Words of Radiance

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 direction 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.