Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

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.