“I think you’ll have a fine day for the hunt,” Bashin said to Dalinar. “Judging by reports, the beast is a big one. Larger than you’ve ever slain before, Brightlord.”
“Gavilar always wanted to slay one of these,” Dalinar said wistfully. “He loved greatshell hunts, though he never got a chasmfiend. Odd that I’ve now killed so many.”
The chull pulling the bait bleated in the distance.
“You need to go for the legs on this one, Brightlords,” Bashin said. Pre-hunt advice was one of Bashin’s responsibilities, and he took those seriously. “Chasmfiends, well, you’re used to attacking them in their chrysalises. Don’t forget how mean they are when they’re not pupating. With one this big, use a distraction and come in from…” He trailed off, then groaned, cursing softly. “Storms take that animal. I swear, the man who trained it must have been daft.”
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.
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.
Archers loosed, aiming for the head. A hundred shafts zipped into the air, but only a few hit the soft muscle between plates of chitin. Behind them, Sadeas was calling for his grandbow. Dalinar couldn’t wait for that—the creature was here, dangerous, killing his men. The bow would be too slow. This was a job for the Blade.
Adolin charged past, riding Sureblood. The lad had gone racing for his horse, rather than charging like Elhokar had. Dalinar himself had been forced to stay with the king. The other horses—even the warhorses—panicked, but Adolin’s white Ryshadium stallion held steady. In a moment, Gallant was there, trotting beside Dalinar. Dalinar grabbed the reins and heaved himself into the air with Plate-enhanced legs, jumping up into the saddle. The force of his landing might have strained the back of a regular horse, but Gallant was made of stronger stone than that.
Elhokar closed his helm, the sides misting.
“Hold back, Your Majesty,” Dalinar called, riding past. “Wait until Adolin and I weaken it.” Dalinar reached up, slamming down his own visor. The sides misted, locking it into place, and the sides of the helm became translucent to him. You still needed the eye slit—looking through the sides was like looking through dirty glass—but the translucence was one of the most wonderful parts of Shardplate.
Dalinar rode into the monster’s shadow. Soldiers scrambled about, clutching spears. They hadn’t been trained to fight thirty-foot-tall beasts, and it was a testament to their valor that they formed up anyway, trying to draw attention away from the archers and the fleeing attendants.
Arrows rained down, bouncing off the carapace and becoming more deadly to the troops below than they were to the chasmfiend. Dalinar raised his free arm to shade his eye slit as an arrow clanged off his helm.
Adolin fell back as the beast swung at a batch of archers, crushing them with one of its claws. “I’ll take left,” Adolin yelled, voice muffled by his helm.
Dalinar nodded, cutting to the right, galloping past a group of dazed soldiers and into sunlight again as the chasmfiend raised a foreclaw for another sweep. Dalinar raced under the limb, transferring Oathbringer to his left hand and holding the sword out to the side, slashing it through one of the chasmfiend’s trunklike legs.
The Blade sheared the thick chitin with barely a tug of resistance. As always, it didn’t cut living flesh, though it killed the leg as surely as if it had been cut free. The large limb slipped, falling numb and useless.
The monster roared with its deep, overlapping, trumpeting voices. On the other side, Dalinar could make out Adolin slicing at a leg.
The creature shook, turning toward Dalinar. The two legs that had been cut dragged lifelessly. The monster was long and narrow like a cray-fish, and had a flattened tail. It walked on fourteen legs. How many could it lose before collapsing?
Dalinar rounded Gallant, meeting up with Adolin, whose blue Shardplate was gleaming, cape streaming behind him. They switched sides as they turned in wide arcs, each heading for another leg.
“Meet your enemy, monster!” Elhokar bellowed.
Dalinar turned. The king had found his mount and had managed to get it under control. Vengeance wasn’t a Ryshadium, but the animal was of the best Shin stock. Astride the animal, Elhokar charged, Blade held above his head.
Well, there was no forbidding him the fight. He should be all right in his Plate so long as he kept moving. “The legs, Elhokar!” Dalinar shouted.
Elhokar ignored him, charging directly for the beast’s chest. Dalinar cursed, heeling Gallant as the monster swung. Elhokar turned at the last moment, leaning low, ducking under the blow. The chasmfiend’s claw hit stone with a cracking sound. It roared in anger at missing Elhokar, the sound echoing through the chasms.
The king veered toward Dalinar, riding past him in a rush. “I’m distracting it, you fool. Keep attacking!”
“I have the Ryshadium!” Dalinar yelled back at him. “I’ll distract—I’m faster!”
Elhokar ignored him again. Dalinar sighed. Elhokar, characteristically, could not be contained. Arguing would only cost more time and more lives, so Dalinar did as he’d been told. He rounded to the side for another approach, Gallant’s hooves beating against the stone ground. The king drew the monster’s direct attention, and Dalinar was able to ride in and slam his Blade through another leg.
The beast emitted four overlapping screams and turned toward Dalinar. But as it did, Adolin rode past on the other side, cutting at another leg with a deft strike. The leg slumped, and arrows rained down as archers continued to fire.
The creature shook, confused by the attacks coming from every side. It was getting weak, and Dalinar raised his arm, gesturing. The command ordered the rest of the foot soldiers to retreat toward the pavilion. Orders given, he slipped in and killed another leg. That meant five down. Perhaps it was time to let the beast limp away; killing it now wasn’t worth risking lives.
He called to the king, who rode—Blade held out to the side—a short distance away. The king glanced at him, but obviously didn’t hear. As the chasmfiend loomed in the background, Elhokar wheeled Vengeance in a sharp right turn toward Dalinar.
There was a soft snap, and suddenly the king—and his saddle—went tumbling through the air. The horse’s quick turn had caused the saddle girth to break. A man in Shardplate was heavy and put a great strain on both his mount and saddle.
Dalinar felt a spike of fear, and he reined in Gallant. Elhokar slammed to the ground, dropping his Shardblade. The weapon reverted to mist, vanishing. It was a protection from keeping a Blade from being taken by your enemies; they vanished unless you willed them to stay when releasing them.
“Elhokar!” Dalinar bellowed. The king rolled, cape wrapping around his body, then came to rest. He lay dazed for a moment; the armor was cracked on one shoulder, leaking Stormlight. The Plate would have cushioned the fall. He’d be all right.