Back here again. He took a deep breath and steadied himself as best he could on his good leg, then raised the spear, point toward Moash.
Storms, his leg hurt.
“Kal, the king is obviously wounded,” Moash said. “We followed your trail of blood here. He’s practically dead already.”
Trail of blood. Kaladin blinked bleary eyes. Of course. His thoughts were coming slowly. He should have caught that.
Moash stopped a few feet from Kaladin, just out of easy striking range with the spear. “What are you going to do, Kal?” Moash demanded, looking at the spear pointed toward him. “Would you really attack a member of Bridge Four?”
“You left Bridge Four the moment you turned against our duty,” Kaladin whispered.
“And you’re different?”
“No, I’m not,” Kaladin said, feeling a hollowness in his stomach. “But I’m trying to change that.”
Moash took another step forward, but Kaladin pushed the spear point upward, toward Moash’s face. His friend hesitated, raising his gauntleted hands in a warding gesture.
Graves moved forward, but Moash shooed him away, then turned to Kaladin. “What do you think this will accomplish, Kal? If you get in our way, you’ll just get yourself killed, and the king will still be dead. You want me to know you don’t agree with this? Fine. You tried. Now you’re overmatched, and there is no point in fighting. Put down the spear.”
Kaladin glanced over his shoulder. The king was still breathing.
Moash’s armor clinked. Kaladin turned back, raising the spear again. Storms… his head was really throbbing now.
“I mean it, Kal,” Moash said.
“You’d attack me?” Kaladin said. “Your captain? Your
“Don’t turn this around on me.”
“Why not? Which is more important to you? Me or petty vengeance?”
“He
“I know.”
“Then why are you protecting him?”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“That’s a load of—”
“It
“But Moash, we’re
Moash hesitated. Graves clinked up beside him, but again Moash raised a hand, stopping him. Moash met Kaladin’s eyes, then shook his head. “Sorry, Kal. It’s too late.”
“You won’t have him. I won’t back down.”
“I guess I wouldn’t want you to.” Moash slammed his faceplate down, the sides misting as it sealed.
84. The One Who Saves
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The stone block slid inward, confirming Shallan’s deduction. They had opened a building that hadn’t been entered, or even seen, for centuries. Renarin stepped back from the hole he’d made, giving Shallan a chance to step forward. The air from inside smelled stale, musty.
Renarin dismissed his Blade, and oddly, as he did so, he let out a relieved sigh and relaxed against the outer wall of the building. Shallan moved to enter, but the bridgemen slipped in front of her to check the building’s safety first, raising sapphire lanterns.
The light revealed majesty.
Shallan’s breath caught in her throat. The large, circular room was a space worthy of a palace or temple. A mosaic mural covered the wall and floor with majestic images and dazzling color. Knights in armor stood before swirling skies of red and blue. People from all walks of life were depicted in all manner of settings, each crafted from vivid colors of every kind of stone—a masterwork that brought the whole world into one room.