Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,220

in a panic, the man he’d speared through screaming and stumbling. Even those accustomed to battle could be intimidated by the casual brutality of a greatsword at work. Adolin managed to catch one final Tukari, who wasn’t quick enough to get away. Adolin connected with a large sweep into the man’s arm.

The Tukari howled, dropping his weapon, and Adolin kicked him while yanking at the sword—which had gotten caught in the bone. Adolin pulled it free with effort and a spray of blood, then did a full-body spin and swept outward, making the others leap away in fear. This wasn’t the delicate beautiful dance of a duel—this wasn’t what he loved. This was butchery. Fortunately, he had some good role models in that realm.

His best allies were speed and intimidation. As he’d hoped, these men responded poorly to losing several of their number in such a swift, terrible strike. They shied away instead of pressing their numerical advantage. They cried out in shock, anger, and fear as he engaged the next man—isolating this foe in a line between Adolin and the others, so they wouldn’t have a clear rush at him. Adolin struck in rapid succession to batter away the man’s shield, then cut him down with a strike at the collarbone.

Not the cleanest kill, that, but the blood on Adolin’s uniform and face must have made him fearsome—for the Tukari scrambled even farther back, shouting in their language. Now, unfortunately, came the bad part. Adolin tried to keep them frightened by advancing on the nearest man, but they refused to engage him—and kept trying to surround him.

When you were alone in the open, simply keeping from being surrounded was a chore. He had to dedicate all his attention to dancing backward, using sweeps to ward away foes, looking for an opening—but constantly wary of letting anyone get behind him. He could do that, so long as he didn’t get tired—but they’d wear him down eventually, and he’d slow.

He tried another ploy, moving to Stonestance, a warding posture, trying to conserve energy. So long as they were circling him, afraid of him like they might fear a hissing skyeel, it gave more time for the others to arrive.

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,

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