The Way of Kings

“You owe me twice as much as this,” Lamaril noted, raising the sphere up to look through it as it sparkled in the sunlight.

“Well, that’s all you’ll get for now. Be glad you get anything.”

“Be glad I’ve kept my mouth shut,” Lamaril said lazily, leaning back against his post. It was one that marked the edge of the lumberyard.

Gaz gritted his teeth. He hated to pay, but what else could he do? Storms take him. Raging storms take him!

“You have a problem, it seems,” Lamaril said.

At first, Gaz thought he meant the half payment. The lighteyed man nodded toward Bridge Four’s barracks.

Gaz eyed the bridgemen, unsettled. The youthful bridgeleader barked an order, and the bridgemen raced the span of the lumberyard in a jog. He already had them running in time with one another. That one change meant so much. It sped them up, helped them think like a team.

Could this boy actually have military training, as he’d once claimed? Why would he be wasted as a bridgeman? Of course, there was that shash brand on his forehead…

“I don’t see a problem,” Gaz said with a grunt. “They’re fast. That’s good.”

“They’re insubordinate.”

“They follow orders.”

“His orders, perhaps.” Lamaril shook his head. “Bridgemen exist for one purpose, Gaz. To protect the lives of more valuable men.”

“Really? And here I thought their purpose was to carry bridges.”

Lamaril gave him a sharp look. He leaned forward. “Don’t try me, Gaz. And don’t forget your place. Would you like to join them?”

Gaz felt a spike of fear. Lamaril was a very lowly lighteyes, one of the landless. But he was Gaz’s immediate superior, a liaison between bridge crews and the higher-ranked lighteyes who oversaw the lumberyard.

Gaz looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry, Brightlord.”

“Highprince Sadeas holds an edge,” Lamaril said, leaning back against his post. “He maintains it by pushing us all. Hard. Each man in his place.” He nodded toward the members of Bridge Four. “Speed is not a bad thing. Initiative is not a bad thing. But men with initiative like that boy’s are not often happy in their position. The bridge crews function as they are, without need for modification. Change can be unsettling.”

Gaz doubted that any of the bridgemen really understood their place in Sadeas’s plans. If they knew why they were worked as pitilessly as they were – and why they were forbidden shields or armor – they likely would just cast themselves into the chasm. Bait. They were bait. Draw the Parshendi attention, let the savages think they were doing some good by felling a few bridges’ worth of bridgemen every assault. So long as you took plenty of men, that didn’t matter. Except to those who were slaughtered.

Stormfather, Gaz thought, I hate myself for being a part of this. But he’d hated himself for a long time now. It wasn’t anything new to him. “I’ll do something,” he promised Lamaril. “A knife in the night. Poison in the food.” That twisted his insides. The boy’s bribes were small, but they were all that let him keep ahead of his payments to Lamaril.

“No!” Lamaril hissed. “You want it seen that he was really a threat? The real soldiers are already talking about him.” Lamaril grimaced. “The last thing we need is a martyr inspiring rebellion among the bridgemen. I don’t want any hint of it; nothing our highprince’s enemies could take advantage of.” Lamaril glanced at Kaladin, jogging past again with his men. “That one has to fall on the field, as he deserves. Make certain it happens. And get me the rest of the money you owe, or you’ll soon find yourself carrying one of those bridges yourself.”

He swept away, forest-green cloak fluttering. In his time as a soldier, Gaz had learned to fear the minor lighteyes the most. They were galled by their closeness in rank to the darkeyes, yet those darkeyes were the only ones they had any authority over. That made them dangerous. Being around a man like Lamaril was like handling a hot coal with bare fingers. There was no way to avoid burning yourself. You just hoped to be quick enough to keep the burns to a minimum.

Bridge Four ran by. A month ago, Gaz wouldn’t have believed this possible. A group of bridgemen, practicing? And all it seemed to have cost Kaladin was a few bribes of food and some empty promises that he would protect them.

That shouldn’t have been enough. Life as a bridgeman was hopeless. Gaz couldn’t join them. He just couldn’t. Kaladin the lordling had to fall. But if Kaladin’s spheres vanished, Gaz could just as easily end up as a bridgeman for failing to pay Lamaril. Storming Damnation! he thought. It was like trying to choose which claw of the chasmfiend would crush you.

Gaz continued to watch Kaladin’s crew. And still that darkness waited for him. Like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Like a scream that couldn’t be silenced. A tingling numbness that he could never be rid of.

It would probably follow him even into death.