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“Dangerous,” Rock said. “What if we meet chasmfiend while alone?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t come back empty-handed. The last thing we want is Hashal deciding to send Gaz down to supervise.”
Lopen snorted. “He’d never do that, gancho. Too much work down here.”
“Too dangerous too,” Rock added.
“Everyone says that,” Kaladin said. “But I’ve never seen more than these scrapes on the walls.”
“They’re down here,” Rock said. “Is not just legend. Just before you came, half a bridge crew was killed. Eaten. Most beasts come to the middle plateaus, but there are some who come this far.”
“Well, I hate to put you in danger, but unless we try this, we’ll have chasm duty taken from us and we’ll end up cleaning latrines instead.”
“All right, gancho,” Lopen said. “I’ll go.”
“As will I,” Rock said. “With ali’i’kamura to protect, perhaps it will be safe.”
“I intend to teach you to fight eventually,” Kaladin said. Then as Rock frowned, Kaladin hastily added, “You, Lopen, I mean. One arm doesn’t mean you’re useless. You’ll be at a disadvantage, but there are things I can teach you to deal with that. Right now a scavenger is more important to us than another spear.”
“Sounds swift to me.” Lopen gestured to Dabbid, and the two walked over to gather sacks for the collecting. Rock moved to join them, but Kaladin took his arm.
“I haven’t given up on finding an easier way out of here than fighting,” Kaladin said to him. “If we never returned, Gaz and the others would probably just assume that a chasmfiend got us. If there’s some way to reach the other side…”
Rock looked skeptical. “Many have searched for this thing.”
“The eastern edge is open.”
“Yes,” Rock said, laughing, “and when you are able to travel that far without being eaten by chasmfiend or killed in floods, I shall name you my kaluk’i’iki.”
Kaladin raised an eyebrow.
“Only a woman can be kaluk’i’iki,” Rock said, as if that explained the joke.
“Wife?”
Rock laughed even louder. “No, no. Airsick lowlanders. Ha!”
“Great. Look, see if you can memorize the chasms, perhaps make a map of some kind. I suspect that most who come down here stick to the established routes. That means we’re much more likely to find salvage down side passages; that’s where I’ll be sending Syl.”
“Side passages?” Rock said, still amused. “One might begin to think you want me to be eaten. Ha, and by a greatshell. They are supposed to be tasted, not tasting.”
“I—”
“No, no,” Rock said. “Is a good plan. I only jest. I can be careful, and this will be good for me to do, since I do not wish to fight.”
“Thank you. Maybe you’ll happen upon a place we could climb out.”
“I will do this thing,” Rock said, nodding. “But we cannot simply climb out. The army has many scouts on the Plains. Is how they know when chasmfiends come to pupate, eh? They will see us, and we will not be able to cross chasms without bridge.”
It was a good argument, unfortunately. Climb up here, and they’d be seen. Climb out in the middle, and they’d be stuck on plateaus without anywhere to go. Climb out closer to the Parshendi areas, and they’d be found by their scouts. That was assuming they could get out of the chasms. Though some were as shallow as forty or fifty feet, many were well over a hundred feet deep.
Syl zipped away to lead Rock and his crew, and Kaladin moved back to the main body of bridgemen to help Teft correct stances. It was difficult work; the first day always was. The bridgemen were sloppy and uncertain.
But they also showed remarkable resolve. Kaladin had never worked with a group who made fewer complaints. The bridgemen didn’t ask for a break. They didn’t shoot him resentful glances when he pushed them harder. The scowls they bore were at their own foibles, angry at themselves for not learning faster.
And they got it. After just a few hours, the more talented of them—Moash at the forefront—started to change into fighting men. Their stances grew firmer, more confident. When they should have been feeling exhausted and frustrated, they were more determined.
Kaladin stepped back, watching Moash fall into his stance after Teft shoved him. It was a resetting exercise—Moash would let Teft knock him backward, then would scramble back and set his feet. Time and time again. The purpose was to train oneself to revert to the stance without thinking. Kaladin normally wouldn’t have started resetting exercises until the second or third day. Yet here, Moash was drinking it in after only two hours. There were two others—Drehy and Skar—who were nearly as quick to learn.
Kaladin leaned back against the stone wall. Cold water leaked down the rock beside him, and a frillbloom plant hesitantly opened its fanlike fronds beside his head: two wide, orange leaves, with spines on the tips, unfolding like opening fists.
Is it their bridgeman training? Kaladin wondered. Or is it their passion? He had given them a chance to fight back. That kind of opportunity changed a man.
Watching them stand resolute and capable in stances they had only been just been taught, Kaladin realized something. These men—cast off by the army, forced to work themselves near to death, then fed extra food by Kaladin’s careful planning—were the most fit, training-ready recruits he’d ever been given.
By seeking to beat them down, Sadeas had prepared them to excel.
“Flame and char. Skin so terrible. Eyes like pits of blackness.”
—A quote from the Iviad probably needs no reference notation, but this comes from line 482, should I need to locate it quickly.
Shallan awoke in a small white room.
She sat up, feeling oddly healthy. Bright sunlight illuminated the window’s gossamer white shades, bursting through the cloth and into the room. Shallan frowned, shaking her muddled head. She felt as if she should be burned toes to ears, her skin flaking off. But that was just a memory. She had the cut on her arm, but otherwise she felt perfectly well.
A rustling sound. She turned to see a nurse hurrying away down a white hallway outside; the woman had apparently seen Shallan sit up, and was now taking the news to someone.
I’m in the hospital, Shallan thought. Moved to a private room.
A soldier peeked in, inspecting Shallan. It was apparently a guarded room.
“What happened?” she called to him. “I was poisoned, wasn’t I?” She felt a sudden shock of alarm. “Kabsal! Is he all right?”
The guard just turned back to his post. Shallan began to crawl out of bed, but he looked in again, glaring at her. She yelped despite herself, pulling up the sheet and settling back. She still wore one of the hospital robes, much like a soft bathing robe.
How long had she been unconscious? Why was she—
The Soulcaster! she realized. I gave it back to Jasnah.
The next half hour was one of the most miserable in Shallan’s life. She spent it suffering the periodic glares of the guard and feeling nauseated. What had happened?
Finally, Jasnah appeared at the other end of the hallway. She was wearing a different dress, black with light grey piping. She strode toward the room like an arrow and dismissed the guard with a single word as she passed. The man hurried away, his boots louder on the stone floor than Jasnah’s slippers.
