Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

As before, the thunderclast began to rub its palm across the ground, an attempt to grind Adolin to the stones. He hung from the finger, feet lifted a few inches off the ground. The sound was terrible, like Adolin was trapped in a rockslide.

As soon as the thunderclast ended its sweep of the hand, Adolin dropped off, then raised Maya in a double-handed grip and chopped straight through the finger. The beast released a thunderclap of anger and pulled its hand back. The tip of an unbroken finger connected with Adolin and flung him backward.

Pain.

It hit him like a flash of lightning. He struck the ground and rolled, but the agony was so sharp, he barely noticed. As he came to a rest, he coughed and trembled, his body seizing up.

Storms. Stormsstormsstorms … He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He’d … he’d gotten too accustomed to the invincibility of Plate. But his suit was back in Urithiru—or hopefully coming here soon on Gaval, his Plate standby.

Adolin somehow crawled to his feet, each move causing a spear of agony from his chest. Broken rib? Well, at least his arms and legs were working.

Move. That thing was still behind him.

One.

The roadway in front of him was piled with rubble from a broken building.

Two.

He limped to the right—toward the ledge down to the next tier of homes.

Three. Four.

The thunderclast trumped and followed, its steps shaking the ground.

Five. Six.

He could hear stone grinding just behind.

He fell to his knees.

Seven.

Maya! he thought, truly desperate. Please!

Blessedly, as he raised his hands, the Blade materialized. He slammed it into the rock wall—the edge pointed to the side, not down—then rolled off the ledge, holding on to the hilt. The thunderclast’s fist came down again, crashing to the rock. Adolin dangled from Maya’s hilt over the edge, a drop of some ten feet to the rooftop below.

Adolin gritted his teeth—his elbow was hurting badly enough to make his eyes water. But, once the thunderclast had rubbed its hand to the side, Adolin grabbed the cliff edge with one hand and swept Maya out to the side, freeing her from the stone. He reached down and rammed her into the stone below, then let go and swung from this new handhold a moment before releasing the Blade and dropping the rest of the way to the rooftop.

His leg screamed in pain. He collapsed to the rooftop, eyes watering. As he lay there in agony, he felt something—a faint panic on the wind. He forced himself to roll to the side, and a Fused swept past, its lance barely missing him.

Need … a weapon …

He started counting again and climbed, shakily, to his knees. But the thunderclast loomed on the tier overhead, then rammed its stump leg down into the center of the stone roof Adolin was on.

Adolin fell in a jumble of broken stone and dust, then hit hard on the floor inside, chunks of rock clattering around him.

Everything went black. He tried to gasp, but his muscles couldn’t make the motions. He could only lie there, straining, groaning softly. A part of him was aware of the sounds made as the thunderclast pulled its stump out of the broken home. He waited for it to smash him, but as his vision slowly returned, he saw it stepping down from that upper tier onto the street outside.

At least … at least it wasn’t continuing on toward the Oathgate.

Adolin shifted. Chips from the shattered roof streamed off him. His face and hands bled from a hundred scrapes. He recovered his breath, gasping in pain, and tried to move, but his leg … Damnation, that hurt.

Maya brushed his mind.

“I’m trying to get up,” he said through gritted teeth. “Give me a sec. Storming sword.” He had another coughing fit, then finally rolled off the rubble. He crawled out onto the street, half expecting Skar and Drehy to be there to pull him to his feet. Storms, he missed those bridgemen.

The street was empty around him, though maybe twenty feet away people crowded, trying to get up the thoroughfare to safety. They called and shouted in fear and urgency. If Adolin ran that way, the thunderclast would follow. It had proven determined to bring him down.

He sneered at the looming monster and—leaning against the wall of the small home he’d fallen into—pulled himself to his feet. Maya dropped into his hand. Though he was covered in dust, she still shone bright.

He steadied himself, then held Maya in two hands—his grip wetted by blood—and fell into Stonestance. The immovable stance.

“Come and get me, you bastard,” he whispered.

“Adolin?” a familiar voice called from behind. “Storms, Adolin! What are you doing!”

Adolin started, then glanced over his shoulder. A glowing figure pushed through the crowd onto his street. Renarin carried a Shardblade, and his blue Bridge Four uniform was unstained.

Took you long enough.

As Renarin approached, the thunderclast actually took a step back, as if afraid. Well, that might help. Adolin clenched his teeth, trying to hold in his agony. He wobbled, then steadied himself. “All right, let’s—”

“Adolin, don’t be foolhardy!” Renarin grabbed his arm. A burst of healing moved through Adolin like cold water in his veins, causing his pains to retreat.

“But—”

“Get away,” Renarin said. “You’re unarmored. You’ll get yourself killed fighting this thing!”

“But—”

“I can handle it, Adolin. Just go! Please.”

Adolin stumbled back. He’d never heard such forceful talk from Renarin—that was almost more amazing than the monster. Renarin, shockingly, charged at the thing.

A clatter announced Hrdalm climbing down from above, his Plate’s helm cracked, but otherwise in good shape. He had lost his hammer, but carried one of the lances from the Fused, and his Plate fist was covered in blood.

Renarin! He didn’t have Plate. How—

The thunderclast’s palm crashed down on Renarin, smashing him. Adolin screamed, but his brother’s Shardblade cut up through the palm, then separated the hand from the wrist.

The thunderclast trumpeted in anger as Renarin climbed from the rubble of the hand. He seemed to heal more quickly than Kaladin or Shallan did, as if being crushed wasn’t even a bother.

“Excellent!” Hrdalm said, laughing inside his helm. “You, rest. Okay?”

Adolin nodded, stifling a groan of pain. Renarin’s healing had stopped his insides from aching, and it was no longer painful to put weight on his leg, but his arms still ached, and some of his cuts hadn’t closed.

As Hrdalm stepped toward the fight, Adolin took the man by the arm, then lifted Maya.

Go with him for now, Maya, Adolin thought.

He almost wished she’d object, but the vague sensation he received was a resigned agreement.

Hrdalm dropped his lance and took the Blade reverently. “Great Honor in you, Prince Adolin,” he said. “Great Passion in me at this aid.”

“Go,” Adolin said. “I’ll go see if I can help hold the streets.”

Hrdalm charged off. Adolin chose an infantry spear from the rubble, then made toward the roadway behind.

* * *

Szeth of the Skybreakers had, fortunately, trained with all ten Surges.

The Fused transferred the enormous ruby to one of their number who could manipulate Abrasion—a woman who slid across the ground like Lift did. She infused the ruby, making it glow with her version of a Lashing. That would make the thing impossibly slick and difficult to carry for anyone but the Fused woman herself.