Words of Radiance

Relis turned and dashed across the sands toward Renarin.

Kaladin cursed, scrambling after him and tossing the helm aside. His body felt sluggish without the Stormlight to help.

“Renarin!” Kaladin yelled. “Yield!”

The boy looked up. Storms, he’d been crying. Was he hurt? He didn’t look it.

“Surrender!” Kaladin said, trying to run faster, summoning every drop of energy from muscles that felt drained, exhausted from being inflated by Stormlight.

The lad focused on Relis, who was bearing down on him, but said nothing. Instead, Renarin dismissed his Blade.

Relis skidded to a stop, raising his Blade high over his head toward the defenseless prince. Renarin closed his eyes, looking upward, as if exposing his throat.

Kaladin wasn’t going to arrive in time. He was too slow compared to a man in Plate.

Relis hesitated, fortunately, as if unwilling to strike Renarin.

Kaladin arrived. Relis spun around and swung at him instead.

Kaladin skidded to his knees in the sand, momentum carrying him forward a short distance as the Blade fell. He raised his hands and snapped them together.

Catching the Blade.

Screaming.

Why could he hear screaming? Inside his head? Was that Syl’s voice?

It reverberated through Kaladin. That horrible, awful screech shook him, made his muscles tremble. He released the Shardblade with a gasp, falling backward.

Relis dropped the Blade as if bitten. He backed away, raising his hands to his head. “What is it? What is it! No, I didn’t kill you!” He shrieked as if in great pain, then ran across the sands and pulled open the door to the preparation room, fleeing inside. Kaladin heard his screams echoing inside the hallways there long after the man vanished.

The arena grew still.

“Highlord Relis Ruthar,” the judge finally called, sounding disturbed, “forfeits by cause of leaving the dueling arena.”

Kaladin climbed, trembling, to his feet. He glanced at Renarin—the lad was fine—then slowly crossed the arena. Even the watching darkeyes had grown silent. Kaladin was pretty sure they hadn’t heard that strange scream, though. It had only been audible to him and Relis.

He stepped up to Adolin and Green Plate.

“Stand up and fight me!” Green Plate shouted. He lay faceup on the ground, Adolin buried beneath him and holding on in a wrestling grip.

Kaladin knelt down. Green Plate struggled more as Kaladin retrieved his side knife from the sand, then pressed the tip of it into the opening in Green Plate’s armor.

The man grew perfectly still.

“You going to yield?” Kaladin growled. “Or do I get to kill my second Shardbearer?”

Silence.

“Storms curse you both!” Green Plate finally shouted inside his helm. “This wasn’t a duel, this was a circus! Grappling is the way of the coward!”

Kaladin pressed the knife in farther.

“I yield!” the man yelled, holding up his hand. “Storm you, I yield!”

“Brightlord Jakamav yields,” the judge said. “The day goes to Brightlord Adolin.”

The darkeyes in their seats cheered. The lighteyes seemed stunned. Above, Syl spun with the winds, and Kaladin could feel her joy. Adolin released Green Plate, who rolled off him and stomped away. Underneath, the prince lay in a depression in the sand, head and shoulder exposed through broken pieces of Plate.

He was laughing.

Kaladin sat down beside the prince as Adolin laughed himself silly, tears streaming from his eyes.

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” Adolin said. “Oh, wow… Ha! I think I just won three full suits of Plate and two Blades, bridgeboy. Here, help me get this armor off.”

“Your armorer can do that,” Kaladin said.

“No time,” Adolin said, trying to sit up. “Storms. Completely drained. Hurry, help with this. There’s something yet for me to do.”

Challenge Sadeas, Kaladin realized. That was the point of all of this. He reached in under Adolin’s gauntlet, helping him undo the strap there. The gauntlet didn’t come off automatically, as it was supposed to. Adolin really had completely drained the suit.

They pulled the gauntlet off, then worked on the other one. A few minutes later, Renarin wandered over and helped. Kaladin didn’t ask him about what had happened. The lad provided some spheres, and after Kaladin had tucked those in under Adolin’s loosened breastplate, the armor started to function again.

They worked to the roar of the crowd as Adolin finally got free of the Plate and stood up. Ahead, the king had stepped up beside the judge, one foot on the railing around the arena. He looked down at Adolin, who nodded.

This is Adolin’s chance, Kaladin realized, but it can be my chance too.

The king raised his hands, quieting the crowd.

“Warrior, duelmaster,” the king shouted, “I am greatly pleased by what you have accomplished today. This was a fight the like of which hasn’t been seen in Alethkar for generations. You have pleased your king greatly.”

Cheering.

I could do this, Kaladin thought.