The Way of Kings

“No!” Kaladin screamed, Stormlight escaping from his mouth in a cloud. He turned and ran back across the rocky plateau toward the bridge crew. Arrows launched at him from behind. One took his backplate square on, but skidded aside. Another hit his helm. He leaped over a rocky rift, dashing with all the speed his Stormlight could lend him.

The Parshendi at the side were drawing. There were at least fifty of them. He was going to be too late. He was going to–

“Bridge Four!” he bellowed. “Side carry right!”

They hadn’t practiced that maneuver in weeks, but their training was manifest as they obeyed without question, dropping the bridge to their side just as the archers loosed. The flight of arrows hit the bridge’s deck, bristling across the wood. Kaladin let out a relieved breath, reaching the bridge team, who had slowed to carry the bridge on the side.

“Kaladin!” Rock said, pointing.

Kaladin spun. The archers behind, on the Tower, were drawing for a large volley.

The bridge crew was exposed. The archers loosed.

He yelled again, screaming out, Stormlight infusing the air around him as he threw every bit of it he had into his shield. The scream echoed in his ears; the Stormlight burst from him, his clothing freezing and cracking.

Arrows darkened the sky. Something hit him, an extended impact that tossed him backward into the bridgemen. He struck hard, grunting as the force continued to push upon him.

The bridge ground to a halt, the men stopping.

All fell still.

Kaladin blinked, feeling completely drained. His body hurt, his arms tingled, his back ached. There was a sharp pain in his wrist. He groaned, opening his eyes, stumbling as Rock’s hands caught him from behind.

A muted thump. The bridge being set down. Idiots! Kaladin thought. Don’t set it down… Retreat…

The bridgemen crowded around him as he slipped to the ground, overwhelmed by having expended too much Stormlight. He blinked at what he held before him, attached to his bleeding arm.

His shield was covered in arrows, dozens of them, some splitting the others. The bones crossing the shield’s front had shattered; the wood was in splinters. Some of the arrows had gone through and hit his forearm. That was the pain.

Over a hundred arrows. An entire volley. Pulled into a single shield.

“By the Brightcaller’s rays,” Drehy said softly. “What… what was…”

“It was like a fountain of light,” Moash said, kneeling beside Kaladin. “Like the sun itself burst from you, Kaladin.”

“The Parshendi…” Kaladin croaked, and let go of the shield. The straps were broken, and as he struggled to stand, the shield all but disintegrated, falling to pieces, scattering dozens of broken arrows at his feet. A few remained stuck in his arm, but he ignored the pain, looking across at the Parshendi.

The groups of archers on both plateaus froze in stunned postures. The ones in front began to call to one another in a language Kaladin didn’t understand. “Neshua Kadal!” They stood up.

And then they fled.

“What?” Kaladin said.

“I don’t know,” Teft said, cradling his own wounded arm. “But we’re getting you to safety. Blast this arm. Lopen!”

The shorter man brought Dabbid, and they ushered Kaladin away to a more secure location toward the center of the plateau. He held his arm, numb, his exhaustion so deep that he could barely think.

“Bridge up!” Moash called. “We’ve still got a job to do!”

The rest of the bridgemen grimly ran back to their bridge, hoisting it up. On the Tower, Dalinar’s force was fighting its way through the Parshendi toward the possible safety of the bridge crew. They must be taking such heavy losses… Kaladin thought numbly.

He stumbled and fell to the ground; Teft and Lopen pulled Kaladin into a sheltered hollow, joining Skar and Dabbid. Skar’s foot bandage reddened with seeping blood, the spear he’d been using as a staff resting beside him. Thought I told him… to stay off that foot…

“We need spheres,” Teft said. “Skar?”

“He asked for them this morning,” the lean man said. “Gave him everything I had. I think most of the men did the same.”

Teft cursed softly, pulling the remaining arrows from Kaladin’s arm, then wrapping it with bandages.

“Is he going to be all right?” Skar asked.

“I don’t know,” Teft said. “I don’t know anything. Kelek! I’m an idiot. Kaladin. Lad, can you hear me?”

“It’s… just shock…” Kaladin said.

“You’re looking strange, gancho,” Lopen said nervously. “White.”

“Your skin is ashen, lad,” Teft said. “It looks like you did something to yourself back there. I don’t know… I…” He cursed again, smacking his hand against the stone. “I should have listened. Idiot!”