The Way of Kings

“Bridge up!” Kaladin bellowed, running with Bridge Four. They raised the bridge over their heads while still moving. It was harder to run this way, holding the bridge up, rather than resting it on the shoulders. He felt its enormous weight on his arms.

“Down!” he ordered.

Those at the front let go of the bridge and ran out to the sides. The others lowered the bridge in a quick motion. It hit the ground awkwardly, scraping the stone. They got into position, pretending to move it across a chasm. Kaladin helped at the side.

We’ll need to practice on a real chasm, he thought as the men finished. I wonder what kind of bribe it would take for Gaz to let me do that.

The bridgemen, finished with their mock bridge run, looked toward Kaladin, exhausted but excited. He smiled at them. As a squadleader those months in Amaram’s army, he’d learned that praise should be honest, but it should never be withheld.

“We need to work on that set-down,” Kaladin said. “But overall, I’m impressed. Two weeks and you’re already working together as well as some teams I trained for months. I’m pleased. And proud. Go get something to drink and take a break. We’ll do one or two more runs before work detail.”

It was stone-gathering duty again, but that was nothing to complain about. He’d convinced the men that lifting the stones would improve their strength, and had enlisted the few he trusted the most to help gather the knobweed, the means by which he continued to – just barely – keep the men supplied with extra food and build his stock of medical supplies.

Two weeks. An easy two weeks, as the lives of bridgemen went. Only two bridge runs, and on one they’d gotten to the plateau too late. The Parshendi had escaped with the gemheart before they’d even arrived. That was good for bridgemen.

The other assault hadn’t been too bad, by bridgeman numbers. Two more dead: Amark and Koolf. Two more wounded: Narm and Peet. A fraction of what the other crews had lost, but still too many. Kaladin tried to keep his expression optimistic as he walked to the water barrel and took a ladle from one of the men, drinking it down.

Bridge Four would drown in its own wounded. They were only thirty strong, with five wounded who drew no pay and had to be fed out of the knobweed income. Counting those who’d died, they’d taken nearly thirty percent casualties in the weeks he’d begun trying to protect them. In Amaram’s army, that rate of casualties would have been catastrophic.

Back then, Kaladin’s life had been one of training and marching, punctuated by occasional frenzied bursts of battle. Here, the fighting was relentless. Every few days. That kind of thing could – would – wear an army down.

There has to be a better way, Kaladin thought, swishing the lukewarm water in his mouth, then pouring another ladle on his head. He couldn’t continue to lose two men a week to death and wounds. But how could they survive when their own officers didn’t care if they lived or died?

He barely kept himself from throwing the ladle into the barrel in frustration. Instead, he handed it to Skar and gave him an encouraging smile. A lie. But an important one.

Gaz watched from the shadow of one of the other bridgeman barracks. Syl’s translucent figure – shaped now like floating knobweed fluff – flitted around the bridge sergeant. Eventually, she made her way over to Kaladin, landing on his shoulder, taking her female form.

“He’s planning something,” she said.

“He hasn’t interfered,” Kaladin said. “He hasn’t even tried to stop us from having the nightly stew.”

“He was talking to that lighteyes.”

“Lamaril?”

She nodded.

“Lamaril’s his superior,” Kaladin said as he walked into the shade of Bridge Four’s barrack. He leaned against the wall, looking over at his men by the water barrel. They talked to one another now. Joked. Laughed. They went out drinking together in the evenings. Stormfather, but he never thought he’d be glad that the men under his command went drinking.

“I didn’t like their expressions,” Syl said, sitting down on Kaladin’s shoulder. “Dark. Like thunderclouds. I didn’t hear what they were saying. I noticed them too late. But I don’t like it, particularly that Lamaril.”

Kaladin nodded slowly.

“You don’t trust him either?” Syl asked.

“He’s a lighteyes.” That was enough.

“So we–”

“So we do nothing,” Kaladin said. “I can’t respond unless they try something. And if I spend all of my energy worrying about what they might do, I won’t be able to solve the problems we’re facing right now.”