Something was off. It felt just a little more than a feeling. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but the feeling of uneasiness wouldn't relent.

The glowing figure of a woman in a long dress appeared in front of him to disapprovingly wave her tiny fingers in front of his face. "No frowning now Kaladin! I watched and you were just now enjoying yourself! Why don't you smile, Kaladin? Kaladin?"

"Indeed, why...", he murmered to himself, letting his glance pass over the pair of men in front of him, grunting and sweating, some faintly glowing in the twilight. The sun would be setting any time now, but as of yet while it's brightness already illuminated the sky, the sun itself still drowsily hid beneath the horizon. However, nothing here was out of the ordinary. Those were good men and he enjoyed training them. None of them complained, even though they had been training before sunrise every day of the last moon. Most of them where new to this, people who had only recently begun drawing in stormlight. Bridge Four still hadn't clearly figured out what determined whether a volunteer could do this or was one of the many who eventually gave up. Sigzil focused on other things as of now and no one else in the crew had ever shown similar determination for measuring and catologuing as the azish wordlsinger. On the contrary - most of his men were still fairly scandalized by the thought of men doing anything close to writing and reading.

A pair stumbled in his direction. He had to quickly step aside to evade one of the men being thrown back by a lashing in Kaladins direction. It was this slight turn that brought Kaladins view to the everpresent crowd of spectators. Evading them was one of the main reasons he had scheduled the training at this early hour. There wasn't really a specific reason why Kaladin hated people watching him and the men using stormlight, yet still the feeling lingered within him, that this was something private, more than regular training. He tried to limit himself to correcting and stepping in from time to time to prevent damages, so his own abilities weren't that prominent to the crowd.

It was his distaste for their observers, which had obscured the reason for his uneasiness to him, he now found. He spared them but one quick glance in his turn but immediately found the irregularity.

"What is it?", Syl demanded while plucking at a strand of his long hair. She held onto it and even though she was an incorporal being she gave the impression of a little girl swinging on a rope. "You're making a weird face."

"The soldier with the white leather-harness.", he mumbled with satisfaction. The ability to point out exactly what had made him uncomfortable felt as if he was finally able to scratch an itch. "That's what's been bothering me. He's off."

"And off is a bad thing? He looks nice to me." She let go of his hair to make a motion, as if going up on an invisible stair next to his head. He paid her little intention and instead fixated the soldier. Even though Syl was an honorspren she had been pretending to be a winspren for a long time and maybe that was the reason she sometimes liked to behave like these mischievous cousins of hers. "You should wear armor like that too. It looks nice.", she declared.

"It's not about the armor.", Kaladin mumbled, more to himself than to the spren looking down at him. "But all of the others - they are awed or amazed by what they see. Not him. He seems to... Evaluate. Appraise. If I didn't know better I'd think he's a recruit waiting for his turn in the ring. And why would he be wearing that helmet!"

It didn't make sense. In battle men couldn't wait to get the heavy, itching can of metal off their heads, sometimes even endangering themselves by removing them to early. And here was this fellow – standing as a spectator, not even a combatant in a safe location, looking as calm and content as if slacking off in his private quarters, wearing only his softest nightshift.

Kaladin needed to get to the bottom of this. Whom did this man belong to, fully armored and armed on a save training field in the middle of Urithiru?! The man wore no colors and Kaladin was sure he had never seen that armor before. It was recognizable and made the man stand apart. Even now, the crowd refused to swallow him like it had everyone else standing at points with a good view. As Kaladin approached him, the people retreated even further, sensing the tensity in his gait. No one wanted to get caught in the threatening fight. He noticed that his own breathing had quickened. A spy perhaps? Or something worse? Who was this man and why would he... Needed to keep an eye on the man's hands. Stormlight probably did it's part to protect Kaladin from something like a poisoned dagger, still, better to be alert before anything-

The man didn't even look at him! Only when Kaladin came close enough to obstruct the strangers view of the training did the man turn his watchful gaze from Bridge Four and the new volunteers. When their eyes met he crossed his arms, widening his stance to a broad variant that could easily become a fighting stance. He didn't flinch back even so much as an inch before Kaladin's approach. When he came close enough to make out the face under the eye-slit Kaladin felt he knew why.

A storming lighteye.

Light amber eyes focused on Kaladin, calmly assessing him. The man's eyes had something strange about them, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. What bothered Kaladin far more was the calm self-confidence with whom the lighteyes held his ground, even when Kaladin stopped directly in front of him. He's not concerned at all why I'm singling him out, Kaladin realized. Storming lighteyes, he immidiatly cursed in his head. Think you're too important for me, hm? No worry over a confrontation with a darkeyes, even though he must now of my reputation. Something about this guy is really wrong.

In his head a slim voice reminded Kaladin, that his eyes were probably brighter than the man's at the moment. He shoved that thought asside with the usual vehemence. Almost a year had now passed since he had first summoned Syl as a weapon but still he hadn't gotten over the changes to his eyecolour that brought.

"You.", Kaladin inquired. "Who are you? Which highprince do you follow?"

Through the eyeslits Kaladin could see the soldier razing his eyebrows at him. The helmet closed over his mouth so Kaladin suspected the metal was distorting the sound when the man replied in a surprisingly high pitch of voice.

"My loyalty is my own. If they want my sword, they'll have to pay my price. People call me Shadowcutter. That enough for you?"

Kaladin's eyes tightened and he felt himself shifting into a hostile position. A mercenary. Sword for hire, someone who sold his honor for a bag of gold. Obviously! The helmet, the armor – it wasn't for protection. It was advertisement. That man probably hoped to find employment now that the Alethi were set upon reclaiming Kholinar from the Parshmen.

But a lighteyed mercenary?

Something still wasn't right.

"Right..."Kaladin said. "A lighteyed common mercenary. Sure."

The man's eyes beneath the massive steel of his helmet curved, as if amused. "I never said I was common. And for the rest - do you imply me to be a liar, Stormblessed?" His high voice had taken a challenging tone. Kaladin felt reminded of his first few years in the army. New recruits trying to tease men twice their weight into a fight to prove to everyone they weren't to be messed with. Drunken daredevils taking on the worst of the unit in a futile attempt to show off their skills. That man might have been lighteyed, but he behaved like a common darkeyes greenvine, eager to prove his mettle.

"It's Knight Radiant to you, scum!", a voice behind Kaladin bellowed. He felt his the men of Bridge four more than he saw them, forming as a defensive bulk behind his back. A quick glance to the side showed him Teft, who had stepped up beside him, glaring daggers at the stranger. The mercenary didn't spare him a glance.

"Your Knight Radiant insulted my honor and my honesty, churl. Everyone heard it!"

He leaned forward, his eyes meeting Kaladins. They sparkled with...

Amusement?

"I demand a formal apology or he face me in duel for that insult!", the soldier proclaimed at the top of his voice. The crowd was bustling alive now, some pushing forward with curiosity, most people hustling back fearfully, forming a wide circle around the mercenary. Something was still not right to Kaladin. Something about the man's voice, and his eyes, the way he held himself, no, something more, something...

He didn't even think for a second. "I am not duelling you. Storm off!" As of now Kaladin felt mainly annoyed but still on alert. That fool wanted to fight. He didn't seem drunk but intent on getting what he wanted. Humbling the darkeyed captain in front of his men? Asserting lighteye-dominance? Or perhaps he had tried to draw in Sormlight, but failed and now wanted to make up for it? Whatever it was, better to be careful. Still could be a spy or something like an assassin. Kaladin knew how to handle himself but that didn't mean he shouldn't-

"So you insult me and then back out from giving me satisfaction? Have you no honor, coward?"

"You're not calling the Captain a coward and getting away with it!", one of Kaladin's men replied angrily. No, no, no. Couldn't let this become an incident. Couldn't have his men brawling on the street like common-

"Everyone, stand down, NOW!", a voice thundered from one moment to the next. "If anyone so much as touches a weapon he'll regret it!"

People jumped, the back of the crowd was suddenly in an uproar, shouting and hustling. Kaladin crossed his arms and snapped into parade. A quick look to his men showed him, that they immediately followed suit.

Dalinar Kholin had that effect on soldiers.

The mercenary was still transfixed on Kaladin. Only when the highprince was almost upon him, the man to face him.

He must have had more courage than anyone would have thought him to, for he didn't falter under the Blackthorns glare.

"I-", Dalinar thundered and stepped closer to the man. "Will not have people disturbing training while the enemy holds our home! Spewing vain challenges at their betters! Whom do you think yourself, cur? Take off your helmet, man, when facing me! Who do you think yourself to be? Take off your helmet!"

He doesn't carry a weapon, Kaladin suddenly realized, shocked to attention. Full armor and most soldiers on the training grounds carried their weapon with them, even when not training themselves. Full armor, even helmet, but no weapon. That could mean-

The man tried backing away, suddenly void of all bravado. But the crowd - who had so keenly spewn him out before, now refused to swallow the man anew. Today many men of the former bridge seventeen were among Dalinar's personal guard and they wuickly had the mercenary surrounded. Dalinar again roared for him to reveal his face. The crowd clapped and shouted approving, suddenly pouring down all their dismay upon the white-armored man. He frantically searched for an exit, shooting looks in all directions. Kaladin pressed onward, trying to get between Dalinar and the mercenary, as the man put his armored hand to the side, as if to- He wouldn't be there in time! No, had Dalinar noticed? That could not be happening, his men were to close, if the stranger summoned a shardblade-

Kaladin's heart soared to a shocked stop as the man's arm came upward.

Reaching for his helmet.

He stumbled, hearing blood pound in his ears, almost dizzy with relief. No, not a shardbearer. Just an awkward motion to-

Wait.

A storm of black locks appeared from the helmet. Framing a delicate chin and long, narrow nose. Full lips in the colour of ripe pileberries.

The angry cries of the crowd tumbled to shocked silence. Even Dalinar Kholin seemed shaken for the fraction of a moment.

The mercenary was a lighteyed woman.

With a clank the helmet hit the ground.

It was deafening in the sudden silence.