the Words!
I FORBID THIS.
YOUR WILL MATTERS NOT! Syl shouted. YOU CANNOT HOLD ME BACK IF HE SPEAKS THE WORDS! THE WORDS, KALADIN! SAY THEM!
“I will protect even those I hate,” Kaladin whispered through bloody lips. “So long as it is right.”
A Shardblade appeared in Moash’s hands.
A distant rumbling. Thunder.
THE WORDS ARE ACCEPTED, the Stormfather said reluctantly.
“Kaladin!” Syl’s voice. “Stretch forth thy hand!” She zipped around him, suddenly visible as a ribbon of light.
“I can’t . . .” Kaladin said, drained.
“Stretch forth thy hand!”
He reached out a trembling hand. Moash hesitated.
Wind blew in the opening in the wall, and Syl’s ribbon of light became mist, a form she often took. Silver mist, which grew larger, coalesced before Kaladin, extending into his hand.
Glowing, brilliant, a Shardblade emerged from the mist, vivid blue light shining from swirling patterns along its length.
Kaladin gasped a deep breath as if coming fully awake for the first time. The entire hallway went black as the Stormlight in every lamp down the length of the hall winked out.
For a moment, they stood in darkness.
Then Kaladin exploded with Light.
It erupted from his body, making him shine like a blazing white sun in the darkness. Moash backed away, face pale in the white brilliance, throwing up a hand to shade his eyes.
Pain evaporated like mist on a hot day. Kaladin’s grip firmed upon the glowing Shardblade, a weapon beside which those of Graves and Moash looked dull. One after another, shutters burst open up and down the hallway, wind screaming into the corridor. Behind Kaladin, frost crystalized on the ground, growing backward away from him. A glyph formed in the frost, almost in the shape of wings.
Graves screamed, falling in his haste to get away. Moash backed up, staring at Kaladin.
“The Knights Radiant,” Kaladin said softly, “have returned.”
“Too late!” Graves shouted.
Kaladin frowned, then glanced at the king.
“The Diagram spoke of this,” Graves said, scuttling back along the corridor. “We missed it. We missed it completely! We focused on making certain you were separated from Dalinar, and not on what our actions might push you to become!”
Moash looked from Graves back at Kaladin. Then he ran, Plate clinking as he turned and dashed down the corridor and disappeared.
Kaladin, Syl’s voice spoke in his head. Something is still very wrong. I feel it on the winds.
Graves laughed like a madman.
“Separating me,” Kaladin whispered. “From Dalinar? Why would they care?”
He turned, looking eastward.
Oh no . . .
But who is the wanderer, the wild piece, the one who makes no sense? I glimpse at his implications, and the world opens to me. I shy back. Impossible. Is it?
—From the Diagram, West Wall Psalm of Wonders: paragraph 8 (Note by Adrotagia: Could this refer to Mraize?)
“She didn’t say if she could even open the pathway?” Dalinar asked as he stalked toward the command tent. Rain pummeled the ground around him, so dense that it was no longer possible to distinguish separate windblown sheets in the glare of Navani’s fabrial floodlights. It was long past when he should have found cover.
“No, Brightlord,” said Peet, the bridgeman. “But she was insistent that we couldn’t face what was coming at us. Two highstorms.”
“How could there be two?” Navani asked. She wore a stout cloak but was soaked clear through anyway, her umbrella having blown away long ago. Roion walked on Dalinar’s other side, his beard and mustache limp with water.
“I don’t know, Brightness,” Peet said. “But that’s what she said. A highstorm and something else. She called it an Everstorm. She expects they’re going to collide right here.”
Dalinar considered, frowning. The command tent was just ahead. Inside, he’d talk to his field commanders, and—
The command tent shuddered, then ripped free in a burst of wind. Trailing ropes and spikes, it blew right past Dalinar, almost close enough to touch. Dalinar cursed as the light of a dozen lanterns—once contained in the tent—spilled onto the plateau. Scribes and soldiers scrambled, trying to grab maps and sheets of paper as rain and wind claimed them.
“Storm it!” Dalinar said, turning his back to the powerful wind. “I need an update!”
“Sir!” Commander Cael, head of the field command, jogged over, his wife—Apara—following. Cael’s clothing was mostly dry, though that was quickly changing. “Aladar has won his plateau! Apara was just composing you a message.”
“Really?” Almighty bless that man. He’d done it.
“Yes, sir,” Cael said. He had to shout against the wind and rain. “Highprince Aladar said the singing Parshendi went right down, letting him slaughter them. The rest broke and fled. Even