You say that the power itself must be treated as separate in our minds from the Vessel who controls it.

Adolin walked a little easier, knowing he could get through to Shallan. So, after returning from seeing the starspren, he gave Ua’pam a thumbs-up. It had been an excellent suggestion, and the alone time had been exactly what they needed.

Shallan gave him a fond hug and a squeeze of the arms before hurrying off to gather her things. It made sense, he supposed, that she’d been nervous lately. A spy had infiltrated their quest here. Perhaps he hadn’t devoted enough thought to that particular problem.

That was Shallan’s area of expertise though. Illusions, lies, art, and fiction. Politics was supposed to be his. He’d been raised as second in line for the throne—eventually third, following little Gav’s birth. Though Adolin had turned down that very throne when it had been offered to him, he should make a competent emissary to a foreign nation.

Appeal to their honor, he thought, remembering Arshqqam’s suggestion.

He sought out Gallant and took him from the grooms to load the horse’s burden himself: the swords in their sheaths, the box of other weapons, then the trunk of clothing on the opposite side. He stared into Gallant’s blue eyes. Adolin often felt he could see some kind of light deep within them.

“Must be nice,” Adolin said, patting the horse, “to not have to worry about things like politics or relationships.”

The horse snorted in a way that Adolin thought was distinctly dismissive. Well, perhaps there was more to complicate a horse’s life than a man could ever see.

Malli, Felt’s wife, led Maya over. Adolin had asked the scribe to look after Maya while he went on his walk. He gestured toward the Ryshadium. “Shall we?”

It was hard to get any kind of acknowledgment out of Maya, but he did prefer to ask. Indeed, he thought he got a nod out of her. He took it as permission, so he helped her up onto the horse. The first few times getting her mounted had been a difficult process, involving stepping on some boxes and pulling her awkwardly into the saddle. Now she knew what to do, though—and only needed a hand over the saddle to help her into place.

Maya was heavier than she appeared, made of thick cords that were tight and dense, like muscle. Still, even at the start, it had been worth the effort to get her into the seat. It made traveling easier, as she would sit placidly on the horse and follow the rest of them. Plus, Adolin admitted that he felt better with Gallant watching over her. The Ryshadium understood. You took special care of a soldier who had left part of herself on the battlefield.

They started out for the day, Adolin leading the column, though Godeke and his spren were scouting ahead. The solemn Edgedancer didn’t have any Stormlight—they’d used the last of it the previous night, making food stores for the trip home—but Godeke had practice scouting as part of his Radiant training.

Adolin spent the early part of the hike trying to settle on a final strategy for approaching the honorspren. The others were right; the ideas he’d presented were unlikely to work. So, he’d start with the letters. Could he develop a backup plan though?

Nothing came to him, and by midday he’d lost any sense of calm or satisfaction he’d gained from the morning with Shallan. With effort, he kept himself from snapping when Felt came up from the rear guard. The foreign scout had been a stable, valuable part of the mission so far. Felt might not be quite as spry as he’d once been, but he seemed to have a sixth sense for traveling in unknown places.

“Brightlord,” the man said, wearing a floppy old hat. He’d inherited that when Bashin had retired from service, and he now wore it as a memento. While not regulation, it was the kind of thing you let a man like Felt get away with. “The humans just broke and turned away toward the south. Looks like they’ve given up on following us.”

“Really?” Adolin asked. “Now, of all times?”

“Yeah. Feels strange to me, though I can’t exactly pinpoint why.”

Adolin gave the call for a break and a snack. Merit approached to unload Gallant to give him a rest, and Adolin followed Felt to the rear of the small column. Here they climbed up a small outcropping of obsidian—fragile glass plants crackling and shattering underfoot, lifespren dodging away—where they could use spyglasses to observe the Tukari.

The strange group of humans was now far enough away that he could barely make them out in the dim Shadesmar landscape. They had indeed turned southward.

“Why would they chase us all this way,” Adolin said, “then give up now?”

“Maybe they weren’t chasing us. They could have simply been going this direction anyway; that would explain why they were always careful to stay away from us and not catch up.”

A valid point—in fact, if the humans hadn’t seemed so unusual to him upon their first meeting, Adolin probably would have assumed this all along. He hadn’t thought it odd that Notum was traveling this same way. Why should he have worried so much about these humans?

There is something odd about them, he thought. The way they hovered so close, the way they watched us …

Adolin studied them through the spyglass, though at this distance he could make out little more than the shadows of figures carrying torches. “Well, they do appear to be leaving,” he said to Felt, handing back the spyglass. “Keep watch while we eat, just in case.”

Adolin was halfway back to the front of the column when the truth struck him.

*   *   *

Veil closed the top of the trunk with the communication cube, then locked it. She couldn’t always rely on the spy to return the cube in a different orientation after moving it, so—using a trick she’d learned from Tyn long ago—she’d started dusting it with a faint bit of powder.

It hadn’t been disturbed all this trip, so far as she could tell. She needed to find a way to use it as bait, leaving it alone in a tempting way. Pondering that, she walked over and took a bowl of mush from Ishnah. Veil braced herself to eat the terrible Soulcast stuff. She should force Radiant to take over for meals. Soldiers were accustomed to eating terrible rations in the field, right? Radiant would see it as an honor to eat this slop. It would build character, and—

Adolin dashed past.

Radiant dropped the cup and leaped to her feet. That was the posture of a man running toward a fight. She took off after him, reflexively trying to summon her Shardblade—which of course didn’t work. Not here in Shadesmar.

Adolin scrambled up to the top of the outcropping where Felt was still watching their rear. Radiant started climbing, and was joined by two of Adolin’s other soldiers. The rest of the Radiants and agents—even Zu the Stoneward, who always seemed so eager and excitable—just stood looking back with confused expressions.

At the top of the outcropping, she found Adolin peering through a spyglass, tense and alert.

“What?” Radiant asked.

“They weren’t following us,” he said. “Leave a spren or two to watch the camp, then bring everyone else after me! Be ready for a fight.”

With that, he leaped off the outcropping. His boots slapped stone below—storms, he did remember he wasn’t in Shardplate, didn’t he? Adolin took off running toward the distant Tukari caravan, hand on the sheathed sword at his belt, holding it in place.

Radiant stood stunned. Was Adolin going to walk all the way to—

The sound of cracking stone thundered from behind. Radiant jumped, searching the nearby formations for some kind of avalanche. Only then did she realize it was the sound of hooves striking obsidian at high speed as Gallant galloped past. A panicked Maya clung to his mane with a two-fisted grip—but his supplies appeared to have been unloaded.

Barely breaking stride, Adolin grabbed the dangling reins as Gallant pulled up beside him. Adolin did an odd running hop, then hoisted himself into the saddle behind Maya, a maneuver that a part of Radiant’s brain refused to believe was possible.

“Rusts,” Felt said, lowering his spyglass. “How did the beast know? Did anyone hear Highprince Adolin whistle for it?”

The other soldiers shook their heads.

“Let’s move!” Radiant said. “Get the packhorses and send outriders to follow him. I’ll have Pattern watch our things. Everyone else get ready to march!”

She had them all going in what she considered an impressively short amount of time. Three soldiers on horses went chasing after Adolin, but they were far slower than the Ryshadium. Something that large shouldn’t be so fast.

She marched double-time beside Godeke and Zu, and they outpaced the Stump and some of the spren. However, while Radiant’s training with Adolin over the last twelve months meant she wasn’t soft, she also hadn’t done any forced marches.

She’d come to rely on Stormlight. With it, she could have run at a full dash without tiring. Godeke could have slid out ahead of them, moving on the stone like it was ice. They didn’t have any Stormlight left, so they followed as best they could. What was it that Adolin had said? The strange humans hadn’t been following Adolin’s party? So who had they been following?

It clicked almost immediately. The humans had skirted close, always in sight, seeming like they wanted to overtake the group—but never daring. They’d turned away today, heading south.

The same direction Notum had gone.

*   *   *

Riding behind Maya as she clung to Gallant’s neck wasn’t particularly comfortable for Adolin. Fortunately, the Ryshadium didn’t need much direction from him.

Adolin leaned low—gripping the reins, feeling the rhythm of Gallant’s hooves pounding the obsidian ground. The Tukari humans had likely planned to jump Notum soon after his patrol left the port town, but had held off once Adolin’s group started going the same way. They’d likely worried Adolin’s team would come to Notum’s defense.

They’d stayed close, never daring to attack. Until at last Notum had turned south while Adolin continued west.

Gallant was sweating heavily by the time they approached the humans’ caravan. They’d left some people behind with supplies and sent a larger group after Notum, bearing torches. Adolin ignored the ones guarding the supplies. He leaned lower, one hand around Maya’s waist, hoping he was wrong. Hoping this was all about nothing.

Adolin’s worry mounted as he drew closer. Harsh torchlight. Figures shouting.

“When we get there,” Adolin said to the horse, “stay out of the fight.”

Gallant snorted his disagreement.

“I’ll need you to get me out,” Adolin said, “and you’ll need to catch your breath to do that.”

Ryshadium were far more than the average warhorse, with speed that seemed to defy their grand size. That said, they weren’t built for long gallops.

And Adolin wasn’t built for fighting a large group on his own. The others would be far behind. So what was Adolin’s plan? If Notum really was in trouble, Adolin couldn’t very well face ten or more people without his Plate.

He drew close, picking out men in thick, patterned Tukari clothing holding aloft torches and swords—short one-handed cutlasses with a steep curve to them. Chopping weapons, common sidearms. Only two of the enemy had shields, and there was no armor to speak of, though he did spot a few spears that he’d need to keep in mind.

They’d stopped in a large circle, surrounding something at their center. Adolin gritted his teeth and guided Gallant with his knees to charge in close so he could survey better. Spren had been … cagey about whether they could be killed in Shadesmar. He’d seen them carry weapons, and during his earlier trip, Notum’s sailors had admitted that spren could be cut and would feel pain. “Killing” them involved hurting them so much that their minds broke and they became something akin to a deadeye.

Stormfather! Adolin caught enough as he rode by; his worst fears were true. In the center of the group, a glowing figure lay huddled on the ground, bound in ropes. Over a dozen animated Tukari were repeatedly stabbing him with spears and swords. Notum’s attendants—a group of three Reachers—had been bound and set in a row. Perhaps they would be next to suffer torture.

The assailants didn’t appear to have bows, fortunately, so Gallant made it past them without incident. In fact, Adolin was increasingly certain from their postures and lack of discipline that this was more a mob than a force of soldiers. Why would they attack an honorspren? How had they even gotten into Shadesmar in the first place?

Adolin reined in once they were a safe distance away. He’d hoped to draw some of the Tukari away after him, but they remained clustered, a good twenty men with torches, spears, swords. After briefly glancing at Adolin, they returned to stabbing at Notum.

Storms. How long could a spren last under such treatment?

Adolin checked for help—spotting several figures on horseback approaching in the distance—but it would be precious minutes before they were close enough. Jeopardize the mission, or go save Notum on his own?

Jeopardize it how? he thought. You barely know what you’re doing here. The others can deliver some letters.

You’re nothing but a uniform and sword, Adolin. Use them.

He swung off Gallant. “If this goes poorly, get Maya to the others,” he told the horse. “I’m going to stall those men.”

Gallant blew out again. He was accustomed to riding into combat with Dalinar.

“No,” Adolin said. “You’ll get hurt.”

Maya grabbed his shoulder with a tense hand. She’d spent the ride holding tightly to Gallant’s mane, and he sensed terror from her—perhaps at moving so quickly. He looked to her scratched-out expression, feeling her grip on his uniform shoulder.

“If I draw those men off, Maya,” he said, “can you get to Notum and cut him free? You could use one of the swords in the saddle sheaths.”

Her reply was a low growl, half a whine, and a tightening of her grip on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he said, prying her fingers free. “It’s not your fault. Stay here. Stay safe.”

Adolin took a deep breath and heaved his greatsword from its scabbard on Gallant’s shoulder. His swordstaff was back at camp, in the box of weapons—along with his shield and helm. So his best option against this rabble was the weapon with the best reach.

He hefted the massive sword. It was thinner than a Shardblade, but as long as many—and heavier. Many swordsmen he knew looked down on them as inferior to Shardblades, but you could use many of the same sword forms—and there was something solid about a greatsword that Adolin had always liked.

He strode across the black obsidian ground and started shouting. “Hey!” he said, holding the sword out to the side with both hands. “Hey!”

That got their attention. The dark figures moved away from Notum, a huddled form of soft white and blue.

Right, then, Adolin thought. Stall for time. He didn’t have to defeat all twenty men here; he only had to last long enough for his soldiers to arrive and help even the odds.

Unfortunately, even if these Tukari weren’t battle-trained, he was at a severe disadvantage. As a young man—his head full of stories of Shardbearers defeating entire companies on their own—he’d assumed he could easily take on two or three opponents at once in a bout. He’d been sorely disabused of this notion. Yes, one man could stand against many with proper training—but it was never preferable. It was too easy to get surrounded, too easy to take a strike from behind while you were engaging someone else.

Unless your enemy didn’t know what they were doing. Unless they were frightened. Unless you could keep them from pressing their advantage. He wouldn’t win here because he outdueled anyone.

He’d win because his opponents lost.

“Hey, let’s talk!” Adolin said. “You’ve got an honorspren there. How much do you want for him?”

They responded in Tukari, and as before—when he’d approached them in the camp—their postures were immediately hostile. They advanced on him with their weapons out, bearded faces and thick hair accenting their dark expressions. Adolin caught anticipationspren, like enormous lurgs, hovering around the outside of the battlefield. Even heard a painspren howl in the distance.

“Don’t suppose you’d agree to fighting one at a time,” Adolin said. “A set of friendly duels? I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

They drew closer and closer, just a few feet away now. One spearman was out in front of the others. Spears would be most dangerous; Adolin would have reach against the ones with cutlasses.

“I guess not,” he said with a sigh.

Then he launched himself forward, greatsword in a firm two-handed grip. He batted away the first man’s spear thrust, then came in with a wide powerful swing and took off the man’s head.

That was harder to do than people sometimes thought—even the sharpest blade could get caught in muscle or on the spine. Angle was everything, that and follow-through.

Ignoring the gore of the strike, Adolin moved into Flamestance. Fast. Brutal. The other Tukari came at him, and Adolin rounded them to the side, trying to keep out of the point of their haphazard formation. His quick motions kept them off balance as they scrambled to try to surround him.

Training, fortunately, was on Adolin’s side. He knew how to keep moving, putting as many of them in front of him as possible. Untrained soldiers would move in packs, letting you get around them and keep them from your back. And they shied away as he made great sweeps with his sword, more warding blows than actual attacks.

As he dodged around the side, some of them glanced the other way as a soldier at the rear barked an order. That cost them. Adolin crashed into the pack’s flank, slamming the greatsword into one man’s side, then ripping it free with a heave and slashing across another’s throat with the backswing. He gutted one more with a lunge—another spearman, his primary goal for this offensive.

The men shouted and scattered away 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, 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.

Never underestimate the worth of being willing to hold.

Your.

GROUND.

He shouldered aside the stumbling bodyguard, then swept out and nearly managed to take the leader’s head—the man dodged just in time, escaping with a gash in his shoulder instead. Thundering sounds made it seem like Adolin’s soldiers were close, though it was only Gallant, brilliantly stomping loudly and letting out a scream.

Together, it was too much for the men. Adolin didn’t win.

But the Tukari lost, running toward their supply dump and the safety of the numbers they’d left behind. The leader finally joined them.

When Felt and the others arrived a few minutes later, they found a bloodied Adolin propping up Notum—dazed, but alive—surrounded by the corpses of what had once been overwhelming odds against him.