the creature to swing; its arms brushed the walls, and it couldn’t pull back for full leverage. That was probably why Kaladin was still alive. He got out of the way of the sweep, barely, but tripped in the darkness again. He could hardly see.
As another claw crashed toward him, Kaladin got to his feet and dashed away—running farther down the corridor, farther from the light, passing plants and flotsam. The chasmfiend trumped and charged after him, clacking and scraping.
Kaladin felt so slow without Stormlight. So clumsy and awkward.
The chasmfiend was close. He judged his next move by instinct. Now! He stopped with a lurch, then sprinted back toward the creature. It slowed with great difficulty, carapace grinding on the walls, and Kaladin ducked and ran beneath it. He slammed the Shardblade upward, sinking it deep into the creature’s underside.
The beast trumped more frantically. He seemed to have actually hurt it, for it immediately lifted upward to pull itself off the sword. Then it twisted down upon itself in an eyeblink, and Kaladin found those frightful jaws coming at him. He threw himself forward, but the snapping jaws caught his leg.
Blinding pain ran up the limb, and he struck out with the Blade even as the beast flung him about. He thought he hit its face, though he couldn’t be certain.
The world spun.
He hit the ground and rolled.
No time to be dizzy. With everything still spinning, he groaned and turned over. He’d lost the Shardblade—he didn’t know where it was. His leg. He couldn’t feel it.
He looked down, expecting to see nothing but a ragged stump. It wasn’t quite so bad. Bloodied, the trousers ripped, but he couldn’t see bone. The numbness was from shock.
His mind had gone analytical and focused on the wounds. That wasn’t good. He needed the soldier at the moment, not the surgeon. The chasmfiend was righting itself in the chasm, and a chunk of its facial carapace was missing.
Get. Away.
Kaladin turned over and climbed to hands and knees, then lurched to his feet. The leg worked, kind of. His boot squished as he stepped.
Where was the Shardblade? There, ahead. It had flown far, embedding itself in the ground near the spheres he’d tossed from the rift. Kaladin hobbled toward it, but had trouble walking, let alone running. He was halfway there when his leg gave out. He hit hard, scraping his arm on shalebark.
The chasmfiend trumped and—
“Hey! Hey!”
Kaladin twisted about. Shallan? What was that fool woman doing, standing in the chasm, waving her hands like a maniac? How had she even gotten past him?
She yelled again, getting the chasmfiend’s attention. Her voice echoed oddly.
The chasmfiend turned from Kaladin to Shallan, then began to smash at her.
“No!” Kaladin yelled. But what was the use in shouting? He needed his weapon. Gritting his teeth, he twisted about and scrambled—as best he could—to the Shardblade. Storms. Shallan . . .
He ripped the sword from the rock, but then he collapsed again. The leg just wouldn’t hold him. He twisted back, holding out the Blade, searching the chasm. The monster continued to swipe about, trumping, the terrible sound echoing and reverberating in the narrow confines. Kaladin couldn’t see a corpse. Had Shallan escaped?
Stabbing the blasted thing through the chest only seemed to have made it angrier. The head. His only chance was the head.
Kaladin struggled to his feet. The monster stopped smashing against the ground and with a trump surged toward him. Kaladin gripped the sword in two hands, then wavered. His leg buckled beneath him. He tried to go down on one knee, but the leg gave out completely, and he slumped to the side and narrowly avoided slicing himself with the Shardblade.
He splashed into a pool of water. In front of him, one of the spheres he’d tossed shone with a bright white light.
He reached into the water, snatching it, clutching the chilled glass. He needed that Light. Storms, his life depended on it.
Please.
The chasmfiend loomed above.
Kaladin sucked in a breath, straining, like a man gasping for air. He heard . . . as if distantly . . .
Weeping.
No power entered him.
The chasmfiend swung and Kaladin twisted, and strangely found himself. The other version of him stood above him, sword raised, larger than life. It was bigger than him by half.
What in the Almighty’s own eyes . . . ? Kaladin thought, dumbfounded, as the chasmfiend smashed an arm down onto the figure beside Kaladin. That not-him shattered into a puff of Stormlight.
What had he done? How