The Way of Kings

The king edged away, as if to round the chamber and escape. Szeth sprayed a table’s top with a Full Lashing, then infused the entire thing with a Basic Lashing as well, pointed at the doorway. The table flipped into the air and crashed against the exit – the side bearing the Full Lashing sticking it to the wall. People tried to pry it out of the way, but that only made them bunch up as Szeth waded into them, Shardblade sweeping.

So many deaths. Why? What purpose did it fulfill?

When he’d assaulted Alethkar six years before, he’d thought that had been a massacre. He hadn’t known what a true massacre was. He reached the door and found himself standing over the bodies of some thirty people, his emotions caught up in the tempest of Stormlight within him. He hated that Stormlight, suddenly, as much as he hated himself. As much as the cursed Blade he held.

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!”