The Way of Kings

The Shardbearer’s honor guard caught up with him. He turned, armor seeming to glow as he raised his Blade in a salute of respect toward the bridgemen. Then he charged off in another direction.

“That was him,” Drehy said, standing up. “Dalinar Kholin. The king’s uncle!”

“He saved us!” Lopen said.

“Bah.” Moash dusted himself off. “He just saw a group of undefended archers and took the chance to strike. Lighteyes don’t care about us. Right, Kaladin?”

Kaladin stared at the place where the archers had stood. In one moment, he could have lost it all.

“Kaladin?” Moash said.

“You’re right,” Kaladin found himself saying. “Just an opportunity taken.”

Except, why raise the Blade toward Kaladin?

“From now on,” Kaladin said, “we pull back farther after the soldiers cross. They used to ignore us after the battle began, but they won’t any longer. What I did today – what we’re all going to be doing soon – will make them mighty angry. Angry enough to be stupid, but also angry enough to see us dead. For now, Leyten, Narm, find good scouting points and watch the field. I want to know if any Parshendi make moves toward that chasm. I’ll get this man bandaged and we’ll pull back.”

The two scouts ran off, and Kaladin turned back to the man with the wounded shoulder.

Moash knelt beside him. “An assault against a prepared foe without any bridges lost, a Shardbearer coincidentally coming to our rescue, Sadeas himself complimenting us. You almost make me think I should get one of those armbands.”

Kaladin glanced down at the prayer. It was stained with blood from a slice on his arm that the vanishing Stormlight hadn’t quite been able to heal.

“Wait to see if we escape.” Kaladin finished his stitching. “That’s the real test.”

63 Fear

“I wish to sleep. I know now why you do what you do, and I hate you for it. I will not speak of the truths I see.”

– Kakashah 1173, 142 seconds pre-death. A Shin sailor, left behind by his crew, reportedly for bringing them ill luck. Sample largely useless.

“You see?” Leyten turned the piece of carapace over in his hands. “If we carve it up at the edge, it encourages a blade – or in this case an arrow – to deflect away from the face. Wouldn’t want to spoil that pretty grin of yours.”

Kaladin smiled, taking back the piece of armor. Leyten had carved it expertly, putting in holes for leather straps to affix it to the jerkin. The chasm was cold and dark at night. With the sky hidden, it felt like a cavern. Only the occasional sparkle of a star high above revealed otherwise.

“How soon can you have them done?” he asked Leyten.

“All five? By the end of the night, likely. The real trick was discovering how to work it.” He knocked on the carapace with the back of his knuckles. “Amazing stuff. Nearly as hard as steel, but half the weight. Hard to cut or break. But if you drill, it shapes easily.”

“Good,” Kaladin said. “Because I don’t want five sets. I want one for each man in the crew.”

Leyten raised an eyebrow.

“If they’re going to start letting us wear armor,” Kaladin said, “everyone gets a suit. Except Shen, of course.” Matal had agreed to let them leave him behind on the bridge runs; he wouldn’t even look at Kaladin now.

Leyten nodded. “All right, then. Better get me some help, though.”

“You can use the wounded men. We’ll cart out as much carapace as we can find.”

His success had translated to an easier time for Bridge Four. Kaladin had pled that his men needed time to find carapace, and Hashal – not knowing any better – had reduced the scavenging quota. She was already pretending – quite smoothly – that the armor had been her idea the entire time, and was ignoring the question of where it had come from in the first place. When she met Kaladin’s eyes, however, he saw worry. What else would he try? So far, she hadn’t dared remove him. Not while he brought her so much praise from Sadeas.

“How did an apprentice armorer end up as a bridgeman anyway?” Kaladin asked as Leyten settled back down to work. He was a thick-armed man, stout and oval-faced with light hair. “Craftsmen don’t usually get thrown away.”

Leyten shrugged. “When a piece of armor breaks and a lighteyes takes an arrow in the shoulder, someone has to take the blame. I’m convinced my master keeps an extra apprentice especially for those kinds of situation.”

“Well, his loss is our good fortune. You’re going to keep us alive.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” He smiled. “Can’t do much worse on the armor than you did yourself, though. It’s amazing that breastplate didn’t fall off halfway through!”