The Way of Kings

Rock scowled. “Airsick lowlanders. Is there nothing proper you know? Anyway, you are special man. Bridge Four, it lost eight runners yesterday counting the three wounded.”

“I know,” Kaladin said. “I broke my first promise. I said I wasn’t going to lose a single one.”

Rock snorted. “We are bridgemen. We die. Is how this thing works. You might as well promise to make the moons catch each other!” The large man turned, pointing toward one of the other barracks. “Of the bridges that were fired upon, most lost many men. Five bridges fell. They lost over twenty men each and needed soldiers to help get bridges back. Bridge Two lost eleven men, and it wasn’t even a focus of firing.”

He turned back to Kaladin. “Bridge Four lost eight. Eight men, during one of the worst runs of the season. And, perhaps, you will save two of those. Bridge Four lost fewest men of any bridge that the Parshendi tried to drop. Bridge Four never loses fewest men. Everyone knows how it is.”

“Luck–”

Rock pointed a fat finger at him, cutting him off. “Airsick lowlander.”

It was just luck. But, well, Kaladin would take it for the small blessing it was. No use arguing when someone had finally decided to start listening to him.

But one man wasn’t enough. Even if both he and Rock went on half rations, one of the sick men would starve. He needed spheres. He needed them desperately. But he was a slave; it was illegal for him to earn money in most ways. If only he had something he could sell. But he owned nothing. He…

A thought occurred to him.

“Come on,” he said, striding away from the barrack. Rock followed curiously. Kaladin searched through the lumberyard until he found Gaz speaking with a bridgeleader in front of Bridge Three’s barrack. As was growing more common, Gaz grew pale when Kaladin approached, and made as if to scurry away.

“Gaz, wait!” Kaladin said, holding out his hand. “I have an offer for you.”

The bridge sergeant froze. Beside Gaz, Bridge Three’s leader shot Kaladin a scowl. The way the other bridgemen had been treating him suddenly made sense. They were perturbed to see Bridge Four come out of a battle in such good shape. Bridge Four was supposed to be unlucky. Everyone needed someone else to look down on – and the other bridge crews could be consoled by the small mercy that they weren’t in Bridge Four. Kaladin had upset that.

The dark-bearded bridgeleader retreated, leaving Kaladin and Rock alone with Gaz.

“What are you offering this time?” Gaz said. “More dun spheres?”

“No,” Kaladin said, thinking quickly. This would have to be handled very carefully. “I’m out of spheres. But we can’t continue like this, you avoiding me, the other bridge crews hating me.”

“Don’t see what we can do about it.”

“I tell you what,” Kaladin said, as if suddenly having a thought. “Is anyone on stone-gathering detail today?”

“Yeah,” Gaz said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Bridge Three. Bussik there was just trying to convince me that his team is too weak to go. Storms blast me, but I believe him. Lost two-thirds of his men yesterday, and I’ll be the one who gets chewed out when they don’t gather enough stones to meet quota.”

Kaladin nodded sympathetically. Stone gathering was one of the least desirable work details; it involved traveling outside of the camp and filling wagons with large rocks. Soulcasters fed the army by turning rocks into grain, and it was easier for them – for reasons only they knew – if they had distinct, separate stones. So men gathered rocks. It was menial, sweaty, tiring, mindless work. Perfect for bridgemen.

“Why don’t you send a different bridge team?” Kaladin asked.

“Bah,” Gaz said. “You know the kind of trouble that makes. If I’m seen playing favorites, I never hear an end of the complaining.”

“Nobody will complain if you make Bridge Four do it.”

Gaz glanced at him, single eye narrowed. “I didn’t think you’d react well to being treated differently.”

“I’ll do it,” Kaladin said, grimacing. “Just this once. Look, Gaz, I don’t want to spend the rest of my time here fighting against you.”

Gaz hesitated. “Your men are going to be angry. I won’t let them think it was me who did this to them.”

“I’ll tell them that it was my idea.”

“All right, then. Third bell, meet at the western checkpoint. Bridge Three can clean pots.” He walked away quickly, as if to escape before Kaladin changed his mind.

Rock stepped up beside Kaladin, watching Gaz. “The little man is right, you know. The men will hate you for this thing. They were looking forward to easy day.”

“They’ll get over it.”

“But why change for harder work? Is true – you are crazy, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. But that craziness will get us outside of the warcamp.”

“What good is that?”

“It means everything,” Kaladin said, glancing back at the barrack. “It means life and death. But we’re going to need more help.”

“Another bridge crew?”