The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,431

dedication? Would he have burned himself out, as she’d claimed?

“Moash,” Kaladin called.

Moash paused, turning toward Kaladin. He didn’t fall out of stance.

Kaladin waved him to approach, and Moash reluctantly trotted over. Lopen had left a few waterskins for them, hanging by their cords from a cluster of haspers. Kaladin pulled a skin free, tossing it to Moash. The other man took a drink, then wiped his mouth.

“You’re getting good,” Kaladin said. “You’re probably the best we have.”

“Thanks,” Moash said.

“I’ve noticed you keep training when Teft lets the other men take breaks. Dedication is good, but don’t work yourself ragged. I want you to be one of the decoys.”

Moash smiled broadly. Each of the men had volunteered to be one of the four who would join Kaladin distracting the Parshendi. It was amazing. Months ago, Moash—along with the others—had eagerly placed the new or the weak at the front of the bridge to catch arrows. Now, to a man, they volunteered for the most dangerous jobs.

Do you realize what you could have in these men, Sadeas? Kaladin thought. If you weren’t so busy thinking of how to get them killed?

“So what is it for you?” Kaladin said, nodding toward the dim practice ground. “Why do you work so hard? What is it you hunt?”

“Vengeance,” the other man said, face somber.

Kaladin nodded. “I lost someone once. Because I wasn’t good enough with the spear. I nearly killed myself practicing.”

“Who was it?”

“My brother.”

Moash nodded. The other bridgemen, Moash included, seemed to regard Kaladin’s “mysterious” past with reverence.

“I’m glad I trained,” Kaladin said. “And I’m glad you’re dedicated. But you have to be careful. If I’d gotten myself killed by working so hard, it wouldn’t have meant anything.”

“Sure. But there’s a difference between us, Kaladin.”

Kaladin raised an eyebrow.

“You wanted to be able to save someone. Me, I want to kill somebody.”

“Who?”

Moash hesitated, then shook his head. “Maybe I’ll say, someday.” He reached out, grabbing Kaladin on the shoulder. “I’d surrendered my plans, but you’ve returned them to me. I’ll guard you with my life, Kaladin. I swear it to you, by the blood of my fathers.”

Kaladin met Moash’s intense eyes and nodded. “All right, then. Go help Hobber and Yake. They’re still off on their thrusts.”

Moash jogged off to do as told. He didn’t call Kaladin “sir,” and didn’t seem to regard him with the same unspoken reverence as the others. That made Kaladin more comfortable with him.

Kaladin spent the next hour helping the men, one by one. Most of them were overeager, throwing themselves into their attacks. Kaladin explained the importance of control and precision, which won more fights than chaotic enthusiasm. They took it in, listening. More and more, they reminded him of his old spear squad.

That set him thinking. He remembered how he had felt when originally proposing the escape plan to the men. He’d been looking for something to do—a way to fight, no matter how risky. A chance. Things had changed. He now had a team he was proud of, friends he had come to love, and a possibility—perhaps—for stability.

If they could get the dodging and armor right, they might be reasonably safe. Maybe even as safe as his old spear squad had been. Was running still the best option?

“That is a worried face,” a rumbling voice noted. Kaladin turned as Rock walked up and leaned against the wall near him, folding powerful forearms. “Is the face of a leader, say I. Always troubled.” Rock raised a bushy red eyebrow.

“Sadeas will never let us go, particularly not now that we’re so prominent.” Alethi lighteyes considered it reprehensible for a man to let slaves escape; it made him seem impotent. Capturing those who ran away was essential to save face.

“You said this thing before,” Rock said. “We will fight the men he sends after us, will seek Kharbranth, where there are no slaves. From there, the Peaks, to my people who will welcome us as heroes!”

“We might beat the first group, if he’s foolish and sends only a few dozen men. But after that he’ll send more. And what of our wounded? Do we leave them here to die? Or do we take them with us and go that much more slowly?”

Rock nodded slowly. “You are saying that we need a plan.”

“Yes,” Kaladin said. “I guess that’s what I’m saying. Either that, or we stay here… as bridgemen.”

“Ha!” Rock seemed to take it as a joke. “Despite new armor, we would die soon. We make ourselves targets!”

Kaladin hesitated. Rock was