Kaladin wiped the sweat from his brow. He was sitting on a boulder a ways off from the main field of battle. Even here, he could see bodies lying at odd angles in all directions. Cracks in the earth drank up their pooling blood like rock buds in the weeping. Soldiers milled about the plain, some tending to wounded, others looting the dead. In the distance a cheer was being raised, men celebrated being alive. Those nearby watched Kaladin out of the corner of their eyes. Or perhaps they were looking at something else. The only unbloodied sword in sight.
Almost against his will Kaladin's eyes were drawn to the blade. He could feel its tug even a few feet away. Some part of him wished someone would come and take it away, take back the decision he was forced to make. That would not happen, not after what the entire army had seen him do with it. Kaladin pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, the weariness of the day catching up to him. He wondered if they had changed color yet. What would it mean if they did?
When he had charged the enemy phalanx, their backs turned, death itself in his hands and a hundred men behind him, he felt that he had become the great agent of injustice, just as the Veden had been before. The slaughter, the route, the victory, it was entirely arbitrary. Why should his army be saved while theirs was destroyed? Just because he picked up the blade? Kaladin had killed many soldiers in his few years in Amaram's army. Today he had easily doubled that number and with only a fraction of the effort.
Kaladin rubbed his wrist. The wretched thing was too heavy to wield in one hand, and awkward to hold in two. It was designed for use in shardplate, if 'designed' was even the right word. Both the plate and blade seemed too perfect, too beautiful to have been made by mortal hands. Whoever this sword was made meant for, none of their kind lived today.
"Brightlord. Someone is coming." The looming shadow over Kaladin's shoulder spoke quietly. It was the massive pikeman who had joined Kaladin and the honor guard in the assault on the Shardbearer. Kaladin learned his name afterwards: Kavel, an eight year veteran of Amaram's army. He had never been promoted because pike companies had no use for darkeyed sergeants or squad leaders, but he had been placed in the first rank of the first file, which was the closest equivalent position.
It took Kaladin a moment to realize Kavel was speaking to him. He followed the tip of Kavel's spear to the ridgeline a few hundred paces off. A force of mixed infantry bearing Amaram's colors crested the rise in a loosely ordered formation. Kaladin didn't move from his rock as they approached. They numbered nearly one thousand all together, but the banners of three battalionlords flew at their head.
"Reinforcements," Kaladin grunted as he mentally prepared himself for the meeting.
Seeing that the enemy had dispersed, the incoming infantry began to break up, returning soldiers mingling with those who'd been rescued. A platoon of stretcher bearers ran out from the rear of the approaching formation and set about tending to the wounded, the lighteyes taking priority as always.
With a grimace, Kaladin stood to meet the party of officers who eyed him as they approached. The shardblade flashed gaudily as he retrieved it. He held it upside down at the hilt like a walking stick, its tip stabbing several inches into the hardened crem. The blade drew even more stares now. Men he had rescued whispered to the newcomers, and they whispered back in disbelief. The officers didn't seem to be in need of rumor, they had clearly heard something of what had happened earlier.
Kavel joined Kaladin at his side. Despite being just as tired and more wounded than Kaladin himself, he kept a straight back as if presenting himself for inspection alongside his entire company. Kaladin's squad was not nearby; he had ordered them to perform basic first aid as soon as the enemy army had been dispersed, but some of the men he had first rallied drew in towards him. The officers stopped a few paces away. Kaladin did not salute.
Norby, Kaladin's own captainlord, stood among them, staring slack-jawed in undisguised astonishment. His battalionlord, Restees, was there too, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought. He outranked them now, Kaladin realized. He would be fourth Dahn, and more significant than any lighteyes short of a general. There were two other battalionlords, an older and a younger, who Kaladin didn't immediately recognize, and several companylords. As the soldiers began to congregate around the meeting, Kaladin decided he would have to break the silence himself.
"Hallaw's infantry forces have been routed with heavy casualties. Battalionlord Ordinal took about three hundred men with him to harry their retreat; make sure they don't turn back on us. I told him not to follow them more than two miles, but..." Kaladin trailed off. Ordinal had seemed almost offended by the suggestion at the time, and marched off without acknowledging him with even a nod. The other battalionlord had at least thanked him for the rescue. "We met some of the cavalry earlier, but they mostly ignored us when they realized we weren't retreating. I don't know where they've gone, but I sent squads to scout-"
"They assaulted the camp," said one of the companylords. Kaladin recognized him. It was the one Kaladin had sent back to camp with orders to prepare the defense. His eyes were not lost as they had been, but focused intently on Kaladin and the shardblade. "About three hundred light cavalry. We turned them away as well. Evidently they were on the hunt for fleeing men." Kaladin nodded respectfully. The man was clearly ashamed of quitting the battlefield, but seemed to be doing his best to redeem himself.
"My men are tending the wounded as best they can, but many here need surgeons. There are too many to transport. It'd be best if a contingent of surgeons were dispatched here immediately. We can set up a field hospital to deal with the most serious cases, and carry the rest back to camp in time. Prisoners are being held by the cliffs; about five hundred total. Some of them may need attention as well."
Kaladin was careful not to phrase any of this as an order. The battalionlords in particular seemed edgy and uncertain. The older one, a burly man with ice white hair, made a subtle gesture, and a pair of runners set off back in the direction they had come.
"Who are you boy," he said in a rasping voice. He was not focused on the shardblade, but Kaladin himself. Kaladin met the battalionlords eyes, sky blue and faces turned to Kaladin, expectantly. Before he could respond, Keval was already shouting.
"His name is Brightlord Kaladin Stormblessed, Avenger of Absidier Highmarshal Meridas Amaram. And the savior of this army." The Pikeman's voice resounded deeply across the plain. It cast a hush over the crowd, then mumbles picked up his words. Stormblessed. Stormblessed.
"Amaram is dead then," the elder battalionlord continued, unfazed.
"Dead, Yes." Kaladin took no pleasure in admitting it. He still felt that there was a chance, however slim, that he could've saved the Highmarshal, but it was not the time for regrets. "General Kedele too, if reports are to be believed."
The younger battalionlord looked to his elder and said something under his breath. "Quiet boy," responded the old man. "That'll be decided later."
"If both the Highmarshal and Kedele are dead, then that leaves General Seti in overall command," said Restees. He'd come out of his contemplative daze and was now looking suspiciously at his fellow battalionlords. "You've done well, soldier. Miraculously. No darkeyed man has won shards on the field of battle in living memory, and no one here will forget it. But I can see you're exhausted now. Melys and I will see the men taken care of and returned to camp. You should go as well, and we can all talk when you're rested."
Restees turned to go and the rest seemed inclined to follow, but Kaladin interrupted them. "If General Seti is in command, why isn't he here?"
Kaladin's battalionlord, former battalionlord, turned to respond hesitantly. "The General took a wound in battle. He is being tended in camp."
"They are going to try and take your shards." Kavel's breath was warm on Kaladin's neck. The pikeman looked askance at every unfamiliar soldier who entered within three paces of them, but clearly had no sense for personal space himself. Kaladin's self appointed bodyguard heeled to his side like a trained axehound. Notably, he stayed on his left, opposite the side Kaladin held the shardblade, still using it as a walking stick.
"They can try." Part of Kaladin wanted the shards to be taken. If it came to violence he'd rather every lighteyed officer in camp kill each other over the cursed things than risk his own men's lives again. It had been luck that had saved them in the gulley. If all the enemy cavalry had been sent against them at once, then all of them would have been killed. Instead only one squadron was dispatched and turned away. That still bothered Kaladin, but it wasn't important at the moment.
"There's a full suit of shardplate sitting out on the plain somewhere and you're treating it like spheres in the bank," Kavel continued earnestly. "You need to claim them properly. Publicly. Once the full set is together, they won't be able to deny you."
"The plate is broken, and I have no way to repair it," Kaladin said. "Even if every man who fought with me pooled his spheres together, I doubt we could squeeze enough stormlight out of them to fix it. Not that any of us even know how." Kaladin did know the basics of how Shardplate worked. There were infused gemstones hidden somewhere that powered the plate like a fabrial. It could even heal itself when broken. But now that it was broken, that meant the stormlight had run out.
Kavel thought for a moment. "We need to find an Ardent. You're a shardbearer, that means you get Ardents who take care of your plate."
"The only Ardents in this army belong to Amaram."
"Who's dead. And you avenged him. They owe you."
Kaladin turned on Kavel, startling the large man. There were equal in height, but Kavel was at least two stonesweight heavier. Nevertheless the pikeman shrank from Kaladin's gaze. "Why do I have to take the plate?" Kaladin said. "Each man who rushed him in the gully played their part in that fight. Why don't you go claim it if it's so important?"
Kaladin stomped away before Kavel could respond. "Because you killed him, Brightlord, you led us. Without you we'd all be fleeing or dead."
"Quit calling me Brightlord. I only pick up this thing to save the army. And I'm only holding onto it to make sure my men are taken care of. After that I don't care what happens to it."
That silenced the pikeman. Kaladin could imagine the astonishment on his face. Kaladin almost couldn't believe it himself. When he joined Amaram's army, he had harbored boyhood dreams of winning shards, becoming lighteyed. But he outgrew that fantasy long ago.
In Hearthstone, the relationship between lighteyes and darkeyes came in only two forms. Roshone was a bloodsucking cremling, but Wistiow had been a kind and generous man. Some lighteyes were good, others were bad, just like everybody else, Or so Kaladin had thought. At war, Kaladin realized that the distinction was much more insidious than that. It could make the difference between life and death, reward and sacrifice. How many times had he seen stretcher bearers pass through a field of wounded darkeyes to fetch the one lighteyed officer among them? How often had he seen veterans ruled over by amateurs, the wise commanded by the ignorant, honorable men trampled by petty ambition? Succeeding in such a system spoke against a man's character, not for it.
So far as Kaladin was concerned, the only lighteyed officer worth following had died earlier that day. Maybe there were some worthy of their titles, Highprinces like Dalinar and Sadeas, but they were on the Shattered Plains fighting the Parshendi. Here, the dregs of lighteyed society scrabbled for every shred of wealth, rank, or influence they could find. Fighting that was like warring against the storm. Since leaving home, Kaladin had learned to fight as well as any man in the army. The hardest lesson to learn was how to turn away from a battle that he couldn't win.
He found his squad where he had left them, tending to the hastily arranged triage station near where the hardest fighting had taken place. He'd trained them in the basics of field medicine so that they could take care of one another in battle. He was proud to see them using it on others now.
Kaladin was in the habit of bribing the stretcher bearers to visit his squad as often as they did lighteyed units, and it seemed that some of them remembered their agreement. Coreb and Toorim were directing them to the worst cases, those in need of immediate evacuation. They looked up as he approached, looked at the sword, then stood at attention. The stretcher bearers averted their eyes and did as they'd been ordered.
"We've tended to about two hundred," Coreb said. "Mostly small lacerations. But there are no bandages. We've been gathering spare cloth from the dead, but..."
"Surgeons are on their way." Kaladin pointed in the direction of the camp. "Send back those that can walk and don't need immediate attention. The stretcher bearers can take the most seriously wounded now, but send the rest to the other parts of the battlefield. There are wounded all over the plain, not just here."
Kaladin was thinking of the honor guard back in the gully. Ten had been killed outright by the blade in his hand, most of the rest were crippled by it. But those wounds wouldn't rot or bleed. Kaladin looked out at the rest of his men busy at work, wrapping wounds and laying out the wounded. Part of him was relieved that his men had been spared that fight in the gully, another part was ashamed of that feeling.
"What of our dead," Kaladin asked, his eyes diverted from the two men in front of him.
"Larn and Korater," Coreb responded solemnly. "Cyn and Lyndel too. Dalet of course and... the new boy, I never learned his name."
"Cenn," Kaladin provided. He had been trampled by the Shardbearers horse. The blade hadn't even touched him, he had froze at the sight of the massive beast and his equally massive rider. But Dallet... Kaladin could see his face now. A thin gray line through his skull, two burned out eyes and a mouth agape in terror. Kaladin's hand tensed around the shardblade's hilt. Somewhere on this battlefield there were a swath of men with that same horrified expression. Kaladin had cut them down, left them like a forest of stumpweight trees felled for their wood.
"What.. did the Brightlords say?" Toorim asked hesitantly. Kaladin thought the man had been shaken by the battle. Every time he looked at Kaladin, it was as if he were seeing a ghost.
"The enemy cavalry attempted to storm the camp, but were turned away. Probably they've retreated back to their own camp, but keep watchers out in case they find this place." With another thousand men in this area, Kaladin didn't expect the cavalry to strike even if they did come near, but it was never unwise to keep a lookout for danger.
"He meant about you, squadleader," Coreb said seriously.
"They said I should take a rest."
Toorim laughed nervously, Coreb remained solemn. "You should. But you can't. With Amaram gone, there's no one to keep those storming fools in line. At least one of them is thinking of claiming those shards for himself, and none of them are above slitting your throat."
Kavel grunted his agreement. Kaladin was about to tell them both off loudly enough for his whole squad to hear, but he was interrupted by a man running towards them at a dead sprint."
"Brightlord!" he wheezed. "The Companylord. He's back. And the Sergeant. He won't."
"Catch your breath soldier," Kaladin barked. "And don't call me that." He recognized the man now. Both of his hands had turned gray at the wrists. He was one of the men from the honor guard who had charged the shardbearer with him.
"Sergeant Haber, sir. He won't let Gylan take your shardplate. He's sitting on the Shardbearer's chest, waving an axe at anyone who comes near. The Companylord is threatening to have him killed."
Damnation take the man! Kaladin reacted instantly, hefting the shardblade into an upright position and breaking into a jog. Coreb and Toorim began to follow, but Kaladin waved them off. "Stay with the wounded. I can take care of this myself."
Both men looked uncertain but obeyed. Kaladin turned and was surprised to find Kavel running in a different direction. He'd been trying to shake the pikeman since the battle ended, but now felt like he could use an extra spear at his side. It didn't matter. If it came to a fight, Kaladin didn't want to risk anybody else's life for these damned shards.
Sergeant Haber had two axes, one lashed to his blade dead arm, the other held high overhead. He stood on the chestplate of the shardbearer, indifferent to the stares he drew from all around. Even the other members of the honor guard looked at him incredulously. Less amused, the Companylord Gylan sat his horse with a coterie of followers from camp. Some were tending to Amaram's body, but others stood on their guard.
"Any man who lays a hand on this armor loses the hand! This prize belongs to Stormblessed, and I'll be damned if anyone even thinks of cheating him!" Haber was shouting at the gathered crowd, his eyes wild. Gylan had not drawn his sword, but his hand itched at the pommel.
"You'd best see a surgeon about your own hand, Sergeant. It could be your death," said Gylan through a tight grin. "I could take it off if you'd like."
"That won't be necessary," Kaladin said. He stood at the lip of the gully looking down on the scene. Now he became the center of everyone's stares. The Captainlord's red face twitched into a grimace.
"Stormblessed!" Haber shouted. "Is the army saved? Is the enemy nearby?" The man seemed more than slightly unhinged. The battle had been over for more than an hour.
Kaladin slid as gracefully as he could down the side of the gully, his shardblade dragging behind him, turning loose rocks into gravel. He watched the captainlord. Kaladin didn't know what the other officers intended, but this one didn't bother hiding his feelings. Kaladin had called Gylan out before the battle, besmirched his honor, and now that he held the shards, shamed him. Every lighteyed soldier would like a shardblade, some would kill to have one. Gylan might kill Kaladin just for revenge.
"Do we have a problem, Brightlord," Kaladin said as he reached the bottom of the gully.
"We only came to retrieve the Highmarshal's body," Gylan said, "and we saw you'd left your prize unattended. It was only my intention to return it to camp where it could be properly attended to."
The lie was so brazen even his own men looked askance at their companylord. One short, robed woman looked outright amused as she dismounted. As she lowered her hood, Kaladin realized by her shaved head that she was an Ardent. On any other woman the glinting gold on her hand might be a ring or bracelet, but Ardents weren't permitted such things. She was a Soulcaster.
"Ah! You must be the one Gylan has been muttering about the whole ride," she shouted. "To hear him tell it, you'd be a bile spitting lurg out of the Marabethia, but you're much too tall."
Her humorous tone was wildly inappropriate for a battlefield, there were probably dying men within earshot, but the woman took Kaladin by surprise. He suppressed a smile.
"Ardent, am I correct to believe that this plate and blade belong to me?"
"I don't know, did you kill the man who was previously wearing it?"
"He did!" Haber said. "We all saw it with our own eyes."
"Then it's yours. By killing the previous shardbearer in legal combat, you immediately gained the right to claim and bestow the plate and blade as you see fit. From the moment you claimed it, you were also raised to the fourth dahn, equivalent to a battalionlord." That made all the lighteyes faces twist. The Ardent smiled blithely as if she couldn't see the red ribbons of anticipationspren whipping around the gully.
"Then I order Companylord Gylan to return Highmarshal Amaram's body back to camp." Kaladin spoke slowly, barely believing his own words. Now was not the time for timidity, he had to be decisive.
"But of course, Gylan has rights as well," the Ardent continued. "If Gylan here decides to claim the Right of Challenge over your past grievances, then he is entitled to fight you to the death. And if he kills you, the shards would go to him." She then looked over toward the companylord. "Brightlord, please do whatever you are going to do quickly. I wish to inspect the plate."
Gylan refocused on Kaladin, shifting like everyone between his face and the blade. Even outnumbered ten to one, Kaladin felt like he could beat this man, but he didn't want to. Gylan had seen the blade in action as well, and had run from it before. The only difference now is that it was being held by a darkeyes. Kaladin worried that the Companylord's prejudice was strong enough to overwhelm his instinct for self preservation.
The men around him looked uncertain, then suddenly afraid. A scattering of gravel rolled down into the gully. Kaladin didn't have to look to know who was there. The lip of the gully bristled with thirty arrows nocked in short bows. Of course Kavel had fetched Captainlord Yeshal and the archers.
This sight hadn't scared the shardbearer, but with only a dozen fighting men, the cavalry were dangerously outnumbered and out of position. Kaladin could see Gylan recalculating the odds in his head. He was weighing a formal challenge against an illegal brawl and didn't like his chances either way.
Gylan grunted his disgust. He turned his horse and led off a procession back towards camp. The men tending to Amaram hastily slung their former Highmarshal on the back of a pack mule and followed after their retreating companylord. Some looked back at Kaladin as they trotted off, again quitting the battlefield in shame. That problem wasn't going away any time soon.
The Ardent approached the shardbearer unfazed. Even when Haber gestured half heartedly with an axe, she simply pushed it aside and knelt to inspect the plate. The old man looked to Kaladin for orders, his eyes wild and lost.
"Thank you, Haber," Kaladin said gently, "For the loyalty you showed me. You can put down the axes now, I think Captainlord Yeshal has security under control."
The old man nodded. The other honor guards looked worried about him. Kaladin barely knew the man, but evidently something had pushed him over the edge. Losing Amaram must've been the start, then his men, then his arm. Haber had lost more in the past few hours than most could handle.
Kaladin left him with the other men who had been crippled by the shardblade. He hated to see their wounds, they way their arms simply fell limp in their laps. If Gylan had attacked, Kaladin didn't know that he could even use the blade against him or his followers. The sword was simply unfair to fight with.
Kaladin tried to put thoughts of fighting out of his mind. Everyone here now was a friend or ally. Unlike most of the light eyes, Yeshal seemed perfectly at peace with Kaladin. Granted, he had been willing to follow orders even before Kaladin claimed the shardblade. Kavel was back on guard duty with a self-satisfied expression.
The only stranger left in the gully was the Ardent, who was busy disassembling the shardplate piece by piece. Kaladin approached her slowly, waited until she had noticed him. She glanced at his face, but ignored him in favor of the plate. Kaladin stabbed the shardblade into the ground more aggressively than he intended, but still the Ardent did not acknowledge his presence.
"So what are you, my... shardplate attendant now?" he asked.
"That's a strange question," she said, not looking up. "Did Amaram will his Ardents over to you with his dying breath?"
"No."
"Then why would you think I belong to you?"
"Do you serve Gylan then?"
"Almighty above," she laughed. "Not for all the gems in the Thaylen reserve. Amaram does have a potential heir in camp. A companylord Sheler if you're familiar. A similarly odious man, but thankfully I won't be his property either."
"Then who?"
The Ardent tapped two hidden levers on the inside of the shardplate and the entire cuirass popped off. She lifted it with great effort, then handed it over to Kaladin. The chestplate was heavy, it probably weighed as much as the Ardent herself, all five feet of her.
"I belong to Highprince Sadeas himself. I was only loaned to Amaram to support him in the war." She displayed her uncovered safe hand scandalously. Kavel averted his gaze, and began acting as if he had some other duty to attend to. Kaladin kept the surprise off his face and examined her unusual jewelry. On her hand, several gemstones were suspended in gold chains attached to her rings and bracelet. "It makes metal. Not quite useful enough for the Shattered Plains, but good enough to help out here."
Kaladin had heard of soulcasting, knew it was used in camp, but never thought he'd get so close to one. He set down the cuirass and examined the neat piles the Ardent had made of the many pieces of the plate. He averted his gaze from the mess of a man being slowly revealed under the armor.
"You learned this on the Highprince's plate?"
"I did have that opportunity, yes." She was trying to pull out the backplate, and he helped her by lifting the corpse a few inches. The smashed face seemed to stare Kaladin dead in the eye until he let it back down. The rotspren had already taken up residence.
"Uh- How is the Highprince? Personally, I mean. What is he like?" Kaladin thought this was the most bizarre conversation he had ever had, speaking casually with an Ardent over the corpse of a shardbearer.
"I never spoke to the Highprince much. I mostly served his wife, Brightlady Ialai. She picked me out of the Ardentia herself and brought me to the Shattered Plains for a year, then sent me back here to keep an eye on Amaram."
"Keep an eye on him? Like a spy?"
"A spy in plain sight," she said, wiping her hands with a spare rag. "I'm of the Devotary of Sincerity. That means I try to tell the truth all the time. I never concealed my purpose from the Highmarshal, and I reported all goings on in camp by spanread."
"Amaram was an honorable man," Kaladin said. "What reason did Sadeas have to question him?"
"Spies are like locks, they keep men honest," said the Ardent, as if explaining herself to a child. "If Amaram's loyalty was suspect, I'm sure the Highprince would never have given him command of this army in the first place. But you don't have to worry about your sworn enemies betraying you. And there is no harm in establishing multiple avenues of communication. Amaram and I often differed in our reports to Brightlady Ialai, and not because one of us was lying to her."
"I suppose she will be getting a lot of different reports about today." Kaladin didn't have much experience with spanreads, but he knew that just about every lighteyed woman in camp had one. Before nightfall, the rumors of this day would scatter all over the kingdom. "Why aren't you writing to her now?"
"I thought you'd appreciate some help with your shardplate." Kaladin couldn't tell if her smile was genuine or sarcastic. "I don't intend to write to her until I can tell her something no one else can."
"Something about me?"
"Something about something important." The Ardent stood, looking Kaladin face to face for the first time. Her eyes were light purple, and it seemed she had shaved her eyebrows off along with the rest of her hair. Where they ought to have been was a light white fuzz. Kaladin realized she was searching his eyes as well. He wondered if they had turned yet.
"Do you have anything to tell me?" she asked innocently. She was a spy, but of all the schemers he'd met today, she seemed the most forthright.
She is lighteyed, Kaladin reminded himself. Even if she's an Ardent now, she was raised to think politically, to exploit a situation. She doesn't need to know anything about me.
"The Shardbearer was not Alethi," Kaladin said, pointing to the corpse. Her forehead wrinkled where eyebrows were meant to be. "We heard him speaking Veden, and he didn't seem to understand Alethi very well. Or just didn't want to listen to Hallaw's men."
"Do you think he was a mercenary?" Suddenly her attention turned away from either Kaladin or the armor, and instead she began to search the corpse.
"It's possible," Kaladin said. "But I doubt it. More like an assassin. He rode without a guard, and ignored the battle after shattering the honor guard. No, he came here for Amaram. When we found him here, he was searching Amaram's corpse the same way you're searching his now."
The Ardent stopped what she was doing, looked back to where Amaram's body had been, and sighed. "You wouldn't happen to have searched the Highmarshal's body yourself have you?"
"Nope. There was a battle to win. And Sergeant Haber has a thing about corpses."
"Then I guess Gylan might get a consolation prize afterall. I just hope they don't soulcast him before I take a look myself."
The Ardent turned back to the Veden's body, searching every sleeve and pocket in the clothes he wore under the shardplate. She retrieved a small knife from her own voluminous sleeves, and stared ripping out every seam in every garment the corpse was wearing. Just before Kaladin thought things might get disrespectful, she pulled out a long strip of cloth, which had been sewn into the inner lining of the man's padded doublet. The cloth was plain white cotton embroidered with a long multicolored glyphward. The hand that had stitched it was crude yet legible.
"Nan... Chach... Thath... Tsameth...Merem khakh," Kaladin read aloud, much to the Ardent's surprise. "Asking the Heralds to bring justice and death upon Amaram, I guess. Oroho... Kalak... Roshar... Ha! If the cremling wanted eternal peace he sure had a funny way of finding it."
"You read glyphs well," the Ardent said with a flash of a grin.
"My mother was very religious," Kaladin said, silently kicking himself. "I've seen more glyphwards than a surgeon sees bandages."
"I guess he was as well," the Ardent said, suddenly thoughtful. "But it's an odd prayer for a devout man to make."
"Every man has his Calling. Even assassins. And I bet nearly every soldier on either side of this battle burnt a glyph or said a prayer to a similar effect."
"Peace Eternal for Roshar," she read out slowly. Kaladin saw the contradiction now. Warfare was the highest Calling of men, the surest way into the Tranquiline Halls. For most Vorins, praying to the Almighty for eternal peace was borderline heretical, like asking mercy for a Voidbringer. Kaladin had been raised with nearly the opposite of the mainstream Vorin worldview from his father.
"What do you suppose this all means?"
"I suppose nothing," the Ardent said, rising to her feet. "It's not for me to draw conclusions. I only relate the facts. Brightlady Ialai will have her opinions as will the Highprince."
"Sure, but the army is going to want answers as well."
"Brightlord," she said, suddenly formal, "You've been helpful to me, so I will give you this piece of advice. Keep what you believe to yourself. Wait for Sadeas to send orders. It is better for you if the army is focused on Hallaw and finishing this little boundary dispute before looking towards Jah Keved."
"That's an odd thing for someone from the Devotary of Sincerity to say," Kaladin said with a frown.
"Ignorance is never insincere, Brightlord, we are all more ignorant than we believe." With that she turned back to her horse, mounted, and rode off. Kaladin watched her leave, his mind on the advice she had given before realizing he hadn't even asked her name.
"Strange women," Kavel said, returning to his usual position.
"Odd even for an Ardent, I'd reckon." Kaladin could decide how he felt about her. At first she seemed to be goading him and Gylan to fight. Then it seemed like she was almost flirting with him. Flirting over a dead body.
"Did you place her accent? She can't be Alethi..."
"Southern, I think," Kaladin said. Even after all this time in the army, Kaladin hadn't traveled very far from home, but he had met men from all over the kingdom. "Dumadari or thereabouts? Might even be Thaylen."
"A Thaylen would never shave her eyebrows," Kavel said sagely, "But she definitely does have the south sea about her. Oh, I know it! The one city with more foreigners than citizens. Even the locals grow up sounding like they're from somewhere else."
"What? Where?" Kaladin said, his mind already moving on to other things.
"Kharbranth," Kavel declared.
Kaladin agreed, that made the most sense. "I wonder how she found her way to Alethkar."