Blood of my fathers, Adolin thought. What’s wrong with her Blade?
Even with all the opened doorways, getting into the palace was slow going. The men inside had formed shield-wall rings around the doorways, and the fighting mostly happened with men using short spears to stab at each other. Some platoons of Wall Guard brought in longer pikes to break the ranks of defenders, preparing for a surge.
“You men ever flank-shielded a Shardbearer?” Adolin said to the nearest squad of soldiers.
“No sir,” said one of the men. “But we’ve done the training.…”
“It’ll have to do,” Adolin said, taking his Blade in two hands. “I’m going in that center hole. Stay close and keep the spears off my sides. I’ll be careful not to catch you in my sweeps.”
“Yes, sir!” their squadleader said.
Adolin took a deep breath, then approached the opening. The interior bristled with spears. Like the proverbial whitespine’s den.
At Adolin’s instruction, a soldier on his side faced his men and did a countdown with one hand. As the last finger dropped, the soldiers at the doorway fell back. Adolin charged through into the palace entry hall, with its marble floors and high vaulted ceilings.
The enemy thrust a dozen spears at him. He ducked low, taking a slice on the shoulder as he did a two-handed sweep, cutting a group of soldiers at the knees. The enemy dropped, their legs ruined by the Shardblade.
Four men followed him in and raised shields at his sides. Adolin attacked forward, hacking the fronts off spears, cutting at hands. Storms … the men he fought were too silent. They’d cry in pain if stabbed, or grunt with exertion, but they otherwise seemed muted—as if the darkness smothered their emotions.
Adolin took his Blade in an overhead grip and fell into Stonestance, swiping down with precise cuts, felling man after man in a careful, controlled set of strikes. His soldiers protected his flanks, while the wide reach of the Blade protected his front.
Eyes burned. The shield line wavered. “Fall back three steps!” Adolin shouted to his men, then transitioned to Windstance and swept outward with wide, flowing sweeps.
In the passion and beauty of dueling, he sometimes forgot how terrible a weapon Shardblades were. Here, as he rampaged among the faltering line, it was all too obvious. He killed eight men in a moment, and completely destroyed the defensive line.
“Go!” he shouted, pointing with his Blade. Men surged through the doorway and seized the ground just inside the entry hall. Nearby, Elhokar stood tall, his narrow Shardblade glittering as he called commands. Soldiers fell, dying and cursing—the true sounds of battle. The price of conflict.
The enemy finally broke, falling back through the entry hall—which was too large to hold—toward the narrower hallway leading to the eastern gallery.
“Pull out the wounded!” Azure called, stepping in. “Seventh Company, hold that far side of the room, make sure they don’t try to rush back in. Third Company, sweep the wings and make sure there aren’t any surprises.”
Curiously, Azure had removed her cloak and wrapped it half around her left arm. Adolin had never seen anything like it; perhaps she was accustomed to fighting in Plate.
Adolin got some water, then let a surgeon bandage the shallow cut he’d taken. Though the depths of the palace felt like caverns, this entryway was glorious. Walls of marble, polished and reflective. Grand staircases, and a bright red rug down the center. He’d burned that as a child once, playing with a candle.
Cut bandaged, he joined Azure, Elhokar, and several of the highlords, who were studying the wide corridor that led to the eastern gallery. The enemy had formed an excellent shield wall here. They’d settled in, and men in the second rank had crossbows ready and waiting.
“That’s going to be crimson to break,” Azure said. “We’ll fight for every inch.”
Outside, the crashing at the gate finally grew silent.
“They’re in,” Adolin guessed. “That breach isn’t far from here.”
Highlord Shaday grunted. “Maybe our enemies will turn against one another? Can we hope the Voidbringers and the Palace Guard will start fighting each other?”
“No,” Elhokar said. “The forces that have darkened the palace belong to the enemy who now fights quickly to reach us. They know the danger the Oathgate presents.”
“Agreed,” Adolin said. “This palace will soon be swarming with parshman troops.”
“Gather your men,” Elhokar said to the group. “Azure has command of the assault. Highmarshal, you must clear this hallway.”
One of the highlords looked at the woman and cleared his throat, but then decided not to say anything.
Grim, Azure commanded archers to use shortbows to try to soften the enemy. But that shield wall was built to hold out against arrows, so Azure gave the order, and her men advanced against the fortified enemy.
Adolin looked away as the corridor became a meat grinder, crossbow bolts smacking against men in waves. The Wall Guard had shields too, but they had to risk advancing, and a crossbow could punch.
Adolin had never been good at this part of battlefield fighting. Storm it, he wanted to be at the front, leading the charge. The rational part of him knew that would be stupid. You didn’t risk your Shardbearers in such a charge, not unless they had Plate.
“Your Majesty,” an officer called to Elhokar, crossing the entryway. “We found an oddity.”
Elhokar nodded for Adolin to take care of it, and—glad for the distraction—he jogged over to meet up with the man. “What?”
“Closed door to the palace garrison,” the man said, “rigged to lock from the outside.”
Curious. Adolin hiked after the man, passing an improvised triage station where a couple of surgeons knelt among painspren, seeing to men who had been wounded in the initial assault. They’d be far busier once the push down the hallway was finished.
To the west of the entryway was the palace garrison, a large housing for soldiers. A group of Azure’s men were studying the door—which had indeed been rigged to lock shut from the outside with a metal bar. Judging from the splintered wood, whatever was inside had tried to get out.
“Open it,” Adolin said, summoning his Shardblade.
The soldiers cautiously lifted aside the bar, then eased open the door, one holding out some spheres for light. They didn’t find monsters, but a group of dirty men in Palace Guard uniforms. They had gathered at the noise outside, and at seeing Adolin, a few of them fell to their knees, letting out relieved praises to the Almighty.
“Your Highness?” said a younger Alethi man with captain’s knots on his shoulder. “Oh, Prince Adolin. It is you. Or is this … is this somehow a cruel deception?”
“It’s me,” Adolin said. “Sidin? Storms, man! I barely recognize you through that beard. What happened?”
“Sir! Something’s wrong with the queen. First she killed that ardent, and then executed Brightlord Kaves.…” He took a deep breath. “We’re traitors, sir.”
“She culled the Guard, sir,” another man said. “Locked us in here because we wouldn’t obey. Practically forgot about us.”
Adolin breathed out a relieved sigh. The fact that the entire Guard hadn’t simply gone along with her … well, it lifted a burden from his shoulders, one he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.
“We’re taking back the palace,” Adolin said. “Gather your men, Sidin, and meet up with the surgeons in the main entryway. They’ll look you over, get you some water, take your reports.”