Pg155 Line17 – Pg158 Line 26
Fine, Spook thought, charging the nearest group of soldiers. If he could get through them, he could reach a ramp up, perhaps disappear into the alley between the buildings above.
Swords scrapped from scabbards. Behind Spook, people cried out in shock. He reached into the rugged tears of his cloak and whipped forth his dueling cane.
And than he was among them.
Spook wasn’t a warrior, not really. He’d trained with Ham, of course—Clubs had insisted that his nephew knew how to defend himself. However, the crew’s true warriors had always been their Mistborn, Vin and Kelsier, with Ham—as a pewterarm—providing brute force as necessary.
Yet, Spook had spent a lot of time training lately, and while doing so he had discoveredsomething interesting. He had something that Vin and Kelsier could never have had; a blurring array of sensory details that his body could instinctively use. He could feel disturbances in the air, sense tremors in the floor, and could know how close people were simply by how close their heartbeats sounded.
He was no mistborn, but he was still very dangerous. He felt a soft wind, and knew a sword was swinging for him. He ducked. He felt a footstep on the ground, and knew someone was attacking from the side. He stepped away. It was almost like having Atium.
Sweat flew from his brow as he spun, and he cracked his dueling cane into the back of one soldier’s head. The man fell—Spook’s weapon was crafted of the finest hardwood. But just to be certain, he brought the butt of the weapon down on the fallen man’s temple, knocking him out of the battle for good.
He heard someone grunt beside him—soft, yet telling. Spook whipped his weapon to the side and smacked it against the attacking soldier’s forearm. The bones broke, and the soldier cried out, dropping his weapon. Spook rapped him on the head. Then, Spook spun, lifting his cane to block the third soldier’s strike.
Steel met wood, and the steel won, Spook’s weapon breaking. However, it stopped the sword long enough for spook to duck away and grab a fallen warrior’s sword. It was different from the swords he’d practiced with—the men of Urteau preferred long, thin blades. Still, Spook only had one soldier left—If he could cut the man down, he’d be free.
Spook’s opponent seemed to realize he had the advantage. If Spook ran, it would expose his back to attack. However, if Spook stayed, he’d soon be overwhelmed. The soldier circled warily, trying to stall for time.
So, Spook attacked. He raised his blade, trusting in his enhanced senses to compensate for the difference in training. The soldier raised his weapon to parry as Spook swung.
Spook’s sword froze in the air.
(To help get all this up faster, I’m going to skip the next bit, in short someone was pushing against the metal of the sword.)
Spook dropped the weapon, letting it fly out of his hands, then threw himself to the ground. He felt a draft of an enemy sword swinging overhead, narrowly missing him. His own weapon clanged to the ground a short distance from him, it ringing loud to his ears.
He didn’t have time to gather his breath; he could only push himself up to dodge the soldier’s follow up blow. Fortunately, Spook wasn’t wearing any metal that Quellion could push against to influence the fight any farther. That was a habbit Spook was glad he never lost.
The only choice was to run. He couldn’t fight, not with an Allomancer interfering. He turned while the soldier prepared another swing. Then, Spook threw himself forward, getting inside the soldier’s guard. He ducked under the man’s arm and dashed to the side, hoping to run past and leave the soldier confused.
Something caught his foot.
Spook spun. At first he assumed Quellion was Pulling on him somehow. Then he saw the soldier on the ground—the first one he’d dropped—had grabbed his foot.
I hit that man in the head twice! Spook thought in frustration. There is no way he’s still conscious!
The hand squeezed his foot, yanking Spook backward with an inhuman strength. With strength like that, the man had to be a Thug—a pewter burner, like thug.
Spook was in serious trouble.
Spook kicked, managing to break free, then stumbled to his feet. But a thug would be able to run faster, and farther, than Spook.
Two Allomancers, counting the Citizen himself, Spook thought. Somebody isn’t as disdainful of noble blood as he claims!
The two soldiers advanced on him. Yelling in frustration—hearing his own heart thump like a pounding drum—Spook threw himself at the Thug and grappled the man, taking him by surprise. In that moment of confusion, Spook swung him around, using the Thug’s body as a shield to protect himself from the third soldier.
He hadn’t counted on the Citizen’s brutal training. Quellion always spoke of sacrifice and necessity. Apparently, this philosophy extended to the soldiers, for the man rammed his weapon straight through his friend’s back, piercing his heart and driving his weapon directly into Spook’s chest. It was a move only a man with the strength and precision of a Thug could have performed.
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