“Masses of warring men animated the horizon, crashing into stubborn ranks, churning in melee. The air didn’t so much thunder as hiss with the sound of distant battle, like a sea heard through a conch shell, Martemus thought—an angry sea. Winded, he watched the first of Conphas’s assassins stride up behind Prince Kellhus, raise his short-sword …There was an impossible moment—a sharp intake of breath.The Prophet simply turned and caught the descending blade between his thumb and forefinger. “No,” he said, then swept around, knocking the man to the turf with an unbelievable kick. Somehow the assassin’s sword found its way into his left hand. Still crouched, the Prophet drove it down through the assassin’s throat, nailing him to the turf.A mere heartbeat had passed.”

“Part of their problem was Percy. He fought like a demon, whirling through the defender's ranks in a completely unorthodox style, rolling under their feet, slashing with his sword instead of stabbing like a Roman would, whacking campers with the flat of his blade, and generally causing mass panic.”

“John flung himself into a pseudo-karate stance, one hand poised behind him and one in front, posed like a cartoon cactus. I thought for an odd moment he had moved his limbs so fast they had made that whoosh sound through air but then I realized John was making that sound with his mouth.”

“A diet of rations etched his figure, and the sea air and sun peeled back a layer of his essence...It's as if he's passed through some cloud of aether, and he's come back to us with the outer reaches of the universe still clinging to him.”

“Even before Laurent had hit the ground,the man had drawn his sword.Damen was too far away. He was too farto get between the man and Laurent, heknew that, even as hedrew his sword--even as he wheeled hishorse, felt the powerful bunch of theanimal beneath him. There was only onething he could do. As the spray of watersheared up from under his horse, hehefted hissword, changed his grip, and threw.It was, emphatically, not a throwingweapon. It was six pounds of Rabatiansteel, forged for a two-handed grip. Andhe was on a moving horse, and many feetaway, and the man was moving too,towardsLaurent.The sword drove through the air andtook the man in the chest, ramming intothe ground and pinning him there.”

“He killed, his sword shearing, shield and horse a ram, pushing in, and further in, opening a space by force alone for the momentum of the men behind him. Beside him a man fell to a spear in the throat. To his left, an equine scream as Rochert's horse went down.In front of him, methodically, men fell, and fell, and fell.He split his attention. He swept a sword cut aside with his shield, killed a helmed soldier, and all the while flung out his mind, waiting for the moment when Touar's lines split open. The most difficult part of commanding from the front was this--staying alive in the moment, while tracking in his mind, critically, the whole fight. Yet it was exhilarating, like fighting with two bodies, at two scales.”