Words of Radiance

“Your Majesty?” he called, propping himself up on his spear and dragging his bad leg. He reached the back of a couch and used it to pull himself fully upright. Where was the—

The king lay on the couch, unmoving.

* * *

Adolin swept broadly with his Blade, maintaining perfect Windstance, the sword’s point spraying water as he sheared through the neck of a Parshendi soldier. Red lightning crackled from the corpse in a bright flare, connecting the soldier to the ground as he died. Nearby Alethi were careful not to step in puddles beside the corpse. They had learned the hard way that this strange lightning could kill quickly via water.

Raising his sword and charging, Adolin led a rush against the nearest Parshendi group. Curse this storm and the winds that had brought it! Fortunately, the darkness had been pushed back somewhat, as Navani had sent fabrials to bathe the battlefield in an extraordinarily even white light.

Adolin and his team clashed again with the Parshendi. However, as soon as he got among the enemy, he felt something tug on his left arm. A loop of rope? He jerked back. No rope could hold Shardplate. He growled and yanked the rope free of the hands holding it. Then he jerked as another rope looped his neck and pulled him backward.

He shouted, spinning and sweeping his Blade through the rope, severing it. Three more loops leaped from the darkness for him; the Parshendi had sent an entire team. Adolin turned to defensive sweeps, as he’d been trained by Zahel to resist a dedicated rope strike. They’d have strung other ropes across the ground in front of him, expecting that he’d charge them… Yes, there they were.

Adolin backed away, slicing free the ropes that reached him. Unfortunately, his men had been depending on him to break the Parshendi line. As he backed away instead, the enemy pressed against the Alethi line in force. As always, they didn’t use traditional battle formations, instead attacking in squads and pairs. That was frightfully effective on this chaotic, rain-soaked battlefield, with cracks of lightning and bursts of wind.

Perel, the field commander that he’d put in charge near the lights, called the retreat for Adolin’s flank. Adolin let out a series of curses, cutting loose one final rope and stepping backward, sword out in case the Parshendi pursued.

They didn’t. Two figures, however, shadowed him as he joined the retreat.

“Still alive, bridgemen?” Adolin asked.

“Still alive,” Skar said.

“You’ve got some loops of rope stuck to you still, sir,” Drehy said.

Adolin held out his arm and let Drehy cut them free with his side knife. Over his shoulder, Adolin watched the Parshendi re-form their lines. From farther back, the sound of that harsh chanting reached him between crashes of lightning and bursts of wind.

“They keep sending teams to engage and distract me,” Adolin said. “They don’t intend to defeat me; they just want to keep me out of the battle.”

“They’ll have to really fight you sooner or later,” Drehy said, cutting off another of the ropes. Drehy reached up and ran his hand over his bald head, wiping the rain off. “They can’t just leave a Shardbearer alone.”

“Actually,” Adolin said, narrowing his eyes, listening to that chanting. “That’s exactly what they’re doing.”

Through sheets of windborne rain, Adolin jogged in a clanking run up to the command position, near the lights. Perel—wrapped in a large stormcoat—stood there bellowing orders. He gave Adolin a quick salute.

“Status?” Adolin asked.

“Treading water, Brightlord.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Adolin said.

“Swimming term, sir,” Perel said. “We’re fighting back and forth, but we’re not making any headway. We’re fairly evenly matched; each side is looking for an edge. I’m most worried about those Parshendi reserves. They should have committed those by now.”

“The reserves?” Adolin asked, peering across the dim plateau. “You mean the singers.” To both right and left, Alethi troops engaged other Parshendi units. Men shouted and screamed, weapons clashed, the familiar deadly sounds of a battlefield.

“Yes, sir,” Perel said. “They’re up against that rock formation at the middle of the plateau, singing their storming hearts out.”

Adolin remembered that rock outcropping, looming in the dim light. It was easily large enough for a battalion on top. “Could we climb it from behind?”

“In this rain, Brightlord?” Perel asked. “Not likely. Maybe you could, but would you really want to go alone?”

Adolin waited for the familiar eagerness to urge him forward, the desire to rush into the fight without concern for the consequences. He’d trained himself to resist that urge, and was surprised to find it… gone. Nothing.

He frowned. He was tired. Was that the reason? He considered the situation, thinking to the sound of rain on his helmet.

We need to get to those Parshendi at the back, he thought. Father wants the reserves engaged, the song broken off…