Indeed, the creature acted as he had each time before—dropping a husk and streaking toward Kaladin to grapple him. That was one husk spent. The Pursuer had two others before he would be trapped in his form and had to either flee, or face Kaladin and risk dying.
Kaladin stepped directly into the Pursuer’s path and dropped his spear, willingly entering the grapple. Turning at the last moment, he caught the Pursuer’s hands as they reached for him. Thrumming with Stormlight, Kaladin held the Pursuer’s wrists. Storms, the creature was stronger than he was. But Kaladin wouldn’t run or hide. Not this time. This time he only had to give Teft and Lift enough space to work.
And Kaladin had discovered something during their last fight. This creature was not a soldier.
“Give in, little man,” the Pursuer said. “I am as unavoidable as the coming storm. I will chase you forever.”
“Good,” Kaladin said.
“Bravado!” the Pursuer said, laughing. He managed to hook Kaladin’s foot, then used his superior strength to shove Kaladin to the ground. Best Kaladin could do was hang on and pull him down as well. The Pursuer kneed Kaladin in the gut, then twisted to get him in a hold. “So foolish!”
Kaladin writhed, barely able to keep from being immobilized. Syl flitted around them. As the Pursuer tried for a lock, Kaladin twisted around and met the Pursuer’s eyes, then smiled.
The Pursuer growled and repositioned to press Kaladin against the ground by his shoulders.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Kaladin said. “But you’re going to be afraid of me.”
“Madness,” the Pursuer said. “Your inevitable fate has caused madness in your frail mind.”
Kaladin grunted, back to the cold stone, using both hands to push the Pursuer’s right hand away. He kept his eyes locked on to the Pursuer’s.
“I killed you,” Kaladin said. “And I’ll kill you now. Then every time you return for me, I’ll kill you again.”
“I’m immortal,” the Pursuer growled. But his rhythm had changed. Not so confident.
“Doesn’t matter,” Kaladin said. “I’ve heard what people say about you. Your life isn’t the blood in your veins, but the legend you live. Each death kills that legend a little more. Each time I defeat you, it will rip you apart. Until you’re no longer known as the Pursuer. You’ll be known as the Defeated. The creature who, no matter how hard he tries, can’t ever beat ME.”
Kaladin reached down and activated Navani’s device at his belt, then pressed the grip that dropped the weight. It was as if someone had suddenly tied a rope to his waist, and then pulled him out of the Pursuer’s grip, sliding him across the floor of the atrium.
He deactivated the device, then rolled to his feet, looking across the short distance at his enemy. Syl fell in beside him, glaring at the Pursuer in a perfect mimic of his posture. Then, together, they smiled as Kaladin pulled out his scalpel.
* * *
Moash kicked Lift toward the wall, sending her limp and tumbling. She lay still and didn’t move after that. Moash floated forward, blade out, attention affixed solely on Teft.
Teft cursed himself for a fool. He’d focused on taking care of the Regal at the door; he should have known to check for irregularities. Now that he looked, he could see Kal’s parents and brother bound and gagged, visible through a gap in the cloth of the draped-off section at the rear.
The real trap wasn’t outside with the Pursuer. It was in here, with a much deadlier foe: a man who had been trained for war by Kaladin himself.
“Hello, Teft,” Moash said softly, landing in front of the rows of unconscious people on the floor. “How are the men?”
“Safe from you,” Teft said, pushing aside his cloak and unsheathing the long knife he had hidden underneath. Couldn’t move through a crowd unseen with a spear, unfortunately.
“Not all of them, Teft,” Moash said. There was a shadow on his face, despite the room’s many lit spheres.
Moash lunged forward and Teft danced back, stepping carefully over the body of the unconscious Regal. He had space here in front of the door with no fallen Radiants to upset his footing. All Moash did at first was open a sack and throw something out across the floor nearby. Black sand? What on Roshar?
Teft held out his weapon, Phendorana at his side, but the knife seemed tiny compared to Moash’s weapon: the assassin’s Honorblade. The one that had killed old Gavilar.
It looked wicked in Moash’s hand, shorter than most Blades—but in a lithe, deliberate way. This wasn’t a weapon for slaying great monsters of stone.
It was a weapon for killing men.
Humans are a poem. A song.
—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days
“Hey,” someone said to the Rhythm of Reprimand, “what are you doing?”
Rlain turned, shifting the barrel of water from one shoulder to the other. Dabbid pulled in close to him, frightened at the challenge. The two of them were in a nondescript passage of Urithiru, close to the steps down to the basement. This was the last guard post, and Rlain thought they had made it past.
“We’re delivering water,” Rlain said to Consolation, tapping his small water barrel. He wore makeup covering his tattoo, blending it into his skin pattern. “To the scholars.”
“Why are you doing it?” the singer said. Not a Fused or Regal, merely an ordinary guard. She walked over and put a hand on Rlain’s shoulder. “Let the human do that kind of work, friend. You are meant for greater things.”
He glanced at Dabbid—who looked at the ground—and attuned Irritation. This wasn’t the kind of resistance he’d anticipated.
“It’s my job,” Rlain said to the guard.
“Who assigned axehounds’ work to a singer?” she demanded. “Come with me. You strike an imposing figure in warform. I’ll teach you the sword. We’re recruiting for our squad.”
“I … I would rather do what I’m supposed to,” he said to Consolation. He pulled free, and thankfully she let him go. He and Dabbid continued along the hallway.
“Can you believe it?” she said from behind. “How can so many keep on thinking like slaves? It’s sad.”
“Yeah,” one of the other guards said. “I wouldn’t expect it of that one most of all, considering.”
Rlain attuned Anxiety.
“That one?” the femalen said, her voice echoing in the hallway.
“Yeah, he’s that listener, isn’t he? The one that was in prison until Raboniel’s Voice pulled him out?”
Damnation. Rlain walked a little quicker, but it was no use, as he soon heard boots chasing him. The guard grabbed him by the elbow.
“Wait now,” she said. “You’re the listener?”
“I am,” Rlain said to Consolation.
“Delivering water. You. A traitor?”
“We’re not…” He attuned Determination and turned around. “We’re not traitors. Venli is Raboniel’s Voice.”
“Yeah,” the femalen said. “Well, you’re not going down where the human queen is, not until I get confirmation that you’re allowed. Come with me.”