"I returned," she said, "because I have no home. I'm expected to sit out of important events because my husband is dead! Lounge around, pampered but ignored. I make them uncomfortable. The queen, the other women at court."
"I'm sorry," Dalinar said. "But I don't-"
She raised her freehand, tapping him on the chest. "I won't take it from you, Dalinar. We were friends before I even met Gavilar! You still know me as me, not some shadow of a dynasty that crumbled years ago. Don't you?" She looked at him, pleading.
Blood of my fathers, Dalinar thought with shock. She's crying. Two small tears.
He had rarely seen her so sincere.
And so he kissed her.
It was a mistake. He knew it was. He grabbed her anyway, pulling her into a rough, tight embrace and pressing his mouth to hers, unable to contain himself. She melted against him. He tasted the salt of her tears as they ran down to her lips and met his.
It lasted long. Too long. Wonderfully long. His mind screamed at him, like a prisoner chained in a cell and forced to watch something horrible. But a part of him had wanted this for decades-decades spent watching his brother court, marry, and then hold the only woman that the young Dalinar had ever wanted.
He'd told himself he would never allow this. He had denied himself feelings for Navani the moment Gavilar had won her hand. Dalinar had stepped aside.
But the taste of her-the smell of her, the warmth of her pressed against him-was too sweet. Like a blossoming perfume, it washed away the guilt. For a moment, that touch banished everything. He couldn't remember his fear at the visions, his worry about Sadeas, his shame at past mistakes.
He could only think of her. Beautiful, insightful, delicate yet strong at once. He clung to her, something he could hold onto as the rest of the world churned around him.
Eventually, he broke the kiss. She looked up at him, dazed. Passion-spren, like tiny flakes of crystalline snow, floated down in the air around them. Guilt flooded him again. He tried gently to push her away, but she clung to him, holding on tight.
"Navani," he said.
"Hush." She pressed her head against his chest.
"We can't-"
"Hush," she said, more insistently.
He sighed, but let himself hold her.
"Something is going wrong in this world, Dalinar," Navani said softly. "The king of Jah Keved was assassinated. I heard it just today. He was killed by a Shin Shardbearer in white clothing."
"Stormfather!" Dalinar said.
"Something's going on," she said. "Something bigger than our war here, something bigger than Gavilar. Have you heard of the twisted things men say when they die? Most ignore it, but surgeons are talking. And stormwardens whisper that the highstorms are growing more powerful."
"I have heard," he said, finding it difficult to get the words out, intoxicated by her as he was.
"My daughter seeks something," Navani said. "She frightens me sometimes. She's so intense. I honestly believe she's the most intelligent person I've ever known. And the things she searches for… Dalinar, she believes that something very dangerous is near."
The sun approaches the horizon. The Everstorm comes. The True Desolation. The Night of Sorrows…
"I need you," Navani said. "I've known it for years, though I feared it would destroy you with guilt, so I fled. But I couldn't stay away. Not with the way they treat me. Not with what is happening to the world. I'm terrified, Dalinar, and I need you. Gavilar was not the man everyone thought him to be. I was fond of him, but he-"
"Please," Dalinar said, "don't speak ill of him."
"Very well."
Blood of my fathers! He couldn't get her scent out of his head. He felt paralyzed, holding to her like a man clinging to a stone in the stormwinds.
She looked up at him. "Well, let it be said-then-that I was fond of Gavilar. But I'm more than fond of you. And I'm tired of waiting."
He closed his eyes. "How can this work?"
"We'll find a way."
"We'll be denounced."
"The warcamps already ignore me," Navani said, "and they spread rumors and lies about you. What more can they do to us?"
"They'll find something. As of yet, the devotaries do not condemn me."
"Gavilar is dead," Navani said, resting her head back against his chest. "I was never unfaithful while he lived, though the Stormfather knows I had ample reason. The devotaries can say what they wish, but The Arguments do not forbid our union. Tradition is not the same as doctrine, and I will not hold myself back for fear of offending."
Dalinar took a deep breath, then forced himself to open his arms and pull back. "If you had hoped to soothe my worries for the day, then this didn't help."
She folded her arms. He could still feel where her safehand had touched him on the back. A tender touch, reserved for a family member. "I'm not here to soothe you, Dalinar. Quite the opposite."
"Please. I do need time to think."
"I won't let you put me away. I won't ignore that this happened. I won't-"
"Navani," he gently cut her off, "I will not abandon you. I promise."
She eyed him, then a wry smile crept onto her face. "Very well. But you began something today."
"I began it?" he asked, amused, elated, confused, worried, and ashamed at the same time.
"The kiss was yours, Dalinar," she said idly, pulling open the door and entering his antechamber.
"You seduced me to it."
"What? Seduced?" She glanced back at him. "Dalinar, I've never been more open and honest in my life."
"I know," Dalinar said, smiling. "That was the seductive part." He closed the door softly, then let out a sigh.
Blood of my fathers, he thought, why can't these things ever be simple?
And yet, in direct contrast with his thoughts, he felt as if the entire world had somehow become more right for having gone wrong. "The darkness becomes a palace. Let it rule! Let it rule!" -Kakevah 1173, 22 seconds pre-death. A darkeyed Selay man of unknown profession. "You think one of those will save us?" Moash asked, scowling as he looked at the prayer tied about Kaladin's upper right arm.
Kaladin glanced to the side. He stood at parade rest as Sadeas's soldiers crossed their bridge. The chilly spring air felt good, now that he'd started working. The sky was bright, cloudless, and the stormwardens promised that no highstorm was near.
The prayer tied on his arms was simple. Three glyphs: wind, protection, beloved. A prayer to Jezerezeh-the Stormfather-to protect loved ones and friends. It was the straightforward type his mother had preferred. For all her subtlety and wryness, whenever she'd knitted or written a prayer, it had been simple and heartfelt. Wearing it reminded him of her.
"I can't believe you paid good money for that," Moash said. "If there are Heralds watching, they don't pay any mind to bridgemen."
"I've been feeling nostalgic lately, I guess." The prayer was probably meaningless, but he'd had reason to start thinking more about religion lately. The life of a slave made it difficult for many to believe that anyone, or anything, was watching. Yet many bridgemen had grown more religious during their captivity. Two groups, opposite reactions. Did that mean some were stupid and others were callous, or something else entirely?
"They're going to see us dead, you know," Drehy said from behind. "This is it." The bridgemen were exhausted. Kaladin and his team had been forced to work the chasms all night. Hashal had put strict requirements on them, demanding an increased amount of salvage. In order to meet the quota, they'd forgone training to scavenge.
And then today they'd been awakened for a morning chasm assault after only three hours of sleep. They were drooping as they stood in line, and they hadn't even reached the contested plateau yet.
"Let it come," Skar said quietly from the other side of the line. "They want us dead? Well, I'm not going to back down. We'll show them what courage is. They can hide behind our bridges while we charge."
"That's no victory," Moash said. "I say we attack the soldiers. Right now."
"Our own troops?" Sigzil said, turning his dark-skinned head and looking down the line of men.
"Sure," Moash said, eyes still forward. "They're going to kill us anyway. Let's take a few of them with us. Damnation, why not charge Sadeas? His guard won't expect it. I'll bet we could knock down a few and grab their spears, then be on to killing lighteyes before they cut us down."
A couple of bridgemen murmured their assent as the soldiers continued to cross.
"No," Kaladin said. "It wouldn't accomplish anything. They'd have us dead before we could so much as inconvenience Sadeas."
Moash spat. "And this will accomplish something? Damnation, Kaladin, I feel like I'm already dangling from the noose!"
"I have a plan," Kaladin said.
He waited for the objections. His other plans hadn't worked.
No one offered a complaint.
"Well then," Moash said. "What is it?"
"You'll see today," Kaladin said. "If it works, it will buy us time. If it fails, I'll be dead." He turned to look down the line of faces. "In that case, Teft has orders to lead you on an escape attempt tonight. You're not ready, but at least you'll have a chance." That was far better than attacking Sadeas as he crossed.
Kaladin's men nodded, and Moash seemed content. As contrary as he'd been originally, he had grown equally loyal. He was hotheaded, but he was also the best with the spear.
Sadeas approached, riding his roan stallion, wearing his red Shardplate, helm on but visor up. By chance, he crossed on Kaladin's bridge, though-as always-he had twenty to choose from. Sadeas didn't give Bridge Four so much as a glance.
"Break and cross," Kaladin ordered after Sadeas was over. The bridgemen crossed their bridge, and Kaladin gave the orders for them to pull it behind them, then lift.
It felt heavier than it ever had before. The bridgemen broke into a trot, rounding the army column and hustling to reach the next chasm. In the distance behind, a second army-one in blue-was following them, crossing using some of Sadeas's other bridge crews. It looked like Dalinar Kholin had given up his bulky mechanical bridges, and was now using Sadeas's own bridge crews to cross. So much for his "honor" and not sacrificing bridgeman lives.
In his pouch, Kaladin carried a large number of infused spheres, obtained from the moneychangers in exchange for a greater quantity of dun spheres. He hated taking that loss, but he needed the Stormlight.
They reached the next chasm quickly. It would be the next-to-last one, according to the word he'd gotten from Matal, Hashal's husband. The soldiers began checking their armor, stretching, anticipationspren rising in the air like small streamers.
The bridgemen set their bridge and stepped back. Kaladin noted Lopen and silent Dabbid approaching with their stretcher, waterskins and bandages inside. Lopen had hitched the stretcher to a hook at his waist, making up for his missing arm. The two moved among the members of Bridge Four, giving them water.
As he passed Kaladin, Lopen nodded toward the large bulge at the stretcher's center. The armor. "When do you want it?" Lopen asked softly, lowering the litter, then handing Kaladin a waterskin.
"Right before we run the assault," Kaladin replied. "You did well, Lopen."
Lopen winked. "A one-armed Herdazian is still twice as useful as a no-brained Alethi. Plus, so long as I've got one hand, I can still do this." He covertly made a rude gesture toward the marching soldiers.
Kaladin smiled, but was growing too nervous to feel mirth. It had been a long time since he'd gotten jitters going into a battle. He thought Tukks had beaten that out of him years ago.
"Hey," a sudden voice called, "I need some of that."
Kaladin spun to see a soldier walking over. He was exactly the type of man Kaladin had known to avoid back in Amaram's army. Darkeyed but of modest rank, he was naturally large, and had probably gotten promoted by sheer virtue of size. His armor was well maintained but the uniform beneath was stained and wrinkled, and he kept the sleeves rolled up, exposing hairy arms.
At first, Kaladin assumed that the man had seen Lopen's gesture. But the man didn't seem mad. He shoved Kaladin aside, then pulled the waterskin away from Lopen. Nearby, the soldiers waiting to cross had noticed. Their own water crews were much slower, and more than a few of the waiting men eyed Lopen and his waterskins.
It would set a terrible precedent to let the soldiers take their water-but that was a tiny problem compared with the greater one. If those soldiers swarmed around the litter to get water, they'd discover the sack full of armor.
Kaladin moved quickly, snatching the waterskin from the soldier's hand. "You have your own water crews."
The soldier looked at Kaladin, as if completely unable to believe that a bridgeman was standing up to him. He scowled darkly, lowering his spear to his side, its butt against the ground. "I don't want to wait."
"How unfortunate," Kaladin said, stepping right up to the man, meeting him eye to eye. Silently, he cursed the idiot. If it turned into a scuffle…
The soldier hesitated, even more astonished to see such an aggressive threat from a bridgeman. Kaladin wasn't as thick-armed as this man, but he was a finger or two taller. The soldier's uncertainty showed in his face.
Just back down, Kaladin thought.
But no. Backing down from a bridgeman while his squad was watching? The man made a fist, knuckles cracking.
Within seconds, the entire bridge crew was there. The soldier blinked as Bridge Four formed around Kaladin in an aggressive inverted wedge pattern, moving naturally-smoothly-as Kaladin had trained them. Each one made fists, giving the soldier ample chance to see that the heavy lifting had trained these men to a physical level beyond that of the average soldier.
The man glanced back at his squad, as if looking for support.
"Do you want to spark a fight now, friend?" Kaladin asked softly. "If you hurt the bridgemen, I wonder who Sadeas will make run this bridge."
The man glanced back at Kaladin, was silent for a moment, then scowled, cursed, and stalked away. "Probably full of crem anyway," he muttered, rejoining his team.
The members of Bridge Four relaxed, though they received more than a few appreciative looks from the other soldiers in line. For once, there was something other than scowls. Hopefully they wouldn't realize that a squad of bridgemen had quickly and accurately made a battle formation commonly used in spear fighting.
Kaladin waved for his men to stand down, nodding his thanks. They fell back, and Kaladin tossed the recovered waterskin back to Lopen.
The shorter man smirked wryly. "I'll keep a tighter grip on these things from now on, gancho." He eyed the soldier who had tried to take the water.
"What?" Kaladin asked.
"Well, I've got a cousin in the water crews, you see," Lopen said. "And I'm thinking that he might owe me a favor on account of this one time I helped his sister's friend escape a guy looking for her…"
"You do have a lot of cousins."
"Never enough. You bother one of us, you bother us all. That's something you strawheads never seem to get. No offense or anything, gancho."
Kaladin raised an eyebrow. "Don't make trouble for the soldier. Not today." I'll make enough of that myself here soon.
Lopen sighed, but nodded. "All right. For you." He held up a waterskin. "You sure you don't want any?"
Kaladin didn't; his stomach was too unsettled. But he made himself take the waterskin back and drink a few mouthfuls.
Before long, the time came to cross and pull the bridge up for the last run. The assault. Sadeas's soldiers were forming ranks, lighteyes riding back and forth, calling orders. Matal waved Kaladin's crew forward. Dalinar Kholin's army had fallen behind, coming more slowly because of his larger numbers.
Kaladin took his place at the very front of his bridge. Ahead, the Parshendi were lined up with bows on the edge of their plateau, staring down the oncoming assault. Were they singing already? Kaladin thought he could hear their voices.
Moash was on Kaladin's right, Rock on his left. Only three on the deathline, because of how shorthanded they were. He'd put Shen in the very back, so he wouldn't see what Kaladin was about to do.
"I'm going to duck out from underneath once we start moving," Kaladin told them. "Rock, you take over. Keep them running."
"Very well," Rock said. "It will be hard to carry without you. We have so few men, and we are very weak."
"You'll manage. You'll have to."
Kaladin couldn't see Rock's face, not positioned under the bridge as they were, but his voice sounded troubled. "This thing you will try, is dangerous?"
"Perhaps."
"Can I help?"
"I'm afraid not, my friend. But it strengthens me to hear you ask."
Rock didn't get a chance to reply. Matal yelled for the bridge crews to go. Arrows shot overhead to distract the Parshendi. Bridge Four broke into a run.
And Kaladin ducked down and dashed out in front of them. Lopen was waiting to the side, and he tossed Kaladin the sack of armor.
Matal screamed at Kaladin in a panic, but the bridge crews were already in motion. Kaladin focused on his goal, protecting Bridge Four, and sucked in sharply. Stormlight flooded him from the pouch at his waist, but he didn't draw too much. Just enough to give him a jolt of energy.
Syl zipped in front of him, a ripple in the air, nearly invisible. Kaladin whipped the tie off the sack, pulling out the vest and throwing it awkwardly over his head. He ignored the ties at the side, getting on the helm as he leaped over a small rock formation. The shield came last, clattering with red Parshendi bones in a crisscross pattern on the front.
Even while donning the armor, Kaladin easily stayed far ahead of the heavily laden bridge crews. His Stormlight-infused legs were quick and sure.
The Parshendi archers directly ahead of him abruptly stopped singing. Several of them lowered their bows, and though it was too distant to make out their faces, he could sense their outrage. Kaladin had expected this. He'd hoped for it.
The Parshendi left their dead. Not because they were uncaring, but because they found it a terrible offense to move them. Merely touching the dead seemed a sin. If that was the case, a man desecrating corpses and wearing them into battle would be far, far worse.
As Kaladin grew closer, a different song started among the Parshendi archers. A quick, violent song, more chant than melody. Those who had lowered their bows raised them.
And they tried with everything they had to kill him.
Arrows flew at him. Dozens of them. They weren't fired in careful waves. They flew individually, rapidly, wildly, each archer loosing at Kaladin as quickly as he could. A swarm of death bore down on him.
Pulse racing, Kaladin ducked to the left, leaping off a small outcropping. Arrows sliced the air around him, dangerously close. But while infused with the Stormlight, his muscles reacted quickly. He dodged between arrows, then turned in the other direction, moving erratically.
Behind, Bridge Four came into range, and not a single arrow was fired at them. Other bridge crews were ignored as well, many of the archers focusing on Kaladin. The arrows came more swiftly, spraying around him, bouncing off his shield. One sliced open his arm as it shot past; another snapped against his helm, nearly knocking it free.
The arm wound leaked Light, not blood, and to Kaladin's amazement it slowly began to seal up, frost crystallizing on his skin and Stormlight draining from him. He drew in more, infusing himself to the cusp of glowing visibly. He ducked, he dodged, he jumped, he ran.
His battle-trained reflexes delighted in the newfound speed, and he used the shield to knock arrows out of the air. It was as if his body had longed for this ability, as if it had been born to take advantage of the Stormlight. During the earlier part of his life, he had lived sluggish and impotent. Now he was healed. Not acting beyond his capacities-no, finally reaching them.
A flock of arrows sought his blood, but Kaladin spun between them, taking another slice on the arm but deflecting the others with shield or breastplate. The flight came, and he brought his shield up, worried that he was going to be too slow. However, the arrows changed course, arcing toward his shield, slamming into it. Drawn to it.
I'm pulling them to it! He remembered dozens of bridge runs, with arrows slamming into the wood near where his hands had clung to the support bars. Always just missing him.
How long have I been doing this? Kaladin thought. How many arrows did I draw to the bridge, pulling them away from me?
He didn't have time to think about that. He kept moving, dodging. He felt arrows whish through the air, heard them zip, felt the splinters as they hit stone or shield and broke. He'd hoped that he would distract some of the Parshendi from firing on his men, but he'd had no idea how strong a reaction he'd get.
Part of him exulted in the thrill of ducking, dodging, and blocking the hail of arrows. He started to slow, however. He tried to suck in Stormlight, but none came. His spheres were drained. He panicked, still dodging, but then the arrowfalls began to slacken.
With a start, Kaladin realized that the bridge crews had parted around him, leaving a space for him to keep dodging while they passed him and set their burdens. Bridge Four was in place, cavalry charging across to attack the archers. Despite that, some of the Parshendi continued to fire on Kaladin, enraged. The soldiers cut these Parshendi down easily, sweeping the ground of them and making room for Sadeas's foot soldiers.
Kaladin lowered his shield. It bristled with arrows. He barely had time to take a fresh breath of air as the bridgemen reached him, calling out with joy, nearly tackling him in their excitement.
"You fool!" Moash said. "You storming fool! What was that? What were you thinking?"
"Was incredible," Rock said.
"You should be dead!" Sigzil said, though his normally stern face was split by a smile.
"Stormfather," Moash added, pulling an arrow from Kaladin's vest at the shoulder. "Look at these."
Kaladin looked down, shocked to find a dozen arrow holes in the sides of his vest and shirt where he'd narrowly avoided being hit. Three arrows stuck from the leather.
"Stormblessed," Skar said. "That's all there is too it."
Kaladin shrugged off their praise, his heart still pounding. He was numb. Amazed that he'd survived, cold from the Stormlight he'd consumed, exhausted as if he'd run a rigorous obstacle course. He looked to Teft, raising an eyebrow, nodding toward the pouch at his waist.
Teft shook his head. He'd watched; the Stormlight rising from Kaladin hadn't been visible to those observing, not in the light of day. Still, the way Kaladin had dodged would have looked incredible, even without the obvious light. If there had been stories about him before, they would grow greatly following this.
He turned to look at the passing troops. As he did, he realized something. He still had to deal with Matal. "Fall into line, men," he said.
They obeyed reluctantly, falling into place around him in a double rank. Ahead, Matal stood beside their bridge. He looked concerned, as well he should. Sadeas was riding up. Kaladin steeled himself, remembering how his previous victory-when they'd run with the bridge on its side-had been turned on its head. He hesitated, then hurried over toward the bridge where Sadeas was going to ride past Matal. Kaladin's men followed.
Kaladin arrived as Matal bowed to Sadeas, who wore his glorious red Shardplate. Kaladin and the bridgemen bowed as well.
"Avarak Matal," Sadeas said. He nodded toward Kaladin. "This man looks familiar."
"He is the one from before, Brightlord," Matal said, nervous. "The one who…"
"Ah yes," Sadeas said. "The 'miracle.' And you sent him forward as a decoy like that? One would think that you would be hesitant to dare such measures."
"I take full responsibility, Brightlord," Matal said, putting the best face on it.
Sadeas regarded the battlefield. "Well, luckily for you, it worked. I suppose I'll have to promote you now." He shook his head. "Those savages practically ignored the assault force. All twenty bridges set, most with nary a casualty. It seems like a waste, somehow. Consider yourself commended. Most remarkable, the way that boy dodged…" He kicked his horse into motion, leaving Matal and the bridgemen behind.
It was the most backhanded promotion Kaladin had ever heard, but that would do. Kaladin smiled broadly as Matal turned to him, eyes enraged.
"You-" Matal sputtered. "You could have gotten me executed!"
"Instead I got you promoted," Kaladin said, Bridge Four forming around him.
"I should see you strung up anyway."
"It's been tried," Kaladin said. "Didn't work. Besides, you know that from now on Sadeas is going to expect me to be out there distracting the archers. Good luck getting any other bridgeman to try that."
Matal's face grew red. He turned and stalked away to check on the other bridge crews. The two nearest-Bridge Seven and Bridge Eighteen-stood looking toward Kaladin and his team. All twenty bridges had been set? Hardly any casualties?
Stormfather, Kaladin thought. How many archers were firing at me?
"You did it, Kaladin!" Moash exclaimed. "You found the secret. We need to make this work. Expand it."
"I'll bet I could dodge those arrows, if that were all I was doing," Skar said. "With enough armor…"
"We should have more than one," Moash agreed. "Five or so, running around drawing the Parshendi attacks."
"The bones," Rock said, folding his arms. "This is what made it work. The Parshendi were so mad that they ignored bridge crew. If all five wear the bones of Parshendi…"
That made Kaladin consider something. He looked back, searching through the bridgemen. Where was Shen?
There. He was sitting on the rocks, distant, staring forward. Kaladin approached with the others. The parshman looked up at him, face a mask of pain, tears streaking his cheeks. He looked at Kaladin and shuddered visibly, turning away, closing his eyes.
"He sat down like that the moment he saw what you'd done, lad," Teft said, rubbing his chin. "Might not be good for bridge runs anymore."
Kaladin pulled the carapacetied helm off his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. The carapace stuck to his clothing stank faintly, even though he'd washed it off down below. "We'll see," Kaladin said, feeling a twist of guilt. Not nearly enough to overshadow the victory of protecting his men, but enough to dampen it, at least. "For now, there are still many bridge crews that got fired upon. You know what to do."
The men nodded, trotting off to search for the wounded. Kaladin set one man to watch over Shen-he wasn't sure what else to do with the parshman-and tried not to show his exhaustion as he put his sweaty, carapace-covered cap and vest in Lopen's litter. He knelt down to go through his medical equipment, in case it was needed, and found that his hand was shaking and quivering. He pressed it down against the ground to still it, breathing in and out.
Cold, clammy skin, he thought. Nausea. Weakness. He was in shock.
"You all right, lad?" Teft asked, kneeling down beside Kaladin. He still wore a bandage on his arm from the wound he'd taken a few bridge runs back, but it wasn't enough to stop him from carrying. Not when there were too few as it was.
"I'll be fine," Kaladin said, taking out a waterskin, holding it in a quivering hand. He could barely get the top off.
"You don't look-"
"I'll be fine," Kaladin said again, drinking, then lowering the water. "What's important is that the men are safe."
"You going to do this every time. Whenever we go to battle?"
"Whatever keeps them safe."
"You're not immortal, Kaladin," Teft said softly. "The Radiants, they could be killed, just like any man. Sooner or later, one of those arrows will find your neck instead of your shoulder."
"The Stormlight heals."
"The Stormlight helps your body heal. That's different, I'm thinking." Teft laid a hand on Kaladin's shoulder. "We can't lose you, lad. The men need you."
"I'm not going to avoid putting myself in danger, Teft. And I'm not going to leave the men to face a storm of arrows if I can do something about it."
"Well," Teft said, "you are going to let a few of us go out there with you. The bridge can manage with twenty-five, if it has to. That leaves us a few extra, just like Rock said. And I'll bet some of those wounded from the other crews we saved are well enough to begin helping carry. They won't dare send them back to their own crews, not so long as Bridge Four is doing what you did today, and helping the whole assault work."
"I…" Kaladin trailed off. He could imagine Dallet doing something like this. He'd always said that as sergeant, part of his job was to keep Kaladin alive. "All right."
Teft nodded, rising.
"You were a spearman, Teft," Kaladin said. "Don't try to deny it. How did you end up here, in these bridge crews?"
"It's where I belong." Teft turned away to supervise the search for wounded.
Kaladin sat down, then lay back, waiting for the shock to wear off. To the south, the other army-flying the blue of Dalinar Kholin-had arrived. They crossed to an adjacent plateau.
Kaladin closed his eyes to recover. Eventually, he heard something and opened his eyes. Syl sat cross-legged on his chest. Behind her, Dalinar Kholin's army had begun an assault onto the battlefield, and they managed to do so without getting fired on. Sadeas had the Parshendi cut off.
"That was amazing," Kaladin said to Syl. "What I did with the arrows."
"Still think you're cursed?"
"No. I know I'm not." He looked up at the overcast sky. "But that means the failures were all just me. I let Tien die, I failed my spearmen, the slaves I tried to rescue, Tarah…" He hadn't thought of her in some time. His failure with her had been different from the others, but a failure it was nonetheless. "If there's no curse or bad luck, no god above being angry at me-I have to live with knowing that with a little more eff ort-a little more practice or skill-I could have saved them."
Syl frowned more deeply. "Kaladin, you need to get over this. Those things aren't your fault."
"That's what my father always used to say." He smiled faintly. "'Overcome your guilt, Kaladin. Care, but not too much. Take responsibility, but don't blame yourself.' Protect, save, help-but know when to give up. They're such precarious ledges to walk. How do I do it?"
"I don't know. I don't know any of this, Kaladin. But you're ripping yourself apart. Inside and out."
Kaladin stared at the sky above. "It was wondrous. I was a storm, Syl. The Parshendi couldn't touch me. The arrows were nothing."
"You're too new to this. You pushed yourself too hard."
"'Save them,'" Kaladin whispered. "'Do the impossible, Kaladin. But don't push yourself too hard. But also don't feel guilty if you fail.' Precarious ledges, Syl. So narrow…"
Some of his men returned with a wounded man, a square-faced Thaylen fellow with an arrow in the shoulder. Kaladin went to work. His hands were still shaking slightly, but not nearly as badly as they had been.
The bridgemen clustered around, watching. He'd started training Rock, Drehy, and Skar already, but with all of them watching, Kaladin found himself explaining. "If you put pressure here, you can slow the blood flow. This isn't too dangerous a wound, though it probably doesn't feel too good…"-the patient grimaced his agreement-"…and the real problem will come from infection. Wash the wound to make sure there aren't any slivers of wood or bits of metal left, then sew it. The muscles and skin of the shoulder here are going to get worked, so you need a strong thread to hold the wound together. Now…"
"Kaladin," Lopen said, sounding worried.
"Wha?" Kaladin said, distracted, still working.
"Kaladin!"
Lopen had called him by his name, rather than saying gancho. Kaladin stood up, turning to see the short Herdazian man standing at the back of the crowd, pointing at the chasm. The battle had moved farther north, but a group of Parshendi had punched through Sadeas's line. They had bows.
Kaladin watched, stunned, as the group of Parshendi fell into formation and nocked. Fifty arrows, all pointed at Kaladin's crew. The Parshendi didn't seem to care that they were exposing themselves to attack from behind. They seemed focused on only one thing.
Destroying Kaladin and his men.
Kaladin screamed the alarm, but he felt so sluggish, so tired. The bridgemen around him turned as the archers drew. Sadeas's men normally defended the chasm to keep Parshendi from pushing over the bridges and cutting off their escape. But this time, noticing that the archers weren't trying to drop the bridges, the soldiers didn't hasten to stop them. They left the bridgemen to die, instead cutting off the Parshendi route to the bridges themselves.
Kaladin's men were exposed. Perfect targets. No, Kaladin thought. No! It can't happen like this. Not after A force crashed into the Parshendi line. A single figure in slate-grey armor, wielding a sword as long as many men were tall. The Shardbearer swept through the distracted archers with urgency, slicing into their ranks. Arrows flew toward Kaladin's team, but they were loosed too early, aimed poorly. A few came close as the bridgemen ducked for cover, but nobody was hit.
Parshendi fell before the sweeping Blade of the Shardbearer, some toppling into the chasm, others scrambling back. The rest died with burned-out eyes. In seconds, the squad of fifty archers had been reduced to corpses.
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." "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!"
Kaladin patted the bridgeman on the shoulder, then left him to his work, surrounded by a small ring of topaz chips; Kaladin had gotten permission to bring them, explaining his men needed light to work on the armor. Nearby, Lopen, Rock, and Dabbid were returning with another load of salvage. Syl zipped ahead, leading them.
Kaladin walked down the chasm, a garnet sphere looped in a small leather carrier at his belt for light. The chasm branched here, making a large triangular intersection-a perfect place for spear training. Wide enough to give the men room to practice, yet far enough from any permanent bridges that scouts weren't likely to hear echoes.
Kaladin gave the initial instructions each day, then let Teft lead the practice. The men worked by sphere light, small piles of diamond chips at the corners of the intersection, barely enough to see by. Never thought I'd envy those days practicing beneath the hot sun back in Amaram's army, he thought.
He walked up to gap-toothed Hobber and corrected his stance, then showed him how to set his weight behind his spear thrusts. The bridgemen were progressing quickly, and the fundamentals were proving their merit. Some were training with the spear and the shield, practicing stances where they held lighter spears up beside the head with the shield raised.
The most skilled were Skar and Moash. In fact, Moash was surprisingly good. Kaladin walked to the side, watching the hawk-faced man. He was focused, eyes intense, jaw set. He moved in attack after attack, the dozen spheres giving him an equal number of shadows.
Kaladin remembered feeling such dedication. He'd spent a year like that, after Tien's death, driving himself to exhaustion each day. Determined to get better. Determined never to let another person die because of his lack of skill. He'd become the best in his squad, then the best in his company. Some said he'd been the best spearmen in Amaram's army.
What would have happened to him, if Tarah hadn't coaxed him out of his single-minded dedication? Would he have burned himself out, as she'd claimed?
"Moash," Kaladin called.
Moash paused, turning toward Kaladin. He didn't fall out of stance.
Kaladin waved him to approach, and Moash reluctantly trotted over. Lopen had left a few waterskins for them, hanging by their cords from a cluster of haspers. Kaladin pulled a skin free, tossing it to Moash. The other man took a drink, then wiped his mouth.
"You're getting good," Kaladin said. "You're probably the best we have."
"Thanks," Moash said.
"I've noticed you keep training when Teft lets the other men take breaks. Dedication is good, but don't work yourself ragged. I want you to be one of the decoys."
Moash smiled broadly. Each of the men had volunteered to be one of the four who would join Kaladin distracting the Parshendi. It was amazing. Months ago, Moash-along with the others-had eagerly placed the new or the weak at the front of the bridge to catch arrows. Now, to a man, they volunteered for the most dangerous jobs.
Do you realize what you could have in these men, Sadeas? Kaladin thought. If you weren't so busy thinking of how to get them killed?
"So what is it for you?" Kaladin said, nodding toward the dim practice ground. "Why do you work so hard? What is it you hunt?"
"Vengeance," the other man said, face somber.
Kaladin nodded. "I lost someone once. Because I wasn't good enough with the spear. I nearly killed myself practicing."
"Who was it?"
"My brother."
Moash nodded. The other bridgemen, Moash included, seemed to regard Kaladin's "mysterious" past with reverence.
"I'm glad I trained," Kaladin said. "And I'm glad you're dedicated. But you have to be careful. If I'd gotten myself killed by working so hard, it wouldn't have meant anything."
"Sure. But there's a difference between us, Kaladin."
Kaladin raised an eyebrow.
"You wanted to be able to save someone. Me, I want to kill somebody."
"Who?"
Moash hesitated, then shook his head. "Maybe I'll say, someday." He reached out, grabbing Kaladin on the shoulder. "I'd surrendered my plans, but you've returned them to me. I'll guard you with my life, Kaladin. I swear it to you, by the blood of my fathers."
Kaladin met Moash's intense eyes and nodded. "All right, then. Go help Hobber and Yake. They're still off on their thrusts."
Moash jogged off to do as told. He didn't call Kaladin "sir," and didn't seem to regard him with the same unspoken reverence as the others. That made Kaladin more comfortable with him.
Kaladin spent the next hour helping the men, one by one. Most of them were overeager, throwing themselves into their attacks. Kaladin explained the importance of control and precision, which won more fights than chaotic enthusiasm. They took it in, listening. More and more, they reminded him of his old spear squad.
That set him thinking. He remembered how he had felt when originally proposing the escape plan to the men. He'd been looking for something to do-a way to fight, no matter how risky. A chance. Things had changed. He now had a team he was proud of, friends he had come to love, and a possibility-perhaps-for stability.
If they could get the dodging and armor right, they might be reasonably safe. Maybe even as safe as his old spear squad had been. Was running still the best option?
"That is a worried face," a rumbling voice noted. Kaladin turned as Rock walked up and leaned against the wall near him, folding powerful forearms. "Is the face of a leader, say I. Always troubled." Rock raised a bushy red eyebrow.
"Sadeas will never let us go, particularly not now that we're so prominent." Alethi lighteyes considered it reprehensible for a man to let slaves escape; it made him seem impotent. Capturing those who ran away was essential to save face.
"You said this thing before," Rock said. "We will fight the men he sends after us, will seek Kharbranth, where there are no slaves. From there, the Peaks, to my people who will welcome us as heroes!"
"We might beat the first group, if he's foolish and sends only a few dozen men. But after that he'll send more. And what of our wounded? Do we leave them here to die? Or do we take them with us and go that much more slowly?"
Rock nodded slowly. "You are saying that we need a plan."
"Yes," Kaladin said. "I guess that's what I'm saying. Either that, or we stay here… as bridgemen."
"Ha!" Rock seemed to take it as a joke. "Despite new armor, we would die soon. We make ourselves targets!"
Kaladin hesitated. Rock was right. The bridgemen would be used, day in and day out. Even if Kaladin slowed the death toll to two or three men a month-once, he would have considered that impossible, but now it seemed within reach-Bridge Four as it was currently composed would be gone within a year.
"I will talk with Sigzil about this thing," Rock said, rubbing his chin between the sides of his beard. "We will think. There must be a way to escape this trap, a way to disappear. A false trail? A distraction? Perhaps we can convince Sadeas that we have died during bridge run."
"How would we do that?"
"Don't know," Rock said. "But we will think." He nodded to Kaladin and sauntered off toward Sigzil. The Azish man was practicing with the others. Kaladin had tried speaking to him about Hoid, but Sigzil-typically closemouthed-hadn't wanted to discuss it.
"Hey, Kaladin!" Skar called. He was part of an advanced group that was going through Teft's very carefully supervised sparring. "Come spar with us. Show these rock-brained fools how it's really done." The others began calling for him as well.
Kaladin waved them down, shaking his head.
Teft trotted over, a heavy spear on one shoulder. "Lad," he said quietly, "I think it would be good for their morale if you showed them a thing or two yourself."
"I've already given them instruction."
"With a spear you knocked the head off of. Going very slowly, with lots of talk. They need to see it, lad. See you."
"We've been through this, Teft."
"Well, so we have."
Kaladin smiled. Teft was careful not to look angry or belligerent-he looked as if he were having a normal conversation with Kaladin. "You've been a sergeant before, haven't you?"
"Never mind that. Come on, just show them a few simple routines."
"No, Teft," Kaladin said, more seriously.
Teft eyed him. "You going to refuse to fight on the battlefield, just like that Horneater?"
"It's not like that."
"Well what is it like?"
Kaladin reached for an explanation. "I'll fight when the time comes. But if I let myself get back into it now, I'll be too eager. I'll push to attack now. I'll have trouble waiting until the men are ready. Trust me, Teft."
Teft studied him. "You're scared of it, lad."
"What? No. I-"
"I can see it," Teft said. "And I've seen it before. Last time you fought for someone, you failed, eh? So now you hesitate to take it up again."
Kaladin paused. "Yes," he admitted. But it was more than that. When he fought again, he would have to become that man from long ago, the man who had been called Stormblessed. The man with confidence and strength. He wasn't certain he could be that man any longer. That was what scared him.
Once he held that spear again, there would be no turning back.
"Well." Teft rubbed his chin. "When the time comes, I hope you're ready. Because this lot will need you."
Kaladin nodded and Teft hurried back to the others, giving some kind of explanation to mollify them.
Map of the Battle of the Tower, drawn and labeled by Navani Kholin, circa 1173.
"They come from the pit, two dead men, a heart in their hands, and I know that I have seen true glory." -Kakashah 1173, 13 seconds pre-death. A rickshaw puller. "I couldn't decide if you were interested or not," Navani said softly to Dalinar as they slowly walked around the grounds of Elhokar's raised field palace. "Half the time, you seemed like a flirt-offering hints at courtship, then backing away. The other half of the time, I was certain I had misread you. And Gavilar was so forthcoming. He always did prefer to seize what he wished."
Dalinar nodded thoughtfully. He wore his blue uniform, while Navani was in a subdued maroon dress with a thick hem. Elhokar's gardeners had begun to cultivate the plant life here. To their right, a twisting length of yellow shalebark rose to waist height, like a railing. The stonelike plant was overgrown by small bunches of haspers with pearly shells slowly opening and closing as they breathed. They looked like tiny mouths, silently speaking in rhythm with one another.
Dalinar and Navani's pathway took a leisurely course up the hillside. Dalinar strolled with hands clasped behind his back. His honor guard and Navani's clerks followed behind. A few of them looked perplexed at the amount of time Dalinar and Navani were spending with one another. How many of them suspected the truth? All? Part? None? Did it matter? "I didn't mean to confuse you, all those years ago," he said, voice soft to keep it from prying ears. "I had intended to court you, but Gavilar expressed a preference for you. So I eventually felt I had to step aside."
"Just like that?" Navani asked. She sounded offended.
"He didn't realize that I was interested. He thought that by introducing you to him, I was indicating that he should court you. That was often how our relationship worked; I would discover people Gavilar should know, then bring them to him. I didn't realize until too late what I had done in giving you to him."
"'Giving' me? Is there a slave's brand on my forehead of which I've been unaware?"
"I did not mean-"
"Oh hush," Navani said, her voice suddenly fond. Dalinar stifled a sigh; though Navani had matured since their youth, her moods always had changed as quickly as the seasons. In truth, that was part of her allure.
"Did you often step aside for him?" Navani asked.
"Always."
"Didn't that grow tiresome?"
"I didn't think about it much," Dalinar said. "When I did… yes, I was frustrated. But it was Gavilar. You know how he was. That force of will, that air of natural entitlement. It always seemed to surprise him when someone denied him or when the world itself didn't do as he wished. He didn't force me to defer-it was simply how life was."
Navani nodded in understanding.
"Regardless," Dalinar said, "I apologize for confusing you. I… well, I had difficulty letting go. I fear that-on occasion-I let too much of my true feelings slip out."
"Well, I suppose I can forgive that," she said. "Though you did spend the next two de cades making certain I thought you hated me."
"I did nothing of the sort!"
"Oh? And how else was I to interpret your coldness? The way you would often leave the room when I arrived?"
"Containing myself," Dalinar said. "I had made my decision."
"Well, it looked a lot like hatred," Navani said. "Though I did wonder several times what you were hiding behind those stony eyes of yours. Of course, then Shshshsh came along."
As always, when the name of his wife was spoken, it came to him as the sound of softly rushing air, then slipped from his mind immediately. He could not hear, or remember, the name.
"She changed everything," Navani said. "You truly seemed to love her."
"I did," Dalinar said. Surely he had loved her. Hadn't he? He could remember nothing. "What was she like?" He quickly added, "I mean, in your opinion. How did you see her?"
"Everyone loved Shshshsh," Navani said. "I tried hard to hate her, but in the end, I could only be mildly jealous."
"You? Jealous of her? Whatever for?"
"Because," Navani said. "She fit you so well, never making inappropriate comments, never bullying those around her, always so calm." Navani smiled. "Thinking back, I really should have been able to hate her. But she was just so nice. Though she wasn't very… well…"
"What?" Dalinar asked.
"Clever," Navani said. She blushed, which was rare for her. "I'm sorry, Dalinar, but she just wasn't. She wasn't a fool, but… well… not everyone can be cunning. Perhaps that was part of her charm."
She seemed to think that Dalinar would be offended. "It's all right," he said. "Were you surprised that I married her?"
"Who could be surprised? As I said, she was perfect for you."
"Because we were matched intellectually?" Dalinar said dryly.
"Hardly. But you were matched in temperament. For a time, after I got over trying to hate her, I thought that the four of us could be quite close. But you were so stiff toward me."
"I could not allow any further… lapses to make you think that I was still interested." He said the last part awkwardly. After all, wasn't that what he was doing now? Lapsing?
Navani eyed him. "There you go again."
"What?"
"Feeling guilty. Dalinar, you are a wonderful, honorable man-but you really are quite prone to self-indulgence."
Guilt? As self-indulgence? "I never considered it that way before."
She smiled deeply.
"What?" he asked.
"You really are genuine, aren't you, Dalinar?"
"I try to be," he said. He glanced over his shoulder. "Though the nature of our relationship continues to perpetuate a kind of lie."
"We've lied to nobody. Let them think, or guess, what they wish."
"I suppose you are right."
"I usually am." She fell silent for a moment. "Do you regret what we have-"
"No," Dalinar said sharply, the strength of his objection surprising him. Navani just smiled. "No," Dalinar continued, more gently. "I do not regret this, Navani. I don't know how to proceed, but I am not going to let go."
Navani hesitated beside a growth of tiny, fist-size rockbuds with their vines out like long green tongues. They were grouped almost like a bouquet, growing on a large oval stone placed beside the pathway.
"I suppose it's too much to ask for you to not feel guilty," Navani said. "Can't you let yourself bend, just a little?"
"I'm not certain if I can. Particularly not now. Explaining why would be difficult."
"Could you try to? For me?"
"I… Well, I'm a man of extremes, Navani. I discovered that when I was a youth. I've learned, repeatedly, that the only way to control those extremes is to dedicate my life to something. First it was Gavilar. Now it's the Codes and the teachings of Nohadon. They're the means by which I bind myself. Like the enclosure of a fire, meant to contain and control it."
He took a deep breath. "I'm a weak man, Navani. I really am. If I give myself a few feet of leeway, I burst through all of my prohibitions. The momentum of following the Codes these years after Gavilar's death is what keeps me strong. If I let a few cracks into that armor, I might return to the man I once was. A man I never want to be again."
A man who had contemplated murdering his own brother for the throne-and for the woman who had married that brother. But he couldn't explain that, didn't dare let Navani know what his desire for her had once almost driven him to do.
On that day, Dalinar had sworn that he would never hold the throne himself. That was one of his restraints. Could he explain how she, without trying, pried at those restraints? How it was difficult to reconcile his long-fermenting love for her with his guilt at finally taking for himself what he'd long ago given up for his brother?
"You are not a weak man, Dalinar," Navani said.
"I am. But weakness can imitate strength if bound properly, just as cowardice can imitate heroism if given nowhere to flee."
"But there's nothing in Gavilar's book that prohibits us. It's just tradition that-"
"It feels wrong," Dalinar said. "But please, don't worry; I do enough worrying for both of us. I will find a way to make this work; I just ask your understanding. It will take time. When I display frustration, it is not with you, but with the situation."
"I suppose I can accept that. Assuming you can live with the rumors. They're starting already."
"They won't be the first rumors to plague me," he said. "I'm starting to worry less about them and more about Elhokar. How will we explain to him?"
"I doubt he'll notice," Navani said, snorting softly, resuming her walk. He followed. "He's so fixated on the Parshendi and, occasionally, the idea that someone in camp is trying to kill him."
"This might feed into that," Dalinar said. "He could read a number of conspiracies out of the two of us entering a relationship."
"Well, he-"
Horns began sounding loudly from below. Dalinar and Navani stopped to listen and identify the call.
"Stormfather," Dalinar said. "That's the Tower itself where a chasmfiend has been seen. It's one of the plateaus Sadeas has been watching." Dalinar felt a surge of excitement. "Highprinces have failed every time to win a gemheart there. It will be a major victory if he and I can do it together."
Navani looked troubled. "You're right about him, Dalinar. We do need him for our cause. But keep him at arm's length."
"Wish me the wind's favor." He reached toward her, but then stopped himself. What was he going to do? Embrace her here, in public? That would set off the rumors like fire across a pool of oil. He wasn't ready for that yet. Instead, he bowed to her, then hastened off to answer the call and collect his Shardplate.
It wasn't until he was halfway down the path that he paused to consider Navani's choice of words. She had said "We need him" for "our cause."
What was their cause? He doubted that Navani knew either. But she had already started to think of them as together in their eff orts.
And, he realized, so did he. The horns called, such a pure and beautiful sound to signify the imminence of battle. It caused a frenzy in the lumberyard. The orders had come down. The Tower was to be assaulted again-the very place where Bridge Four had failed, the place where Kaladin had caused a disaster.
Largest of the plateaus. Most coveted.
Bridgemen ran this way and that for their vests. Carpenters and apprentices rushed out of the way. Matal shouted orders; an actual run was the only time he did that without Hashal. Bridgeleaders, showing a modicum of leadership, bellowed for their teams to line up.
A wind whipped the air, blowing wood chips and bits of dried grass into the sky. Men yelled, bells rang. And into this chaos strode Bridge Four, Kaladin at their head. Despite the urgency, soldiers stopped, bridgemen gaped, carpenters and apprentices stilled.
Thirty-five men marched in rusty orange carapace armor, expertly crafted by Leyten to fit onto leather jerkins and caps. They'd cut off arm guards and shin guards to complement the breastplates. The helms were built from several different headpieces, and had been ornamented-at Leyten's insistence-with ridges and cuts, like tiny horns or the edges of a crab's shell. The breastplates and guards were ornamented as well, cut into toothlike patterns, each one reminiscent of a saw blade. Earless Jaks had bought blue and white paint and drawn designs across the orange armor.
Each member of Bridge Four carried a large wooden shield strapped- tightly now-with red Parshendi bones. Ribs, for the most part, shaped in spiral patterns. Some of the men had tied finger bones to the centers so they would rattle, and others had attached protruding sharp ribs to the sides of their helms, giving them the look of fangs or mandibles.
The onlookers watched with amazement. It wasn't the first time they'd seen this armor, but this would be the first run where every man of Bridge Four had it. All together, it made an impressive sight.
Ten days, with six bridge runs, had allowed Kaladin and his team to perfect their method. Five men to be decoys with five more in the front holding shields and using only one arm to support the bridge. Their numbers were augmented by the wounded they'd saved from other crews, now strong enough to help carry.
So far-despite six bridge runs-there hadn't been a single fatality. The other bridgemen were whispering about a miracle. Kaladin didn't know about that. He just made certain to keep a full pouch of infused spheres with him at all times. Most of the Parshendi archers seemed to focus on him. Somehow, they could tell that he was the center of all this.
They reached their bridge and formed up, shields strapped to rods on the sides to await use. As they hefted their bridge, a spontaneous round of cheering rose up from the other crews.
"That's new," Teft said from Kaladin's left.
"Guess they finally realized what we are," Kaladin said.
"And what's that?"
Kaladin settled the bridge onto his shoulders. "We're their champions. Bridge forward!"
They broke into a trot, leading the way down from the staging yard, ushered by cheers. My father is not insane, Adolin thought, alive with energy and excitement as his armorers strapped on his Shardplate.
Adolin had stewed over Navani's revelation for days. He'd been wrong in such a horrible way. Dalinar Kholin wasn't growing weak. He wasn't getting senile. He wasn't a coward. Dalinar had been right, and Adolin had been wrong. After much soul searching, Adolin had come to a decision.
He was glad that he'd been wrong.
He grinned, flexing the fingers of his Plated hand as the armorers moved to his other side. He didn't know what the visions meant, or what the implications of those visions would be. His father was some kind of prophet, and that was daunting to consider.
But for now, it was enough that Dalinar was not insane. It was time to trust him. Stormfather knew, Dalinar had earned that right from his sons.
The armorers finished with Adolin's Shardplate. As they stepped away, Adolin hurried out of the armoring room into the sunlight, adjusting to the combined strength, speed, and weight of the Shardplate. Niter and five other members of the Cobalt Guard hastened up, one bringing Sureblood to him. Adolin took the reins, but led the Ryshadium at first, wanting more time to adapt to his Plate.
They soon entered the staging area. Dalinar's father, in his Shardplate, was conferring with Teleb and Ilamar. He seemed to tower over them as he pointed eastward. Already, companies of soldiers were moving out onto the lip of the Plains.
Adolin strode up to his father, eager. In the near distance, he noticed a figure riding down along the eastern rim of the warcamps. The figure wore gleaming red Shardplate.
"Father?" Adolin said, pointing. "What's he doing here? Shouldn't he be waiting for us to ride to his camp?"
Dalinar looked up. He waved for a groom to bring Gallant, and the two of them mounted. They rode down to intercept Sadeas, trailed by a dozen members of the Cobalt Guard. Did Sadeas want to call off the assault? Was he worried about failing against the Tower again?
Once they drew close, Dalinar pulled up. "You should be moving, Sadeas. Speed will be important, if we're to get to the plateau before the Parshendi take the gemheart and go."
The highprince nodded. "Agreed, in part. But we need to confer first. Dalinar, this is the Tower we're assaulting!" He seemed eager.
"Yes, and?"
"Damnation, man!" Sadeas said. "You're the one who told me we needed to find a way to trap a large force of Parshendi on a plateau. The Tower is perfect. They always bring a large force there, and two sides are inaccessible."
Adolin found himself nodding. "Yes," he said. "Father, he's right. If we can box them in and hit them hard…" The Parshendi normally fled when they took large losses. That was one of the things extending the war so long.
"It could mean a turning point in the war," Sadeas said, eyes alight. "My scribes estimate that they have no more than twenty or thirty thousand troops left. The Parshendi will commit ten thousand here-they always do. But if we can corner and kill all of them, we could nearly destroy their ability to wage war on these Plains."
"It'll work, Father," Adolin said eagerly. "This could be what we've been waiting for-what you've been waiting for. A way to turn the war, a way to deal enough damage to the Parshendi that they can't afford to keep fighting!"
"We need troops, Dalinar," Sadeas said. "Lots of them. How many men could you field, at maximum?"
"On short notice?" Dalinar said. "Eight thousand, perhaps."
"It will have to do," Sadeas said. "I've managed to mobilize about seven thousand. We'll bring them all. Get your eight thousand to my camp, and we'll take every one of my bridge crews and march together. The Parshendi will get there first-it's inevitable with a plateau that close to their side-but if we can be fast enough, we can corner them on the plateau. Then we'll show them what a real Alethi army is capable of!"
"I won't risk lives on your bridges, Sadeas," Dalinar said. "I don't know that I can agree to a completely joint assault."
"Bah," Sadeas said. "I've got a new way of using bridgemen, one that doesn't use nearly as many lives. Their casualties have dropped to almost nothing."
"Really?" Dalinar said. "Is it because of those bridgemen with armor? What made you change?"
Sadeas shrugged. "Perhaps you're getting through to me. Regardless, we need to go now. Together. With as many troops as they'll have, I can't risk engaging them and waiting for you to catch up. I want to go together and assault as closely together as we can manage. If you're still worried about the bridgemen, I can attack first and gain a foothold, then let you cross without risking bridgeman lives."
Dalinar looked thoughtful.
Come on, Father, Adolin thought. You've been waiting for a chance to hit the Parshendi hard. This is it!
"Very well," Dalinar said. "Adolin, send messengers to mobilize the Fourth through Eighth Divisions. Prepare the men to march. Let's end this war." "I see them. They are the rocks. They are the vengeful spirits. Eyes of red." -Kakakes 1173, 8 seconds pre-death. A darkeyed young woman of fifteen. Subject was reportedly mentally unstable since childhood. Several hours later, Dalinar stood with Sadeas on a rock formation overlooking the Tower itself. It had been a hard, long march. This was a distant plateau, as far eastward as they had ever struck. Plateaus beyond this point were impossible to take. The Parshendi could arrive so quickly that they had the gemheart out before the Alethi arrived. Sometimes that happened with the Tower as well.
Dalinar searched. "I see it," he said, pointing. "They don't have the gemheart out yet!" A ring of Parshendi were pounding on the chrysalis. Its shell was like thick stone, however. It was still holding.
"You should be glad you're using my bridges, old friend." Sadeas shaded his face with a gauntleted hand. "Those chasms might be too wide for a Shardbearer to jump."
Dalinar nodded. The Tower was enormous; even its huge size on the maps didn't do it justice. Unlike other plateaus, it wasn't level-instead, it was shaped like an enormous wedge that dipped toward the west, pointing a large cliff face in the stormward direction. It was too steep-and the chasms too wide-to approach from the east or south. Only three adjacent plateaus could provide staging areas for assaults, all along the western or northwestern side.
The chasms between these plateaus were unusually large, almost too wide for the bridges to span. On the nearby staging plateaus, thousands upon thousands of soldiers in blue or red were gathered, one color per plateau. Combined, they made for a larger force than Dalinar had ever seen brought against the Parshendi.
The Parshendi numbers were as large as anticipated. There were at least ten thousand of them lining up. This would be a full-scale battle, the kind Dalinar had been hoping for, the kind that would let them pit a huge number of Alethi against a large Parshendi force.
This could be it. The turning point in the war. Win this day, and everything would change.
Dalinar shaded his eyes as well, helm under his arm. He noted with satisfaction that Sadeas's scouting crews were crossing to adjacent plateaus where they could watch for Parshendi reinforcements. Just because the Parshendi had brought so many at first didn't mean that there were no other Parshendi forces waiting to flank them. Dalinar and Sadeas wouldn't be taken by surprise again.
"Come with me," Sadeas said. "Let us assault them together! A single grand wave of attack, across forty bridges!"
Dalinar looked down at the bridge crews; many of their members were lying exhausted on the plateau. Awaiting-likely dreading-their next task. Very few of them wore the armor Sadeas had spoken of. Hundreds of them would be slaughtered in the assault if they attacked together. But was that any different from what Dalinar did, asking his men to charge into battle to seize the plateau? Weren't they all part of the same army?
The cracks. He couldn't let them get wider. If he was going to be with Navani, he had to prove to himself he could remain firm in the other areas. "No," he said. "I will attack, but only after you've made a landing point for my bridge crews. Even that is more than I should allow. Never force your men to do as you yourself would not."
"You do charge the Parshendi!"
"I'd never do it carrying one of those bridges," Dalinar said. "I'm sorry, old friend. It's not a judgment of you. It is what I must do."
Sadeas shook his head, pulling on his helmet. "Well, it will have to do. We still planning on dining together tonight to discuss strategy?"
"I assume so. Unless Elhokar has a fit for both of us missing his feast."
Sadeas snorted. "He's going to have to grow accustomed to it. Six years of feasting every night is growing tedious. Besides, I doubt he'll feel anything but elation after we win this day and leave the Parshendi down a full third of their soldiers. See you on the battlefield."
Dalinar nodded and Sadeas jumped off the rock formation, dropping down to the surface below and joining his officers. Dalinar lingered, looking over at the Tower. It was not only larger than most plateaus, it was rougher, covered with lumpish rock formations of hardened crem. The patterns were rolling and smooth, yet very uneven-like a field full of short walls covered by a blanket of snow.
The southeastern tip of the plateau rose to a point overlooking the Plains. The two plateaus they'd use were on the middle of the west side; Sadeas would take the northern one and Dalinar would assault from one just below it, once Sadeas had cleared a landing for him.
We need to push the Parshendi to the southeast, Dalinar thought, rubbing his chin, corner them there. Everything hinged on that. The chrysalis was up near the top, so the Parshendi were already situated in a good position for Dalinar and Sadeas to push them back against the cliff edge. The Parshendi would probably allow this, as it would give them the high ground.
If a second Parshendi army came, it would be separated from the others. The Alethi could focus on the Parshendi trapped atop the Tower while holding a defensive formation against the new arrivals. It would work.
He felt himself growing excited. He hopped down to a shorter outcropping, then walked down a few steplike clefts to reach the plateau floor, where his officers waited. He then rounded the rock formation, investigating Adolin's progress. The young man stood in his Shardplate, directing the companies as they crossed Sadeas's mobile bridges onto the southern staging plateau. In the near distance, Sadeas's men were forming up for the assault.
That group of armored bridgemen stood out, preparing at the front center of the formation of bridge crews. Why were they allowed armor? Why not the others as well? It looked like Parshendi carapace. Dalinar shook his head. The assault began, bridge crews running out ahead of Sadeas's army, approaching the Tower first.
"Where would you like to make our assault, Father?" Adolin asked, summoning his Shardblade and resting it on his pauldron, sharp side up.
"There," Dalinar said, pointing to a spot on their staging plateau. "Get the men ready."
Adolin nodded, shouting the orders.
In the distance, bridgemen began to die. Heralds guide your paths, you poor men, Dalinar thought. As well as my own. Kaladin danced with the wind.
Arrows streamed around him, passing close, nearly kissing him with their painted scragglebark fletching. He had to let them get close, had to make the Parshendi feel they were near to killing him.
Despite four other bridgemen drawing their attention, despite the other men of Bridge Four behind armored with the skeletons of fallen Parshendi, most of the archers focused on Kaladin. He was a symbol. A living banner to destroy.
Kaladin spun between arrows, slapping them away with his shield. A storm raged inside him, as if his blood had been sucked away and replaced with stormwinds. It made his fingertips tingle with energy. Ahead, the Parshendi sang their angry, chanting song. The song for one who blasphemed against their dead.
Kaladin stayed at the front of the decoys, letting the arrows fall close. Daring them. Taunting them. Demanding they kill him until the arrows stopped falling and the wind stilled.
Kaladin came to rest, breath held to contain the storm within. The Parshendi reluctantly fell back before Sadeas's force. An enormous force, as far as plateau assaults went. Thousands of men and thirty-two bridges. Despite Kaladin's distraction, five bridges had been dropped, the men carrying them slaughtered.
None of the soldiers rushing across the chasm had made any specific eff ort to attack the archers firing on Kaladin, but the weight of numbers had forced them away. A few gave Kaladin loathing gazes, making an odd gesture by cupping a hand to the right ear and pointing at him before finally retreating.
Kaladin released his breath, Stormlight pulsing away from him. He had to walk a very fine line, drawing in enough Stormlight to stay alive, but not so much that it was visible to the watching soldiers.
The Tower rose ahead of him, a slab of stone that dipped toward the west. The chasm was so wide that he'd worried the men would drop the bridge into the chasm as they tried to place it. On the other side, Sadeas had arrayed his forces in a cupping shape, pushing the Parshendi back away, trying to give Dalinar an opening.
Perhaps attacking this way served to protect Dalinar's pristine image. He wouldn't make bridgemen die. Not directly, at least. Never mind that he stood on the backs of the men who had fallen to get Sadeas across. Their corpses were his true bridge.
"Kaladin!" a voice called from behind.
Kaladin spun. One of his men was wounded. Storm it! he thought, dashing up to Bridge Four. There was enough Stormlight still pulsing in his veins to stave off exhaustion. He'd grown complacent. Six bridge runs without a casualty. He should have realized it couldn't last. He pushed through the collected bridgemen to find Skar on the ground, holding his foot, red blood seeping between his fingers.
"Arrow in the foot," Skar said through gritted teeth. "In the storming foot! Who gets hit in the foot?"
"Kaladin!" Moash's voice said, urgent. The bridgemen split as Moash brought Teft in, an arrow sprouting from his shoulder between carapace breastplate and arm.
"Storm it!" Kaladin said, helping Moash set Teft down. The older bridgeman looked dazed. The arrow had dug deep into the muscle. "Somebody get pressure on Skar's foot and wrap it until I can look at it. Teft, can you hear me?"
"I'm sorry, lad," Teft mumbled, eyes glassy. "I'm…"
"You're all right," Kaladin said, hurriedly taking some bandages from Lopen, then nodding grimly. Lopen would heat a knife for cauterizing. "Who else?"
"Everyone else is accounted for," Drehy said. "Teft was trying to hide his wound. He must have taken it when we were shoving the bridge across."
Kaladin pressed gauze against the wound, then gestured for Lopen to hurry with the heated knife. "I want our scouts watching. Make sure the Parshendi don't try a stunt like they did a few weeks back! If they jump across that plateau to get at Bridge Four, we're dead."
"Is all right," Rock said, shading his eyes. "Sadeas is keeping his men in this area. No Parshendi will get through."
The knife came, and Kaladin held it hesitantly, a curl of smoke rising from its length. Teft had lost too much blood; there was no risking a sewing. But with the twist of the knife, Kaladin risked some bad scarring. That could leave the aging bridgeman with a stiff ness that would hurt his ability to wield a spear.
Reluctantly, Kaladin pressed the knife into the wound, the flesh hissing and blood drying to black crisps. Painspren wiggled out of the ground, sinewy and orange. In a surgery, you could sew. But on the field, this was often the only way.
"I'm sorry, Teft." He shook his head as he continued to work. Men began to scream. Arrows hit wood and flesh, sounding like distant woodsmen swinging axes.
Dalinar waited beside his men, watching Sadeas's soldiers fight. He had better give us an opening, he thought. I'm starting to hunger for this plateau.
Fortunately, Sadeas quickly gained his footing on the Tower and sent a flanking force over to carve out a section of land for Dalinar. They didn't get entirely into place before Dalinar started moving.
"One of you bridges, come with me!" he bellowed, barreling to the forefront. He was followed by one of the eight bridge teams Sadeas had lent him.
Dalinar needed to get onto that plateau. The Parshendi had noticed what was happening and had begun to put pressure on the small company in green and white that Sadeas had sent to defend his entry area. "Bridge crew, there!" Dalinar said, pointing.
The bridgemen hustled into place, looking relieved that they wouldn't be asked to place their bridge under fire of arrows. As soon as they got it into position, Dalinar charged across, the Cobalt Guard following. Just ahead, Sadeas's men broke.
Dalinar bellowed, closing his gauntleted hands around Oathbringer's hilt as the sword formed from mist. He crashed into the surging Parshendi line with a wide, two-handed sweep that dropped four men. The Parshendi began to chant in their strange language, singing their war song. Dalinar kicked a corpse aside and began to attack in earnest, frantically defending the foothold Sadeas's men had gained him. Within minutes, his soldiers surged around him.
With the Cobalt Guard watching his back, Dalinar waded into the battle, breaking enemy ranks as only a Shardbearer could. He tore pockets through the Parshendi front lines, like a fish leaping from a stream, cutting back and forth, keeping his enemies disorganized. Corpses with burned eyes and slashed clothing made a trail behind him. More and more Alethi troops filled in the holes. Adolin crashed through a group of Parshendi nearby, his own squad of Cobalt Guardsmen a safe distance behind. He brought his whole army across-he needed to ascend quickly, pinning the Parshendi back so they couldn't escape. Sadeas was to watch the northern and western edges of the Tower.
The rhythm of the battle sang to Dalinar. The Parshendi chanting, the soldiers grunting and yelling, the Shardblade in his hands and the surging power of the Plate. The Thrill rose within him. Since the nausea didn't strike him, he carefully let the Blackthorn free, and felt the joy of dominating a battlefield and the disappointment at lacking a worthy foe.
Where were the Parshendi Shardbearers? He had seen that one in battle weeks ago. Why had he not reappeared? Would they commit so many men to the Tower without sending a Shardbearer?
Something heavy hit his armor, banging off it, causing a small puff of Stormlight to escape between the joints along his upper arm. Dalinar cursed, raising an arm to protect his face while scanning the near distance. There, he thought, picking out a nearby rock formation where a group of Parshendi stood swinging enormous rock slings with two hands. The head-size stones crashed into Parshendi and Alethi alike, though Dalinar was obviously the target.
He growled as another one hit, smashing against his forearm, sending a soft jolt through the Shardplate. The blow was strong enough to send a small array of cracks through his right vambrace.
Dalinar growled and threw himself into a Plate-enhanced run. The Thrill surged more strongly through him, and he rammed his shoulder into a group of Parshendi, scattering them, then spun with his Blade and cut down those too slow to get out of his way. He dodged to the side as a hail of stones fell where he'd been standing, then leaped onto a low boulder. He took two steps and jumped for the ledge where the rock-throwers were standing.
He grabbed its edge with one hand, holding his Blade with the other. The men atop the small ridge stumbled back, but Dalinar heaved himself up just high enough to swing. Oathbringer cut at their legs, and four men tumbled to the ground, feet dead. Dalinar dropped the Blade-it vanished-and used both hands to heave himself onto the ridge.
He landed in a crouch, Plate clanking. Several of the remaining Parshendi tried to swing their slings, but Dalinar grabbed a pair of head-size stones from a pile-easily palming them in his gauntleted hands-and flung them at the Parshendi. The stones hit with enough force to toss the slingmen off the formation, crushing their chests.
Dalinar smiled, then began throwing more stones. As the last Parshendi fell off the ledge, Dalinar spun, summoning Oathbringer and looking over the battlefield. A spear wall of blue and reflective steel struggled against black and red Parshendi. Dalinar's men did well, pressing the Parshendi up to the southeast, where they would be trapped. Adolin led this eff ort, Shardplate gleaming.
Breathing deeply from the Thrill now, Dalinar held his Shardblade up above his head, reflecting sunlight. Below, his men cheered, sending up calls that rose above the Parshendi war chant. Gloryspren sprouted around him.
Stormfather, but it felt good to be winning again. He threw himself off the rock formation, for once not taking the slow and careful way down. He fell amid a group of Parshendi, crashing to the stones, blue Stormlight rising from his armor. He spun, slaying, remembering years spent fighting alongside Gavilar. Winning, conquering.
He and Gavilar had created something during those years. A solidified, cohesive nation out of something fractured. Like master potters reconstructing a fine ceramic that had been dropped. With a roar, Dalinar cut through the line of Parshendi, to where the Cobalt Guard was fighting to catch up to him. "We press them!" he bellowed. "Pass the word! All companies up the side of the Tower!"
Soldiers raised spears and runners went to deliver his orders. Dalinar spun and charged into the Parshendi, pushing himself-and his army- forward. To the north, Sadeas's forces were stalled. Well, Dalinar's force would do the work for him. If Dalinar could spear forward here, he could slice the Parshendi in half, then crush the northern side against Sadeas and the southern side against the cliff edge.
His army surged forward behind him, and the Thrill bubbled within. It was power. Strength greater than Shardplate. Vitality greater than youth. Skill greater than a lifetime of practice. A fever of power. Parshendi after Parshendi fell before his Blade. He couldn't cut their flesh, yet he sheared through their ranks. The momentum of their attacks often carried their corpses stumbling past him even as their eyes burned. The Parshendi started to break, running away or falling back. He grinned behind his near-translucent visor.
This was life. This was control. Gavilar had been the leader, the momentum, and the essence of their conquest. But Dalinar had been the warrior. Their opponents had surrendered to Gavilar's rule, but the Blackthorn-he was the man who had scattered them, the one who had dueled their leaders and slain their best Shardbearers.
Dalinar screamed at the Parshendi, and their entire line bent, then shattered. The Alethi surged forward, cheering. Dalinar joined his men, charging at their forefront to run down the fleeing Parshendi warpairs as they fled to the north or south, trying to join larger groups who held there.
He reached a pair. One turned to hold him off with a hammer, but Dalinar cut him down in passing, then grabbed the other Parshendi and threw him down with a twist of the arm. Grinning, Dalinar raised his Blade high over his head, looming over the soldier.
The Parshendi rolled awkwardly, holding his arm, no doubt shattered as he was thrown down. He looked up at Dalinar, terrified, fearspren appearing around him.
He was only a youth.
Dalinar froze, Blade held above his head, muscles taut. Those eyes… that face… Parshendi might not be human, but their features-their expressions-were the same. Save for the marbled skin and the strange growths of carapace armor, this boy could have been a groom in Dalinar's stable. What did he see above him? A faceless monster in impervious armor? What was this youth's story? He would only have been a boy when Gavilar had been assassinated.
Dalinar stumbled backward, the Thrill vanishing. One of the Cobalt Guardsmen passed by, casually ramming a sword into the Parshendi boy's neck. Dalinar raised a hand, but it was over too quickly for him to stop. The soldier didn't notice Dalinar's gesture.
Dalinar lowered his hand. His men were rushing around him, rolling over the fleeing Parshendi. The majority of the Parshendi still fought, resisting Sadeas on one side and Dalinar's force on the other. The eastern plateau edge was just a short distance to Dalinar's right-he had come up against the Parshendi force like a spear, slicing it through the center, splitting it off to the north and south.
Around him lay the dead. Many of them had fallen face-down, taken in the back by spears or arrows from Dalinar's forces. Some Parshendi were still alive, though dying. They hummed or whispered to themselves a strange, haunting song. The one they sang as they waited to die.
Their whispered songs rose like the curses of spirits on Soul's March. Dalinar had always found the death song the most beautiful of all he had heard from the Parshendi. It seemed to cut through the grunts, clangs, and screams of the nearby battle. As always, each Parshendi's song was in perfect time with that of his fellows. It was as if they could all hear the same melody somewhere far away, singing along through sputtering, bloodied lips, with rasping breath.
The Codes, Dalinar thought, turning toward his fighting men. Never ask of your men a sacrifice you wouldn't make yourself. Never make them fight in conditions you would refuse to fight in yourself. Never ask a man to perform an act you wouldn't soil your own hands doing.
He felt sick. This wasn't beautiful. This wasn't glorious. This wasn't strength, power, or life. This was revolting, repellent, and ghastly.
But they killed Gavilar! he thought, searching for a way to overcome the sickness he suddenly felt.
Unite them…
Roshar had been united, once. Had that included the Parshendi?
You don't know if you can trust the visions or not, he told himself, his honor guard forming up behind him. They could be from the Nightwatcher or the Voidbringers. Or something else entirely.
In that moment, the objections felt weak. What had the visions wanted him to do? Bring peace to Alethkar, unite his people, act with justice and honor. Could he not judge the visions based on those results?
He raised his Shardblade to his shoulder, walking solemnly among the fallen toward the northern line, where the Parshendi were trapped between his men and Sadeas's. His sickness grew stronger.
What was happening to him?
"Father!" Adolin's shout was frantic.
Dalinar turned toward his son, who was running to him. The young man's Plate was sprayed with Parshendi blood, but as always his Blade gleamed.
"What do we do?" Adolin asked, panting.
"About what?" Dalinar asked.
Adolin turned, pointing to the west-toward the plateau south of the one from which Dalinar's army had begun their assault over an hour ago. There, leaping across the wide chasm, was an enormous second army of Parshendi.
Dalinar slammed his visor up, fresh air washing across his sweaty face. He stepped forward. He'd anticipated this possibility, but someone should have given warning. Where were the scouts? What was He felt a chill.
Shaking, he scrambled toward one of the smooth, bulging formations of rock that were plentiful on the Tower.
"Father?" Adolin said, running after him.
Dalinar climbed, seeking the top of the formation, dropping his Shardblade. He crested the rise and stood looking northward over his troops and the Parshendi. Northward, toward Sadeas. Adolin climbed up beside him, gauntleted hand slapping up his visor.
"Oh no…" he whispered.
Sadeas's army was retreating across the chasm to the northern staging plateau. Half of it was across already. The eight groups of bridgemen he'd lent Dalinar had pulled back and were gone.
Sadeas was abandoning Dalinar and his troops, leaving them surrounded on three sides by Parshendi, alone on the Shattered Plains. And he was taking all of his bridges with him. "That chanting, that singing, those rasping voices." -Kaktach 1173, 16 seconds pre-death. A middle-aged potter. Reported seeing strange dreams during highstorms during the last two years. Kaladin wearily unwrapped Skar's wound to inspect his stitches and change the bandage. The arrow had hit on the right side of the ankle, deflecting off the knob of the fibula and scraping down through the muscles on the side of the foot.
"You were very lucky, Skar," Kaladin said, putting on the new bandage. "You'll walk on this again, assuming you do not put weight on it until it's healed. We'll have some of the men carry you back to camp."
Behind them, the screaming, pounding, pulsing battle raged on. The fighting was distant now, focused on the eastern edge of the plateau. To Kaladin's right, Teft drank as Lopen poured water into his mouth. The older man scowled, taking the waterskin from Lopen with his good hand. "I'm not an invalid," he snapped. He'd gotten over his initial dizziness, though he was weak.
Kaladin sat back, feeling drained. When Stormlight faded away, it left him exhausted. That should pass soon; it had been over an hour since the initial assault. He carried a few more infused spheres in his pouch; he forced himself to resist the urge to suck in their Light.
He stood up, meaning to gather some men to carry Moash and Teft toward the far side of the plateau, just in case the battle went poorly and they had to retreat. That wasn't likely; the Alethi soldiers had been doing well the last time he'd checked.
He scanned the battlefield again. What he saw made him freeze.
Sadeas was retreating.
At first, it seemed so impossible that Kaladin couldn't accept it. Was Sadeas bringing his men around to attack in another direction? But no, the rear guard was already across the bridges, and Sadeas's banner was approaching. Was the highprince wounded?
"Drehy, Leyten, grab Skar. Rock and Peet, you take Teft. Hustle to the western side of the plateau in preparation to flee. The rest of you, get into bridge positions."
The men, only now noticing what was going on, responded with anxiety.
"Moash, you're with me," Kaladin said, hastening toward their bridge.
Moash hurried up beside Kaladin. "What's going on?"
"Sadeas is pulling out," Kaladin said, watching the tide of Sadeas's men in green slide away from the Parshendi lines like wax melting. "There's no reason to. The battle's barely begun, and his forces were winning. I can only think that Sadeas must have been wounded."
"Why would they withdraw the entire army for that?" Moash said. "You don't think he is…"
"His banner still flies," Kaladin said. "So he's probably not dead. Unless they left it up to keep the men from panicking."
He and Moash reached the side of the bridge. Behind, the rest of the crew hastened to form a line. Matal was on the other side of the chasm, speaking with the commander of the rear guard. After a quick exchange, Matal crossed and began to run down the line of bridge crews, calling for them to prepare to carry. He glanced at Kaladin's team, but saw they were already ready, and so hurried on.
To Kaladin's right, on the adjacent plateau-the one where Dalinar had launched his assault-the eight lent bridge crews pulled away from the battlefield, crossing over to Kaladin's plateau. A lighteyed officer Kaladin didn't recognize was giving them orders. Beyond them, farther to the southwest, a new Parshendi force had arrived, and was pouring onto the Tower.
Sadeas rode up to the chasm. The paint on his Shardplate gleamed in the sun; it didn't bear a single scratch. In fact, his entire honor guard was unharmed. Though they had gone over to the Tower, they had disengaged the enemy and come back. Why?
And then Kaladin saw it. Dalinar Kholin's force, fighting on the upper middle slope of the wedge, was now surrounded. This new Parshendi force was flooding into sections that Sadeas had held, supposedly protecting Dalinar's retreat.
"They're abandoning him!" Kaladin said. "This was a trap. A setup. Sadeas is leaving Highprince Kholin-and all of his soldiers-to die." Kaladin scrambled around the end of the bridge, pushing through the soldiers who were coming off it. Moash cursed and followed.
Kaladin wasn't certain why he elbowed his way up to the next bridge- bridge ten-where Sadeas was crossing. Perhaps he needed to see for certain that Sadeas wasn't wounded. Perhaps he was still stunned. This was treachery on a grand scale, terrible enough that it made Amaram's betrayal of Kaladin seem almost trivial.
Sadeas trotted his horse across the bridge, the wood clattering. He was accompanied by two lighteyed men in regular armor, and all three had their helms under their arms, as if they were on parade.
The honor guard stopped Kaladin, looking hostile. He was still close enough to see that Sadeas was, indeed, completely unharmed. He was also close enough to study Sadeas's proud face as he turned his horse and looked back at the Tower. The second Parshendi army swarmed Kholin's army, trapping them. Even without that, Kholin had no bridges. He could not retreat.
"I told you, old friend," Sadeas said, voice soft but distinct, overlapping the distant screams. "I said that honor of yours would get you killed someday." He shook his head.
Then he turned his horse, trotting it away from the battlefield. Dalinar cut down a Parshendi warpair. There was always another to replace it. He set his jaw, falling into Windstance and taking the defensive, holding his little rise in the hillside and acting as a rock over which the oncoming Parshendi wave would have to break.
Sadeas had planned this retreat well. His men hadn't been having trouble; they'd been ordered to fight in a way that they could easily disengage. And he had a full forty bridges to retreat across. Together, that made his abandonment of Dalinar happen quickly, by the scale of battles. Though Dalinar had immediately ordered his men to push forward, hoping to catch Sadeas while the bridges were still set, he hadn't been nearly quick enough. Sadeas's bridges were pulling away, the entirety of his army now across.
Adolin fought nearby. They were two tired men in Plate facing an entire army. Their armor had accumulated a frightening number of cracks. None were critical yet, but they did leak precious Stormlight. Wisps of it rose like the songs of dying Parshendi.
"I warned you not to trust him!" Adolin bellowed as he fought, cutting down a pair of Parshendi, then taking a wave of arrows from a team of archers who had set up nearby. The arrows sprayed against Adolin's armor, scratching the paint. One caught in a crack, widening it.
"I told you," Adolin continued to yell, lowering his arm from his face and slicing into the next pair of Parshendi just before they landed their hammers on him. "I said he was an eel!"
"I know!" Dalinar yelled back.
"We walked right into this," Adolin continued, shouting as if he hadn't heard Dalinar. "We let him take away our bridges. We let him get us onto the plateau before the second wave of Parshendi arrived. We let him control the scouts. We even suggested the attack pattern that would leave us surrounded if he didn't support us!"
"I know." Dalinar's heart twisted inside of him.
Sadeas was carrying out a premeditated, carefully planned, and very thorough betrayal. Sadeas hadn't been overwhelmed, hadn't retreated for safety-though that was undoubtedly what he would claim when he got back to camp. A disaster, he'd say. Parshendi everywhere. Attacking together had upset the balance, and-unfortunately-he'd been forced to pull out and leave his friend. Oh, perhaps some of Sadeas's men would talk, tell the truth, and other highprinces would undoubtedly know what really happened. But nobody would challenge Sadeas openly. Not after such a decisive and powerful maneuver.
The people in the warcamps would go along with it. The other highprinces were too displeased with Dalinar to raise a fuss. The only one who might speak up was Elhokar, and Sadeas had his ear. It wrenched Dalinar's heart. Had it all been an act? Could he really have misjudged Sadeas so completely? What of the investigation clearing Dalinar? What of their plans and reminiscences? All lies?
I saved your life, Sadeas. Dalinar watched Sadeas's banner retreat across the staging plateau. Among that distant group, a rider who wore crimson Shardplate turned and looked back. Sadeas, watching Dalinar fighting for his life. That figure paused for a moment, then turned around and rode on.
The Parshendi were surrounding the forward position where Dalinar and Adolin fought just ahead of the army. They were overwhelming his guard. He jumped down and slew another pair of enemies, but earned another blow to his forearm in the process. The Parshendi swarmed around him, and Dalinar's guard began to buckle.
"Pull away!" he yelled at Adolin, then began to back toward the army proper.
The youth cursed, but did as ordered. Dalinar and Adolin retreated back behind the front line of defense. Dalinar pulled off his cracked helm, panting. He'd been fighting nonstop long enough to get winded, despite his Shardplate. He let one of the guardsmen hand him a waterskin, and Adolin did the same. Dalinar squirted the warm water into his mouth and across his face. It had the metallic taste of stormwater.
Adolin lowered his waterskin, swishing the water in his mouth. He met Dalinar's eyes, his face haunted and grim. He knew. Just as Dalinar did. Just as the men likely did. There would be no surviving this battle. The Parshendi left no survivors. Dalinar braced himself, waiting for further accusations from Adolin. The boy had been right all along. And whatever the visions were, they had misled Dalinar in at least one respect. Trusting Sadeas had brought them to doom.
Men died just a short distance away, screaming and cursing. Dalinar longed to fight, but he needed to rest himself. Losing a Shardbearer because of fatigue would not serve his men.
"Well?" Dalinar demanded of Adolin. "Say it. I have led us to destruction."