Words of Radiance

In the stands, people shouted. Kaladin wasn’t sure of the rules, but he had a suspicion that if he struck this man, he would forfeit the duel. Maybe even face criminal charges. Fortunately, he wasn’t forced to make good on the threat, as Elit removed his helm. Kaladin snatched it from his hand, then left him and ran toward Adolin.

As he ran, Kaladin dropped his broken spear and shoved his hand into the helm from the bottom. He’d learned something about Shardplate—it attached itself automatically to its bearer. He’d hoped it might work for the helm now, and it did—the inside tightened around his wrist. When he let go, the helm remained on his hand like a very strange glove.

Taking a deep breath, Kaladin yanked out his side knife. He’d started carrying one meant for throwing again, as he had as a spearman before his captivity, though he was out of practice with that. Throwing wouldn’t work against that armor anyway; this was a pitiful weapon against Shardbearers. Still, he could not use the spear one-handed. He charged Relis again.

This time, Relis backed away immediately. He watched Kaladin, sword held out. At least Kaladin had managed to worry him.

Kaladin advanced, backing him away. Relis went easily, keeping his distance. Kaladin made a show of it, darting in, backing the man away as if to give the two of them space to fight. The Shardbearer would be eager for this; with his Blade, he would want a good open area around them. Tight quarters would favor Kaladin’s knife.

However, once a sufficient distance away, Kaladin turned and dashed back toward Adolin and the two men he was fighting. He left Relis standing there in an anxious pose, momentarily befuddled by Kaladin’s retreat.

Adolin glanced at Kaladin, then nodded.

The man in green turned with surprise at Kaladin’s advance. He swung, and Kaladin caught the blow on the Shardplate helm he carried, deflecting it. The man grunted as Adolin threw everything he had at the other Shardbearer, the one in orange, slamming his weapon down again and again.

For a short time, Adolin had only one foe to fight. Hopefully he could use that time well, though his steps were lethargic and his Plate’s leaking Stormlight had slowed to a trickle. His legs were nearly immobile.

Green Plate attacked Kaladin again, who deflected the blow off the helm, which cracked and began leaking Stormlight. Relis came charging up on the other side, but didn’t join the fight against Adolin—instead, he thrust at Kaladin.

Kaladin gritted his teeth, dodging to the side, feeling the Blade pass in the air. He had to buy Adolin time. Moments. He needed moments.

The wind began to blow around him. Syl returned to him, zipping through the air as a ribbon of light.

Kaladin ducked another blow, then slammed his improvised shield against the Blade of the other, throwing it back. Sand flew as Kaladin leaped back, a Shardblade biting the ground before him.

Wind. Motion. Kaladin fought two Shardbearers at once, knocking their Blades aside with the helm. He couldn’t attack—didn’t dare try to attack. He could only survive, and in this, the winds seemed to urge him.

Instinct… then something deeper… guided his steps. He danced between those Blades, cool air wrapping around him. And for a moment, he felt—impossibly—that he could have dodged just as well if his eyes had been closed.

The Shardbearers cursed, trying again and again. Kaladin heard the judge say something, but was too absorbed in the fight to pay attention. The crowd was growing louder. He leaped one attack, then stepped just to the side of another.

You could not kill the wind. You could not stop it. It was beyond the touch of men. It was infinite…

His Stormlight ran out.

Kaladin stumbled to a halt. He tried to suck in more, but all of his spheres were drained.

The helm, he realized, noticing that it was gushing Stormlight from its numerous cracks, yet hadn’t exploded. It had somehow fed upon his Stormlight.

Relis attacked and Kaladin barely scrambled out of the way. His back hit the wall of the arena.

Green Plate saw his opening and raised his Blade.

Someone hopped on him from behind.

Kaladin watched, dumbfounded, as Adolin grappled Green Plate, latching on to him. Adolin’s armor hardly leaked at all anymore; his Stormlight was exhausted. It seemed that he could barely move—the sand nearby displayed a set of lurching tracks that led away from Orange Plate, who lay in the sand defeated.

That was what the judge had said just earlier: the man in orange had yielded. Adolin had beaten his foe, then walked slowly—one laborious step after another—over to where Kaladin fought. It looked like he’d used his final bit of energy to hop up on Green Plate’s back and grab hold.

Green Plate cursed, swatting at Adolin. The prince held on, and his Plate had locked, as they called it—becoming heavy and almost impossible to move.

The two teetered, then toppled over.

Kaladin looked at Relis, who glanced from the fallen Green Plate to the man in orange, then to Kaladin.