe grace, Shardblade appearing in his hand. “What are you?” he demanded.

“Same thing you are,” Kaladin said. He felt a wave of nausea, but forced himself to appear firm. “Windrunner.”

“You can’t be.”

Kaladin held up the knife, the few wisps of remaining Light steaming from his skin. Rain sprinkled him.

The assassin scrambled backward, eyes as wide as if Kaladin had turned into a chasmfiend. “They told me I was a liar!” the assassin screamed. “They told me I was wrong! Szeth-son-son-Vallano… Truthless. They named me Truthless!”