Page 83 of The Sunlit Man

Ignoring him, Nomad smashed through the glass on the display case and seized the tiny sunheart on the shelf there. It was the size of a pebble and glowing very faintly.

When he’d first talked to the Cinder King in this room, he’d been shown the book carried by the person whose soul now lay in his hand. A person from Nomad’s homeworld.

This soul…he shared a bond with it. Would that be enough? He whispered the words of the prayer in Alethi. “Bold soul past the threshold of death, take into you my heat, that I may bless those who still live.Please.”

He felt a sudden cooling in his palm. Heat being pulled from within him.

It’s working?Auxiliary asked.Storms, it’s working.

Nomad turned as the Cinder King stumbled into the doorway. He thought of punching the man, and his body started to lock up. The sunheart might be working as he’d hoped, but he wasn’t ready yet. So Nomad gave the king a grin, then leaped back into the pilot’s cab and smashed out the front windshield—recently replaced from his last escape. Fortunately for him, they had done a poor job of it.

“Fine!” the Cinder King shouted at him. “A coward, then? If my Charred kill you, that will still prove what needs to be proven. You hear me, offworlder?”

Nomad vaulted off the deck, then went scrambling through the mud back the way he had come. Lightning in the darkness showed him a worrisome sight—the ship, Elegy’s ship, still in themud in the distance. Zeal hadn’t taken off yet, and Charred—tens of them—were climbing all over the thing.

Like most of the ships he’d seen here, this one was shaped kind of like an old naval boat—with a cab at back and a wide deck at the front. Railings rimmed the entire thing, and the Charred were crawling up the sides, onto the deck, assaulting the bulbous structure at the back.

Nomad arrived and, with a powerful bound, hauled himself up onto the front deck. He glanced toward the cab and found that the blast shield was hanging off, melted and warped. Through the window beyond, he saw Zeal and Rebeke desperately holding the back door closed against a group of Charred on the other side.

On the deck with Nomad, a familiar Charred—the one with the streaks across his face, like a fire poker had been taken to his cheeks—turned away from where he’d cracked the windshield with his truncheon. He saw Nomad and smiled broadly. He stepped forward, perhaps anticipating another easy fight.

With a concerted effort, Nomad formed a fist around the small, offworld sunheart—feeling it leech away heat from him. It tore at the crust on his soul. The Torment gave him some boons, and he wouldn’t want to be completely rid of it. But a little skimming off the top and…

The Charred rushed him.

And Nomad—crashing through the numbness that tried to stop him—slammed his fist into the creature’s gut. The Charred let out anoofas Nomad tossed him back against the ship’s windshield.

Almost as one, the Charred who had been climbing or tryingto break in turned toward him, rainwater dripping from their pale skin, their stone hearts glowing.

Lightning splintered the sky as Nomad raised that glorious fist before himself. Wit would have appreciated the dramatic moment. Nomad just grinned.

“Storms, yes,” he whispered. “Finally.”

The Charred clamberingonto the deck howled and shouted at him, which served—beautifully—to draw the attention of the ones inside the ship. They left the door to the cockpit that Zeal and Rebeke had been defending, and piled out to join their fellows on the deck—as they had just found a far more engaging fight.

Nomad tried to form a spear but felt resistance in the action—his soul was still being lanced, and some remnants of the canker remained. Instead he held his hands forward and formed a simple bo staff—a length of silvery metal six feet long. For some reason, leaving the spearhead off made it work, and he cocked a smile—remembering a similar story told to him by a friend from long ago.

He made a hole in the haft the proper size, then slid the offworlder’s sunheart inside so he could touch it while holding theweapon. As he did, Auxiliary oohed—which was distinctively amusing in his monotone.

I can feel the power of that sunheart growing, the knight says. I…I might be able to draw upon the Investiture you are putting into it. Why? I can’t use the power of the canker on your soul.

“Filtered and purified, maybe,” he said, raising his staff. “Not really the time to ponder it.”

This will give you a few hundred BEUs. Use them well.

He’d need to. Some twenty Charred—crawling up over the side of the ship or scrambling out from inside the cab—surrounded him. Even the one he’d punched earlier stood up, his cinderheart flaring with passion.

Twenty to one. Bad odds, even for one such as him. Still, he launched into the first group of them, determined to keep as much open space around himself as possible. His worst danger here was getting pulled down, smothered, overwhelmed. Hopefully they’d underestimate him. Either way, to win against such superior numbers, his best option was to hit quickly, hit repeatedly, and keep the enemy uncertain.

Fortunately, if there was one lesson he’d learned well over the years, it was how to keep moving.

He crashed among the Charred, throwing several of them back. Glowing cinderhearts lit the deck like a fading midnight campfire—washed out occasionally by white lightning from above. Three swung batons, which Nomad expertly deflected, his muscles—and soul—as eager for this as he was. He slammed one behind the knee with the bottom of his staff—sending her sliding to the deck in the rain—then shoved aside another before stepping back andswinging the end of the staff up with the force of a man who had been held back too long.

Lightning flashed as he hooked the third Charred under the chin with enough power to send him into the air—teeth exploding from his mouth when lower jaw met top.

Nomad spun directly into the next batch, rainwater spraying from his arms as he swept around—dropping the staff and dismissing it while snatching the sunheart out of the air—and formed a shield that blocked the next three attacks. He heaved forward—hurling them back—then dropped the shield just in time to form another staff and come in swinging at the woman he’d tripped earlier.

He hit her with the force of a thunderclap, sending her soaring off the deck, spraying water.

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