“Don’t you dare die!” Kaladin said, barely conscious that he was speaking. He quickly tied off the leg wound, then used his needle and thread to sew the arm wound. He bandaged it, then untied the tourniquet most of the way.
Finally, he settled back, looking at the wounded man, completely drained. Leyten was still breathing. How long would that last? The odds were against him.
The bridgemen stood or sat around Kaladin, looking strangely reverent. Kaladin tiredly moved over to Hobber and saw to the man’s leg wound. It didn’t need to be cauterized. Kaladin washed it out, cut away some splinters, then sewed it. There were painspren all around the man, tiny orange hands stretching up from the ground.
Kaladin sliced off the cleanest portion of bandage he’d used on Gadol and tied it around Hobber’s wound. He hated the uncleanliness of it, but there was no other choice. Then he set Dabbid’s arm with some arrows he had the other bridgemen fetch, using Dabbid’s shirt to tie them in place. Then, finally, Kaladin sat back against the lip of stone, letting out a long, fatigued breath.
Bangs of metal on metal and shouts of soldiers rang from behind. He felt so tired. Too tired to even close his eyes. He just wanted to sit and stare at the ground forever.
Teft settled down beside him. The grizzled man had the watergourd, which still had some liquid in the bottom. “Drink, lad. You need it.”
“We should clean the wounds of the other men,” Kaladin said numbly. “They took scrapes – I saw some had cuts – and they should–”
“Drink,” Teft said, his crackly voice insistent.
Kaladin hesitated, then drank the water. It tasted strongly bitter, like the plant from which it had been taken.
“Where’d you learn to heal men like that?” Teft asked. Several of the nearby bridgemen turned toward him at the question.
“I wasn’t always a slave,” Kaladin whispered.
“These things you did, they won’t make a difference,” Rock said, walking up. The massive Horneater squatted down. “Gaz makes us leave behind wounded who cannot walk. Is standing order from above.”
“I’ll deal with Gaz,” Kaladin said, resting his head back against the stone. “Go return that knife to the body you took it off. I don’t want to be accused of thievery. Then, when the time comes to leave, I want two men in charge of Leyten and two men in charge of Hobber. We’ll tie them to the top of the bridge and carry them. At the chasms, you’ll have to move quickly and untie them before the army crosses, then retie them at the end. We’ll also need someone to lead Dabbid, if his shock hasn’t passed.”
“Gaz won’t stand for this thing,” Rock said.
Kaladin closed his eyes, declining further argument.
The battle was a long one. As evening approached, the Parshendi finally retreated, jumping away across the chasms with their unnaturally powerful legs. There was a chorus of shouts from the Alethi soldiers, who had won the day. Kaladin forced himself to his feet and went looking for Gaz. It would be a while yet before they could get the chrysalis open – it was like pounding on stone – but he needed to deal with the bridge sergeant.
He found Gaz watching from well behind the battle lines. He glanced at Kaladin with his one eye. “How much of that blood is yours?”
Kaladin looked down, realizing for the first time that he was crusted with dark, flaking blood, most belonging to the men he’d worked on. He didn’t answer the question. “We’re taking our wounded with us.”
Gaz shook his head. “If they can’t walk, they stay behind. Standing orders. Not my choice.”
“We’re taking them,” Kaladin said, no more firm, no more loud.
“Brightlord Lamaril won’t stand for it.” Lamaril was Gaz’s immediate superior.
“You’ll send Bridge Four last, to lead the wounded soldiers back to camp. Lamaril won’t go with that troop; he’ll go on ahead with the main body, as he won’t want to miss Sadeas’s victory feast.”
Gaz opened his mouth.
“My men will move quickly and efficiently,” Kaladin said, interrupting him. “They won’t slow anyone.” He took the last sphere from his pocket and handed it over. “You won’t say anything.”
Gaz took the sphere, snorting. “One clearmark? You think that will make me take a risk this big?”
“If you don’t,” Kaladin said, voice calm, “I will kill you and let them execute me.”
Gaz blinked in surprise. “You’d never–”
Kaladin took a single step forward. He must have looked a dreadful sight, covered in blood. Gaz paled. Then he cursed, holding up the dark sphere. “And a dun sphere at that.”
Kaladin frowned. He was sure it had still glowed before the bridge run. “That’s your fault. You gave it to me.”
“Those spheres were newly infused last night,” Gaz said. “They came straight from Brightlord Sadeas’s treasurer. What did you do with them?”
Kaladin shook his head, too exhausted to think. Syl landed on his shoulder as he turned to walk back to the bridgemen.
“What are they to you?” Gaz called after him. “Why do you even care?”
“They’re my men.”
He left Gaz behind. “I don’t trust him,” Syl said, looking over her shoulder. “He could just say you threatened him and send men to arrest you.”
“Maybe he will,” Kaladin said. “I guess I just have to count on him wanting more of my bribes.”
Kaladin continued on, listening to the shouts of the victors and the groans of their wounded. The plateaus were littered with corpses, bunched up along the edges of the chasm, where the bridges had made a focus for the battle. The Parshendi – as always – had left their dead behind. Even when they won, they reportedly left their dead. The humans sent back bridge crews and soldiers to burn their dead and send their spirits to the afterlife, where the best among them would fight in the Heralds’ army.
“Spheres,” Syl said, still looking at Gaz. “That doesn’t seem like much to count on.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve seen the way he looks at them. He wants the money I give him. Perhaps badly enough to keep him in line.” Kaladin shook his head. “What you said earlier is right; men are unreliable in many things. But if there’s one thing you can count on, it’s their greed.”
It was a bitter thought. But it had been a bitter day. A hopeful, bright beginning, and a bloody, red sunset.
Just like every day.
The Legend
Alethi Warcamps
A depicture of the Alethi warcamps from right to left, belonging to Roion, Sadeas, Aladar, Dalinar, Vamah, Ruthar, Thanadal, Hatham, Bethab, and Sebarial. I stayed in Dalinar’s warcamp, marked with the Tower and crown. Above that to the west is the Outer Market. North of there, the king’s complex contains, from top to bottom, the Royal Palace, the Gallery of Maps, the Feasting Basin, and the Dueling Arena. Further north runs the mighty River Vandonas. Observe that stormward is toward the bottom.
Vandonas, 1173
18
Highprince of War
Ati was once a kind and generous man, and you saw what became of him. Rayse, on the other hand, was among the most loathsome, crafty, and dangerous individuals I had ever met.
“Yeah, this was cut,” the portly leatherworker said, holding up the straps as Adolin watched. “Wouldn’t you agree, Yis?”
The other leatherworker nodded. Yis was a yellow-eyed Iriali, with stark golden hair. Not blond, golden. There was even a metallic sheen to it. He kept it short and wore a cap. Obviously, he didn’t want to draw attention to it. Many considered a lock of Iriali hair to be a ward of good luck.