and everything changed. Kaladin immediately felt sick, almost cripplingly so. He turned back to Adolin. “I can do with these as I wish?”
“Take them,” Adolin said, nodding. “They are yours.”
“Not anymore,” Kaladin said, pointing toward one of the members of Bridge Four. “Moash. Take these. You’re now a Shardbearer.”
All of the color drained from Moash’s face. Kaladin prepared himself. Last time . . . He flinched as Adolin grabbed him by the shoulder, but the tragedy of Amaram’s army did not repeat. Instead, Adolin yanked Kaladin back into the hallway, holding up a hand to stop the bridgemen from talking.
“Just a second,” Adolin said. “Nobody move.” Then, in a quieter voice, he hissed to Kaladin. “I’m giving you a Shardblade and Shardplate.”
“Thank you,” Kaladin said. “Moash will use them well. He’s been training with Zahel.”
“I didn’t give them to him. I gave them to you.”
“If they’re really mine, then I can do with them as I wish. Or are they not really mine?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Adolin said. “This is the dream of every soldier, darkeyed or light. Is this out of spite? Or . . . is it . . .” Adolin seemed completely baffled.
“It’s not out of spite,” Kaladin said, speaking softly. “Adolin, those Blades have killed too many people I love. I can’t look at them, can’t touch them, without seeing blood.”
“You’d be lighteyed,” Adolin whispered. “Even if it didn’t change your eye color, you’d count as one. Shardbearers are immediately of the fourth dahn. You could challenge Amaram. Your whole life would change.”
“I don’t want my life to change because I’ve become a lighteyes,” Kaladin said. “I want the lives of people like me . . . like I am now . . . to change. This gift is not for me, Adolin. I’m not trying to spite you or anyone else. I just don’t want a Shardblade.”
“That assassin is going to come back,” Adolin said. “We both know it. I’d rather have you there with Shards to back me up.”
“I’ll be more useful without them.”
Adolin frowned.
“Let me give the Shards to Moash,” Kaladin said. “You saw, on that field, that I can handle myself fine without a Blade and Plate. If we Shard-up one of my best men, there will be three of us to fight him, not just two.”
Adolin looked into the room, then skeptically back at Kaladin. “You are crazy, you realize.”
“I’ll accept that.”
“Fine,” Adolin said, striding back into the room. “You. Moash, was it? I guess those Shards are yours, now. Congratulations. You now outrank ninety percent of Alethkar. Pick yourself a family name and ask to join one of the houses under Dalinar’s banner, or start your own if you are inclined.”
Moash glanced at Kaladin for confirmation. Kaladin nodded.
The tall bridgeman walked to the side of the room, reaching out a hand to rest his fingers on the Shardblade. He ran those fingers all the way down to the hilt, then seized it, lifting the Blade in awe. Like most, it was enormous, but Moash held it easily in one hand. The heliodor set into the pommel flashed with a burst of light.
Moash looked to the others of Bridge Four, a sea of wide eyes and speechless mouths. Gloryspren rose around him, a spinning mass of at least two dozen spheres of light.
“His eyes,” Lopen said. “Shouldn’t they be changing?”
“If it happens,” Adolin said, “it might not be until he’s bonded the thing. That takes a week.”
“Put the Plate on me,” Moash said to the armorers. Urgent, as if he feared it would be taken from him.
“Enough of this!” Rock said as the armorers began to work, his voice filling the room like captive thunder. “We have party to give! Great Captain Kaladin, Stormblessed and dweller in prisons, you will come eat my stew now. Ha! I have been cooking it as long as you were locked away.”
Kaladin let the bridgemen usher him out into the sunlight, where a crowd of soldiers waited—including many of the bridgemen from other crews. These cheered, and Kaladin caught sight of Dalinar waiting off to the side. Adolin moved to join his father, but Dalinar watched Kaladin. What did that look mean? So pensive. Kaladin looked away, accepting the greetings of bridgemen as they clasped his hand and clapped him on the back.
“What did you say, Rock?” Kaladin said. “You cooked a stew for each day I was locked in prison?”
“No,” Teft said, scratching his beard. “The storming Horneater has been cooking a single pot,