“Fifty feet of rope?” Kaladin said flatly. “It would draw enough attention to buy something like that.”
“Nah, gancho,” Lopen said. “I have a cousin who works in a place that sells rope. I could get some for you easy, with money.”
“Perhaps,” Kaladin said. “But you’d still have to hide it in the litter, then hang it down into the chasm without anyone seeing. And to leave it dangling there for several days? It would be noticed.”
The others nodded. Rock seemed very uncomfortable. Sighing, Kaladin took out the bow and several arrows. “We’ll just have to chance this. Teft, why don’t you…”
“Oh, Kali’kalin’s ghost,” Rock muttered. “Here, give me bow.” He shoved his way through the bridgemen, taking the bow from Kaladin. Kaladin hid a smile.
Rock glanced upward, judging the distance in the waning light. He strung the bowstring, then held out a hand. Kaladin handed him an arrow. He leveled the bow back down the chasm and launched. The arrow flew swiftly, clattering against chasm walls.
Rock nodded to himself, then pointed at Kaladin’s pouch. “We take only five spheres,” Rock said. “Any more would be too heavy. Is crazy to try with even five. Airsick lowlanders.”
Kaladin smiled, then counted out five sapphire marks—together about two and a half months’ worth of pay for a bridgeman—and placed them in a spare pouch. He handed that to Rock, who pulled out a knife and dug a notch into an arrow’s wood next to the arrowhead.
Skar folded his arms and leaned against the mossy wall. “This is stealing, you know.”
“Yes,” Kaladin said, watching Rock. “And I don’t feel the least bit bad about it. Do you?”
“Not at all,” Skar said, grinning. “I figure once someone is trying to get you killed, all expectations of your loyalty are tossed to the storm. But if someone were to go to Gaz…”
The other bridgemen suddenly grew nervous, and more than a few eyes darted toward Shen, though Kaladin could see that Skar wasn’t thinking of the Parshman. If one of the bridgemen were to betray the rest of them, he might earn himself a reward.
“Maybe we should post a watch,” Drehy said. “You know, make sure nobody sneaks off to talk to Gaz.”
“We’ll do no such thing,” Kaladin said. “What are we going to do? Lock ourselves in the barrack, so suspicious of each other that we never get anything done?” He shook his head. “No. This is just one more danger. It’s a real one, but we can’t waste energy spying on each other. So we keep on going.”
Skar didn’t look convinced.
“We’re Bridge Four,” Kaladin said firmly. “We’ve faced death together. We have to trust each other. You can’t run into battle wondering if your companions are going to switch sides suddenly.” He met the eyes of each man in turn. “I trust you. All of you. We’ll make it through this, and we’ll do it together.”
There were several nods; Skar seemed placated. Rock finished his work cutting the arrow, then proceeded to tie the pouch tightly around the shaft.
Syl still sat on Kaladin’s shoulder. “You want me to watch the others? Make sure nobody does what Skar thinks they might?”
Kaladin hesitated, then nodded. Best to be safe. He just didn’t want the men to have to think that way.
Rock hefted the arrow, judging the weight. “Near impossible shot,” he complained. Then, in a smooth motion, he nocked the arrow and drew to his cheek, positioning himself directly beneath the bridge. The small pouch hung down, dangling against the wood of the arrow. The bridgemen held their breath.
Rock loosed. The arrow streaked up the side of the chasm wall, almost too fast to follow. A faint click sounded as arrow met wood, and Kaladin held his breath, but the arrow did not pull free. It remained hanging there, precious spheres tied to its shaft, right next to the side of the bridge where it could be reached.
Kaladin clapped Rock on the shoulder as the bridgemen cheered him.
Rock eyed Kaladin. “I will not use bow to fight. You must know this thing.”
“I promise,” Kaladin said. “I’ll take you if you agree, but I won’t force you.”
“I will not fight,” Rock said. “Is not my place.” He glanced up at the spheres, then smiled faintly. “But shooting bridge is all right.”
“How did you learn?” Kaladin asked.
“Is secret,” Rock said firmly. “Take bow. Bother me no more.”
“All right,” Kaladin said, accepting the bow. “But I don’t know if I can promise not to bother you. I may need a few more shots in the future.” He eyed Lopen. “You really think you can buy some rope without drawing attention?”
Lopen lounged back against the wall. “My cousin’s never failed me.”
“How many cousins do you have, anyway?” Earless Jaks asked.
“A man can never have enough cousins,” Lopen said.
“Well, we need that rope,” Kaladin said, the plan beginning to sprout in his mind. “Do it, Lopen. I’ll make change from those spheres above to pay for it.”
“Light grows so distant. The storm never stops. I am broken, and all around me have died. I weep for the end of all things. He has won. Oh, he has beaten us.”
—Dated Palahakev, 1173, 16 seconds pre-death. Subject: a Thaylen sailor.
Dalinar fought, the Thrill pulsing within him, swinging his Shardblade from atop Gallant’s back. Around him, Parshendi fell with eyes burning black.
They came at him in pairs, each team trying to hit him from a different direction, keeping him busy and—they hoped—disoriented. If a pair could rush at him while he was distracted, they might be able to shove him off his mount. Those axes and maces—swung repeatedly—could crack his Plate. It was a very costly tactic; corpses lay scattered around Dalinar. But when fighting against a Shardbearer, every tactic was costly.
Dalinar kept Gallant moving, dancing from side to side, swinging his Blade in broad sweeps. He stayed just a little ahead of the line of his men. A Shardbearer needed space to fight; the Blades were so long that hurting one’s companions was a very real danger. His honor guard would approach only if he fell or encountered trouble.
The Thrill excited him, strengthened him. He hadn’t experienced the weakness again, the nausea he had on the battlefield that day weeks ago. Perhaps he’d been worried about nothing.
He turned Gallant just in time to confront two pairs of Parshendi coming at him from behind, singing softly. He directed Gallant with his knees, performing an expert sweeping side-swing, cutting through the necks of two Parshendi, then the arm of a third. Eyes burned out in the first two, and they collapsed. The third dropped his weapon from a hand that grew suddenly lifeless, flopping down, its nerves all severed.
The fourth member of that squad scrambled away, glaring at Dalinar. This was one of the Parshendi who didn’t wear a beard, and it seemed that there was something odd about his face. The cheek structure was just a little off….
Was that a woman? Dalinar thought with amazement. It couldn’t have been. Could it?
Behind him, his soldiers let out cheers as a large number of Parshendi scattered away to regroup. Dalinar lowered his Shardblade, the metal gleaming, gloryspren winking into the air around him. There was another reason for him to stay out ahead of his men. A Shardbearer wasn’t just a force of destruction; he was a force of morale and inspiration. The men fought more vigorously as they saw their brightlord felling foe after foe. Shardbearers changed battles.