He saw faces with burned-out eyes reflecting on the Blade’s too-silvery surface.
The Blade passed a few inches in front of him. Zahel stepped into the swing and brought the Blade around again in a flowing maneuver. This time it would hit, so Kaladin had to step back.
Storms, those monsters were beautiful.
Zahel swung again, and Kaladin had to jump to the side to dodge. A bit overzealous there, Zahel, he thought. He dodged again, then reacted to a shadow he’d seen from the corner of his eye. He spun, and came face-to-face with Adolin Kholin.
They stared one another in the eyes. Kaladin waited for a wisecrack. Adolin’s eyes flicked toward Zahel and the Shardblade, then turned back to Kaladin. Finally, the prince gave a shallow nod. He turned about and walked toward Renarin.
The implication was simple. The Assassin in White had bested both of them. There was nothing to mock in preparing to fight him again.
Doesn’t mean he’s not a spoiled blusterer, Kaladin thought, turning back to Zahel. The man had waved over a fellow ardent, and was delivering the Shardblade to him.
“I have to go train Prince Renarin,” Zahel said. “Can’t leave him alone all day for you fools. Ivis here will go through some sparring moves with you and let you each face down a Shardblade, as Kaladin has done. Get comfortable with the sight, so you don’t freeze when one comes for you.”
Kaladin and the others nodded. Only after Zahel had trotted away did Kaladin notice that the new ardent, Ivis, was a woman. Though she was an ardent, she kept her hand gloved, so there was some acknowledgment of her gender, even if the flowing ardent clothing and shaved head masked some of the other obvious signs.
A woman with a sword. An odd sight. Of course, was it any odder than darkeyed men holding a Shardblade?
Ivis gave them lengths of wood that, weight and balance wise, were decent approximations of a Shardblade. Like a child’s scribble with chalk could be a decent approximation of a person. Then she put them through several routines, demonstrating the ten Shardblade sword stances.
Kaladin had been looking to kill lighteyes from the moment he’d first touched a spear, and during the later years—before being enslaved—he’d gotten pretty good at it. But those lighteyes he’d hunted on the battlefield hadn’t been terribly skilled. The majority of men who were truly good with a sword had made their way to the Shattered Plains. So the stances were new to him.
He started to see and understand. Knowing the stances would let him anticipate a swordsman’s next move. He didn’t have to be wielding a sword himself—he still thought it an inflexible weapon—to make use of that.
An hour or so later, Kaladin set down his practice sword and stepped over to the water barrel. No ardents or parshmen ran drinks to him or his men. He was just fine with that; he wasn’t some pampered rich boy. He leaned against the barrel, taking a ladle of water, feeling the good exhaustion deep in his muscles that told him he’d been doing something worthwhile.
He scanned the grounds for Adolin and Renarin. He wasn’t on duty watching either of them—Adolin would have come with Mart and Eth, and Renarin was under the watch of the three that Kaladin had assigned earlier. Still, he couldn’t help looking to see how they were. An accident here could be—
A woman was on the practice grounds. Not an ardent, but a true lighteyed woman, the one with the vibrant red hair. She had just wandered in, and was scanning the grounds.
He didn’t bear a grudge about the incident with his boots. It simply typified how, to a lighteyes, men like Kaladin were playthings. You toyed with darkeyes, took what you needed from them, and gave no thought to having left them far worse for the interaction.
It was how Roshone had been. It was how Sadeas was. It was how this woman was. She wasn’t evil, really. She just didn’t care.
She’s probably a good match for the princeling, he thought as Yake and Teft jogged over for some water. Moash stayed with his practice, intent on his sword forms.
“Not bad,” Yake said, following Kaladin’s gaze.
“Not bad at what?” Kaladin asked, trying to figure out what the woman was doing.
“Not bad looking, Captain,” Yake said with a laugh. “Storms! Sometimes, it seems the only thing you think about is who has to be on duty next.”
Nearby, Syl nodded emphatically.
“She’s lighteyed,” Kaladin said.
“So?” Yake said,