Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive 2)

“What’s wrong with you?” Adolin said. “This is the dream of every soldier, darkeyed or light. Is this out of spite? Or… is it…” Adolin seemed completely baffled.

“It’s not out of spite,” Kaladin said, speaking softly. “Adolin, those Blades have killed too many people I love. I can’t look at them, can’t touch them, without seeing blood.”

“You’d be lighteyed,” Adolin whispered. “Even if it didn’t change your eye color, you’d count as one. Shardbearers are immediately of the fourth dahn. You could challenge Amaram. Your whole life would change.”

“I don’t want my life to change because I’ve become a lighteyes,” Kaladin said. “I want the lives of people like me… like I am now… to change. This gift is not for me, Adolin. I’m not trying to spite you or anyone else. I just don’t want a Shardblade.”

“That assassin is going to come back,” Adolin said. “We both know it. I’d rather have you there with Shards to back me up.”

“I’ll be more useful without them.”

Adolin frowned.

“Let me give the Shards to Moash,” Kaladin said. “You saw, on that field, that I can handle myself fine without a Blade and Plate. If we Shard-up one of my best men, there will be three of us to fight him, not just two.”

Adolin looked into the room, then skeptically back at Kaladin. “You are crazy, you realize.”

“I’ll accept that.”

“Fine,” Adolin said, striding back into the room. “You. Moash, was it? I guess those Shards are yours, now. Congratulations. You now outrank ninety percent of Alethkar. Pick yourself a family name and ask to join one of the houses under Dalinar’s banner, or start your own if you are inclined.”

Moash glanced at Kaladin for confirmation. Kaladin nodded.

The tall bridgeman walked to the side of the room, reaching out a hand to rest his fingers on the Shardblade. He ran those fingers all the way down to the hilt, then seized it, lifting the Blade in awe. Like most, it was enormous, but Moash held it easily in one hand. The heliodor set into the pommel flashed with a burst of light.

Moash looked to the others of Bridge Four, a sea of wide eyes and speechless mouths. Gloryspren rose around him, a spinning mass of at least two dozen spheres of light.

“His eyes,” Lopen said. “Shouldn’t they be changing?”

“If it happens,” Adolin said, “it might not be until he’s bonded the thing. That takes a week.”

“Put the Plate on me,” Moash said to the armorers. Urgent, as if he feared it would be taken from him.

“Enough of this!” Rock said as the armorers began to work, his voice filling the room like captive thunder. “We have party to give! Great Captain Kaladin, Stormblessed and dweller in prisons, you will come eat my stew now. Ha! I have been cooking it as long as you were locked away.”

Kaladin let the bridgemen usher him out into the sunlight, where a crowd of soldiers waited—including many of the bridgemen from other crews. These cheered, and Kaladin caught sight of Dalinar waiting off to the side. Adolin moved to join his father, but Dalinar watched Kaladin. What did that look mean? So pensive. Kaladin looked away, accepting the greetings of bridgemen as they clasped his hand and clapped him on the back.

“What did you say, Rock?” Kaladin said. “You cooked a stew for each day I was locked in prison?”

“No,” Teft said, scratching his beard. “The storming Horneater has been cooking a single pot, letting it simmer for weeks now. He won’t let us try it, and insists on getting up at night and tending it.”

“Is celebratory stew,” Rock said, folding his arms. “Must simmer long time.”

“Well, let’s get to it, then,” Kaladin said. “I could certainly use something better than prison food.”

The men cheered, piling off toward their barrack. As they moved, Kaladin grabbed Teft by the arm. “How did the men take it?” he asked. “My imprisonment?”

“There was talk of breaking you out,” Teft admitted softly. “I beat some sense into them. Ain’t no good soldier who hasn’t spent a day or two locked up. It’s part of the job. They didn’t demote you, so they just wanted to slap your wrist a little. The men saw the truth of it.”

Kaladin nodded.

Teft glanced at the others. “There’s quite a lot of anger among them about this Amaram fellow. And a lot of interest. Anything about your past gets them talking, you know.”

“Lead them back to the barrack,” Kaladin said. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

“Don’t take too long,” Teft said. “The lads have been guarding this doorway for three weeks now. You owe them their celebration.”

“I’ll be along,” Kaladin said. “I just want to say a few things to Moash.”

Teft nodded and jogged off to wrangle the others. The prison’s front room felt empty when Kaladin walked back in. Only Moash and the armorers remained. Kaladin walked up to them, watching Moash make a fist with his gauntlet.

“I’m still having trouble believing this, Kal,” Moash said as the armorers fit on his breastplate. “Storms… I’m now worth more than some kingdoms.”

“I wouldn’t suggest selling the Shards, at least not to a foreigner,” Kaladin said. “That sort of thing can be considered treason.”

“Sell?” Moash said, looking up sharply. He made another fist. “Never.” He smiled, a grin of pure joy as the breastplate locked into place.

“I’ll help him with the rest,” Kaladin said to the armorers. They withdrew reluctantly, leaving Kaladin and Moash alone.

He helped Moash fit one of the pauldrons to his shoulder. “I had a lot of time to think, in there,” Kaladin said.

“I can imagine.”

“The time led me to a few decisions,” Kaladin said as the section of Plate locked into place. “One is that your friends are right.”

Moash turned to him sharply. “So…”

“So tell them I agree with their plan,” Kaladin said. “I’ll do what they want me to in order to help them… accomplish their task.”

The room grew strangely still.

Moash took him by the arm. “I told them you’d see.” He gestured to the Plate he wore. “This will help too, with what we must do. And once we’ve finished, I think a certain man you challenged might need the same treatment.”

“I only agree,” Kaladin said, “because it’s for the best. For you, Moash, this is about revenge—and don’t try to deny it. I really think it is what Alethkar needs. Maybe what the world needs.”

“Oh, I know,” Moash said, putting on the helmet, visor up. He took a deep breath, then took a step and stumbled, nearly crashing to the ground. He steadied himself by grabbing a table, which he crunched beneath his fingers, the wood splitting.

He stared at what he’d done, then laughed. “This… this is going to change everything. Thank you, Kaladin. Thank you.”

“Let’s get those armorers and help you take it off,” Kaladin said.

“No. You go to Rock’s storming feast. I’m going to the sparring grounds to practice! I won’t take this off until I can move in it naturally.”