The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive 1)

And…and the king. Szeth spun on the man. Irrationally, his confused, broken mind blamed this man. Why had he called a feast on this night? Why couldn’t he have retired early? Why had he invited so many people?

Szeth charged at the king. He passed the dead, who lay twisted on the floor, burned-out eyes staring in lifeless accusation. The king cowered behind his high table.

That high table shuddered, quivering oddly.

Something was wrong.

Instinctively, Szeth Lashed himself to the ceiling. From his viewpoint, the room flipped, and the floor was now the ceiling. Two figures burst out from beneath the king’s table. Two men in Plate, carrying Shardblades, swinging.

Twisting in the air, Szeth evaded their swings, then Lashed himself back to the floor, landing on the king’s table just as the king summoned a Shardblade. So the rumors were true.

The king struck, but Szeth jumped backward, landing beyond the Shardbearers. Outside, he could hear footfalls. Szeth glanced to see men pouring into the room. The newcomers carried distinctive, diamond-shaped shields. Half-shards. Szeth had heard of the new fabrials, capable of stopping a Shardblade.

“You think I didn’t know you were coming?” the king yelled at him. “After you killed three of my highprinces? We’re ready for you, assassin.” He lifted something from beneath the table. Another of those half-shard shields. They were made of metal imbedded with a gemstone hidden at the back.

“You are a fool,” Szeth said, Stormlight leaking from his mouth.

“Why?” the king called. “You think I should have run?”

“No,” Szeth replied, meeting his eyes. “Because you set a trap for me during a feast. And now I can blame you for their deaths.”

The soldiers fanned out through the room while the two fully armored Shardbearers stepped toward him, Blades out. The king smiled.

“So let it be,” Szeth said, breathing deeply, sucking in the Stormlight of the many gemstones tied in the pouches at his waist. The Light began to rage within him, like a highstorm in his chest, burning and screaming. He breathed in more than he’d ever held before, holding it until he was barely able to keep the Stormlight from ripping him apart.

Were those still tears in his eyes? Would that they could hide his crimes. He yanked the strap free at his waist, releasing his belt and the heavy spheres.

Then he dropped his Shardblade.

His opponents froze in shock as his Blade vanished to mist. Who would drop a Shardblade in the middle of a battle? It defied reason.

And so did Szeth.

You are a work of art, Szeth-son-Neturo. A god.

It was time to see.

The soldiers and Shardbearers charged. Mere heartbeats before they reached him, Szeth spun into motion, liquid tempest in his veins. He dodged between the initial sword strikes, spinning into the midst of the soldiers. Holding this much Stormlight made it easier to infuse things; the light wanted out, and it pushed against his skin. In this state, the Shardblade would only be a distraction. Szeth himself was the real weapon.

He grabbed the arm of an attacking soldier. It took only an instant to infuse and Lash him upward. The man cried out, falling into the air as Szeth ducked another sword thrust. He touched the attacker’s leg, inhumanly lithe. With a look and a blink, he Lashed that man to the ceiling as well.

Soldiers cursed, slashing at him, their bulky half-shards suddenly becoming hindrances as Szeth moved among them, graceful as a skyeel, touching arms, legs, shoulders, sending a dozen, then two dozen, men flying in all directions. Most went up, but he sent a barrage of them toward the approaching Shardbearers, who cried out as squirming bodies smashed into them.

He jumped backward as a squad of soldiers came at him, Lashing himself to the far wall and spinning into the air. The room changed orientations, and he landed on the wall–which was now down for him. He ran along it toward the king, who waited behind his Shardbearers.

“Kill him!” the king said. “Storm you all! What are you doing? Kill him!”

Szeth leaped off the wall, Lashing himself downward as he flipped, landing with one knee on the dining table. Silverware and plates clinked as he grabbed a dining knife and infused once, twice, three times. He used a triple Basic Lashing, pointing it in the direction of the king, then dropped it and Lashed himself backward.

He lurched away as one of the Shardbearers struck, cutting the table in half. Szeth’s released knife fell far more quickly than it should have, flashing toward the king. He barely got his shield up in time, eyes wide as the knife clanged against the metal.

Damnation, Szeth thought, Lashing himself upward with a quarter of a Basic Lashing. That didn’t pull him upward, it just made him much lighter. A quarter of his weight was now pulled upward instead of downward. In essence, he became half as heavy as he had been.

He twisted, white clothing flapping gracefully as he dropped amid the common soldiers. Soldiers he’d Lashed earlier began to fall from the high ceiling, their Stormlight running out. A rain of broken bodies, crashing one by one to the floor.

Szeth came at the soldiers again. Some men fell as he sent others flying. Their expensive shields clanged to the stones, falling from dead or stunned fingers. Soldiers tried to reach him, but Szeth danced between them, using the ancient martial art of kammar, which used only the hands. It was meant as a less deadly form of fighting, focused on grabbing enemies and using their weight against them, immobilizing them.

It was also ideal when one wanted to touch and infuse someone.

He was the storm. He was destruction. At his will, men flipped into the air, fell, and died. He swept outward, touching a table and Lashing it upward with half a Basic Lashing. With half its mass pulled upward, half downward, it became weightless. Szeth sprayed it with a Full Lashing, then kicked it toward the soldiers; they stuck to it, their clothing and skin bonding to the wood.

A Shardblade hissed through the air beside him, and Szeth exhaled lightly, Stormlight rising from his lips as he ducked out of the way. The two Shardbearers attacked as bodies fell from above, but Szeth was too quick, too limber. The Shardbearers didn’t work together. They were accustomed to dominating a battlefield or dueling with a single enemy. Their powerful weapons made them sloppy.

Szeth ran on light feet, held to the ground only half as much as other men. He easily leaped another swipe, Lashing himself to the ceiling to give himself just a little more lift before quarter-Lashing to make himself weighted down again. The result was an effortless leap of ten feet into the air.

The missed swing hit the ground and cut through the belt he’d dropped earlier, opening one of his large pouches. Spheres and bare gemstones sprayed across the floor. Some infused. Some dun. Szeth pulled Stormlight from those that rolled close.

Behind the Shardbearers, the king himself approached, weapon ready. He should have tried to run.

The two Shardbearers swung their oversized Blades at Szeth. He spun away from the attacks, reaching out and snatching a shield from the air as it tumbled toward the ground. The man who had been holding it crashed to the floor a second later.

Szeth leaped at one of the Shardbearers–a man in gold armor–deflecting his weapon with the shield and pushing past him. The other man, whose Plate was red, swung too. Szeth caught the Blade on his shield, which cracked, barely holding. Still pushing it against the Blade, Szeth Lashed himself behind the Shardbearer while jumping forward.