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He turned back to Kaladin. “Bridge Four lost eight. Eight men, during one of the worst runs of the season. And, perhaps, you will save two of those. Bridge Four lost fewest men of any bridge that the Parshendi tried to drop. Bridge Four never loses fewest men. Everyone knows how it is.”
“Luck—”
Rock pointed a fat finger at him, cutting him off. “Airsick lowlander.”
It was just luck. But, well, Kaladin would take it for the small blessing it was. No use arguing when someone had finally decided to start listening to him.
But one man wasn’t enough. Even if both he and Rock went on half rations, one of the sick men would starve. He needed spheres. He needed them desperately. But he was a slave; it was illegal for him to earn money in most ways. If only he had something he could sell. But he owned nothing. He…
A thought occurred to him.
“Come on,” he said, striding away from the barrack. Rock followed curiously. Kaladin searched through the lumberyard until he found Gaz speaking with a bridgeleader in front of Bridge Three’s barrack. As was growing more common, Gaz grew pale when Kaladin approached, and made as if to scurry away.
“Gaz, wait!” Kaladin said, holding out his hand. “I have an offer for you.”
The bridge sergeant froze. Beside Gaz, Bridge Three’s leader shot Kaladin a scowl. The way the other bridgemen had been treating him suddenly made sense. They were perturbed to see Bridge Four come out of a battle in such good shape. Bridge Four was supposed to be unlucky. Everyone needed someone else to look down on—and the other bridge crews could be consoled by the small mercy that they weren’t in Bridge Four. Kaladin had upset that.
The dark-bearded bridgeleader retreated, leaving Kaladin and Rock alone with Gaz.
“What are you offering this time?” Gaz said. “More dun spheres?”
“No,” Kaladin said, thinking quickly. This would have to be handled very carefully. “I’m out of spheres. But we can’t continue like this, you avoiding me, the other bridge crews hating me.”
“Don’t see what we can do about it.”
“I tell you what,” Kaladin said, as if suddenly having a thought. “Is anyone on stone-gathering detail today?”
“Yeah,” Gaz said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Bridge Three. Bussik there was just trying to convince me that his team is too weak to go. Storms blast me, but I believe him. Lost two-thirds of his men yesterday, and I’ll be the one who gets chewed out when they don’t gather enough stones to meet quota.”
Kaladin nodded sympathetically. Stone gathering was one of the least desirable work details; it involved traveling outside of the camp and filling wagons with large rocks. Soulcasters fed the army by turning rocks into grain, and it was easier for them—for reasons only they knew—if they had distinct, separate stones. So men gathered rocks. It was menial, sweaty, tiring, mindless work. Perfect for bridgemen.
“Why don’t you send a different bridge team?” Kaladin asked.
“Bah,” Gaz said. “You know the kind of trouble that makes. If I’m seen playing favorites, I never hear an end of the complaining.”
“Nobody will complain if you make Bridge Four do it.”
Gaz glanced at him, single eye narrowed. “I didn’t think you’d react well to being treated differently.”
“I’ll do it,” Kaladin said, grimacing. “Just this once. Look, Gaz, I don’t want to spend the rest of my time here fighting against you.”
Gaz hesitated. “Your men are going to be angry. I won’t let them think it was me who did this to them.”
“I’ll tell them that it was my idea.”
“All right, then. Third bell, meet at the western checkpoint. Bridge Three can clean pots.” He walked away quickly, as if to escape before Kaladin changed his mind.
Rock stepped up beside Kaladin, watching Gaz. “The little man is right, you know. The men will hate you for this thing. They were looking forward to easy day.”
“They’ll get over it.”
“But why change for harder work? Is true—you are crazy, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. But that craziness will get us outside of the warcamp.”
“What good is that?”
“It means everything,” Kaladin said, glancing back at the barrack. “It means life and death. But we’re going to need more help.”
“Another bridge crew?”
“No, I mean that we—you and I—will need help. One more man, at least.” He scanned the lumberyard, and noted someone sitting in the shadow of Bridge Four’s barrack. Teft. The grizzled bridgeman hadn’t been among the group that had laughed at Kaladin earlier, but he had been quick to help yesterday, going with Rock to carry Leyten.
Kaladin took a deep breath and strode out across the grounds, Rock trailing behind. Syl left his shoulder and zipped into the air, dancing on a sudden gust of wind. Teft looked up as Kaladin and Rock approached. The older man had fetched breakfast, and he was eating alone, a piece of flatbread peeking out beneath his bowl.
His beard was stained by the curry, and he regarded Kaladin with wary eyes before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I like my food, son,” he said. “Hardly think they feed me enough for one man. Let alone two.”
Kaladin squatted in front of him. Rock leaned up against the wall and folded his arms, watching quietly.
“I need you, Teft,” Kaladin said.
“I said—”
“Not your food. You. Your loyalty. Your allegiance.”
The older man continued to eat. He didn’t have a slave brand, and neither did Rock. Kaladin didn’t know their stories. All he knew was that these two had helped when others hadn’t. They weren’t completely beaten down.
“Teft—” Kaladin began.
“I’ve given my loyalty before,” the man said. “Too many times now. Always works out the same.”
“Your trust gets betrayed?” Kaladin asked softly.
Teft snorted. “Storms, no. I betray it. You can’t depend on me, son. I belong here, as a bridgeman.”
“I depended on you yesterday, and you impressed me.”
“Fluke.”
“I’ll judge that,” Kaladin said. “Teft, we’re all broken, in one way or another. Otherwise we wouldn’t be bridgemen. I’ve failed. My own brother died because of me.”
“So why keep caring?”
“It’s either that or give up and die.”
“And if death is better?”
It came back to this problem. This was why the bridgemen didn’t care if he helped the wounded or not.
“Death isn’t better,” Kaladin said, looking Teft in the eyes. “Oh, it’s easy to say that now. But when you stand on the ledge and look down into that dark, endless pit, you change your mind. Just like Hobber did. Just like I’ve done.” He hesitated, seeing something in the older man’s eyes. “I think you’ve seen it too.”
“Aye,” Teft said softly. “Aye, I have.”
“So, are you with us in this thing?” Rock said, squatting down.
Us? Kaladin thought, smiling faintly.
Teft looked back and forth between the two of them. “I get to keep my food?”
