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When they’re out on the field together, Adolin always keeps half an eye on Kaladin. He doesn’t really need to, but he can’t help it. Knowing Kal’s there, being able to have his back, even from afar, comforts him and gives him strength.
That’s why he happens to be looking Kaladin’s way when Kal gets hit so hard he actually falls out of the sky.
Ouch.
Adolin starts towards him automatically, then pauses. Kaladin can handle himself. He won’t appreciate Adolin breaking the battle lines only to reach him just as he heals himself and pops back up, good as new. He’ll be fine in a moment.
Adolin waits. Watches from afar.
Any moment now.
He’s fine, surely. Stormlight healing takes a few minutes sometimes. And Adolin can see some of the other Windrunners nearby keeping an eye on Kal from above to make sure he’s not attacked while he’s down. He’ll be okay.
Adolin keeps waiting.
Kaladin doesn’t reappear.
Just when he starts to seriously think, something’s wrong, one of the Windrunners up above—Sigzil maybe? it’s hard to tell from afar—seems to come to the same conclusion and darts down towards Kal.
Fuck.
Adolin abandons his battle line, throwing a vague order over his shoulder for the Cobalt Guard to hold the position, and runs for Kaladin.
Kaladin can’t figure out why he can’t get up.
Everything hurts, everything, not just his shoulder where the blade struck him. But he’s gotten up before at times when everything hurt. Now, he can’t coordinate his limbs, can barely feel his hands, his head feels like it’s going to explode— that Fused knife must have had some poison on it or something, but what toxin could possibly cause this?
He goes to suck in a breath of Stormlight, surely that will purge the toxin—
Syl appears in front of his face, the edges of her form warbling crazily. “KALADIN DON’T!”
Kaladin tries to ask why, but can’t manage to speak. His mouth tastes metallic.
Sigzil drops down out of the sky to land beside him. “Damnation,” he swears. “Here—” he’s digging in his sphere pouch.
“No!” Syl yells, loud enough that Sigzil flinches.
But he gives up on reaching for Stormlight and crouches by Kaladin’s head. “Kaladin?”
Kaladin can barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. His head hurts so bad, and he claws at his ears with shaking hands, trying to get it to stop. Please stop please make it stop—
“Kal!” Adolin falls beside him in a clatter of Shardplate, yanking off his helmet and gauntlets. Kaladin lets Adolin gather him up, pressing his forehead into Adolin’s armored stomach. It doesn’t help, nothing helps, the pressure in his head is getting worse—
“Sigzil, what the fuck was on that knife!” Adolin yells. Too loud, too loud, it feels like his ears are bleeding. Kaladin scrubs his hands over his ears again— oh, they are actually bleeding. Storms.
“Syl?” Sigzil asks, but Syl just makes a low whining sound in response and huddles in against Kaladin’s neck. Kaladin tries to say her name but can’t get words to move from his brain to his mouth.
Adolin says his name again, but Kaladin can only manage a broken sob in response. Everything is getting fuzzy, the world turning wobbly and uneven, which might honestly be a mercy at this point.
“Kal?” Adolin says again. “Kaladin?”
Kaladin tries again to say his name, but can barely manage a sound as everything fractures and twists and the world spins out into painful nonsense around him.
It hurts more than anything to put Kaladin down, but Adolin knows a seizure when he sees one. Even if this seems more violent and painful than Renarin’s seizures were, he can still recognize it.
He sets Kaladin down on his side, watching anxiously. Beside him, he can see Sigzil keeping time, mouthing the numbers to himself as seconds pass.
Storms, what is going on? There must have been some kind of poison on that blade, but a poison that Kaladin’s Stormlight couldn’t neutralize? What in Damnation have the Fused gotten their hands on?
They both keep watch in silence, Adolin fixated on Kal, Sigzil timing and keeping at least half an eye on their surroundings to make sure they aren’t attacked. The uneven shuddering of Kaladin’s body is horrible. Adolin nearly bites through his own lip just worrying at it.
Finally, Kaladin goes still, dropping suddenly limp to the ground. Adolin lunges for him, curling over him desperately. “Kal,” he says. “Kaladin.”
No response. Kaladin is totally limp now. He looks terrifying—his nose is bleeding, his ears are bleeding. Adolin feels for his pulse. It’s high and thready, but still there, thank the Almighty.
“Two and a half minutes,” Sigzil says quietly. Storms.
Drehy and Skar both land beside them then, looking worried. “What in Damnation is going on here, is he okay?” Drehy demands.
“No,” Sigzil says. Then, apparently deciding he’s taking control of the situation, says, “Drehy, try to find the knife that struck him, it’s likely nearby. It should be a Fused knife, but with something odd about it, I expect you’ll know when you see it. Be very careful, don’t touch the blade.”
“Ay, Cap,” Drehy says, and takes off with a final worried look at Kaladin. Adolin’s still frozen above him, he doesn’t know what to do, is it safe to move him? It certainly isn’t safe to stay here, in the middle of the battlefield. For now he just stays where he is, hands resting lightly on Kaladin’s head.
“Skar,” Sigzil says, “go get a surgeon from the infirmary.”
“Not an Edgedancer?” Skar says.
Sigzil shakes his head. “Surgeon. Actually—” he deliberates internally, then says, “Actually, no, let’s take him off the field. Adolin, do you have him?”
Adolin is loath to move away from Kal, but says, “You’ll be faster.”
“I don’t know if we can safely use any Stormlight on him right now,” Sigzil says. “Syl was very insistent. You take him, I will guard your retreat. Skar, let them know we’re coming and tell them we need a surgeon, I’ll take an Edgedancer as well but warn them we need to reevaluate before using any Stormlight.”
“You got it,” Skar says, and takes off towards the war camp.
“He’s lucky to have you to step in, Sigzil,” Adolin says, carefully gathering Kaladin up in his arms and standing. The added strength of the Plate makes it easy, no matter that Kal weighs almost as much as he does.
Sigzil scrubs a hand over his hair, looking slightly embarrassed. “Yes, well, he left me in charge.” He shakes himself. “Okay, let’s go.”
Kaladin wakes up, gradually, but it takes him a while to feel fully present in reality. He can’t quite get his eyes to open yet, or move, he feels very disconnected from reality, his body still on the verge of fracturing into a thousand pieces. Damnation. What kind of weapon was that?
Voices around him, warbling in and out of his hearing.
“You don’t know what happened?” That sounds like Dalinar.
“Drehy’s looking for the blade.” Adolin. Kaladin’s head is resting in his lap. “But we don’t know. I’ve never seen…”
Kaladin loses track for a moment, comes back to Sigzil saying, “…some new invention, I expect.”
Get up, Kaladin wills himself, but still can’t quite get his mind connected to his body. He has a feeling it’s going to hurt like Damnation when he does, but tries anyway.
“…surgeons couldn’t do anything,” Sigzil continues, “I’d like to have an Edgedancer try again but… carefully.”
Dalinar rests a light hand on Kaladin’s head. “Alright.” He sighs deeply. “Keep me updated, please.”
Kaladin gives up on trying to get himself up for the moment. It’s hard enough to even follow their conversation, never mind wake fully. Instead, he searches for Syl in the back of his mind. Syl?
Thankfully, she’s there, if a bit wobbly and indistinct. Kaladin?
What happened? Kaladin asks. He still can’t figure out how a wound to the shoulder could have done this to him.
I don’t know exactly… it was something that messed with your Stormlight. He feels her shiver. I don’t know what. It just felt so wrong.
What about now? Kaladin asks.
I think it’s okay now, Syl says. It went away.
Well, hopefully she’s right.
Kaladin manages to get his coordination together enough to breathe in the remaining Stormlight from his spheres, and startles awake, the cold power rushing through him. He coughs and chokes on it, blinking blearily into Adolin’s thigh where his face is pressed, feeling coming back into his limbs in fits and starts.
Adolin leans down to wrap his arms around him. “Oh, thank the Almighty— easy, breathe, I got you.”
Kaladin breathes in another sphere’s worth of Stormlight, feels marginally steadier, and finally manages to move enough to turn his head and see Adolin. Adolin looks down at him and smiles, though there’s still a worried tilt to it.
“Hey,” he says, “there you are.”
Kaladin swallows hard several times, clearing the taste of blood from his mouth. “Hi.”
Some time must have slipped by him again while he was talking to Syl, because Dalinar and Sigzil are both gone, and it’s just him and Adolin in the infirmary. The world is still kind of spinning around him, and when Kaladin reaches up to try to touch Adolin’s face, his hand is trembling. Storms.
“Easy.” Adolin catches his hand and sets it back down on his chest. “Try not to move too much. Storms, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” Kaladin closes his eyes and presses his face back into Adolin’s thigh. Adolin pets his hair.
He’s still laying there, exhausted and disoriented, when Sigzil returns with Drehy.
“Found the knife,” Drehy reports. “Definitely something weird about this.” He’s holding the blood-stained blade gingerly by the handle. Kaladin manages to push himself up enough to see him, though Adolin has to catch him when he sways dizzily and let Kaladin lean against his chest. “You feeling better, Kal?”
“Not really,” Kaladin says. “Can I see that?”
Drehy goes to give it to him, but Sigzil snatches it from his grip before he can. “I think perhaps not. I’m glad you’re awake, let’s keep it that way.” He studies the blade himself, grimacing at the sight of it. “It seems to be infused with light like a gemstone, but… very much not Stormlight.”
“Voidlight?” Kaladin says.
“I don’t think so.”
“Give it to the artifabrians, then, maybe they can figure it out,” Kaladin says. Storms, even just sitting up is tiring. Even talking is tiring. He can feel himself trembling all over still.
“Stay there and rest, I’ll go talk to them,” Sigzil says.
Queen Navani and a few of her ardents have been out on campaign with the army lately, testing out something to do with their paired fabrial creations. So perhaps they’ll get an answer on this blade sooner rather than later.
Kaladin leans his head on Adolin’s shoulder, exhausted beyond belief. His head is already starting to pound with another headache.
“Kal.” Adolin’s holding a glass of water to his lips. “Drink something, then you can sleep again.”
Kaladin lets Adolin give him the water, then slumps down against Adolin’s chest.
Next thing he’s aware of is waking up again lying on his side, head cushioned on Adolin’s thigh, and it’s noticeably darker past the entrance of the infirmary tent. He’s not actually sure if he fell asleep or just passed out, and decides not to ask. Instead he just lifts his still-aching head, and Adolin notices he’s awake and helps him up to sit up and lean against his chest again, and—
—oh. Pretty much all of Bridge Four are here, too.
Rock’s hauled in dinner—which isn’t really in accordance with infirmary protocol but Kaladin’s hardly going to complain to the surgeons—and everyone’s just eating and chatting quietly. Everyone’s being very quiet, actually, which Kaladin appreciates as he still has a headache.
Seeing he’s awake, Rock passes Adolin an extra bowl of food, which Adolin gets situated in Kaladin’s trembling hands. It’s not his usual stew, it looks a lot lighter than normal. “Something different today, Rock?” Kaladin manages.
“Is for when you are sick,” Rock says. “Easy on stomach. Will make you better.”
Kaladin’s not sure that’s going to work in this case, but he finds he appreciates the sentiment.
Eating makes him feel a little steadier, even if it takes him twice as long as usual with his hands still shaking, and afterwards he just rests against Adolin’s chest, letting his men’s chatter drift over him. Being around them is making him feel a little better.
He’s still resting there, Adolin lightly rubbing his chest, when Queen Navani comes into the infirmary. She has one of her ardents, Rushu, trailing her.
She is the queen, and Kaladin probably should rise, but he’s not sure he’s actually physically capable of it right now. In any case, Navani raises a hand to stop any of them from trying.
“Don’t get up, please,” she says. “We just came to share our findings on that blade.”
“You have already figured it out, Your Majesty?” Sigzil says.
“Rushu?” Navani says.
Rushu steps forward. “So… turns out, this is something we were already working on. The Fused just got to it first.”
“It’s one of your fabrials?” Kaladin says, frowning.
“Not exactly. The enemy forces made this one, but we were able to understand it quickly because we’ve been trying to create something similar to use against them.”
“Anti-light,” Navani says. “An inversion of Voidlight— or, in this case, an inversion of Stormlight. The opposite waveform.”
“So when they interact they would… neutralize each other?” Sigzil says.
“Yes,” Navani says. “Violently.”
Kaladin shudders.
“Honestly I’m impressed you survived,” Rushu starts, “the ones we’ve been making for Voidlight are meant to kill the Fused instantly—”
“Rushu,” Navani scolds, and Rushu looks chastened, but honestly Kaladin would rather have the truth than hear it softened. It’s not like he hasn’t almost died before. He wants to know what he’s up against.
Navani sighs, then adds, “Rushu is correct, if indelicate. One is not meant to survive an encounter with anti-light.”
“And you’re trying to make the same thing, but with Voidlight,” Kaladin says.
“We are. I expect our efforts will be hastened now.”
A way to permanently kill the Fused… it ought to be a good thing, for the war effort. And yet, Kaladin finds he doesn’t like the idea of it at all.
“Is there any way to counteract it?” he asks.
“Only by avoiding drawing in light,” Navani says. “The anti-light eventually dissipates on its own.”
Great. So there functionally isn’t a way to counteract it.
Navani hesitates, then says, “If it is not too much of an imposition, can we see the wound?”
Kaladin shifts away from Adolin and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He’s wearing a clean shirt now, which he doesn’t remember putting on. Adolin must have done that for him, too.
His hands are still shaking though, and Adolin quickly moves his hands away and starts unbuttoning it for him. Then Kaladin leans forward so Navani and Rushu can see the scar on the back of his shoulder.
He doesn’t know how he feels, really, about giving them information that might help them create a weapon like this. But for now he just lets them study the scar.
“I think you must have been kind of low on Stormlight, or it would have just killed you,” Rushu says. Navani sighs, but evidently gives up on getting her to be more delicate. “See, the external damage isn’t that extensive.”
“Yeah, it got into my brain instead,” Kaladin says. He still feels kind of woozy and he’s not sure how his balance will be if he tries to get up.
Before he can decide whether or not to try, Renarin comes into the infirmary at a quick pace, followed by Dalinar. Great, it’s a whole party now. “Sorry, I just heard from father,” Renarin says. “Can I see?”
Navani and Rushu make space so he can perch on the bed next to Kaladin.
“Kaladin,” Dalinar says, “I’m relieved to see you up.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kaladin says. Meanwhile, Renarin has one hand on the wound and is laying the other on Kaladin’s temple. He hums to himself in consideration, then pushes Stormlight through him.
Kaladin winces— but then suddenly feels better. He hadn’t realized how much the world was still swaying around him until it suddenly stopped. And his ears are no longer ringing faintly.
“Better?” Renarin says.
“Yes,” Kaladin says, “thanks, Ren. Did it just… completely fry my inner ear?”
“Oh, that makes sense actually,” Rushu says.
“How so?”
“Well, if you were using Stormlight to fly, it was probably supplementing your vestibular system. So you could orient better in the air. So… that’s where the anti-light went too.”
Well, that’s terrifying.
“And you’re absolutely sure you want to make more of it?” Kaladin says.
“There may be no stopping that arms race now,” Dalinar says.
Damnation. How Kaladin hates all of this. Could things not get better for once, instead of worse?
“We’ll discuss it more at the next strategy meeting,” Dalinar says, reading his exhaustion and apparently concluding it’s immediate instead of existential. “We should leave you to rest.”
Kaladin nods tiredly, and when everyone but Adolin and Bridge Four are gone, he slumps back down in Adolin’s lap. He feels physically better than before, but somehow, even more tired.
“Sig,” he says, “get a copy of Rushu’s notes at some point. If we’re going to be dealing with this indefinitely, I want to know at least as much as the artifabrians do about it.”
“I’ll go talk to them as soon as they’ve concluded their findings,” Sigzil says. “I think you should rest for now, Kaladin.”
“Yeah.” For now. Until the next fight, at least.
He buries his face in Adolin’s stomach, as if hiding from it could somehow make this not be happening. Adolin digs a hand into his hair. “Kal?”
“‘m fine,” Kaladin murmurs. “Just tired.” Always, always tired.
But Adolin slides down in bed to gather him up in his arms properly, and Kaladin presses his face into his chest, and feels a little better. So it’s not all bad.
“It’ll be alright,” Adolin promises, kissing the top of his head. Kaladin doesn’t know about that. But for now, at least, he leans into him anyway.