Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive, #2)

by Brandon Sanderson

He is mine! a feminine voice said. I claim him. HE BETRAYED HIS OATH. “He has seen too much,” Graves said to Moash. “If he lives this day, he’ll betray us. You know my words are true, Moash. Kill him.” The knife slipped from Kaladin’s fingers, clanging to the ground. He was too weak to hold it. His arm flopped back to his side, and he stared down at the knife, dazed. I don’t care. HE WILL KILL YOU. “I’m sorry, Kal,” Moash said, stepping forward. “I should have made it quick at the start.” The Words, Kaladin. That was Syl’s voice. You have to speak the Words! I FORBID THIS. YOUR WILL MATTERS NOT! Syl shouted. YOU CANNOT HOLD ME BACK IF HE SPEAKS THE WORDS! THE WORDS, KALADIN! SAY THEM!

It was as Kaladin had said. With a horrible sinking feeling, Adolin realized just how little a chance they’d ever had. The assassin dashed for Dalinar, who brought up the rear of the attack. The aging soldier raised his Blade, as if in respect, then thrust once. An attack. That was the way to go. “Father . . .” Adolin whispered. The assassin parried the thrust, then placed his hand against Dalinar’s chest. The highprince, suddenly glowing, lurched up into the dark sky. He didn’t

The highprince fell slowly, as if he were no more weighty than a cloud. White Light streamed from his body in glowing wisps. Nearby bridgemen murmured, soldiers shouted, pointing. Adolin blinked, certain he was delusional. But no, that was Dalinar. Like . . . one of the Heralds themselves, coming down from the Tranquiline Halls. The assassin looked, then stumbled back, mouth open in horror. “No . . . No!” And then, like a falling star, a blazing fireball of light and motion shot down in front of Dalinar. It crashed into the ground, sending out a ring of Stormlight like white smoke. At the center, a figure in blue crouched with one hand on the stones, the other clutching a glowing Shardblade. His eyes afire with a light that somehow made the assassin’s seem dull by comparison, he wore the uniform of a bridgeman, and bore the glyphs of slavery on his forehead. The expanding ring of smoky light faded, save for a large glyph—a swordlike shape—which remained for a brief moment before puffing away. “You sent him to the sky to die, assassin,” Kaladin said, Stormlight puffing from his lips, “but the sky and the winds are mine. I claim them, as I now claim your life.”

“Hurry,” Kaladin said. “I will deal with our friend.” “Kaladin?” Kaladin turned, glancing at the highprince, who stood tall, despite cradling one arm against his chest. Dalinar met his eyes. “You are what I’ve been looking for.” “Yes. Finally.”