“Of course not. I’m not a chull-thing. I’m a soldier.”
They moved on, passing cage after cage of animals. Some Shallan wanted to draw, others she concluded didn’t need an immediate sketch. The one she found the most fascinating was also the strangest, a kind of colorful chicken with red, blue, and green feathers. She dug out colored pencils to do that sketch. Apparently, she’d missed a chance at sketching one of these a long time ago.
Kaladin had to admit the thing was pretty. How did it survive, though? It had shell on the very front of its face, but the rest of it wasn’t squishy, so it couldn’t hide in cracks like the devil rock. What did this chicken do when a storm came?
Syl landed on Kaladin’s shoulder.
“I’m a soldier,” Kaladin repeated, speaking very softly.
“That’s what you were,” Syl said.
“It’s what I want to be again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mostly.” He folded his arms, spear leaning against his shoulder. “The only thing is… It’s crazy, Syl. Insane. My time as a bridgeman was the worst in my life. We suffered death, oppression, indignity. Yet I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive as I did in those final weeks.”
Next to the work he’d done with Bridge Four, being a simple soldier—even a highly respected one, like captain of a highprince’s guard—just felt mundane. Ordinary.
But soaring on the winds—that had been anything but ordinary.
“You’re almost ready, aren’t you?” Syl whispered.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”
The next cage in line had a large crowd around it, and even a few fearspren wiggling out of the ground. Kaladin pushed in, though he didn’t have to clear a space—the people made room for Dalinar’s heir as soon as they realized who he was. Adolin walked past them without a second glance, obviously accustomed to such deference.
This cage was different from the others. The bars were closer together, the wood reinforced. The animal inside didn’t seem to deserve the special treatment. The sorry beast lay in front of some rocks, eyes closed. The square face showed sharpened mandibles—like teeth, only somehow more vicious—and a pair of long, toothlike tusks that pointed down from the upper jaw. The stark spikes running from the head along the sinuous back, along with powerful legs, were clues as to what this beast was.
“Whitespine,” Shallan breathed, stepping closer to the cage.
Kaladin had never seen one. He remembered a young man, lying dead on the operating table, blood everywhere. He remembered fear, frustration. And then misery.
“I expected,” Kaladin said, trying to sort through it all, “the thing to be… more.”
“They don’t do well in captivity,” Shallan said. “This one probably would have gone dormant in crystal long ago, if it had been allowed. They must keep dousing it to wash away the shell.”
“Don’t feel sorry for the thing,” Adolin said. “I’ve seen what they can do to a man.”
“Yeah,” Kaladin said softly.
Shallan got out her drawing things, though as she started, people began to move away from the cage. At first, Kaladin thought it was something about the beast itself—but the animal continued to just lie there, eyes closed, occasionally snorting out of its nose holes.
No, people were congregating at the other side of the menagerie. Kaladin caught Adolin’s attention, then pointed. I’m going to go check that out, the gesture implied. Adolin nodded and rested his hand on his sword. I’ll be on the watch, that said.
Kaladin jogged off, spear on his shoulder, to investigate. Unfortunately, he soon recognized a familiar face above the crowd. Amaram was a tall man. Dalinar stood at his side, guarded by several of Kaladin’s men, who were keeping the gawking crowd back a safe distance.
“… heard my son was here,” Dalinar was saying to the well-dressed owner of the menagerie.
“You needn’t pay, Highprince!” the menagerie owner said, speaking with a lofty accent similar to Sigzil’s. “Your presence is a grand blessing from the Heralds upon my humble collection. And your distinguished guest.”
Amaram. He wore a strange cloak. Bright yellow-gold, with a black glyph on the back. Oath? Kaladin didn’t recognize the shape. It looked familiar, though.
The double eye, he realized. Symbol of…
“Is it true?” the menagerie owner asked, inspecting Amaram. “The rumors around camp are most intriguing…”
Dalinar sighed audibly. “We were going to announce this at the feast tonight, but as Amaram insists on wearing the cloak, I suppose it needs to be stated. Under the king’s direction, I have commanded the refounding of the Knights Radiant. Let it be spoken of in the camps. The ancient oaths are spoken again, and Brightlord Amaram was—at my request—the first to speak them. The Knights Radiant have been reestablished, and he stands at their head.”
56. Whitespine Uncaged
Twenty-three cohorts followed behind, that came from the contributions of the King of Makabakam, for though the bond between man and spren was at times inexplicable, the ability for bonded spren to manifest in our world rather than their own grew stronger through the course of the oaths given.
From Words of Radiance, chapter 35, page 9
“Amaram obviously doesn’t have any Surgebinding abilities,” Sigzil said softly, standing beside Kaladin.
Dalinar, Navani, the king, and Amaram climbed out of their carriage ahead. The dueling arena rose before them, another of the craterlike formations that rimmed the Shattered Plains. It was much smaller than the ones that held the warcamps, however, and had tiered seats inside.
With both Elhokar and Dalinar in attendance—not to mention Navani and both of Dalinar’s sons—Kaladin had brought every guard he could. That included some of the men from Bridge Seventeen and Bridge Two. Those stood proudly, with spears held high, obviously excited to finally be trusted with their first bodyguard assignment. In total, he had forty men on duty.
None of them would be worth a drop of rain if the Assassin in White attacked.
“Can we be certain?” Kaladin asked, nodding toward Amaram, who still wore his yellow-gold cloak with the symbol of the Knights Radiant on the back. “I haven’t shown anyone my powers. There have to be others training as I am. Storms, Syl all but promised me there were.”
“He’d have displayed the abilities if he had them,” Sigzil said. “Gossip is moving through the ten warcamps like floodwater. Half the people think it’s blasphemous and stupid, what Dalinar is doing. The other half are undecided. If Amaram displayed Surgebinding powers, Brightlord Dalinar’s move would look a lot less precarious.”
Sigzil was probably right. But… Amaram? The man walked with such pride, head held high. Kaladin felt his neck growing hot, and for a moment it seemed the only thing he could see was Amaram. Golden cloak. Haughty face.
Bloodstained. That man was bloodstained. Kaladin told Dalinar about it!
Dalinar wouldn’t do anything.
Someone else would have to.
“Kaladin?” Sigzil asked.
Kaladin realized he’d stepped toward Amaram, hands clenched on his spear. He took a deep breath, then pointed. “Put men up on the rim of the arena there. Skar and Eth are in the preparation room with Adolin, for all the good it will do him out on the field. Put another few down at the arena bottom, just in case. Three men at every door. I’ll take six with me to the king’s seats.” Kaladin paused, then added, “Let’s also put two men guarding Adolin’s betrothed, just in case. She’ll be sitting with Sebarial.”