Instinct . . . then something deeper . . . guided his steps. He danced between those Blades, cool air wrapping around him. And for a moment, he felt—impossibly—that he could have dodged just as well if his eyes had been closed.

The Shardbearers cursed, trying again and again. Kaladin heard the judge say something, but was too absorbed in the fight to pay attention. The crowd was growing louder. He leaped one attack, then stepped just to the side of another.

You could not kill the wind. You could not stop it. It was beyond the touch of men. It was infinite. . . .

His Stormlight ran out.

Kaladin stumbled to a halt. He tried to suck in more, but all of his spheres were drained.

The helm, he realized, noticing that it was gushing Stormlight from its numerous cracks, yet hadn’t exploded. It had somehow fed upon his Stormlight.

Relis attacked and Kaladin barely scrambled out of the way. His back hit the wall of the arena.

Green Plate saw his opening and raised his Blade.

Someone hopped on him from behind.

Kaladin watched, dumbfounded, as Adolin grappled Green Plate, latching on to him. Adolin’s armor hardly leaked at all anymore; his Stormlight was exhausted. It seemed that he could barely move—the sand nearby displayed a set of lurching tracks that led away from Orange Plate, who lay in the sand defeated.

That was what the judge had said just earlier: the man in orange had yielded. Adolin had beaten his foe, then walked slowly—one laborious step after another—over to where Kaladin fought. It looked like he’d used his final bit of energy to hop up on Green Plate’s back and grab hold.

Green Plate cursed, swatting at Adolin. The prince held on, and his Plate had locked, as they called it—becoming heavy and almost impossible to move.

The two teetered, then toppled over.

Kaladin looked at Relis, who glanced from the fallen Green Plate to the man in orange, then to Kaladin.

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.

“I offer you a boon,” the king proclaimed, pointing to Adolin as the cheering quieted. “Name what you wish of me or of this court. It shall be yours. No man, having seen this display, could deny you.”

The Right of Challenge, Kaladin thought.

Adolin sought out Sadeas, who had stood and was making his way up the steps to flee. He understood.

Far to the right, Amaram sat in his golden cloak.

“For my boon,” Adolin shouted to the quiet arena, “I demand the Right of Challenge. I demand the chance to duel Highprince Sadeas, right here and now, as redress for the crimes he committed against my house!”

Sadeas stopped upon the steps. A murmur ran through the crowd. Adolin looked as if he were going to say something more, but hesitated as Kaladin stepped up beside him.

“And for my boon!” Kaladin shouted, “I demand the Right of Challenge against the murderer Amaram! He stole from me and slaughtered my friends to cover it up. Amaram branded me a slave! I will duel him here, right now. That is the boon I demand!”

The king’s jaw dropped.

The crowd grew very, very still.

Beside him, Adolin groaned.

Kaladin didn’t spare either one a thought. Across the distance, he met the eyes of Brightlord Amaram, the murderer.

He saw horror therein.

Amaram stood up, then stumbled back. He hadn’t known, hadn’t recognized Kaladin, until just then.

You should have killed me, Kaladin thought. The crowd started to shout and yell.

“Arrest him!” the king bellowed over the din.

Perfect. Kaladin grinned.

Until he noticed the soldiers were coming for him and not Amaram.

So Melishi retired to his tent, and resolved to destroy the Voidbringers upon the next day, but that night did present a different stratagem, related to the unique abilities of the Bondsmiths; and being hurried, he could make no specific account of his process; it was related to the very nature of the Heralds and their divine duties, an attribute the Bondsmiths alone could address.

—From Words of Radiance, chapter 30, page 18

“Captain Kaladin is a man of honor, Elhokar!” Dalinar shouted, gesturing toward Kaladin, who sat nearby. “He was the only one who went to help my sons.”

“That’s his job!” Elhokar snapped back.

Kaladin listened dully, chained to a seat inside Dalinar’s rooms back in the warcamp. They hadn’t gone to the palace. Kaladin didn’t know why.

The three of them were alone.

“He insulted a highlord in front of the entire court,” Elhokar said, pacing beside the wall. “He dared challenge a man so high above his station, the gap between them could hold a kingdom.”

“He was caught up in the moment,” Dalinar said. “Be reasonable, Elhokar. He’d just helped bring down four Shardbearers!”

“On a dueling ground, where his help was invited,” Elhokar said, throwing his hands into the air. “I still don’t agree with letting a darkeyes duel Shardbearers. If you hadn’t held me back . . . Bah! I won’t stand for this, Uncle. I won’t. Common soldiers challenging our highest and most important generals? It is madness.”

“What I said was true,” Kaladin whispered.

“Don’t you speak!” Elhokar shouted, stopping and leveling a finger at Kaladin. “You’ve ruined everything! We lost our chance at Sadeas!”

“Adolin made his challenge,” Kaladin said. “Surely Sadeas can’t ignore it.”

“Of course he can’t,” Elhokar shouted. “He’s already responded!”

Kaladin frowned.

“Adolin didn’t get a chance to pin down the duel,” Dalinar said, looking at Kaladin. “As soon as he was free of the arena, Sadeas sent word agreeing to duel Adolin—in one year’s time.”

One year? Kaladin felt a hollowness in his stomach. By the time a year had passed, chances were the duel wouldn’t matter anymore.

“He wiggled out of the noose,” Elhokar said, throwing up his hands. “We needed that moment in the arena to pin him down, to shame him into a fight! You stole that moment, bridgeman.”