The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,144

The table leg had fallen from his blood-slick fingers.

The beast crouched, then charged. Dalinar let the fluid nature of Smokestance direct him, stepping to the side and smashing the poker into the beast’s legs. It tripped as Dalinar turned around, wielding his poker with both hands and slamming it directly down into the creature’s back.

The powerful blow broke the skin, passed through the creature’s body, and hit the stone floor. The creature struggled, legs working in effectively, as smoke hissed out the holes in its back and stomach. Dalinar stepped away, wiping blood from his forehead, leaving the weapon to fall to the side and clang to the ground, still impaling the beast.

“Three Gods, Heb,” the woman whispered.

He turned to find her looking completely shocked as she stared at the deflating carcasses. “I should have helped,” she mumbled, “should have grabbed something to hit them. But you were so fast. It—it was just a few heartbeats. Where—How—?” She focused on him. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Heb. You fought like a…like one of the Radiants themselves. Where did you learn that?”

Dalinar didn’t answer. He pulled off his shirt, grimacing as the pain of his wounds returned. Only the shoulder was immediately dangerous, but it was bad; his left arm was growing numb. He ripped the shirt in half, tying one portion around his gashed right forearm, then wadded the rest and pressed it against his shoulder. He walked over and pulled the poker free of the deflated body, which now resembled a black silk sack. Then he moved to the window. The other homes showed signs of being attacked, fires burning, faint screams hanging on the wind.

“We need to get someplace safe,” he said. “Is there a cellar nearby?”

“A what?”

“Cave in the rock, man-made or natural.”

“No caves,” the woman said, joining him at the window. “How would men make a hole in the rock?”

With a Shardblade or a Soulcaster. Or even with basic mining—though that could be difficult, as the crem would seal up caverns and highstorm rains made for an extremely potent risk of flooding. Dalinar looked out the window again. Dark shapes moved in the moonlight; some were coming in their direction.

He wavered, dizzy. Blood loss. Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself against the frame of the window. How long was this vision going to last? “We need a river. Something to wash away the trail of our scent. Is there one nearby?”

The woman nodded, growing pale faced as she noticed the dark forms in the night.

“Get the girl, woman.”

“‘The girl’? Seeli, our daughter. And since when have you called me woman? Is Taffa so hard to say? Stormwinds, Heb, what has gotten into you?”

He shook his head, moving to the door and throwing it open, still carrying the poker. “Bring the lamp. The light won’t give us away; I don’t think they can see.”

The woman obeyed, hurrying to collect Seeli—she looked to be about six or seven—then followed Dalinar out, the clay lamp’s fragile flame quivering in the night. It looked a little like a slipper.

“The river?” Dalinar asked.

“You know where—”

“I hit my head, Taffa,” Dalinar said. “I’m dizzy. It’s hard to think.”

The woman looked worried at that, but seemed to accept this answer. She pointed away from the village.

“Let’s go,” he said, moving out into the darkness. “Are attacks by these beasts common?”

“During Desolations, perhaps, but not in my life! Stormwinds, Heb. We need to get you to—”

“No,” he said. “We keep moving.”

They continued along a path, which ran up toward the back side of the wave formation. Dalinar kept glancing back at the village. How many people were dying below, murdered by those beasts from Damnation? Where were the landlord’s soldiers?

Perhaps this village was too remote, too far from a citylord’s direct protection. Or perhaps things didn’t work that way in this era, this place. I’ll see the woman and child to the river, then I’ll return to organize a resistance. If anyone is left.

The thought seemed laughable. He had to use the poker to keep himself upright. How was he going to organize a resistance?

He slipped on a steep portion of the trail, and Taffa set down the lamp, grabbing his arm, concerned. The landscape was rough with boulders and rockbuds, their vines and leaves extended in the cool, wet night. Those rustled in the wind. Dalinar righted himself, then nodded to the woman, gesturing for her to continue.

A faint scraping sounded in the night; Dalinar turned, tense.

“Heb?” the woman asked, sounding afraid.

“Hold