quickly. Certainly, he’d been the best student among the bridgemen when it came to fighting.
Kaladin watched him for a few moments, frowning. Then it struck him. What are you thinking? That Moash might have had something to do with the assassination attempt? Don’t be stupid. That was ridiculous. Besides, the man didn’t have a Shardblade.
Kaladin turned his horse away. As he did, however, he saw the person Dalinar had gone to meet. Brightlord Amaram. The two were too far away for Kaladin to hear them, but he could see the amusement on Dalinar’s face. Adolin and Renarin rode up to them, smiling broadly as Amaram waved to them.
The anger that surged within Kaladin—sudden, passionate, almost chokingly strong—made him clench his fists. His breath hissed out. That surprised him. He’d thought the hatred buried deeper than that.
He turned his horse pointedly the other direction, suddenly looking forward to the chance to go on patrol with the new recruits.
Getting away from the warcamps sounded very good to him.
They blame our people
For the loss of that land.
The city that once covered it
Did range the eastern strand.
The power made known in the tomes of our clan
Our gods were not who shattered these plains.
—From the Listener Song of Wars, 55th stanza
Adolin crashed into the Parshendi line, ignoring weapons, throwing his shoulder against the enemy at the front. The Parshendi man grunted, his song faltering, as Adolin spun about himself and swept with his Shardblade. Tugs on the weapon marked when it passed through flesh.
Adolin came out of his spin, ignoring the glow of Stormlight coming from a crack at his shoulder. Around him, bodies dropped, eyes burning in their skulls. Adolin’s breath, hot and humid, filled his helm as he puffed in and out.
There, he thought, raising his Blade and charging, his men filling in around him. Not those bridgemen, for once, but real soldiers. He’d left the bridgemen back on the assault plateau. He didn’t want men around him who didn’t want to fight Parshendi.
Adolin and his soldiers pushed through the Parshendi, joining up with a frantic set of soldiers in green uniforms with gold accents, led by a Shardbearer in matching colors. The man fought with a large Shardbearer’s hammer—he had no Blade of his own.
Adolin pushed through to him. “Jakamav?” he asked. “You all right?”
“All right?” Jakamav asked, voice muffled by his helm. He slammed the faceplate up, revealing a grin. “I’m wonderful.” He laughed, pale green eyes alight with the Thrill of the fight. Adolin recognized that feeling well.
“You were almost surrounded!” Adolin said, turning to face a group of Parshendi running up in pairs. Adolin respected them for coming at Shardbearers, rather than fleeing. It meant almost certain death, but if you won, you could turn the tide of a battle.
Jakamav laughed, sounding as pleased now as when enjoying a winehouse singer, and that laughter was infectious. Adolin found himself grinning as he engaged the Parshendi, sweeping them down with blow after blow. He never enjoyed simple warfare as much as a good duel, but for the moment, despite its crassness, he found challenge and joy in the fight.
Moments later, the dead lying at his feet, he spun about and searched for another challenge. This plateau was shaped very strangely; it had been a tall hill before the Plains were shattered, but half of it had ended up on the adjacent plateau. He couldn’t imagine what kind of force would have split the hill down the center, as opposed to cracking it at the base.
Well, it wasn’t an ordinary-shaped hill, so maybe that had something to do with the split. It was shaped more like a wide, flat pyramid with only three steps. A large base, a second plateau atop it that was perhaps a hundred feet across, then a third, smaller peak atop the other two, placed right in the center. Almost like a cake with three tiers that had been cut with a large knife right down the center.
Adolin and Jakamav fought on the second tier of the battlefield. Technically, Adolin wasn’t required to be on this run. It wasn’t his army’s turn in the rotation. However, the time had come to implement another part of Dalinar’s plan. Adolin had arrived with only a small strike force, but it was a good thing he had. Jakamav had been surrounded up here, on the second tier, and the regular army hadn’t been able to break through.
Now, the Parshendi had been pushed back to the sides of this tier. They