The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,143

a nightmare.

The creature raised its head, clicking teeth together, and made a hissing sound. Tasting the air.

“Sweet wisdom of Battar,” the woman breathed, holding her child close. Her hands shook as she held up the lamp, as if to use it as a weapon.

A scraping came from outside, and was followed by another set of spindly legs slinking over the lip of the broken window. This new beast climbed into the room, joining its companion, which crouched anxiously, sniffing at Dalinar. It seemed wary, as if it could sense that it faced an armed—or at least determined—opponent.

Dalinar cursed himself for a fool, raising one hand to his side to stanch the blood. He knew, logically, that he was really back in the barrack with Renarin. This was all happening in his mind; there was no need for him to fight.

But every instinct, every shred of honor he had, drove him to step to the side, placing himself between the woman and the beasts. Vision, memory, or delusion, he could not stand aside.

“Heb,” the woman said, her voice nervous. Who did she see him as? Her husband? A farmhand? “Don’t be a fool! You don’t know how—”

The beasts attacked. Dalinar leapt forward—remaining in motion was the essence of Smokestance—and spun between the creatures, striking to the side with his poker. He hit the one on the left, ripping a gash in its too-smooth skin.

The wound bled smoke.

Moving behind the creatures, Dalinar swung again, sweeping low at the feet of the unwounded beast, knocking it off balance. With the follow-through, he slammed the side of the poker into the face of the wounded beast as it turned and snapped at him.

The old Thrill, the sense of battle, consumed him. It did not enrage him, as it did some men, but everything seemed to become clearer, crisper. His muscles moved easily; he breathed more deeply. He came alive.

He leaped backward as the creatures pressed at him. With a kick, he knocked over the table, tumbling it at one of the beasts. He drove the poker at the open maw of the other. As he had hoped, the inside of its mouth was sensitive. The creature let out a pained hiss and scrambled back.

Dalinar moved to the overturned table and kicked off one of the legs. He scooped it up, falling into Smokestance’s sword-and-knife form. He used the wooden leg to fend off one creature while he thrust three times at the face of the other, ripping a gash in its cheek that bled smoke; it came out as a hiss.

There were distant screams outside. Blood of my fathers, he thought. These aren’t the only two. He needed to be done, and quickly. If the fight dragged on, they’d wear him down faster than he wore them down. Who even knew if beasts like this got tired?

Bellowing, he jumped forward. Sweat streamed from his forehead, and the room seemed to grow just faintly darker. Or, no, more focused. Just him and the beasts. The only wind was that of his weapons spinning, the only sound that of his feet hitting the floor, the only vibration that of his heart thumping.

His sudden whirlwind of blows shocked the creatures. He smashed the table leg against one, forcing it back, then threw himself at the other one, earning a rake of the claws against his arm as he rammed the poker into the beast’s chest. The skin resisted at first, but then broke, his poker moving through easily after that.

A powerful jet of smoke burst out around Dalinar’s hand. He pulled his arm free, and the creature stumbled back, legs growing thinner, body deflating like a leaking wineskin.

He knew he’d exposed himself in attacking. There was nothing to do but throw his arm up as the other beast leapt on him, slashing his forehead and his arm, biting his shoulder. Dalinar screamed, slamming the table leg again and again at the beast’s head. He tried forcing the creature back, but it was terribly strong.

So Dalinar let himself slip to the ground and kicked upward, tossing the beast over his head. The fangs ripped free of Dalinar’s shoulder with a spray of blood. The beast hit the floor in a mess of black legs.

Dizzy, Dalinar forced himself to his feet and fell into his stance. Always keep the stance. The creature got to its feet at about the same time, and Dalinar ignored the pain, ignored the blood, letting the Thrill give him focus. He leveled the poker.