popular. As Shallan sketched, Kaladin kept busy watching those who passed by, making certain they kept their distance. He saw everything from washmaids and tenners to officers, and even some higher lighteyes. Behind them, a lighteyed woman was paraded past in her palanquin, barely even glancing at the cages. It provided quite a contrast to Shallan’s eager drawing and Adolin’s good-natured gibes.
Kaladin wasn’t giving those two enough credit. They might ignore him, but they weren’t actively mean to him. They were happy and pleasant. Why did that annoy him so?
Eventually, Shallan and Adolin moved on to the next cage, which contained skyeels and a large tub of water for them to dip in. They didn’t look as comfortable as the “devil rock.” There wasn’t much room to move in the cage, and they didn’t often take to the air. Not very interesting.
Next was a cage with a creature that looked like a small chull, but with larger claws. Shallan wanted a sketch of this one too, so Kaladin found himself lounging beside the cage, watching people pass and listening to Adolin try to crack jokes to amuse his betrothed. He wasn’t very good at it, but Shallan laughed anyway.
“Poor thing,” Syl said, landing on the floor of the cage, looking at its crab occupant. “What kind of life is this?”
“A safe one.” Kaladin shrugged. “At least it has no need to worry about predators. Always kept fed. I doubt a chull-thing could ask for more than that.”
“Oh?” Syl asked. “And you’d be all right if that were you.”
“Of course not. I’m not a chull-thing. I’m a soldier.”
They moved on, passing cage after cage of animals. Some Shallan wanted to draw, others she concluded didn’t need an immediate sketch. The one she found the most fascinating was also the strangest, a kind of colorful chicken with red, blue, and green feathers. She dug out colored pencils to do that sketch. Apparently, she’d missed a chance at sketching one of these a long time ago.
Kaladin had to admit the thing was pretty. How did it survive, though? It had shell on the very front of its face, but the rest of it wasn’t squishy, so it couldn’t hide in cracks like the devil rock. What did this chicken do when a storm came?
Syl landed on Kaladin’s shoulder.
“I’m a soldier,” Kaladin repeated, speaking very softly.
“That’s what you were,” Syl said.
“It’s what I want to be again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mostly.” He folded his arms, spear leaning against his shoulder. “The only thing is . . . It’s crazy, Syl. Insane. My time as a bridgeman was the worst in my life. We suffered death, oppression, indignity. Yet I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive as I did in those final weeks.”
Next to the work he’d done with Bridge Four, being a simple soldier—even a highly respected one, like captain of a highprince’s guard—just felt mundane. Ordinary.
But soaring on the winds—that had been anything but ordinary.
“You’re almost ready, aren’t you?” Syl whispered.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”
The next cage in line had a large crowd around it, and even a few fearspren wiggling out of the ground. Kaladin pushed in, though he didn’t have to clear a space—the people made room for Dalinar’s heir as soon as they realized who he was. Adolin walked past them without a second glance, obviously accustomed to such deference.
This cage was different from the others. The bars were closer together, the wood reinforced. The animal inside didn’t seem to deserve the special treatment. The sorry beast lay in front of some rocks, eyes closed. The square face showed sharpened mandibles—like teeth, only somehow more vicious—and a pair of long, toothlike tusks that pointed down from the upper jaw. The stark spikes running from the head along the sinuous back, along with powerful legs, were clues as to what this beast was.
“Whitespine,” Shallan breathed, stepping closer to the cage.
Kaladin had never seen one. He remembered a young man, lying dead on the operating table, blood everywhere. He remembered fear, frustration. And then misery.
“I expected,” Kaladin said, trying to sort through it all, “the thing to be . . . more.”
“They don’t do well in captivity,” Shallan said. “This one probably would have gone dormant in crystal long ago, if it had been allowed. They must keep dousing it to wash away the shell.”
“Don’t feel sorry for the thing,” Adolin said. “I’ve seen what they can do to a man.”
“Yeah,” Kaladin said softly.
Shallan got out her drawing things,