The Way of Kings (169 page)

Syl didn’t reply.

“If I hadn’t gone to save Dalinar’s men,” Kaladin said, “I would have allowed Sadeas to commit a terrible betrayal. I’d have let men die who I could have saved. I’d have been sick and disgusted with myself. I also lost three good men, bridgemen who were mere breaths away from freedom. Are the lives of the others worth that?”

“I don’t have the answers, Kaladin.”

“Does anyone?”

Footsteps came from behind. Syl turned. “It’s him.”

The moon had just risen. Dalinar Kholin, it appeared, was a punctual man.

He stepped up beside Kaladin. He carried a bundle under his arm, and he had a military air about him, even without his Shardplate on. In fact, he was more impressive without it. His muscular build indicated that he did not rely on his Plate to give him strength, and the neatly pressed uniform indicated a man who understood that others were inspired when their leader looked the part.

Others have looked just as noble,
Kaladin thought. But would any man trade a
Shardblade
just to keep up appearances? And if they would, at what point did the appearance become reality?

“I’m sorry to make you meet me so late,” Dalinar said. “I know it has been a long day.”

“I doubt I could have slept anyway.”

Dalinar grunted softly, as if he understood. “Your men are seen to?”

“Yes,” Kaladin said. “Quite well, actually. Thank you.” Kaladin had been given empty barracks for the bridgemen and they had received medical attention from Dalinar’s best surgeons—they’d gotten it
before
the wounded lighteyed officers had. The other bridgemen, the ones who weren’t from Bridge Four, had accepted Kaladin immediately, without any deliberation on the matter, as their leader.

Dalinar nodded. “How many, do you suspect, will take my offer of a purse and freedom?”

“A fair number of the men from other crews will. But I’ll wager an even larger number won’t. Bridgemen don’t think of escape or freedom. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves. As for my own crew… Well, I have a feeling that they’ll insist on doing whatever I do. If I stay, they’ll stay. If I go, they’ll go.”

Dalinar nodded. “And what will you do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I spoke to my officers.” Dalinar grimaced. “The ones who survived. They said that you gave orders to them, took charge like a lighteyes. My son still feels bitter about the way your… conversation with him went.”

“Even a fool could see he wasn’t going to be able to get to you. As for the officers, most were in shock or run ragged. I merely nudged them.”

“I owe you my life twice over,” Dalinar said. “And that of my son and my men.”

“You paid that debt.”

“No,” Dalinar said. “But I’ve done what I can.” He eyed Kaladin, as if sizing him up, judging him. “Why did your bridge crew come for us? Why, really?”

“Why did you give up your Shardblade?”

Dalinar held his eyes, then nodded. “Fair enough. I have an offer for you. The king and I are about to do something very, very dangerous. Something that will upset all the warcamps.”

“Congratulations.”

Dalinar smiled faintly. “My honor guard has nearly been wiped out, and the men I do have are needed to augment the King’s Guard. My trust is stretched thin these days. I need someone to protect me and my family. I want you and your men for that job.”

“You want a bunch of bridgemen as bodyguards?”

“The elite ones as bodyguards,” Dalinar said. “Those in your crew, the ones you trained. I want the rest as soldiers for my army. I have heard how well your men fought. You trained them without Sadeas’s knowing, all while running bridges. I’m curious to see what you could do with the right resources.” Dalinar turned away, glancing northward. Toward Sadeas’s camp. “My army is depleted. I’m going to need every man I can get, but everyone I recruit is going to be suspect. Sadeas will try to send spies into our camp. And traitors. And assassins. Elhokar thinks we won’t last a week.”

“Stormfather,” Kaladin said. “What are you planning?”

“I’m going to take away their games, fully expecting them to react like children losing their favored toy.”

“These children have armies and Shardblades.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And
this
is what you want me to protect you from?”

“Yes.”

No quibbling. Straightforward. There was much to respect about that.

“I’ll augment Bridge Four to become the honor guard,” Kaladin said. “And train the rest as a spearman company. Those in the honor guard get paid like it.” Generally, a lighteyes’s personal guard got triple a standard spearman’s wage.

“Of course.”

“And I want space to train,” Kaladin said. “Full right of requisition from the quartermasters. I get to set my men’s schedule, and we appoint our own sergeants and squadleaders. We don’t answer to any lighteyes but yourself, your sons, and the king.”

Dalinar raised an eyebrow. “That last one is a little… irregular.”

“You want me to guard you and your family?” Kaladin said. “Against the other highprinces and their assassins, who might infiltrate your army and your officers? Well, I can’t be in a position where any lighteyes in the camp can order me around, now can I?”

“You have a point,” Dalinar said. “You realize, however, that in doing this I would essentially be giving you the same authority as a lighteyes of fourth dahn. You’d be in charge of a thousand former bridgemen. A full battalion.”

“Yes.”

Dalinar thought for a moment. “Very well. Consider yourself appointed to the rank of captain—that’s as high as I dare appoint a darkeyes. If I named you battalionlord, it would cause a whole mess of problems. I’ll let it be known, however, that you’re outside the chain of command. You don’t order around lighteyes of lesser rank than you, and lighteyes of higher rank have no authority over you.”

“All right,” Kaladin said. “But these soldiers I train, I want them assigned to patrolling, not plateau runs. I hear you’ve had several full battalions hunting bandits, keeping the peace in the Outer Market, that sort of thing. That’s where my men go for one year, at least.”

“Easy enough,” Dalinar said. “You want time to train them before throwing them into battle, I assume.”

“That, and I killed a lot of Parshendi today. I found myself regretting their deaths. They showed me more honor than most members of my own army have. I didn’t like the feeling, and I want some time to think about it. The bodyguards I train for you, we’ll go out onto the field, but our primary purpose will be protecting you, not killing Parshendi.”

Dalinar looked bemused. “All right. Though you shouldn’t have to worry. I don’t plan to be on the front lines much in the future. My role is changing. Regardless, we have a deal.”

Kaladin held out a hand. “This is contingent on my men agreeing.”

“I thought you said that they’d do what you did.”

“Probably,” Kaladin said. “I command them, but I don’t own them.”

Dalinar reached out, taking his hand, shaking it by the light of the rising sapphire moon. Then he took the bundle out from underneath his arm. “Here.”

“What is this?” Kaladin said, taking the bundle.

“My cloak. The one I wore to battle today, washed and patched.”

Kaladin unfurled it. It was of a deep blue, with the glyphpair of
khokh
and
linil
sewn into the back in white embroidery.

“Each man who wears my colors,” Dalinar said, “is of my family, in a way. The cloak is a simple gift, but it is one of the few things I can offer that has any meaning. Accept it with my gratitude, Kaladin Stormblessed.”

Kaladin slowly refolded the cloak. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Your men,” Dalinar said. “They think very highly of you. And that makes
me
think very highly of you. I need men like you, like all of you.” He narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtful. “The whole kingdom needs you. Perhaps all of Roshar. The True Desolation comes….”

“What was that last part?”

“Nothing,” Dalinar said. “Please, go get some rest, Captain. I hope to hear good news from you soon.”

Kaladin nodded and withdrew, passing the two men who acted as Dalinar’s guard for the night. The hike back to his new barracks was a short one. Dalinar had given him one building for each of the bridge crews. Over a thousand men. What was he going to do with so many? He’d never commanded a group larger than twenty-five before.

Bridge Four’s barrack was empty. Kaladin hesitated outside the doorway, looking in. The barrack was furnished with a bunk and locking chest for each man. It seemed a palace.

He smelled smoke. Frowning, he rounded the barrack to find the men sitting around a firepit in the back, relaxing on stumps or stones, waiting as Rock cooked them a pot of stew. They were listening to Teft, who sat with his arm bandaged, speaking quietly. Shen was there; the quiet parshman sat at the very edge of the group. They’d recovered him, along with their wounded, from Sadeas’s camp.

Teft cut off as soon as he saw Kaladin, and the men turned, most of them bearing bandages of some sort.
Dalinar wants
these
for his bodyguards?
Kaladin thought. They were a ragged bunch indeed.

As it happened, however, he seconded Dalinar’s choice. If he were going to put his life in someone’s hands, he’d choose this group.

“What are you doing?” Kaladin asked sternly. “You should all be resting.”

The bridgemen glanced at each other.

“It just…” Moash said. “It didn’t feel right to go to sleep until we’d had a chance to… well, do this.”

“Hard to sleep on a day like this, gancho,” Lopen added.

“Speak for yourself,” Skar said, yawning, wounded leg resting up on a stump. “But the stew is worth staying up for. Even if he does put rocks in it.”

“I do not!” Rock snapped. “Airsick lowlanders.”

They’d left a place for Kaladin. He sat down, using Dalinar’s cloak as a cushion for his back and head. He gratefully took a bowl of stew that Drehy handed him.

“We’ve been talking about what the men saw today,” Teft said. “The things you did.”

Kaladin hesitated, spoon to his mouth. He’d nearly forgotten—or maybe he’d intentionally forgotten—that he’d shown his men what he could do with Stormlight. Hopefully Dalinar’s soldiers hadn’t seen. His Stormlight had been faint by then, the day bright.

“I see,” Kaladin said, his appetite fleeing. Did they see him as different? Frightening? Something to be ostracized, as his father had been back in Hearthstone? Worse yet, something to be worshipped? He looked into their wide eyes and braced himself.

“It was
amazing
!” Drehy said, leaning forward.

“You’re one of the Radiants,” Skar said, pointing. “I believe it, even if Teft says you aren’t.”

“He isn’t
yet
,” Teft snapped. “Don’t you listen?”

“Can you teach me to do what you did?” Moash cut in.

“I’ll learn too, gancho,” Lopen said. “You know, if you’re teaching and all.”

Kaladin blinked, overwhelmed, as the others chimed in.

“What can you do?”

“How does it feel?”

“Can you fly?’

He held up a hand, stanching the questions. “Aren’t you alarmed by what you saw?”

Several of the men shrugged.

“It kept you alive, gancho,” Lopen said. “The only thing I’d be alarmed about is how irresistible the women would find it. ‘Lopen,’ they’d say, ‘you only have one arm, but I see that you can glow. I think that you should kiss me now.’”

“But it’s strange and frightening,” Kaladin protested. “This is what the Radiants did! Everyone knows they were traitors.”

“Yeah,” Moash said, snorting. “Just like everyone knows that the light-eyes are chosen by the Almighty to rule, and how they’re always noble and just.”

“We’re Bridge Four,” Skar added. “We’ve been around. We’ve lived in the crem and been used as bait. If it helps you survive, it’s good. That’s all that needs to be said about it.”

“So can you teach it?” Moash asked. “Can you show us how to do what you do?”

“I… I don’t know if it
can
be taught,” Kaladin said, glancing at Syl, who bore a curious expression as she sat on a nearby rock. “I’m not certain what
it
is.”

They looked crestfallen.

“But,” Kaladin added, “that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try.”

Moash smiled.

“Can you do it?” Drehy asked, fishing out a sphere, a small glowing diamond chip. “Right now? I want to see it when I’m expecting it.”

“It’s not a feastday sport, Drehy,” Kaladin said.

“Don’t you think we deserve it?” Sigzil leaned forward on his stone.

Kaladin paused. Then, hesitantly, he reached out a finger and touched the sphere. He inhaled sharply; drawing in the Light was becoming more and more natural. The sphere faded. Stormlight began to trickle from Kaladin’s skin, and he breathed normally to make it leak faster, making it more visible. Rock pulled out a ragged old blanket—used for kindling— and tossed it over the fire, disturbing the flamespren and making a few moments of darkness before the flames chewed through.

In that darkness, Kaladin glowed, pure white Light rising from his skin.

“Storms…” Drehy breathed.

“So, what
can
you do with it?” Skar asked, eager. “You didn’t answer.”

“I’m not entirely certain what I can do,” Kaladin said, holding his hand up in front of him. It faded in a moment, and the fire burned through the blanket, lighting them all again. “I’ve only known about it for sure for a few weeks. I can draw arrows toward me and can make rocks stick together. The Light makes me stronger and faster, and it heals my wounds.”

“How
much
stronger does it make you?” Sigzil said. “How much weight can the rocks bear after you stick them together, and how long do they remain bonded? How much faster do you get? Twice as fast? A quarter again as fast? How far away can an arrow be when you draw it toward you, and can you draw other things as well?”

Kaladin blinked. “I… I don’t know.”

“Well, it seems pretty important to know that kind of stuff,” Skar said, rubbing his chin.