The Way of Kings

The man’s honor guard panicked and fled to rejoin their army. Kaladin signaled to the two subsquads by banging his spear against his shield, giving the “hold position” sign. They fanned out, and short Toorim – a man Kaladin had rescued from another squad – made as if to confirm the lighteyes was dead. He was really covertly looking for spheres.

Stealing from the dead was strictly prohibited, but Kaladin figured that if Amaram wanted the spoils, he could storming well kill the enemy himself. Kaladin respected Amaram more than most – well, more than any – lighteyes. But bribes weren’t cheap.

Toorim walked up to him. “Nothing sir. Either he didn’t bring any spheres into battle, or he has them hidden somewhere under that breastplate.”

Kaladin nodded curtly, surveying the battlefield. Amaram’s forces were recovering; they’d win the day before long. In fact, Amaram would probably be leading a direct surge against the enemy by now. He generally entered the battle at the end.

Kaladin wiped his brow. He’d have to send for Norby, their captainlord, to prove their kill. First he needed those healers to–

“Sir!” Toorim said suddenly.

Kaladin glanced back at the enemy lines.

“Stormfather!” Toorim exclaimed. “Sir!”

Toorim wasn’t looking at the enemy lines. Kaladin spun, looking back at friendly ranks. There – bearing down through the soldiers on a horse the color of death itself – was an impossibility.

The man wore shining golden armor. Perfect golden armor, as if this were what every other suit of armor had been designed to imitate. Each piece fit perfectly; there were no holes showing straps or leather. It made the rider look enormous, powerful. Like a god carrying a majestic blade that should have been too big to use. It was engraved and stylized, shaped like flames in motion.

“Stormfather…” Kaladin breathed.

The Shardbearer broke out of Amaram’s lines. He’d been riding through them, cutting down men as he passed. For a brief moment, Kaladin’s mind refused to acknowledge that this creature – this beautiful divinity – could be an enemy. The fact that the Shardbearer had come through their side reinforced that illusion.

Kaladin’s confusion lasted right up until the moment the Shardbearer trampled Cenn, Shardblade dropping and cutting through Dallet’s head in a single, easy stroke.

“No!” Kaladin bellowed. “No!”

Dallet’s body fell back to the ground, eyes seeming to catch alight, smoke rising from them. The Shardbearer cut down Cyn and trampled Lyndel before moving on. It was all done with nonchalance, like a woman pausing to wipe a spot on the counter.

“NO!” Kaladin screamed, charging toward the fallen men of his squad. He hadn’t lost anyone this battle! He was going to protect them all!

He fell to his knees beside Dallet, dropping his spear. But there was no heartbeat, and those burned-out eyes… He was dead. Grief threatened to overwhelm Kaladin.

No! said the part of his mind trained by his father. Save the ones you can!

He turned to Cenn. The boy had taken a hoof to the chest, cracking his sternum and shattering ribs. The boy gasped, eyes upward, struggling for breath. Kaladin pulled out a bandage. Then he paused, looking at it. A bandage? To mend a smashed chest?

Cenn stopped wheezing. He convulsed once, eyes still open. “He watches!” the boy hissed. “The black piper in the night. He holds us in his palm… playing a tune that no man can hear!”

Cenn’s eyes glazed over. He stopped breathing.

Lyndel’s face had been smashed in. Cyn’s eyes smoldered, and he wasn’t breathing either. Kaladin knelt in Cenn’s blood, horrified, as Toorim and the two subsquads formed around him, looking as stunned as Kaladin felt.

This isn’t possible. I… I…

Screaming.

Kaladin looked up. Amaram’s banner of green and burgundy flew just to the south. The Shardbearer had cut through Kaladin’s squad heading straight for that banner. Spearmen fled in disarray, screaming, scattering before the Shardbearer.

Anger boiled inside of Kaladin.

“Sir?” Toorim asked.

Kaladin picked up his spear and stood. His knees were covered with Cenn’s blood. His men regarded him, confused, worried. They stood firm in the midst of the chaos; as far as Kaladin could tell, they were the only men who weren’t fleeing. The Shardbearer had turned the ranks to mush.

Kaladin thrust his spear into the air, then began to run. His men bellowed a war cry, falling into formation behind him, charging across the flat rocky ground. Spearmen in uniforms of both colors scrambled out of the way, dropping spears and shields.

Kaladin picked up speed, legs pumping, his squad barely keeping pace. Just ahead – right before the Shardbearer – a pocket of green broke and ran. Amaram’s honor guard. Faced by a Shardbearer, they abandoned their charge. Amaram himself was a solitary man on a rearing horse. He wore silvery plate armor that looked so commonplace when compared with the Shardplate.