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“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.
