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Except the ones on the other side of the chasm. Kaladin stared at the fighting, but had difficulty focusing on the tactics. Dunny’s death tore at him too much. The lad had been a friend, one of the first to support him, one of the best of the bridgemen.
Each bridgeman dead edged them closer to disaster. It would take weeks to train the men properly. They’d lose half of their number—perhaps even more—before they were anywhere near ready to fight. That wasn’t good enough.
Well, you’ll have to find a way to fix it, Kaladin thought. He’d made his decision, and had no room for despair. Despair was a luxury.
He broke parade rest and stalked away from the chasm. The other bridgemen turned to look after him, surprised. Kaladin had recently taken to watching entire battles standing like that. Sadeas’s soldiers had noticed. Many saw it as bridgemen behaving above their station. A few, however, seemed to respect Bridge Four for the display. He knew there were rumors about him because of the storm; these were adding to those.
Bridge Four followed, and Kaladin led them across the rocky plateau. He pointedly did not look again at the broken, mangled body on the bridge. Dunny had been one of the only bridgemen to retain any hint of innocence. And now he was dead, trampled by Sadeas, struck by arrows from both sides. Ignored, forgotten, abandoned.
There was nothing Kaladin could do for him. So instead, Kaladin made his way to where the members of Bridge Eight lay, exhausted, on a patch of open stone. Kaladin remembered lying like that after his first bridge runs. Now he barely felt winded.
As usual, the other bridge crews had left their wounded behind as they retreated. One poor man from Eight was crawling toward the others, an arrow through his thigh. Kaladin walked up to him. He had dark brown skin and brown eyes, his thick black hair pulled back into a long, braided tail. Painspren crawled around him. He looked up with as Kaladin and the members of Bridge Four loomed over him.
“Hold still,” Kaladin said softly, kneeling and gently turning the man to get a good look at the wounded thigh. Kaladin prodded at it, thoughtful. “Teft, we’ll need a fire. Get out your tinder. Rock, you still have my needle and thread? I’ll need that. Where’s Lopen with the water?”
The members of Bridge Four were silent. Kaladin looked up from the confused, wounded man.
“Kaladin,” Rock said. “You know how the other bridge crews have treated us.”
“I don’t care,” Kaladin said.
“We don’t have any money left,” Drehy said. “Even pooling our income, we barely have enough for bandages for our own men.”
“I don’t care.”
“If we care for the wounded of other bridge crews,” Drehy said, shaking a blond head, “we’ll have to feed them, tend them….”
“I will find a way,” Kaladin said.
“I—” Rock began.
“Storm you!” Kaladin said, standing and sweeping his hand over the plateau. The bodies of bridgemen lay scattered, ignored. “Look at that! Who cares for them? Not Sadeas. Not their fellow bridgemen. I doubt even the Heralds themselves spare a thought for these.
“I won’t stand there and watch while men die behind me. We have to be better than that! We can’t look away like the lighteyes, pretending we don’t see. This man is one of us. Just like Dunny was.
“The lighteyes talk about honor. They spout empty claims about their nobility. Well, I’ve only known one man in my life who was a true man of honor. He was a surgeon who would help anyone, even those who hated him. Especially those who hated him. Well, we’re going to show Gaz, and Sadeas, Hashal, and any other sodden fool who cares to watch, what he taught me. Now go to work and stop complaining!”
Bridge Four stared at him with wide, ashamed eyes, then burst into motion. Teft organized a triage unit, sending some men to search for other wounded bridgemen and others to gather rockbud bark for a fire. Lopen and Dabbid rushed off to fetch their litter.
Kaladin knelt down and felt at the wounded man’s leg, checking to see how quickly the blood leaked, and determined that he wouldn’t need to cauterize. He broke the shaft and wiped the wound with some conicshell mucus for numbing. Then he pulled the wood free, eliciting a grunt, and used his personal set of bandages to wrap the wound.
“Hold this with your hands,” Kaladin instructed. “And don’t walk on it. I’ll check on you before we march back to camp.”
“How…” the man said. He didn’t have even a hint of an accent. Kaladin had expected him to be Azish because of the dark skin. “How will I get back if I can’t walk on the leg?”
“We will carry you,” Kaladin said.
The man looked up, obviously shocked. “I…” Tears formed in his eyes. “Thank you.”
Kaladin nodded curtly, turning as Rock and Moash brought over another wounded man. Teft had a fire growing; it smelled of pungent wet rockbud. The new man had hit his head and had a long gash in his arm. Kaladin held out a hand for his thread.
“Kaladin, lad,” Teft said with a soft voice, handing him the thread and kneeling. “Now, don’t mark this as complaining, because it ain’t. But how many men can we really carry back with us?”
“We’ve done three before,” Kaladin said. “Lashed to the top of the bridge. I’ll bet we could fit three more and carry another in the water litter.”
“And if we have more than seven?”
“If we bandage them right, some might be able to walk.”
“And if there are still more?”
“Storm it, Teft,” Kaladin said, beginning to sew. “Then we bring the ones we can and haul the bridge back out again to fetch those we left behind. We’ll bring Gaz with us if the soldiers worry that we’ll run away.”
Teft was silent, and Kaladin steeled himself for incredulity. Instead, however, the grizzled soldier smiled. He actually seemed a little watery-eyed. “Kelek’s breath. It’s true. I never thought…”
Kaladin frowned, looking up at Teft and holding a hand to the wound to stanch the bleeding. “What was that?”
“Oh, nothing.” He scowled. “Get back to work! That lad needs you.”
Kaladin turned back to his sewing.
“You still carrying a full pouch of spheres with you, like I told you?” Teft asked.
“I can’t very well leave them behind in the barracks. But we’ll need to spend them soon.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Teft said. “Those spheres are luck, you hear me? Keep them with you and always keep them infused.”
Kaladin sighed. “I think there’s something wrong with this batch. They won’t hold their Stormlight. They fall dun after just a few days, every time. Perhaps it’s something to do with the Shattered Plains. It has happened to the other bridgemen too.”
“Odd, that,” Teft said, rubbing his chin. “This was a bad approach. Three bridges down. Lots of bridgemen dead. Interesting how we didn’t lose anyone.”
“We lost Dunny.”
“But not on the approach. You always run point, and the arrows always seem to miss us. Odd, eh?”
Kaladin looked up again, frowning. “What are you saying, Teft?”
“Nothing. Get back to that sewing! How many times do I have to tell you?”
