Words of Radiance

“You have to kill to protect,” he snapped. “Storms. You’re starting to sound as bad as my father.”

He tried a few more stances, until finally Ivis came over and gave him some corrections. She laughed at his frustration as he held the sword wrong again. “You expected to pick this up in one day?”

He kind of had. He knew the spear; he’d trained long and hard. He thought that maybe, this would all just click.

It didn’t. He kept on anyway, going through the motions, kicking up cold sand, mixing among the lighteyes sparring and practicing their own forms. Eventually, Zahel wandered by.

“Keep at it,” the man said without even inspecting Kaladin’s forms.

“I was under the impression you’d be training me personally,” Kaladin called after him.

“Too much work,” Zahel called back, digging a canteen of something from a bundle of cloth beside one of the pillars. Another ardent had piled his colored rocks there, which made Zahel scowl.

Kaladin jogged up to him. “I saw Dalinar Kholin, while unarmed and unarmored, catch a Shardblade in midair with the flats of his palms.”

Zahel grunted. “Old Dalinar pulled off a lastclap, eh? Good for him.”

“Can you teach me?”

“It’s a stupid maneuver,” Zahel said. “When it works, it’s only because most Shardbearers learn to swing their weapons without as much force as they would a regular blade. And it doesn’t usually work; it usually fails, and you’re dead when it does. Better to focus your time practicing things that will actively help you.”

Kaladin nodded.

“Not going to push me on it?” Zahel asked.

“Your argument is good,” Kaladin said. “Solid soldier’s logic. Makes sense.”

“Huh. Might be hope for you after all.” Zahel took a swig from his canteen. “Now go get back to practicing.”

Shallan’s Sketchbook: Shardplate

45. Middlefest

THREE AND A HALF YEARS AGO

Shallan poked at the cage, and the colorful creature inside shifted on its perch, cocking its head at her.

It was the most bizarre thing she’d ever seen. It stood on two feet like a person, though its feet were clawed. It was only about as tall as two fists atop one another, but the way it turned its head as it looked at her showed unmistakable personality.

The thing only had a little bit of shell—on the nose and mouth—but the strangest part was its hair. It had bright green hair that covered its entire body. The hair lay flat, as if manicured. As she watched, the creature turned and began to pick at the hair—a large flap of it lifted up, and she could see it grew out of a central spine.

“What does the young lady think of my chicken?” the merchant said proudly, standing with hands clasped behind his back, ample stomach thrust forward like the prow of a ship. Behind, people moved through the fair in a throng. There were so many. Five hundred, perhaps even more, people in the same place.

“Chicken,” Shallan said, poking at the cage with a timid finger. “I’ve eaten chicken before.”

“Not this breed!” the Thaylen man said with a laugh. “Chickens for eating are stupid—this one is smart, almost as smart as a man! It can speak. Listen. Jeksonofnone! Say your name!”

“Jeksonofnone,” the creature said.

Shallan jumped back. The word was mangled by the creature’s inhuman voice, but it was recognizable. “A Voidbringer!” she hissed, safehand to her chest. “An animal that speaks! You’ll bring the eyes of the Unmade upon us.”

The merchant laughed. “These things live all over Shinovar, young lady. If their speech drew the Unmade, the entire country would be cursed!”

“Shallan!” Father stood with his bodyguards where he had been speaking to another merchant across the way. She hurried toward him, looking over her shoulder at the strange animal. Deviant though the thing was, if it could talk, she felt sorry for its being trapped in that cage.

The Middlefest Fair was a highlight of the year. Set during the midpeace—a period opposite the Weeping when there were no storms—it drew people from hamlets and villages all around. Many of the people here were from lands her father oversaw, including lesser lighteyes from families who had ruled the same villages for centuries.

The darkeyes came too, of course, including merchants—citizens of the first and second nahns. Her father didn’t speak of it often, but she knew he found their wealth and station inappropriate. The Almighty had chosen the lighteyes to rule, not these merchants.

“Come along,” Father said to her.

Shallan followed him and his bodyguards through the busy fair, which was laid out on her father’s estates about a half day’s travel from the mansion. The basin was fairly well sheltered, the slopes nearby covered in jella trees. Their strong branches grew spindly leaves—long spikes of pink, yellow, and orange, and so the trees looked like explosions of color. Shallan had read in one of her father’s books that the trees drew in crem, then used it to make their wood hard, like rock.