Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,541

“The Pursuer has used all of his husks. He will need to flee and renew.”

“Why doesn’t he?” Venli asked.

“Look,” Leshwi said, and pointed at the silent atrium. A perimeter of soldiers with humans crowded behind them, peeking through. Fused in the air. All staring at the two combatants.

An incredible soldier, who seemed immortal and impervious, completely in control.

And a Fused, who somehow looked small by comparison.

* * *

Teft dodged through the infirmary. He didn’t dare engage Moash directly; instead he tried to stay out of reach. Buying time. For what though?

Moash drifted closer to them, eyes glowing.

“Stormblessed isn’t going to come in and help, is he?” Phendorana asked softly, floating beside Teft.

“Kaladin can’t be everywhere at once,” Teft said. “He’s just one man, though he often forgets that.” He jumped backward over a body. Lift had stirred, and was quietly pulling herself across the ground toward one of the nearby Radiants, her legs dragging behind.

Good girl, Teft thought. He needed to keep Moash’s attention.

“Never known a man to turn traitor as hard as you did,” Teft called to Moash. “What was it that got you? What made you willing to kill your own?”

“Peace,” Moash said, halting in the middle of the room. “It was peace, Teft.”

“This is peace?” Teft said, gesturing. “Fighting your friends?”

“We’re not fighting. You run like a coward.”

“Every good sergeant is a coward! And proud of it! Someone needs to talk sense to the officers!”

Moash hovered in place, a black stain in the air. Before he could look and see Lift, Phendorana appeared to him, standing a short distance away. Moash glanced toward her sharply. Good, good. Distraction.

Moash, however, casually turned and slashed his Shardblade through the face of a Radiant beneath him. The unconscious woman’s eyes burned and Lift cried out in horror, heaving herself forward to reach the body—as if she could do anything.

Moash glanced at Teft, then raised his Blade toward Lift.

“Fine!” Teft said, striding forward. “Bastard! You want me? Fine! Fight me! I’ll show you who the better man is!”

Moash landed beside the body and walked straight toward Teft. “We both know who the better warrior is, Teft.”

“I didn’t say better warrior, you idiot,” Teft said, lunging in with his knife. The stab was a feint, but Moash knew it. He sidestepped at precisely the right time, and tripped Teft as he tried to turn and swing again.

Teft went down with a grunt. He tried to roll, but Moash landed and kicked him in the side, hard. Something crunched in Teft’s chest. A wound that blossomed with pain and didn’t heal, despite his Stormlight.

Moash loomed overhead and raised his Blade, then swung it down without further comment. Teft dropped his knife—useless against a Blade—and raised his hands. He felt something from Phendorana. A harmony between them.

Teft was forgiven. Teft was forgiven and he was close.

Moash’s Shardblade met something in the air—a phantom spear shaft, barely coalescing between Teft’s hands—and stopped. It threw sparks, but it stopped. Teft gritted his teeth and held on as Moash finally showed an emotion. Surprise. He stumbled back, his eyes wide.

Teft let go, and Phendorana appeared beside him on the ground, puffing from exertion. He felt sweat trickling down his brow. Manifesting her like that—even a little—had been like trying to push an axehound through a keyhole. He wasn’t certain he, or she, could do it a second time.

Best to try something else. Teft held his side, grimacing as he forced himself into a kneeling position. “All right, lad. I’m done. You got me. I surrender. Let’s wait for Kaladin to show up, and you can continue this conversation with him.”

“I’m not here for Kaladin, Teft,” Moash said softly. “And I’m not here for your surrender.”

Teft steeled himself. Grapple him, he thought. Make that Blade a liability, too big to use. His best hope.

Because Teft did have hope. That was what he’d recovered, these years in Bridge Four. The moss might take him again, but if it did … well, he would fight back again. The past could rot.

Teft, Windrunner, had hope.

He managed to get to his feet, prepared for Moash to lunge at him—but when Moash moved, it wasn’t toward Teft. It was toward Phendorana.

What? Teft stood stunned as Moash pulled a strange dagger from his belt and slammed it down—right where Phendorana was kneeling.

She looked up with surprise and took the knife straight in the forehead. Then she screamed.

Teft leaped for her, howling, watching in horror as she shrank, writhing as Moash’s dagger pinned her to