The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,376

go,” Kaladin said, curious.

Teft glanced at him, then reluctantly did as commanded. Shen scrambled over the uneven ground and gently, but firmly, pushed Kaladin away from the corpse. Shen stood back, as if protecting it from Kaladin.

“This thing,” Rock noted, stepping up beside Kaladin, “he has done it before. When Lopen and I take him scavenging.”

“He’s protective of the Parshendi bodies, gancho,” Lopen added. “Like he’d stab you a hundred times for moving one, sure.”

“They’re all like that,” Sigzil said from behind.

Kaladin turned, raising an eyebrow.

“Parshman workers,” Sigzil explained. “They’re allowed to care for their own dead; it’s one of the few things they seem passionate about. They grow irate if anyone else handles the bodies. They wrap them in linen and carry them out into the wilderness and leave them on slabs of stone.”

Kaladin regarded Shen. I wonder….

“Scavenge from the Parshendi,” Kaladin said to his men. “Teft, you’ll probably have to hold Shen the whole time. I can’t have him trying to stop us.”

Teft shot Kaladin a suffering glance; he still thought they should set Shen at the front of the bridge and let him die. But he did as told, pushing Shen away and getting Moash’s help to hold him.

“And men,” Kaladin noted. “be respectful of the dead.”

“They’re Parshendi!” Leyten objected.

“I know,” Kaladin said. “But it bothers Shen. He’s one of us, so let’s keep his irritation to a minimum.”

The parshman lowered his arms reluctantly and let Teft and Moash pull him away. He seemed resigned. Parshmen were slow of thought. How much did Shen comprehend?

“Didn’t you wish to find a bow?” Sigzil asked, kneeling and slipping a horned Parshendi shortbow out from underneath a body. “The bowstring is gone.”

“There’s another in this fellow’s pouch,” Maps said, pulling something out of another Parshendi corpse’s belt pouch. “Might still be good.”

Kaladin accepted the weapon and string. “Does anyone know how to use one of these?”

The bridgemen glanced at one another. Bows were useless for hunting most shellbeasts; slings worked far better. The bow was really only good for killing other men. Kaladin glanced at Teft, who shook his head. He hadn’t been trained on a bow; neither had Kaladin.

“Is simple,” Rock said, rolling over a Parshendi corpse, “put arrow on string. Point away from self. Pull very hard. Let go.”

“I doubt it will be that easy,” Kaladin said.

“We barely have time to train the lads in the spear, Kaladin,” Teft said. “You mean to teach some of them the bow as well? And without a teacher who can use one himself?”

Kaladin didn’t respond. He tucked the bow and string away in his bag, added a few arrows, then helped the others. An hour later, they marched through the chasms toward the ladder, their torches sputtering, dusk approaching. The darker it grew, the more unpleasant the chasms became. Shadows deepened, and distant sounds—water dripping, rocks falling, wind calling—took on an ominous cast. Kaladin rounded a corner, and a group of many-legged cremlings scuttling along the wall and slipped into a fissure.

Conversation was subdued, and Kaladin didn’t take part. Occasionally, he glanced over his shoulder toward Shen. The silent parshman walked head down. Robbing the Parshendi corpses had seriously disturbed him.

I can use that, Kaladin thought. But dare I? It would be a risk. A great one. He had already been sentenced once for upsetting the balance of the chasm battles.

First the spheres, he thought. Getting the spheres out would mean he might be able to get out other items. Eventually he saw a shadow above, spanning the chasm. They had reached the first of the permanent bridges. Kaladin walked with the others a little further, until they reached a place where the chasm floor was closer to the top of the plateaus above.

He stopped here. The bridgemen gathered around him.

“Sigzil,” Kaladin said, pointing. “You know something about bows. How hard do you think it would be to hit that bridge with an arrow?”

“I’ve occasionally held a bow, Kaladin, but I would not call myself an expert. It shouldn’t be too hard, I’d imagine. The distance is what, fifty feet?”

“What’s the point?” Moash asked.

Kaladin pulled out the pouch full of spheres, then raised an eyebrow at them. “We tie the bag to the arrow, then launch it up so that it sticks to the bottom of the bridge. Then when we’re on a bridge run, Lopen and Dabbid can hang back to get a drink near that bridge up there. They reach under the wood and pull the arrow off. We