Page 4 of The Sunlit Man

No.

No, even though he hated much about his life, hedidn’twant to die. Even though each day he became something more feral…well, feral things knew to struggle for life.

A sudden frantic desperation struck Nomad. He began pulling and flailing against the chains. The second of the four hovercycles took off, and he knew—from the speed of the advancing sunlight—that they were his only hope of escape. He screamed, voice ragged, straining against the steel, stretching it—but unable to pull it free.

“Aux!” he shouted. “I need a Blade! Transform!”

I’m not the one preventing that, Nomad.

“That light is going to kill us!”

Point: it is going to kill you, my poor valet. I am already dead.

Nomad yelled something primal as the third hovercycle took off, though the last one was having troubles. Perhaps he—

Wait.

“Weapons are forbidden to me. What about tools?”

Why wouldtheybe forbidden to you?

Nomad was an idiot! Auxiliary was a shapeshifting metal tool that, in this case, he could manifest physically as a crowbar. It formed in his hands as if from white mist, appearing out of nothing. Nomad hooked it into the ring on the boulder, then threw his weight against it.

SNAP.

He lurched free, hands still manacled, but with two feet of slack between them. He stumbled to his feet and dashed toward the last of the hovercycles as the fires finally ignited underneath it.

He summoned Auxiliary as a hook and chain, which he immediately hurled at the cycle. It struck just as the machine took off. At Nomad’s command, once Auxiliary caught it, the hook fuzzed briefly and sealed as a solid ring around a protrusion on the back of the vehicle. The other end of the chain locked onto Nomad’s manacles.

The sunlight reached him. An incredible, intense, burning light. Prisoners burst into flame, screaming.

Oh, storms, the knight shouts.

In that moment, the slack on the chain pulled tight. Nomad was yanked out of the sunlight, his skin screaming in agony, his clothing aflame.

He was dragged away from certain death. But toward what, he had no idea.

Nomad slammed tothe ground side-first, dragged with frightening speed after the hovercycle.

Your healing is engaged,Aux said.And your body has adjusted to the local environment’s lower air pressure. But, Nomad, you’ve got so little Investiture left. Try not to get too beat up by this next part, all right?

Even as Aux said it, Nomad ripped through barriers of withered plants and smashed repeatedly against rocks, dirt grinding into his skin. But again, Nomad was built of strong stuff. A base level of Investiture toughened him. Though healing would use Investiture up faster than other abilities, so long as he kept a minimum baseline, he might not need much healing.

He wasn’t immortal. Most advanced weapons would be instantly lethal to him—storms, even many primitive ones could kill him if used persistently, running him out of Investiture. However, wherean ordinary man’s arms would have been twisted from their sockets—their skin flayed as plant detritus became like razors in the high speed—he stayed together. And even managed to heal from the burns.

Down to six percent,Aux informed him.That wasn’t too bad, all things considered. But…did you feel that heat? It was unreal. There was Investiture involved for sure, but I couldn’t grab any of it. Opening myself up to absorb that would have destroyed me. We will need a safer way to harvest it.

Nomad grunted as he crashed into the ground again. With effort, he managed to turn himself to put the brunt of the further damage on his thigh and shoulder. Though the wind put out the flames on his clothing, the force of slamming against things ripped the remnants of his jacket and shirt away.

His skin held, though. He didn’t mind the rough treatment of his escape. It was better than being left in that sunlight.

He closed his eyes, trying to banish a greater pain. The memory of the unfortunate prisoners’ screams when the sunrise hit them, turning them to ash in seconds. He was sure some of them had been calling to him for help.

Once, he’d have been unable to ignore that. But millions, perhaps billions, of people died each day around the cosmere. He couldn’t stop that. He could barely keephimselfalive.

It hurt regardless. Even after years of torment, he still hated watching people die.

He tucked in his chin, protecting his face from the jolting chaos of being hauled across the rough surface of this harsh world. He could see the sky darkening. The fearsome sunlight vanished beneath the horizon as if it were dusk, though Nomad was the one moving.The hovercycle was fast enough to round the planet ahead of the rising sun, staying out of the dawn’s burning clutches.

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