Words of Radiance

He lay in the darkness, listening to the patter, feeling his leg throb. Wet, cold air leaked into his room, and he dug for the extra blankets that the quartermaster had delivered. He curled up and tried to sleep, but after sleeping most of the day yesterday—the day that Dalinar’s army had left—he found himself wide awake.

He hated being wounded. Bed rest wasn’t supposed to happen to him. Not anymore.

Syl…

The Weeping was a bad time for him. Days spent trapped indoors. A perpetual gloom in the sky that seemed to affect him more than it did others, leaving him lethargic and uncaring.

A knock came at his door. Kaladin raised his head in the darkness, then sat up and settled himself on his bench of a bed. “Come,” he said.

The door opened and let in the sound of rain, like a thousand little footsteps scrambling about. Very little light accompanied the sounds. The overcast sky of the Weeping left the land in perpetual twilight.

Moash stepped in. He wore his Shardplate, as always. “Storms, Kal. Were you asleep? I’m sorry!”

“No, I was awake.”

“In the darkness?”

Kaladin shrugged. Moash clicked the door shut behind him, but took off his gauntlet and hung it from a clip at the waist of his Shardplate. He reached beneath a fold in the metal and pulled out a handful of spheres to light his way. Riches that would have seemed incredible to bridgemen were now pocket change to Moash.

“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the king?” Kaladin asked.

“On and off,” Moash said, sounding eager. “They quartered the five of us guards up by his rooms. In the palace itself! Kaladin, it’s perfect.”

“When?” Kaladin asked softly.

“We don’t want to ruin Dalinar’s expedition,” Moash said, “so we’re going to wait until he’s out there some distance, maybe until he’s engaged the enemy. That way, he’ll be committed and won’t turn back when he gets news. Better for Alethkar if he succeeds at defeating the Parshendi. He will return a hero… and a king.”

Kaladin nodded, feeling sick.

“We have everything planned out,” Moash said. “We’ll raise an alert in the palace that the Assassin in White has been seen. Then we’ll do what was done last time—send all of the servants into hiding in their rooms. Nobody will be around to see what we do, nobody will get hurt, and they’ll all believe that the Shin assassin was behind this. We couldn’t have asked for this to play out better! And you won’t have to do anything, Kal. Graves says that we won’t need your help after all.”

“So why are you here?” Kaladin asked.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Moash said. He stepped in closer. “Is it true, what Lopen says? About your… abilities?”

Storming Herdazian. Lopen had stayed behind—with Dabbid and Hobber—to take care of the barrack and watch over Kaladin. They’d been talking to Moash, it seemed.

“Yes,” Kaladin said.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” he lied. “I offended Syl. I haven’t seen her in days. Without her, I can’t draw in Stormlight.”

“We’ll have to fix that somehow,” Moash said. “Either that, or get you Plate and Blade of your own.”

Kaladin looked up at his friend. “I think she left because of the plot to kill the king, Moash. I don’t think a Radiant could be involved in something like this.”

“Shouldn’t a Radiant care about doing what is right? Even if it means a difficult decision?”

“Sometimes lives must be spent for the greater good,” Kaladin said.

“Yes, exactly!”

“That’s what Amaram said. In regards to my friends, whom he murdered to cover up his secrets.”

“Well, that’s different, obviously. He’s a lighteyes.”

Kaladin looked to Moash, whose eyes had turned as light a tan as those of any Brightlord. Same color as Amaram’s, actually. “So are you.”

“Kal,” Moash said. “You’re worrying me. Don’t say things like that.”

Kaladin looked away.

“The king wanted me to deliver a message,” Moash said. “That’s my excuse for being here. He wants you to come talk to him.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. He’s been dipping into the wine, now that Dalinar is gone. Not the orange stuff, either. I’ll tell him you’re too wounded to come.”

Kaladin nodded.

“Kal,” Moash said. “We can trust you, right? You’re not having second thoughts?”

“You said it yourself,” Kaladin said. “I don’t have to do anything. I just have to stay away.” What could I do, anyway? Wounded, with no spren?

Everything was in motion. It was too far along for him to stop.

“Great,” Moash said. “You heal up, all right?”

Moash walked out, leaving Kaladin in the darkness again.

78. Contradictions