too busy trying to avoid being killed.”
Adolin seemed to be barely listening. “Perhaps I could say something like that to her. . . . Seems too simple, and she’s anything but simple. . . .” He turned back to Kaladin. “Anyway. Assassin in White. We need more of a plan than just telling the archers to be ready.”
“Do you have any ideas?” Kaladin said.
“You won’t have a Shardblade, but won’t need one, because of . . . you know.”
“I know?” Kaladin felt a spike of alarm.
“Yeah . . . you know.” Adolin glanced away and shrugged, as if trying to act nonchalant. “That thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing . . . with the . . . um, stuff?”
He doesn’t know, Kaladin realized. He’s just fishing, trying to figure out why I can fight so well.
And he’s doing a really, really bad job of it.
Kaladin relaxed, and even found himself smiling at Adolin’s awkward attempt. It was nice to feel an emotion other than panic or worry. “I don’t think you have any idea what you’re talking about.”
Adolin scowled. “There’s something odd about you, bridgeboy,” he said. “Admit it.”
“I admit nothing.”
“You survived that fall with the assassin,” Adolin said. “And at first, I worried you were working with him. Now . . .”
“Now what?”
“Well, I’ve decided that whatever you are, you’re on my side.” Adolin sighed. “Anyway, the assassin. My instincts say the best plan is the one we used when fighting together in the arena. You distract him while I kill him.”
“That could work, though I worry that he’s not the type to let himself get distracted.”
“Neither was Relis,” Adolin said. “We’ll do it, bridgeboy. You and I. We’re going to bring that monster down.”
“We’ll need to be fast,” Kaladin said. “He’ll win a drawn-out fight. And Adolin, strike for the spine or the head. Don’t try a weakening blow first. Go right for the kill.”
Adolin frowned at him. “Why?”
“I saw something when the two of us fell together,” Kaladin said. “I cut him, but he healed the wound somehow.”
“I have a Blade. He won’t be able to heal from that . . . right?”
“Best to not find out. Strike to kill. Trust me.”
Adolin met his eyes. “Oddly, I do. Trust you, I mean. It’s a very strange sensation.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll try to hold myself back from going skipping across the plateau in joy.”
Adolin grinned. “I’d pay to see that.”
“Me skipping?”
“You happy,” Adolin said, laughing. “You’ve got a face like a storm! I half think you could frighten off a storm.”
Kaladin grunted.
Adolin laughed again, slapping him on the shoulder, then turned as Shallan finally crossed the bridge, her sketching apparently done. She looked to Adolin fondly, and as he reached out to take her hand, she rose up on her toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Adolin drew back, startled. Alethi were more reserved than that in public.
Shallan grinned at him. Then she turned and gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. Kaladin jumped, again, looking for danger—but Shallan just went dashing off to a nearby clump of rocks.
Adolin raised his hand to his cheek, then looked to Kaladin with a grin. “She probably saw an interesting bug.”
“No, it’s moss!” Shallan called back.
“Ah, of course,” Adolin said, strolling over, Kaladin following. “Moss. So exciting.”
“Hush, you,” Shallan said, wagging her pencil at him as she bent down, inspecting the rocks. “The moss grows in a strange pattern here. What could cause that?”
“Alcohol,” Adolin said.
She glanced at him.
He shrugged. “Makes me do crazy things.” He looked at Kaladin, who shook his head. “That was funny,” Adolin said. “It was a joke! Well, kind of.”
“Oh hush,” Shallan said. “This looks almost like the same pattern as a flowering rockbud, the kind common here on the Plains. . . .” She started sketching.
Kaladin folded his arms. Then he sighed.
“What does that sigh mean?” Adolin asked him.
“Boredom,” Kaladin said, glancing back at the army, still crossing the bridge. With a force of three thousand—that was about half of Dalinar’s current army, following heavy recruitment—moving out here took time. On bridge runs, these crossings had felt so quick. Kaladin had always been exhausted, savoring the chance to rest. “I guess out here, it’s so barren that there’s not much to get excited about other than moss.”
“You hush too,” Shallan told him. “Go polish your bridge or something.” She leaned in, then poked her pencil at a bug that was crawling across the moss. “Ah . . .” she said, then hurriedly scribbled some notes. “Anyway,