Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive 2)

You’re not cornered! What did Zahel mean? Of course he was cornered! It was the only way to face four. And how could he possibly face them one at a time? They’d never allow that.

Relis tested forward again, making Adolin shuffle sideways along the wall, focused on him. He had to turn somewhat to face Relis, however, and that put Abrobadar—moving up the other way, wearing orange—in his blind spot. Storms!

“They’re scared of you.” Zahel’s voice, drifting again above the crowd. “Do you see it in them? Show them why.”

Adolin hesitated. Relis stepped forward, making a Stonestance strike. Stonestance, to be immobile. Elit came in next, hammer held wardingly. They backed Adolin along the wall toward Abrobadar.

No. Adolin had demanded this duel. He had wanted it. He would not become a frightened rat.

Show them why.

Adolin attacked. He leaped forward, sweeping with a barrage of strikes at Relis. Elit jumped away with a curse as he did so. They were like men with spears prodding at a whitespine.

And this whitespine was not yet caged.

Adolin shouted, beating against Relis, scoring strikes on his helm and left vambrace, cracking the latter. Stormlight rose from Relis’s forearm. As Elit recovered, Adolin spun on him and struck, leaving Relis dazed from the attack. His assault forced Elit to hold his hammer back and block with his forearm, lest Adolin slice the hammer in two and leave him unarmed.

This was what Zahel meant. Attack with fury. Don’t allow them time to respond or assess. Four men. If he could intimidate them into hesitating… Maybe…

Adolin stopped thinking. He let the flow of the fight consume him, let the rhythm of his heart guide the beating of his sword. Elit cursed and pulled away, leaking Stormlight from his left shoulder and forearm.

Adolin turned and smashed his shoulder into Relis, who was stepping back into his stance. His shove threw the black-Plated man tumbling to the ground. Then, with a shout, Adolin turned and met Abrobadar head-on as the man came dashing up to help. Adolin fell into Stonestance himself, smashing his Blade down again and again against Abrobadar’s raised sword until he heard grunts, curses. Until he could feel the fear coming off the man in orange like a stench, and could see fearspren on the ground.

Elit approached, wary, as Relis scrambled up to his feet. Adolin fell back into Windstance and swept about himself in a wide, fluid motion. Elit jumped away and Abrobadar stumbled back, gauntleted hand against the wall of the arena.

Adolin turned back toward Relis, who had recovered well, all things considered. Still, Adolin got in a second strike at the champion’s breastplate. If this had been a battlefield and these common foes, Relis would be dead, Elit maimed. Adolin was yet untouched.

But they weren’t common foes. They were Shardbearers, and a second strike against Relis’s breastplate didn’t break the armor. Adolin was forced to turn on Abrobadar before he wanted to, and the man was now braced for the fury of the assault, sword raised defensively. Adolin’s barrage didn’t stun him this time. The man weathered it while Elit and Relis got into position.

Just need to—

Something crashed into Adolin from behind.

Jakamav. Adolin had taken too long, and had allowed the fourth man—his supposed friend—to get into position. Adolin spun about, moving into a puff of Stormlight rising from his back plate. He raised his sword into Jakamav’s next attack, but that opened his left flank. Elit swung, hammer crashing into Adolin’s side. Plate cracked, and the blow shoved Adolin off balance.

He swept around himself, growing desperate. This time, his foes didn’t back away. Instead, Jakamav charged in, head down, not even swinging. Smart man. His green armor was unscored. Even though the move let Adolin slam his sword down and hit the man on the back, it threw Adolin completely out of his stance.

Adolin stumbled backward, barely keeping from being thrown to the ground as Jakamav crashed into him. Adolin shoved the man aside, somehow keeping hold of his Shardblade, but the other three moved in. Blows rained on his shoulders, helm, breastplate. Storms. That hammer hit hard.

Adolin’s head rang from a blow. He’d almost done it. He let himself grin as they beat on him. Four at once. And he’d almost done it.

“I yield,” he said, voice muffled by his helm.

They continued attacking. He said it louder.

Nobody listened.

He raised his hand to signal to the judge to stop the proceedings, but someone slammed his arm downward.

No! Adolin thought, swinging about himself in a panic.

The judge could not end the fight. If he left this duel alive, he would do so as a cripple.

* * *

“That’s it,” Dalinar said, watching the four Shardbearers take turns coming in to swing at Adolin, who was obviously disoriented, barely able to fight them off. “The rules allow Adolin to have help, so long as his side is disadvantaged—one less than Relis’s team. Elhokar, I’ll need your Shardblade.”

“No,” Elhokar said. The king sat with folded arms beneath the shade. Those around them watched the duel… no, the beating… in silence.

“Elhokar!” Dalinar said, turning. “That is my son.”

“You’re without Plate,” Elhokar said. “If you take the time to put some on, you’ll be too late. If you go down, you won’t save Adolin. You’ll simply lose my Blade as well as all the others.”

Dalinar clenched his teeth. There was a drop of wisdom in that, and he knew it. Adolin was finished. They needed to end the match now and not put more on the line.

“You could help him, you know.” Sadeas’s voice.

Dalinar spun toward the man.

“The dueling conventions don’t forbid it,” Sadeas said, speaking loudly enough for Dalinar to hear. “I checked to make sure. Young Adolin can be helped by up to two people. The Blackthorn I once knew would have been down there already, fighting with a rock if he had to. I guess you’re not that man anymore.”

Dalinar sucked in a breath, then stood. “Elhokar, I’ll pay the fee and borrow your Blade by right of the tradition of the King’s Blade. You won’t risk it that way. I’m going to fight.”

Elhokar caught him by the arm, standing. “Don’t be a fool, Uncle. Listen to him! Do you see what he’s doing? He obviously wants you to go down and fight.”

Dalinar turned to meet the king’s eyes. Pale green. Like his father’s.

“Uncle,” Elhokar said, grip tightening on his arm, “listen to me for once. Be a little paranoid. Why would Sadeas want you down there? It’s so that an ‘accident’ can occur! He wants you removed, Dalinar. I guarantee that if you step onto those sands, all four will attack you straight out. Shardblade or none, you’ll be dead before you get into stance.”

Dalinar puffed in and out. Elhokar was right. Storm him, but he was right. Dalinar had to do something though.

A murmur rose from the watching crowd, whispers like scratches on paper. Dalinar spun to see that someone else had joined the battle, stepping from the preparation room, Shardblade held nervously in two hands but wearing no Plate.

Renarin.

Oh no…

* * *

One of the attackers moved away, Plated feet crunching on sand. Adolin threw himself in that direction, battering his way out from among the three others. He spun and backed away. His Plate was starting to feel heavy. How much Stormlight had he lost?