This allowed him to move in close to Notum, who was groaning, his body pierced in a dozen places with wounds that bled a fine, white-blue mist. Unfortunately, his bonds were tight—and even if he could get free, Adolin doubted he’d be able to run for safety in his condition.
Keep stalling, Adolin thought, but the enemy was closing in again. He’d brutalized them quickly and efficiently at first—but it was still fourteen on one, and they seemed to realize he was doomed. They pulled tighter around him, forcing him to keep moving and trying to watch all of them at once.
There was one man left with a shield, and he shouted orders. Four came running, two from the left, two from the right. That leader must have had some combat experience—for he didn’t send everyone at once, as a chaotic jumble would have favored Adolin. Better to have the others wait until he was engaged, then come in and overwhelm him.
With a soft curse, Adolin engaged the first pair swiftly, his sole hope being to fell those two, then get at the two behind. Unfortunately, these front two fought defensively, raising their swords and refusing to fully engage him. He was forced to spin and sweep at the two on the other side—then try to come back and keep the front two from taking him.
He managed to land a blow, but as he was engaged in keeping from being surrounded, the leader sent others at him—just running. Storms. He had to dodge to the side to prevent himself from getting knocked over, and while he cut down two that came running, the resulting chaos was just what he’d feared. They managed to surround him as he was so distracted trying to keep from getting knocked down.
In the jumble, he ended up getting pressed by two men with swords, who forced in so close as he came out of a spin that he had to half-sword his greatsword. That let him get a precision strike at the throat of one of the enemies, but left his back open. He heard the boots on stone, and while Adolin tried to spin in time, he was too late. The man’s off-center spear thrust took Adolin on his right side, near the stomach.
Adolin grunted at the pain, but managed to get his sword in and batter the spearman away. Damnation. He’d taken exactly the kind of hit he’d feared—an unseen spear while he was overwhelmed. His own blood began to stain his uniform; the end had begun. They didn’t have to defeat him in some spectacular duel; they merely had to cut him a few times and let blood loss drop him.
But if I can just hold on …
The howl of a painspren echoed in the distance. Adolin fought off his nearest foes, intimidating them backward with a roar and several grand sweeps. However, the leader sent in four fresh swordsmen. They’d have done better if they all had spears, but it gave scant advantage to Adolin, as he had to fight wildly—with callous sweeps—to try to keep them all away. Adolin was proud that, as one attacker stumbled, he was able to strike at the man’s exposed thigh and send him screaming to the ground.
The cries of their wounded friend frightened the others for a brief moment, until their captain shouted them back into place. Maybe if Adolin could get at that man, a figure wearing a blue-on-yellow-patterned overcoat …
Adolin tried, but two men stepped in to defend the leader. Boots on stone behind made Adolin spin, block, then spin again. All around him, others danced in a strange motion, moving unexpectedly. Adolin was tiring, and it was getting harder and harder to keep them all on one side of him.
Plus, they were untrained—which could be dangerous. Untrained soldiers were far more aggressive, not realizing that they were likely to just leave you both dead with those kinds of tactics. Adolin couldn’t watch them all, let alone fight them all, and he felt his own doom as he leaped away from an attack—and his back connected with someone behind him. They had gotten in that close? He braced himself for the blade that would follow.
Instead he heard a low growl.
Startled, Adolin glanced over his shoulder to find that the figure he’d run into had put her back to his. Maya had his shortsword out of its sheath, but she held it like a baton, her arm outstretched, sword straight up. Not an effective stance—plus, when the enemy drew close, she didn’t swing at them, but merely growled.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Adolin said, warm blood from his wound leaking down his side and leg. He didn’t dare try to stanch it, or he’d leave his hand slippery for the fight. “But thank you.”
She growled in return. Gallant approached to the left, completely disobeying orders, but two of the enemy who still had spears noticed and began forcing him away. The remaining Tukari moved around Adolin and Maya, predatory, circling. They seemed concerned about this new arrival, though Adolin wasn’t certain how long that hesitance would last. They’d soon realize she wasn’t much of a threat.
Unless …
“Maya!” Adolin said, resetting his stance with arms overhead, holding the sword in a distinctive manner. The way Zahel had taught him to do his morning kata.
She glanced at him, and though he couldn’t read her scratched-out eyes, something changed in her posture. She seemed to understand. She’d done this kata with Adolin every morning out here, and before that he’d done it with her as his sword countless times.
Blessedly, she moved into the same form, now holding the sword in a proper grip, her stance powerful.
“Go,” he said. He began the kata, and she did likewise. It wasn’t meant for actual fighting, but it looked impressive, sweeping with glistening blades.
The Tukari leader glanced toward the approaching horses bearing Adolin’s soldiers, then barked a command. His men pressed closer to Adolin, though they seemed terrified of Maya. And who wouldn’t be? A deadeye, fighting? A couple were distracted by Gallant, who came in snorting.
Most importantly, Adolin’s biggest disadvantage had been mitigated. He didn’t have to watch his back. Even wounded, warm blood staining his side, Adolin felt his confidence surge. Three men came at him, and Adolin stood firm. No. He would not be pushed around.
Never underestimate the strength of a soldier trained to stand fast.
He roared at the men, swinging his greatsword before them, breaking their charge as they pulled up short. Yes, a crowd could overwhelm one, and sword skill could only hold them back so long. But training was about more than learning to swing a weapon. It was about confidence.
Never underestimate the simple intimidating force of a man who won’t back down.
The first came at Adolin with a sword, but hadn’t been caring for his weapon. The handguard had come off, so Adolin hacked the man’s fingers as they wrapped the hilt of the weapon, dropping them. A foolish mistake; a good swordmaster always taught you to watch your hands. As this man screamed, the other two came in, and Adolin did a full-bodied lunge, stretching out the greatsword with a reach that obviously surprised the men as Adolin speared right through the stomach of one from a full body-length away. Adolin reset, stepping forward and spinning, putting all his weight and momentum into the strike that hit the second man. And another head went flying.
Movement at his side showed two others approaching, but as Adolin returned to his stance and put his back to Maya, they—they scrambled away. With their friends dying on the ground before them, these men had had enough. Trembling, they ran away yelling, joined by their friend who had lost his fingers, cradling his bloody hand.
The Tukari leader himself came in with one bodyguard as others began to scatter. Adolin didn’t retreat a single step as he met the bodyguard, sidestepping his lunge.
Never underestimate the worth of being willing to hold.
Your.
GROUND.
He shouldered aside the stumbling bodyguard, then swept out and nearly managed to take the leader’s head—the man dodged just in time, escaping with a gash in his shoulder instead. Thundering sounds made it seem like Adolin’s soldiers were close, though it was only Gallant, brilliantly stomping loudly and letting out a scream.
Together, it was too much for the men. Adolin didn’t win.
But the Tukari lost, running toward their supply dump and the safety of the numbers they’d left behind. The l
eader finally joined them.
When Felt and the others arrived a few minutes later, they found a bloodied Adolin propping up Notum—dazed, but alive—surrounded by the corpses of what had once been overwhelming odds against him.
I find this difficult to do on an intrinsic level, as although I am neither Ruin nor Preservation, they make up me.
“I cannot fathom this,” Notum said, staring ahead. He didn’t blink. “I just cannot fathom this.”
Radiant had noticed that quirk in numerous spren in this world; they forgot to blink when they were distracted or overwhelmed. She shooed away the shockspren who were clustering around the spren, practically trying to climb in his lap. It was so strange for all the spren here to have physical forms; they sometimes had to be pushed away with a weapon.
Adolin’s soldiers stood in a cluster on a nearby rise, spyglasses to their eyes, keeping a cautious watch on the enemy caravan. It was—fortunately—withdrawing. Shallan’s agents were circumspectly going through the pockets of the dead, searching for clues to their origins. She spotted Vathah depositing some spheres into his own pouch, and was going to shout at him, but Veil persuaded her to hold her tongue. What else were they going to do? Leave the money?
The spheres, as expected, were dun. There was no Stormlight here. Though Godeke had inspected Adolin’s side wound and given a good prognosis, she would rather see him healed. Sepsis could claim any wound, but especially gut wounds.
In addition, Radiant suspected Notum could use a little Stormlight. Though his wounds had stopped “bleeding,” his glow had dampened noticeably, and his cheery blue-white coloring had become a dull brown-white.
He spoke in a daze. “Why … why would they do this? Humans have never … attacked spren. What would be the point, the use, the purpose? There is no honor in this!”
His Reacher companions had been released from their bonds as well. In Radiant’s experience, the bronze-colored spren tended to be quiet. These three—one male, two female, wearing simple uniforms—gave no response. They seemed as baffled as Notum.
“We need to take you to Lasting Integrity,” Adolin said, sitting on a rock nearby as Godeke bound his wound.
“No,” Notum said. “No, I am exiled.”
“You’re wounded, and we can’t guarantee those humans won’t return the moment we leave you,” Adolin said. “Exile or not, you’re coming with us.”
Notum glanced from Adolin to Radiant, then looked down. “Your honor does you credit, Prince Adolin, but you must realize my presence in your party will do you harm. I was exiled precisely because I showed you leniency in the past. If I arrive with you now, whatever the reason, it will be seen as conspiracy between us.”
“We’ll deal with that then,” Adolin said, wincing as Godeke pulled his bandage tight. “Kelek knows, it’s probably not going to matter—since they’re likely to turn us away regardless.”
“I wish that were not true, but it is,” Notum said.
Radiant joined her agents. Ishnah was speaking softly to Beryl, who sat on the ground nearby, picking through some of the loot. Beryl had thrown up several times upon first encountering the corpses, and she still seemed pallid from the sight, though her tan skin tone made that difficult to read.
“Make sure you check the insides of rings, the backs of necklaces,” Ishnah was saying. “Sometimes there are inscriptions with names.”
Beryl nodded. She kept glancing at the bloodied cloth they’d put over a dead Tukari man’s neck stump. She put her hand to her lips, pointedly turning away.
All right, Shallan admitted, if she’s the Ghostblood, she’s an incredible actor. I agree with Veil. We need to rethink our conclusion there.
Adolin stood up. “Let’s get moving,” he said to the others. “I want more space between us and the rest of those Tukari.”
It took a little time to get Notum up on one of the horses, during which Godeke—oddly—began moving among the fallen, inspecting their faces.
“Godeke?” Shallan asked.
“They’re going to be left out here to rot,” Godeke said quietly. “Those others won’t come back for them.”
“They tried to kill Notum,” Adolin said. “And me.”
“I realize this,” Godeke said. “But we don’t know their story. These could be soldiers following orders. They could be confused, mistaking the honorspren for enemies. They could have motives we can’t even guess. I want to remember them. In case no one else does.”
Edgedancers. Shallan shook her head, then checked on Adolin herself. She poked at his bloodied side. “That’s another uniform you’ve ruined.”
“Cold water and a soak in salt can get the blood out,” he said. “And I brought my sewing kit. Bet I can have it presentable with a little work.”
“Still,” she said, resting her head against his chest—careful not to touch the wound. “You need to be careful. We don’t have any Stormlight left to heal ourselves.”
“So … basically it’s how it’s been for most of my life?” Adolin said. He rested his hand on her back. “Maybe I did get carried away, Shallan. But it was good to find something I could do. Successfully, I mean. These days it’s not common that I find a place where I’m useful.”
“Adolin…” She pulled away and studied his face. He was smiling, but his tone wasn’t joking.
“Sorry,” he said. “That sounded a lot like self-pity, didn’t it? I’m just tired. Come on, we really should get going.”
That wasn’t the end of the discussion—she’d press him on it later—but for now it was probably best to do as he said. They left the corpses and trudged across the open field of obsidian toward their camp. About halfway back, they met the Cryptics—save Pattern—and the Stump with her spren, hiking slowly.
Arshqqam took in the sight, then nodded in satisfaction and turned to start hiking back. Fortunately, Notum did seem to be looking better already.
“Your deadeye,” he said, moving up beside Adolin. “How did you train her to fight for you like that?”
Shallan glanced at Maya, who was riding on Adolin’s Ryshadium. Shallan hadn’t seen it, but she’d heard. The dead spren had picked up a sword and fought beside Adolin.
“I didn’t train her, Notum,” Adolin said. “She chose to help me.”
“Deadeyes can’t make choices,” Notum said. “They don’t have the presence of mind for it. I know this personally. My own father is a deadeye, cared for in the fortress now.”
“Revise what you know, Notum,” Adolin said. “Maybe something changed once Radiants started returning. Or maybe some deadeyes are more responsive than others.”
“It simply … it doesn’t make sense…” Notum said, but abandoned the argument.
At their camp, a perky Pattern was happily waving to them. Shallan smiled at that. No matter what else happened, she could count on Pattern to be his same awkward—yet encouraging—self.
Adolin didn’t give them time to rest. He ordered the horses watered, but supplies packed up so they could march straight for Lasting Integrity. Radiant took over from Shallan again as he gave the commands, and she immediately recognized the wisdom in them. Despite Adolin’s brilliant show of swordplay, their group was quite exposed. Without Stormlight, most of the Radiants barely counted as warriors. Adolin was wounded, and Notum struggled to remain upright. If the Tukari regrouped and decided to charge them … Well, best to remove the option and push—difficult as it would be—to reach the honorspren stronghold before the day was done.
Veil checked with Vathah and Ishnah about the corpses they’d searched. The pilfering had been quick, and their findings slim. A few cloth bracelets had patterns Ishnah said she thought were Tukari clan writing.
After that Radiant checked with Pattern, but nothing unusual had happened while they were gone. Finally, as their supplies were being loaded onto the packhorses, Shallan took over and moved to check on Mraize’s communication cube out of habit. Shallan unlocked the trunk and popped it open, then gave a quick glance insi
de. She didn’t expect …
The powder had been disturbed.
Suppressing her immediate shock, Shallan took a Memory, then shut the trunk and clicked the lock closed. She moved by rote, letting one of the soldiers load it on a horse. Then she stood there, stunned. The powder had been brushed faintly by fingers; she could visualize it distinctly. It had been returned in the right orientation, but Veil’s trick with the powder revealed the truth.
How … She’d checked it earlier. Just before they’d all run off after Adolin. But then she’d left the camp under the watch of …
Of Pattern.
“Mmmm…” he said, making Shallan jump as she noticed him standing right behind her. “An eventful day with humans! Your lives are always so exciting. Mmm…”
“Pattern,” Veil said, “nothing happened here while we were gone. You are sure?”
“Yes, very sure. Ha ha. You had excitement, and I was bored. It is irony! Ha ha.”
Veil, this can’t … this can’t be possible, Shallan thought. We can’t be suspicious of Pattern of all people. It … I can’t …
Yet hadn’t he been standing nearby when she’d mentioned the secret to Beryl that had made its way to Mraize? And she’d told him about the orientation issue with the cube, so it was no wonder that this time—in using it—the spy had returned it exactly the right way.
Radiant wasn’t convinced. And … it was ridiculous, wasn’t it? To think Pattern could be spying on her for the Ghostbloods? He loved lies, but she doubted he could manage one himself. At least not one that would fool Veil.
Shallan took over, and tried to put the idea out of her mind as they began walking. But it wouldn’t leave her alone. Veil and even Radiant began to wonder. He’d had opportunity. He knew about the communication cube, and had been watching over it the night she’d been drunk.
Shallan’s father had belonged to the Ghostbloods; her family had been involved with them all the way back in her youth. Perhaps in her childhood, during those shadowy days she’d forgotten? Could the conspiracy go back that far?
Rhythm of War (9781429952040) Page 56
