The Way of Kings

He was looking across at the next plateau. Adolin followed his glance. The crablike chull that had been towing the bait was lumbering away from the chasm with a slow, yet determined gait. Its handlers were yelling, running after it.

“I’m sorry, Brightlord,” Bashin said. “It’s been doing this all day.”

The chull bleated in a gravelly voice. Something seemed wrong to Adolin.

“We can send for another one,” Elhokar said. “It shouldn’t take too long to–”

“Bashin?” Dalinar said, his voice suddenly alarmed. “Shouldn’t there be bait on the end of that beast’s rope?”

The huntmaster froze. The rope the chull was towing was frayed at the end.

Something dark – something mind-numbingly enormous – rose out of the chasm on thick, chitinous legs. It climbed onto the plateau – not the small plateau where the hunt was supposed to take place, but the viewing plateau where Dalinar and Adolin stood. The plateau filled with attendants, unarmed guests, female scribes, and unprepared soldiers.

“Aw, Damnation,” Bashin said.

13 Ten Heartbeats

I realize that you are probably still angry. That is pleasant to know. Much as your perpetual health, I have come to rely upon your dissatisfaction with me. It is one of the cosmere’s great constants, I should think.

Ten heartbeats.

One.

That was how long it took to summon a Shardblade. If Dalinar’s heart was racing, the time was shorter. If he was relaxed, it took longer.

Two.

On the battlefield, the passing of those beats could stretch like an eternity. He pulled his helm on as he ran.

Three.

The chasmfiend slammed an arm down, smashing the bridge filled with attendants and soldiers. People screamed, plunging into the chasm. Dalinar dashed forward on Plate-enhanced legs, following the king.

Four.

The chasmfiend towered like a mountain of interlocking carapace the color of dark violet ink. Dalinar could see why the Parshendi called these things gods. It had a twisted, arrowhead-like face, with a mouth full of barbed mandibles. While it was vaguely crustacean, this was no bulky, placid chull. It had four wicked foreclaws set into broad shoulders, each claw the size of a horse, and a dozen smaller legs that clutched the side of the plateau.

Five.

Chitin made a grinding noise against stone as the creature finished pulling itself onto the plateau, snatching a cart – pulling chull with a swift claw.

Six.

“To arms, to arms!” Elhokar bellowed ahead of Dalinar. “Archers, fire!”

Seven.

“Distract it from the unarmed!” Dalinar bellowed at his soldiers.

The creature cracked the chull’s shell – platter-size fragments clattering to the plateau – then stuffed the beast into its maw and began looking down at the fleeing scribes and attendants. The chull stopped bleating as the monster crunched down.

Eight.

Dalinar leaped a rocky shelf and sailed five yards before slamming into the ground, throwing up chips of rock.

Nine.

The chasmfiend bellowed with an awful screeching sound. It trumpeted with four voices, overlapping one another.

Archers drew. Elhokar yelled orders just in front of Dalinar, his blue cape flapping.

Dalinar’s hand tingled with anticipation.

Ten!

His Shardblade – Oathbringer – formed in his hand, coalescing from mist, appearing as the tenth beat of his heart thudded in his chest. Six feet long from tip to hilt, the Blade would have been unwieldy in the hands of any man not wearing Shardplate. To Dalinar, it felt perfect. He’d carried Oathbringer since his youth, Bonding to it when he was twenty Weepings old. It was long and slightly curved, a handspan wide, with wavelike serrations near the hilt. It curved at the tip like a fisherman’s hook, and was wet with cold dew.

This sword was a part of him. He could sense energy racing along its blade, as if it were eager. A man never really knew life itself until he charged into battle with Plate and Blade.

“Make it angry!” Elhokar bellowed, his Shardblade – Sunraiser – springing from mist into his hand. It was long and thin with a large crossguard, and was etched up the sides with the ten fundamental glyphs. He didn’t want the monster to escape; Dalinar could hear it in his voice. Dalinar was more worried about the soldiers and attendants; this hunt had already turned terribly wrong. Perhaps they should distract the monster long enough for everyone to escape, then pull back and let it dine on chulls and hogs.

The creature screamed its multivoiced wail again, slamming a claw down among the soldiers. Men screamed; bones splintered and bodies crumpled.