โMight I be quite frank? Before, you asked why I was so concerned. It is for the following reason:โ
โHeโs old,โ Syl said with awe, flitting around the apothecary. โReally old. I didnโt know men got this old. You sure heโs not decayspren wearing a manโs skin?โ
Kaladin smiled as the apothecary shuffled forward with his cane, oblivious of the invisible windspren. His face was as full of chasms as the Shattered Plains themselves, weaving out in a pattern from his deeply recessed eyes. He wore a pair of thick spectacles on the tip of his nose, and was dressed in dark robes.
Kaladinโs father had told him of apothecariesโmen who walked the line between herbalists and surgeons. Common people regarded the healing arts with enough superstition that it was easy for an apothecary to cultivate an arcane air. The wooden walls were draped with cloth glyphwards styled in cryptic patterns, and behind the counter were shelves with rows of jars. A full human skeleton hung in the far corner, held together by wires. The windowless room was lit with bundles of garnet spheres hanging from the corners.
Despite all that, the place was clean and tidy. It had the familiar scent of antiseptic Kaladin associated with his fatherโs surgery.
โAh, young bridgeman.โ The short apothecary adjusted his spectacles. He stooped forward, running his fingers through his wispy white beard. โCome for a ward against danger, perhaps? Or maybe a young washwoman in the camp has caught your eye? I have a potion which, if slipped into her drink, will make her regard you with favor.โ
Kaladin raised an eyebrow.
Syl, however, opened her mouth in an amazed expression. โYou should give that to Gaz, Kaladin. It would be nice if he liked you more.โ
I doubt thatโs what itโs intended for, Kaladin thought with a smile.
โYoung bridgeman?โ the apothecary asked. โIs it a charm against evil you desire?โ
Kaladinโs father had spoken of these things. Many apothecaries purveyed supposed love charms or potions to cure all manner of ailments. Theyโd contain nothing more than some sugar and a few pinches of common herbs to give a spike of alertness or drowsiness, depending on the purported effect. It was all nonsense, though Kaladinโs mother had put great stock in glyphwards. Kaladinโs father had always expressed disappointment in her stubborn way of clinging to โsuperstitions.โ
โI need some bandages,โ Kaladin said. โAnd a flask of listerโs oil or knobweed sap. Also, a needle and gut, if you have any.โ
The apothecaryโs eyes opened wide in surprise.
โIโm the son of a surgeon,โ Kaladin admitted. โTrained by his hand. He was trained by a man who had studied in the Great Concourse of Kharbranth.โ
โAh,โ the apothecary said. โWell.โ He stood up straighter, setting aside his cane and brushing his robes. โBandages, you said? And some antiseptic? Let me seeโฆ.โ He moved back behind the counter.
Kaladin blinked. The manโs age hadnโt changed, but he didnโt seem nearly as frail. His step was firmer, and his voice had lost its whispering raspiness. He searched through his bottles, mumbling to himself as he read off his labels. โYou could just go to the surgeonโs hall. They would charge you far less.โ
โNot for a bridgeman,โ Kaladin said, grimacing. Heโd been turned away. The supplies there were for real soldiers.
โI see,โ the apothecary said, setting a jar on the counter, then bending down to poke in some drawers.
Syl flitted over to Kaladin. โEvery time he bends I think heโll snap like a twig.โ She was growing able to understand abstract thought, and at a surprisingly rapid pace.
I know what death isโฆ. He still wasnโt certain whether to feel sorry for her or not.
Kaladin picked up the small bottle and undid the cork, smelling what was inside. โLarmic mucus?โ He grimaced at the foul smell. โThatโs not nearly as effective as the two I asked for.โ
โBut itโs far cheaper,โ the old man said, coming up with a large box. He opened the lid, revealing sterile white bandages. โAnd you, as has been noted, are a bridgeman.โ
โHow much for the mucus, then?โ Heโd been worried about this; his father had never mentioned how much his supplies cost.
โTwo bloodmarks for the bottle.โ โThatโs what you consider cheap?โ โListerโs oil costs two sapphire marks.โ
โAnd knobweed sap?โ Kaladin said. โI saw some of reeds of it growing just outside of camp! It canโt be that rare.โ
โAnd do you know how much sap comes from a single plant?โ the apothecary asked, pointing.
Kaladin hesitated. It wasnโt true sap, but a milky substance that you could squeeze from the stalks. Or so his father had said. โNo,โ Kaladin admitted.
โA single drop,โ the man said. โIf youโre lucky. Itโs cheaper than listerโs oil, sure, but more expensive than the mucus. Even if the mucus does stink like the Nightwatcherโs own backside.โ
โI donโt have that much,โ Kaladin said. It was five diamond marks to a garnet. Ten daysโ pay to buy one small jar of antiseptic. Stormfather!
The apothecary sniffed. โThe needle and gut will cost two clearmarks.
Can you afford that, at least?โ
โBarely. How much for the bandages? Two full emeralds?โ
โTheyโre just old scraps that I bleached and boiled. Two clearchips an arm length.โ
โIโll give a mark for the box.โ
โVery well.โ Kaladin reached into his pocket to get the spheres as the old apothecary continued, โYou surgeons, all the same. Never give a blink
to consider where your supplies come from. You just use them like there will be no end.โ
โYou canโt put a price on a personโs life,โ Kaladin said. One of his fatherโs sayings. It was the main reason that Lirin had never charged for his services.
Kaladin brought out his four marks. He hesitated when he saw them, however. Only one was still glowing with its soft crystal light. The other three were dull, the bits of diamond barely visible at the center of the drops of glass.
โHere now,โ the apothecary said, squinting. โYou trying to pass dun spheres off on me?โ He snatched one before Kaladin could complain, then fished around under his counter. He brought up a jewelerโs loupe, removing his spectacles and holding the sphere up toward the light. โAh. No, thatโs a real gemstone. You should get your spheres infused, bridgeman. Not everyone is as trusting as I am.โ
โThey were glowing this morning,โ Kaladin protested. โGaz must have paid me with run-down spheres.โ
The apothecary removed his loupe and replaced the spectacles. He selected three marks, including the glowing one.
โCould I have that one?โ Kaladin asked. The apothecary frowned.
โAlways keep a glowing sphere in your pocket,โ Kaladin said. โItโs good luck.โ
โYou certain you donโt want a love potion?โ
โIf you get caught in the dark, youโll have light,โ Kaladin said tersely. โBesides, as you said, most people arenโt as trusting as you.โ
Reluctantly, the apothecary traded the infused sphere for the dead one
โthough he did check it with the loupe to be certain. A dun sphere was worth just as much as an infused one; all you had to do was leave it out in a highstorm, and it would recharge and give off light for a week or so.
Kaladin pocketed the infused sphere and picked up his purchase. He nodded farewell to the apothecary, and Syl joined him as he stepped out into the campโs street.
Heโd spent some of the afternoon listening to soldiers at the mess hall, and heโd learned some things about the warcamps. Things he should have learned weeks ago, but had been too despondent to care about. He now knew about the chrysalises on the plateaus, the gemhearts they contained,
and the competition between the highprinces. He understood why Sadeas pushed his men so hard, and he was beginning to see why Sadeas turned around if they got to the plateau later than another army. That wasnโt very common. More often, Sadeas arrived first, and the other Alethi armies that came up behind them had to turn back.
The warcamps were enormous. All told, there were over a hundred thousand troops in the various Alethi camps, many times the population of Hearthstone. And that wasnโt counting the civilians. A mobile warcamp attracted a large array of camp followers; stationary warcamps like these on the Shattered Plains brought even more.
Each of the ten warcamps filled its own crater, and was filled with an incongruous mix of Soulcast buildings, shanties, and tents. Some merchants, like the apothecary, had the money to build a wooden structure. Those who lived in tents took them down for storms, then paid for shelter elsewhere. Even within the crater, the stormwinds were strong, particularly where the outer wall was low or broken. Some placesโlike the lumberyard
โwere completely exposed.
The street bustled with the usual crowd. Women in skirts and blouses
โthe wives, sisters, or daughters of the soldiers, merchants, or craftsmen. Workers in trousers or overalls. A large number of soldiers in leathers, carrying spear and shield. All were Sadeasโs men. Soldiers of one camp didnโt mix with those of another, and you stayed away from another brightlordโs crater unless you had business there.
Kaladin shook his head in dismay.
โWhat?โ Syl asked, settling on his shoulder.
โI hadnโt expected there to be so much discord among the camps here.
I thought it would all be one kingโs army, unified.โ โPeople are discord,โ Syl said.
โWhat does that mean?โ
โYou all act differently and think differently. Nothing else is like that
โanimals act alike, and all spren are, in a sense, virtually the same individual. Thereโs harmony in that. But not in youโit seems that no two of you can agree on anything. All the world does as it is supposed to, except for humans. Maybe thatโs why you so often want to kill each other.โ
โBut not all windspren act alike,โ Kaladin said, opening the box and tucking some of the bandages into the pocket heโd sewn into the inside of his leather vest. โYouโre proof of that.โ
so.โ
โI know,โ she said softly. โMaybe now you can see why it bothers me
Kaladin didnโt know how to respond to that. Eventually, he reached the
lumberyard. A few members of Bridge Four lounged in the shade on the east side of their barrack. It would be interesting to see one of those barracks get madeโthey were Soulcast directly from air into stone. Unfortunately, Soulcastings happened at night, and under strict guard to keep the holy rite from being witnessed by anyone other than ardents or very high-ranking lighteyes.
The first afternoon bell sounded right as Kaladin reached the barrack, and he caught a glare from Gaz for nearly being late for bridge duty. Most of that โdutyโ would be spent sitting around, waiting for the horns to blow. Well, Kaladin didnโt intend to waste time. He couldnโt risk tiring himself by carrying the plank, not when a bridge run could be imminent, but perhaps he could do some stretches orโ
A horn sounded in the air, crisp and clean. It was like the mythical horn that was said to guide the souls of the brave to heavenโs battlefield. Kaladin froze. As always, he waited for the second blast, an irrational part of him needing to hear confirmation. It came, sounding a pattern indicating the location of the pupating chasmfiend.
Soldiers began to scramble toward the staging area beside the lumberyard; others ran into camp to fetch their gear. โLine up!โ Kaladin shouted, dashing up to the bridgemen. โStorm you! Every man in a line!โ
They ignored him. Some of the men werenโt wearing their vests, and they clogged the barrack doorway, all trying to get in. Those who had their vests ran for the bridge. Kaladin followed, frustrated. Once there, the men gathered around the bridge in a carefully prearranged manner. Each man got a chance to be in the best position: running in front up to the chasm, then moving to the relative safety of the back for the final approach.
There was a strict rotation, and errors were neither made nor tolerated. Bridge crews had a brutal system of self-management: If a man tried to cheat, the others forced him to run the final approach in front. That sort of thing was supposed to be forbidden, but Gaz turned a blind eye toward cheaters. He also refused bribes to let men change positions. Perhaps he knew that the only stabilityโthe only hopeโthe bridgemen had was in their rotation. Life wasnโt fair, being a bridgeman wasnโt fair, but at least if you ran the deathline and survived, the next time you got to run at the back.
There was one exception. As bridgeleader, Kaladin got to run in the front most of the way, then move to the back for the assault. His was the safest position in the group, though no bridgeman was truly safe. Kaladin was like a moldy crust on a starving manโs plate; not the first bite, but still doomed.
He got into position. Yake, Dunny, and Malop were the last stragglers. Once theyโd taken their places, Kaladin commanded the men to lift. He was half surprised to be obeyed, but there was almost always a bridgeleader to give commands during a run. The voice changed, but the simple orders did not. Lift, run, lower.
Twenty bridges charged down from the lumberyard and toward the Shattered Plains. Kaladin noticed a group of bridgemen from Bridge Seven watching with relief. Theyโd been on duty until the first afternoon bell; theyโd avoided this run by mere moments.
The bridgemen worked hard. It wasnโt just because of threats of beatingsโthey ran so hard because they wanted to arrive at the target plateau before the Parshendi did. If they did so, there would be no arrows, no death. And so running their bridges was the one thing the bridgemen did without reservation or laziness. Though many hated their lives, they still clung to them with white-knuckled fervor.
They clomped across the first of the permanent bridges. Kaladinโs muscles groaned in protest at being worked again so soon, but he tried not to dwell on his fatigue. The highstormโs rains from the night before meant that most plants were still open, rockbuds spewing out vines, flowering branzahs reaching clawlike branches out of crevices toward the sky. There were also occasional prickletacs: the needly, stone-limbed little shrubs Kaladin had noticed his first time through the area. Water pooled in the numerous crevices and depressions on the surface of the uneven plateau.
Gaz called out directions, telling them which pathway to take. Many of the nearby plateaus had three or four bridges, creating branching paths across the Plains. The running became rote. It was exhausting, but it was also familiar, and it was nice to be at the front, where he could see where he was going. Kaladin fell into his usual step-counting mantra, as heโd been advised to do by that nameless bridgeman whose sandals he still wore.
Eventually, they reached the last of the permanent bridges. They crossed a short plateau, passing the smoldering ruins of a bridge the Parshendi had destroyed during the night. How had the Parshendi managed
that, during a highstorm? Earlier, while listening to the soldiers, heโd learned that the soldiers regarded the Parshendi with hatred, anger, and not a little awe. These Parshendi werenโt like the lazy, nearly mute parshmen who worked throughout Roshar. These Parshendi were warriors of no small skill. That still struck Kaladin as incongruous. Parshmen? Fighting? It was just so strange.
Bridge Four and the other crews got their bridges down, spanning a chasm where it was narrowest. His men collapsed to the ground around their bridge, relaxing while the army crossed. Kaladin nearly joined themโ in fact, his knees nearly buckled in anticipation.
No, he thought, steadying himself. No. I stand.
It was a foolish gesture. The other bridgemen barely paid him any heed. One man, Moash, even swore at him. But now that Kaladin had made the decision, he stubbornly stuck to it, clasping his hands behind his back and falling into parade rest while watching the army cross.
โHo, little bridgeman!โ a soldier called from among those waiting their turn. โCurious at what real soldiers look like?โ
Kaladin turned toward the man, a solid, brown-eyed fellow with arms the size of many menโs thighs. He was a squadleader, by the knots on the shoulder of his leather jerkin. Kaladin had borne those knots once.
โHow do you treat your spear and shield, squadleader?โ Kaladin called back.
The man frowned, but Kaladin knew what he was thinking. A soldierโs gear was his life; you cared for your weapon as youโd care for your children, often seeing to its upkeep before you took food or rest.
Kaladin nodded to the bridge. โThis is my bridge,โ he said in a loud voice. โIt is my weapon, the only one allowed me. Treat her well.โ
โOr youโll do what?โ called one of the other soldiers, prompting laughter among the ranks. The squadleader said nothing. He looked troubled.
Kaladinโs words were bravado. In truth, he hated the bridge. Still, he remained standing.
A few moments later, Highprince Sadeas himself crossed on Kaladinโs bridge. Brightlord Amaram had always seemed so heroic, so distinguished. A gentleman general. This Sadeas was a different creature entirely, with that round face, curly hair, and lofty expression. He rode as if he were in a parade, one hand lightly holding the reins before him, the other carrying his
helm under his arm. His armor was painted red, and the helm bore frivolous tassels. There was so much pointless pomp that it nearly overshadowed the wonder of the ancient artifact.
Kaladin forgot his fatigue and formed his hands into fists. Here was a lighteyes he could hate even more than most, a man so callous that he threw away the lives of hundreds of bridgemen each month. A man who had expressly forbidden his bridgemen to have shields for reasons Kaladin still didnโt understand.
Sadeas and his honor guard soon passed, and Kaladin realized that he probably should have bowed. Sadeas hadnโt noticed, but it could have made trouble if he had. Shaking his head, Kaladin roused his bridge crew, though it took special prodding to get Rockโthe large Horneaterโup and moving. Once across the chasm, his men picked up their bridge and jogged toward the next chasm.
The process was repeated enough times that Kaladin lost count. At each crossing, he refused to lie down. He stood with hands behind his back, watching the army pass. More soldiers took note of him, jeering. Kaladin ignored them, and by the fifth or sixth crossing, the jeers faded. The one other time he saw Brightlord Sadeas, Kaladin gave a bow, though it made his stomach twist to do so. He did not serve this man. He did not give this man allegiance. But he did serve his men of Bridge Four. He would save them, and that meant he had to keep himself from being punished for insolence.
โReverse runners!โ Gaz called. โCross and reverse!โ
Kaladin turned sharply. The next crossing would be the assault. He squinted, looking into the distance, and could just barely make out a line of dark figures gathering on another plateau. The Parshendi had arrived and were forming up. Behind them, a group worked on breaking open the chrysalis.
Kaladin felt a spike of frustration. Their speed hadnโt been enough. Andโtired though they wereโSadeas would want to attack quickly, before the Parshendi could get the gemheart out of its shell.
The bridgemen rose from their rest, silent, haunted. They knew what was coming. They crossed the chasm and pulled the bridge over, then rearranged themselves in reverse order. The soldiers formed ranks. It was all so silent, like men preparing to carry a casket to the pyre.
The bridgemen left a space for Kaladin at the back, sheltered and protected. Syl alighted on the bridge, looking at the spot. Kaladin walked up to it, so tired, mentally and physically. Heโd pushed himself too hard in the morning, then again by standing instead of resting. What had possessed him to do such a thing? He could barely walk.
He looked over the bridgemen. His men were resigned, despondent, terrified. If they refused to run, theyโd be executed. If they did run, theyโd face the arrows. They didnโt look toward the distant line of Parshendi archers. Instead, they looked down.
They are your men, Kaladin told himself. They need you to lead them, even if they donโt know it.
How can you lead from the rear?
He stepped out of line and rounded the bridge; two of the menโDrehy and Teftโlooked up in shock as he passed. The deathpointโthe spot in the very center of the frontโwas being held by Rock, the beefy, tan-skinned Horneater. Kaladin tapped him on the shoulder. โYouโre in my spot, Rock.โ
The man glanced at him, surprised. โButโโ โTo the back with you.โ
Rock frowned. Nobody ever tried to jump ahead in the order. โYouโre airsick, lowlander,โ he said with his thick accent. โYou wish to die? Why do you not just go leap into the chasm? That would be easier.โ
โIโm bridgeleader. Itโs my privilege to run at the front. Go.โ
Rock shrugged, but did as ordered, taking Kaladinโs position at the back. Nobody said a word. If Kaladin wanted to get himself killed, who were they to complain?
Kaladin looked over the bridgemen. โThe longer we take to get this bridge down, the more arrows they can loose at us. Stay firm, stay determined, and be quick. Raise bridge!โ
The men lifted, inner rows moving underneath and situating themselves in rows of five across. Kaladin stood at the very front with a tall, stout man named Leyten to his left, a spindly man named Murk to his right. Adis and Corl were at the edges. Five men in front. The deathline.
Once all of the crews had their bridges up, Gaz gave the command. โAssault!โ
They ran, dashing alongside the standing ranks of the army, passing soldiers holding spears and shields. Some watched with curiosity, perhaps amused at the sight of the lowly bridgemen running so urgently to their
deaths. Others looked away, perhaps ashamed of the lives it would cost to get them across that chasm.
Kaladin kept his eyes forward, squelching that incredulous voice in the back of his mind, one that screamed he was doing something very stupid. He barreled toward the final chasm, focused on the Parshendi line. Figures with black and crimson skin holding bows.
Syl flitted close to Kaladinโs head, no longer in the form of a person, streaking like a ribbon of light. She zipped in front of him.
The bows came up. Kaladin hadnโt been at the deathpoint during a charge this bad since his first day on the crew. They always put new men into rotation at the deathpoint. That way, if they died, you didnโt have to worry about training them.
The Parshendi archers drew, aiming at five or six of the bridge crews.
Bridge Four was obviously in their sights.
The bows loosed.
โTien!โ Kaladin screamed, nearly mad with fatigue and frustration. He bellowed the name aloudโuncertain whyโas a wall of arrows zipped toward him. Kaladin felt a jolt of energy, a surge of sudden strength, unanticipated and unexplained.
The arrows landed.
Murk fell without a sound, four or five arrows striking him, spraying his blood across the stones. Leyten dropped as well, and with him both Adis and Corl. Shafts struck the ground at Kaladinโs feet, shattering, and a good half dozen hit the wood around Kaladinโs head and hands.
Kaladin didnโt know if heโd been hit. He was too flush with energy and alarm. He continued running, screaming, holding the bridge on his shoulders. For some reason, a group of Parshendi archers ahead lowered their bows. He saw their marbled skin, strange reddish or orange helms, and simple brown clothing. They appeared confused.
Whatever the reason, it gained Bridge Four a few precious moments. By the time the Parshendi raised their bows again, Kaladinโs team had reached the chasm. His men fell into line with the other bridge crewsโ there were only fifteen bridges now. Five had fallen. They closed the gaps as they arrived.
Kaladin screamed for the bridgemen to drop amid another spray of arrows. One sliced open the skin near his ribs, deflecting off the bone. He felt it hit, but didnโt feel any pain. He scrambled around the side of the
bridge, helping push. Kaladinโs team slammed the bridge into place as a wave of Alethi arrows distracted the enemy archers.
A troop of cavalry charged across the bridges. The bridgemen were soon forgotten. Kaladin fell to his knees beside the bridge as the others of his crew stumbled away, bloodied and hurt, their part in the battle over.
Kaladin held his side, feeling the blood there. Straight laceration, only about an inch long, not wide enough to be of danger.
It was his fatherโs voice.
Kaladin panted. He needed to get to safety. Arrows zipped over his head, fired by the Alethi archers.
Some people take lives. Other people save lives.
He wasnโt done yet. Kaladin forced himself to his feet and staggered to where someone lay beside the bridge. It was a bridgeman named Hobber; he had an arrow through the leg. The man moaned, holding his thigh.
Kaladin grabbed him under the arms and pulled him away from the bridge. The man cursed at the pain, dazed, as Kaladin towed him to a cleft behind a small bulge in the rock where Rock and some of the other bridgemen had sought shelter.
After dropping off Hobberโthe arrow hadnโt hit any major arteries, and he would be fine for a time yetโKaladin turned and tried to rush back out onto the battlefield proper. He slipped, however, stumbling in his fatigue. He hit the ground hard, grunting.
Some take lives. Some save lives.
He pushed himself to his feet, sweat dripping from his brow, and scrambled back toward the bridge, his fatherโs voice in his ears. The next bridgeman he found, a man named Koorm, was dead. Kaladin left the body. Gadol had a deep wound in the side where an arrow had passed completely through him. His face was covered with blood from a gash on his temple, and heโd managed to crawl a short distance from the bridge. He looked up with frenzied black eyes, orange painspren waving around him.
Kaladin grabbed him under the arms and towed him away just before a thundering charge of cavalry trampled the place where heโd been lying.
Kaladin dragged Gadol over to the cleft, noting two more dead. He did a quick count. That made twenty-nine bridgemen, including the dead heโd seen. Five were missing. Kaladin stumbled back out onto the battlefield.
Soldiers had bunched up around the back of the bridge, archers forming at the sides and firing into the Parshendi lines as the heavy cavalry
chargeโled by Highprince Sadeas himself, virtually indestructible in his Shardplateโtried to push the enemy back.
Kaladin wavered, dizzy, dismayed at the sight of so many men running, shouting, firing arrows and throwing spears. Five bridgemen, probably dead, lost in all of thatโ
He spotted a figure huddled just beside the chasm lip with arrows flying back and forth over his head. It was Dabbid, one of the bridgemen. He curled up, arm twisted at an awkward angle.
Kaladin charged in. He threw himself to the ground and crawled beneath the zipping arrows, hoping that the Parshendi would ignore a couple of unarmed bridgemen. Dabbid didnโt even notice when Kaladin reached him. He was in shock, lips moving soundlessly, eyes dazed. Kaladin grabbed him awkwardly, afraid to stand up too high lest an arrow hit him.
He dragged Dabbid away from the edge in a clumsy half crawl. He kept slipping on blood, falling, abrading his arms on the rock, hitting his face against the stone. He persisted, towing the younger man out from underneath the flying arrows. Finally, he got far enough away that he risked standing. He tried to pick up Dabbid. But his muscles were so weak. He strained and slipped, exhausted, falling to the stones.
He lay there, gasping, the pain of his side finally washing over him. So tiredโฆ.
He stood up shakily, then tried again to grab Dabbid. He blinked away tears of frustration, too weak to even pull the man.
โAirsick lowlander,โ a voice growled.
Kaladin turned as Rock arrived. The massive Horneater grabbed Dabbid under the arms, pulling him. โCrazy,โ he grumbled to Kaladin, but easily lifted the wounded bridgeman and carried him back to the hollow.
Kaladin followed. He collapsed in the hollow, his back to the rock. The surviving bridgemen huddled around him, eyes haunted. Rock set Dabbid down.
โFour more,โ Kaladin said between gasps. โWe have to find themโฆ.โ โMurk and Leyten,โ Teft said. The older bridgeman had been near the
back this run, and hadnโt taken any wounds. โAnd Adis and Corl. They were in the front.โ
Thatโs right, Kaladin thought, exhausted. How could I forgetโฆ. โMurk is dead,โ he said. โThe others might live.โ He tried to stumble to his feet.
โIdiot,โ Rock said. โStay here. Is all right. I will do this thing.โ He hesitated. โGuess Iโm an idiot too.โ He scowled, but went back out onto the battlefield. Teft hesitated, then chased after him.
Kaladin breathed in and out, holding his side. He couldnโt decide if the pain of the arrow impact hurt more than the cut.
Save livesโฆ.
He crawled over to the three wounded. Hobberโwith an arrow through the legโwould wait, and Dabbid had only a broken arm. Gadol was the worst off, with that hole in his side. Kaladin stared at the wound. He didnโt have an operating table; he didnโt even have antiseptic. How was he supposed to do anything?
He shoved despair aside. โOne of you go fetch me a knife,โ he told the bridgemen. โTake it off the body of a soldier who has fallen. Someone else build a fire!โ
The bridgemen looked at each other.
โDunny, you get the knife,โ Kaladin said as he held his hand to Gadolโs wound, trying to stanch the blood. โNarm, can you make a fire?โ
โWith what?โ the man asked.
Kaladin pulled off his vest and shirt, then handed the shirt to Narm. โUse this as tinder and gather some fallen arrows for wood. Does anyone have flint and steel?โ
Moash did, fortunately. You carried anything valuable you had with you on a bridge run; other bridgemen might steal it if you left it behind.
โMove quickly!โ Kaladin said. โSomeone else, go rip open a rockbud and get me the watergourd inside.โ
They stood for a few moments. Then, blessedly, they did as he demanded. Perhaps they were too stunned to object. Kaladin tore open Gadolโs shirt, exposing the wound. It was bad, terribly bad. If it had cut the intestines or some of the other organsโฆ
He ordered one of the bridgemen to hold a bandage to Gadolโs forehead to stanch the smaller blood flow thereโanything would helpโand inspected the wounded side with the speed his father had taught him. Dunny returned quickly with a knife. Narm was having trouble with the fire, though. The man cursed, trying his flint and steel again.
Gadol was spasming. Kaladin pressed bandages to the wound, feeling helpless. There wasnโt a place he could make a tourniquet for a wound like this. There wasnโt anything he could do butโ
Gadol spit up blood, coughing. โThey break the land itself!โ he hissed, eyes wild. โThey want it, but in their rage they will destroy it. Like the jealous man burns his rich things rather than let them be taken by his enemies! They come!โ
He gasped. And then he fell still, his dead eyes staring upward, bloody spittle running in a trail down his cheek. His final, haunting words hung over them. Not far away, soldiers fought and screamed, but the bridgemen were silent.
Kaladin sat back, stunnedโas alwaysโby the pain of losing someone.
His father had always said that time would dull his sensitivity.
In this, Lirin had been wrong.
He felt so tired. Rock and Teft were hurrying back toward the cleft in the rock, bearing a body between them.
They wouldnโt have brought anyone unless he was still alive, Kaladin told himself. Think of the ones you can help. โKeep that fire going!โ he said, pointing at Narm. โDonโt let it die! Someone heat the blade in it.โ
Narm jumped, noticing as if for the first time that heโd actually managed to get a small flame started. Kaladin turned away from the dead Gadol and made room for Rock and Teft. They deposited a very bloody Leyten on the ground. He was breathing shallowly and had two arrows sticking from him, one from the shoulder, the other from the opposite arm. Another had grazed his stomach, and the cut there had been widened by movement. It looked like his left leg had been trampled by a horse; it was broken, and he had a large gash where the skin had split.
โThe other three are dead,โ Teft said. โHe nearly is too. Nothing much we can do. But you said to bring him, soโโ
Kaladin knelt down immediately, working with careful, efficient speed. He pressed a bandage against the side, holding it in place with his knee, then tied a quick bandage on the leg, ordering one of the soldiers to hold it firm and elevate the limb. โWhereโs that knife!โ Kaladin yelled, hurriedly tying a loose tourniquet around the arm. He needed to stop the blood right now; heโd worry about saving the arm later.
Youthful Dunny rushed over with the heated blade. Kaladin lifted the side bandage and quickly cauterized the wound there. Leyten was unconscious, his breathing growing more shallow.
โYou will not die,โ Kaladin muttered. โYou will not die!โ His mind was numb, but his fingers knew the motions. For a moment, he was back in
his fatherโs surgery room, listening to careful instruction. He cut the arrow from Leytenโs arm, but left the one in his shoulder, then sent the knife back to be reheated.
Peet finally returned with the watergourd. Kaladin snatched it, using it to clean the leg wound, which was the nastiest, as it had been caused by trampling. When the knife came back, Kaladin pulled the arrow free of the shoulder and cauterized the wound as best he could, then used another of his quickly disappearing bandages to tie the wound.
He splinted the leg with arrow shaftsโthe only thing they had. With a grimace, he cauterized the wound there too. He hated to cause so many scars, but he couldnโt afford to let any more blood be lost. He was going to need antiseptic. How soon could he get some of that mucus?
โDonโt you dare die!โ Kaladin said, barely conscious that he was speaking. He quickly tied off the leg wound, then used his needle and thread to sew the arm wound. He bandaged it, then untied the tourniquet most of the way.
Finally, he settled back, looking at the wounded man, completely drained. Leyten was still breathing. How long would that last? The odds were against him.
The bridgemen stood or sat around Kaladin, looking strangely reverent. Kaladin tiredly moved over to Hobber and saw to the manโs leg wound. It didnโt need to be cauterized. Kaladin washed it out, cut away some splinters, then sewed it. There were painspren all around the man, tiny orange hands stretching up from the ground.
Kaladin sliced off the cleanest portion of bandage heโd used on Gadol and tied it around Hobberโs wound. He hated the uncleanliness of it, but there was no other choice. Then he set Dabbidโs arm with some arrows he had the other bridgemen fetch, using Dabbidโs shirt to tie them in place. Then, finally, Kaladin sat back against the lip of stone, letting out a long, fatigued breath.
Bangs of metal on metal and shouts of soldiers rang from behind. He felt so tired. Too tired to even close his eyes. He just wanted to sit and stare at the ground forever.
Teft settled down beside him. The grizzled man had the watergourd, which still had some liquid in the bottom. โDrink, lad. You need it.โ
โWe should clean the wounds of the other men,โ Kaladin said numbly. โThey took scrapesโI saw some had cutsโand they shouldโโ
โDrink,โ Teft said, his crackly voice insistent.
Kaladin hesitated, then drank the water. It tasted strongly bitter, like the plant from which it had been taken.
โWhereโd you learn to heal men like that?โ Teft asked. Several of the nearby bridgemen turned toward him at the question.
โI wasnโt always a slave,โ Kaladin whispered.
โThese things you did, they wonโt make a difference,โ Rock said, walking up. The massive Horneater squatted down. โGaz makes us leave behind wounded who cannot walk. Is standing order from above.โ
โIโll deal with Gaz,โ Kaladin said, resting his head back against the stone. โGo return that knife to the body you took it off. I donโt want to be accused of thievery. Then, when the time comes to leave, I want two men in charge of Leyten and two men in charge of Hobber. Weโll tie them to the top of the bridge and carry them. At the chasms, youโll have to move quickly and untie them before the army crosses, then retie them at the end. Weโll also need someone to lead Dabbid, if his shock hasnโt passed.โ
โGaz wonโt stand for this thing,โ Rock said. Kaladin closed his eyes, declining further argument.
The battle was a long one. As evening approached, the Parshendi finally retreated, jumping away across the chasms with their unnaturally powerful legs. There was a chorus of shouts from the Alethi soldiers, who had won the day. Kaladin forced himself to his feet and went looking for Gaz. It would be a while yet before they could get the chrysalis openโit was like pounding on stoneโbut he needed to deal with the bridge sergeant.
He found Gaz watching from well behind the battle lines. He glanced at Kaladin with his one eye. โHow much of that blood is yours?โ
Kaladin looked down, realizing for the first time that he was crusted with dark, flaking blood, most belonging to the men heโd worked on. He didnโt answer the question. โWeโre taking our wounded with us.โ
Gaz shook his head. โIf they canโt walk, they stay behind. Standing orders. Not my choice.โ
โWeโre taking them,โ Kaladin said, no more firm, no more loud. โBrightlord Lamaril wonโt stand for it.โ Lamaril was Gazโs immediate
superior.
โYouโll send Bridge Four last, to lead the wounded soldiers back to camp. Lamaril wonโt go with that troop; heโll go on ahead with the main
body, as he wonโt want to miss Sadeasโs victory feast.โ Gaz opened his mouth.
โMy men will move quickly and efficiently,โ Kaladin said, interrupting him. โThey wonโt slow anyone.โ He took the last sphere from his pocket and handed it over. โYou wonโt say anything.โ
Gaz took the sphere, snorting. โOne clearmark? You think that will make me take a risk this big?โ
โIf you donโt,โ Kaladin said, voice calm, โI will kill you and let them execute me.โ
Gaz blinked in surprise. โYouโd neverโโ
Kaladin took a single step forward. He must have looked a dreadful sight, covered in blood. Gaz paled. Then he cursed, holding up the dark sphere. โAnd a dun sphere at that.โ
Kaladin frowned. He was sure it had still glowed before the bridge run. โThatโs your fault. You gave it to me.โ
โThose spheres were newly infused last night,โ Gaz said. โThey came straight from Brightlord Sadeasโs treasurer. What did you do with them?โ
Kaladin shook his head, too exhausted to think. Syl landed on his shoulder as he turned to walk back to the bridgemen.
โWhat are they to you?โ Gaz called after him. โWhy do you even care?โ
โTheyโre my men.โ
He left Gaz behind. โI donโt trust him,โ Syl said, looking over her shoulder. โHe could just say you threatened him and send men to arrest you.โ
โMaybe he will,โ Kaladin said. โI guess I just have to count on him wanting more of my bribes.โ
Kaladin continued on, listening to the shouts of the victors and the groans of their wounded. The plateaus were littered with corpses, bunched up along the edges of the chasm, where the bridges had made a focus for the battle. The Parshendiโas alwaysโhad left their dead behind. Even when they won, they reportedly left their dead. The humans sent back bridge crews and soldiers to burn their dead and send their spirits to the afterlife, where the best among them would fight in the Heraldsโ army.
โSpheres,โ Syl said, still looking at Gaz. โThat doesnโt seem like much to count on.โ
โMaybe. Maybe not. Iโve seen the way he looks at them. He wants the money I give him. Perhaps badly enough to keep him in line.โ Kaladin shook his head. โWhat you said earlier is right; men are unreliable in many things. But if thereโs one thing you can count on, itโs their greed.โ
It was a bitter thought. But it had been a bitter day. A hopeful, bright beginning, and a bloody, red sunset.
Just like every day.
โMap of Alethi warcamps by the painter Vandonas, who visited the warcamps once and painted perhaps an idealized representation of them.โ