“For the peace of… If you fall, Adolin Kholin, these men have nothing. Their commanders are wounded or dead. You can’t go to your father; you can barely walk! I repeat, get your men to safety!”
The young Shardbearer stepped back, blinking at Kaladin’s tone. He looked northeastward, toward where a figure in slate grey suddenly appeared on a rock outcropping, fighting against another figure in Shardplate. “He’s so close….”
Kaladin took a deep breath. “I’ll go for him. You lead the retreat. Hold the bridge, but only the bridge.”
Adolin glared at Kaladin. He took a step, but something in his armor gave out, and he stumbled, going to one knee. Teeth gritted, he managed to rise. “Captainlord Malan,” Adolin bellowed. “Take your soldiers, go with this man. Get my father out!”
The man Kaladin had spoken to earlier saluted crisply. Adolin glared at Kaladin again, then hefted his Shardblade and stalked with difficulty toward the bridge.
“Moash, go with him,” Kaladin said.
“But—”
“Do it, Moash,” Kaladin said grimly, glancing toward the outcropping where Dalinar fought. Kaladin took a deep breath, tucked his spear under his arm, and dashed off at a dead run.
The Cobalt Guard yelled at him, trying to keep up, but he didn’t look back. He hit the line of Parshendi attackers, turned and tripped two with his spear, then leaped over the bodies and kept going. Most Parshendi in this patch were distracted by Dalinar’s fight or the battle to get to the bridge; the ranks were thin here between the two fronts.
Kaladin moved quickly, drawing in more Light as he ran, dodging and scrambling around Parshendi who tried to engage him. Within moments, he’d reached the place where Dalinar had been fighting. Though the rock shelf was now empty, a large group of Parshendi were gathered around its base.
There, he thought, leaping forward.
A horse whinnied. Dalinar looked up in shock as Gallant charged into the open ring of ground the watching Parshendi had made. The Ryshadium had come to him. How… where…? The horse should have been free and safe on the staging plateau.
It was too late. Dalinar was on one knee, beaten down by the enemy Shardbearer. The Parshendi kicked, smashing his foot into Dalinar’s chest, throwing him backward.
A hit to the helm followed. Another. Another. The helm exploded, and the force of the hits left Dalinar dazed. Where was he? What was happening? Why was he pinned by something so heavy?
Shardplate, he thought, struggling to rise. I’m wearing… my Shardplate….
A breeze blew across his face. Head blows; you had to be careful of head blows, even when wearing Plate. His enemy stood over him, looming, and seemed to inspect him. As if searching for something.
Dalinar had dropped his Blade. The common Parshendi soldiers surrounded the duel. They forced Gallant back, making the horse whinny. He reared. Dalinar watched him, vision swimming.
Why didn’t the Shardbearer just finish him? The Parshendi giant leaned down, then spoke. The words were thick with accent, and Dalinar’s mind nearly dismissed them. But here, up close, Dalinar realized something. He understood what was being said. The accent was nearly impenetrable, but the words were in Alethi.
“It is you,” the Parshendi Shardbearer said. “I have found you at last.”
Dalinar blinked in surprise.
Something disturbed the back ranks of the watching Parshendi soldiers. There was something familiar about this scene, Parshendi all around, Shardbearer in danger. Dalinar had lived it before, but from the other side.
That Shardbearer couldn’t be talking to him. Dalinar had been hit too hard on the head. He must be delusional. What was that disturbance in the ring of Parshendi watchers?
Sadeas, Dalinar found himself thinking, his mind confused. He’s come to rescue me, as I rescued him.
Unite them….
He’ll come, Dalinar thought. I know he will. I will gather them….
The Parshendi were yelling, moving, twisting. Suddenly, a figure exploded through them. Not Sadeas at all. A young man with a strong face and long, curling black hair. He carried a spear.
And he was glowing.
What? Dalinar thought, dazed.
Kaladin landed in the open circle. The two Shardbearers were at the center, one on the ground, Stormlight trailing faintly from his body. Too faintly. Considering the number of cracks, his gemstones must be almost spent. The other—a Parshendi, judging by the size and shape of the limbs—was standing over the fallen one.
Great, Kaladin thought, dashing forward before the Parshendi soldiers could collect their wits and attack him. The Parshendi Shardbearer was bent down, focused on Dalinar. The Parshendi’s Plate was leaking Stormlight through a large fissure in the leg.
So—memory flashing back to the time he rescued Amaram—Kaladin got in close and slammed his spear into the crack.
The Shardbearer screamed and dropped his Blade in surprise. It puffed to mist. Kaladin whipped his spear free and dodged backward. The Shardbearer swung toward him with a gauntleted fist, but missed. Kaladin jumped in and—throwing his full strength behind the blow—rammed his spear into the cracked leg armor again.
The Shardbearer screamed even louder, stumbling, then fell to his knees. Kaladin tried to pull his spear free, but the man crumpled on top of it, snapping the shaft. Kaladin dodged back, now facing a ring of Parshendi, empty-handed, Stormlight streaming from his body.
Silence. And then, they began speaking again, the words they’d said before. “Neshua Kadal!” They passed it among themselves, whispering, looking confused. Then they began to chant a song he’d never heard before.
Good enough, Kaladin thought. So long as they weren’t attacking him. Dalinar Kholin was moving, sitting up. Kaladin knelt down, commanding most of his Stormlight into the stony ground, retaining just enough to keep him going, but not enough to make him glow. Then he hurried over to the armored horse at the side of the ring of Parshendi.
The Parshendi shied away from him, looking terrified. He took the reins and quickly returned to the highprince.
Dalinar shook his head, trying to clear his mind. His vision still swam, but his thoughts were reforming. What had happened? He’d been hit on the head, and… and now the Shardbearer was down.
Down? What had caused the Shardbearer to fall? Had the creature really talked to him? No, he must have imagined that. That, and the young spearman glowing. He wasn’t doing so now. Holding Gallant’s reins, the young man waved at Dalinar urgently. Dalinar forced himself to his feet. Around them, the Parshendi were muttering something unintelligible.
That Shardplate, Dalinar thought, looking at the kneeling Parshendi. A Shardblade… I could fulfill my promise to Renarin. I could…
The Shardbearer groaned, holding his leg with a gauntleted hand. Dalinar itched to finish the kill. He took a step forward, dragging his unresponsive foot. Around them, the Parshendi troops watched silently. Why didn’t they attack?
The tall spearman ran up to Dalinar, pulling Gallant’s reins. “On your horse, lighteyes.”
“We should finish him. We could—”
“On your horse!” the youth commanded, tossing the reins at him as the Parshendi troops turned to engage a contingent of approaching Alethi soldiers.
“You’re supposed to be an honorable one,” the spearman snarled. Dalinar had rarely been spoken to in such a way, particularly by a darkeyed man. “Well, your men won’t leave without you, and my men won’t leave without them. So you will get on your horse and we will escape this death-trap. Do you understand?”
Dalinar met the young man’s eyes. Then nodded. Of course. He was right; they had to leave the enemy Shardbearer. How would they get the armor out, anyway? Tow the corpse all the way?
“Retreat!” Dalinar bellowed to his soldiers, pulling himself into Gallant’s saddle. He barely made it, his armor had so little Stormlight left.
Steady, loyal Gallant sprang into a gallop down the corridor of escape his men had bought for him with their blood. The nameless spearman dashed behind him, and the Cobalt Guard fell in around them. A larger force of his troops was ahead, on the escape plateau. The bridge still stood, Adolin waiting anxiously at its head, holding it for Dalinar’s retreat.
With a rush of relief, Dalinar galloped across the wooden deck, reaching the adjoining plateau. Adolin and last of his troops filed along behind him.
He turned Gallant, looking eastward. The Parshendi crowded up to the chasm, but did not give chase. A group of them worked on the chrysalis atop the plateau. It had been forgotten by all sides in the fervor. They had never followed before, but if they changed their mind now, they could harry Dalinar’s force all the way back to the permanent bridges.
But they didn’t. They formed ranks and began to chant another of their songs, the same one they sang every time the Alethi forces retreated. As Dalinar watched, a figure in cracked, silvery Shardplate and a red cape stumbled to their forefront. The helm had been removed, but it was too distant to make out any features on the black and red marbled skin. Dalinar’s erstwhile foe raised his Shardblade in a motion that was unmistakable. A salute, a gesture of respect. Instinctively, Dalinar summoned his Blade, and ten heartbeats later raised it to salute in return.
The bridgemen pulled the bridge across the chasm, separating the armies.
“Set up triage,” Dalinar bellowed. “We don’t leave anyone behind who has a chance at living. The Parshendi will not attack us here!”
His men let out a shout. Somehow, escaping felt like more of a victory than any gemheart they’d won. The tired Alethi troops divided into battalions. Eight had marched to battle, and they became eight again—though several had only a few hundred members remaining. Those men trained for field surgery looked through the ranks while the remaining officers got survivor counts. The men began to sit down among the painspren and exhaustionspren, bloodied, some weaponless, many with torn uniforms.
On the other plateau, the Parshendi continued their odd song.
Dalinar found himself focusing on the bridge crew. The youth who had saved him was apparently their leader. Had he fought down a Shardbearer? Dalinar hazily remembered a quick, sharp encounter, a spear to the leg. Clearly the young man was both skilled and lucky.
The bridgeman’s team acted with far more coordination and discipline than Dalinar would have expected of such lowly men. He could wait no longer. Dalinar nudged Gallant forward, crossing the stones and passing wounded, exhausted soldiers. That reminded him of his own fatigue, but now that he had a chance to sit, he was recovering, his head no longer ringing.
The leader of the bridge crew was seeing to a man’s wound, and his fingers worked with expertise. A man trained in field medicine, among bridgemen?
Well, why not? Dalinar thought. It’s no odder than their being able to fight so well. Sadeas had been holding out on him.
The young man looked up. And, for the first time, Dalinar noticed the slave brands on the youth’s forehead, hidden by the long hair. The youth stood, posture hostile, folding his arms.
“You are to be commended,” Dalinar said. “All of you. Why did your highprince retreat, only to send you back for us?”