“Is always loud,” Rock replied. “But tonight, maybe more.”

“The army won a plateau run along with Bethab’s army,” Peet said.

Good for them. Dalinar hadn’t gone, but Adolin had, along with three men from Bridge Four. They hadn’t been required to go into battle, though—and any plateau run that didn’t endanger Kaladin’s men was a good one.

“So many people is nice,” Rock said. “Makes tavern warmer. Is too cold outside.”

“Too cold?” Moash said. “You’re from the storming Horneater Peaks!”

“And?” Rock asked, frowning.

“And those are mountains. It’s got to be colder up there than anything down here.”

Rock actually sputtered, an amusing mixture of indignation and incredulity, bringing a red cast to his light Horneater skin. “Too much air! Hard for you to think. Cold? Horneater Peaks is warm! Wonderfully warm.”

“Really?” Kaladin asked, skeptical. This could be one of Rock’s jokes. Sometimes, those didn’t make much sense to anyone but Rock himself.

“It’s true,” Sigzil said. “The peaks have hot springs to warm them.”

“Ah, but these are not springs,” Rock said, wagging a finger at Sigzil. “This is lowlander word. The Horneater oceans are waters of life.”

“Oceans?” Peet asked, frowning.

“Very small oceans,” Rock said. “One for every peak.”

“The top of each mountain forms a kind of crater,” Sigzil explained, “which is filled with a large lake of warm water. The heat is enough to create a pocket of livable land, despite the altitude. Walk too far from one of the Horneater towns, though, and you’ll end up in freezing temperatures and ice fields left by the highstorms.”

“You are telling story wrong,” Rock said.

“These are facts, not a story.”

“Everything is story,” Rock said. “Listen. Long ago, the Unkalaki—my people, ones you call Horneaters—did not live in peaks. They lived down where air was thick and thinking was difficult. But we were hated.”

“Who would hate Horneaters?” Peet said.

“Everyone,” Rock replied as Ka brought the drinks. More special attention. Most everyone else was having to go to the bar to pick up drinks. Rock smiled at her and grabbed his large mug. “Is first drink. Lopen, you are trying to beat me?”

“I’m at it, mancha,” Lopen said, raising his own mug, which was not quite so large.

The large Horneater took a pull on his drink, which left froth on his lip. “Everyone wanted to kill Horneaters,” he said, thumping his fist on the table. “They were frightened of us. Stories say we were too good at fighting. So we were hunted and nearly destroyed.”

“If you were so good at fighting,” Moash said, pointing, “then how come you were nearly destroyed?”

“There are few of us,” Rock said, hand proudly to his chest. “And very many of you. You are all over down here in lowlands. Man cannot step without finding toes of Alethi beneath his boot. So the Unkalaki, we were nearly destroyed. But our tana’kai—is like a king, but more—went to the gods to plead for help.”

“Gods,” Kaladin said. “You mean spren.” He sought out Syl, who had chosen a perch on a rafter up above, watching a couple of little insects climb on a post.

“These are gods,” Rock said, following Kaladin’s gaze. “Yes. Some gods, though, they are more powerful than others. The tana’kai, he sought the strongest among them. He went first to gods of the trees. ‘Can you hide us?’ he asked. But gods of the trees could not. ‘Men hunt us too,’ they said. ‘If you hide here, they will find you, and will use you for wood just like they use us.’”

“Use Horneaters,” Sigzil said blandly, “as wood.”

“Hush,” Rock replied. “Next, tana’kai, he visited gods of the waters. ‘Can we live in your depths?’ he pled. ‘Give to us power to breathe as fish, and we will serve you beneath oceans.’ Alas, waters could not help. ‘Men dig into our hearts with hooks, and bring forth those we protect. If you were to live here, you would become their meals.’ So we could not live there.

“Last, tana’kai—desperate—visited most powerful of gods, gods of the mountains. ‘My people are dying,’ he pled. ‘Please. Let us live on your slopes and worship you, and let your snows and ice provide our protection.’

“Gods of the mountains thought long. ‘You cannot live upon our slopes,’ they said, ‘for is no life here. This is place of spirits, not of men. But if you can find way to make him a place of men and of spirits, we will protect you.’ And so, tana’kai returned to gods of the waters and said, ‘Give to us your water, that we may drink and live upon mountains.’ And he was promised. Tana’kai went to gods of the trees and said, ‘Give to us your fruit in bounty, that we may eat and live upon the mountains.’ And he was promised. Then, tana’kai returned to mountains, and said, ‘Give to us your heat, this thing that is in your heart, that we may live upon your peaks.’

“And this thing, he pleased gods of mountains, who saw that Unkalaki would work hard. They would not be burden upon the gods, but would solve problems on their own. And so, gods of mountains withdrew their peaks into themselves, and made open place for waters of life. The oceans were created of gods of the waters. Grass and fruit to give life were had of promise of gods of trees. And heat from heart of the mountains gave a place that we may live.”

He sat back, taking a deep drink of his mug, then slammed it down on the table, grinning.

“So the gods,” Moash said, nursing his own drink, “were pleased that you solved problems on your own… by going to other gods and begging them for help instead?”

“Hush,” Rock said. “Is good story. And is truth.”

“But you did call the lakes up there water,” Sigzil said. “So they’re hot springs. Just like I said.”

“Is different,” Rock replied, raising his hand and waving toward Ka, then smiling very deeply and wagging his mug in a supplicating way.

“How?”

“Is not just water,” Rock said. “Is water of life. It is connection to gods. If Unkalaki swim in it, sometimes they see place of gods.”

Kaladin leaned forward at that. His mind had been drifting toward how to help Bridge Eighteen with their discipline problems. This struck him. “Place of the gods?”

“Yes,” Rock said. “Is where they live. The waters of life, they let you see place. In it, you commune with gods, if you are lucky.”

“Is that why you can see spren?” Kaladin asked. “Because you swam in these waters, and they did something to you?”

“Is not part of story,” Rock said as his second mug of ale arrived. He grinned at Ka. “You are very wonderful woman. If you come to the Peaks, I will make you family.”

“Just pay your tab, Rock,” Ka said, rolling her eyes. As she moved off to collect some empty mugs, Peet jumped up to help her, surprising her by gathering some from another table.

“You can see the spren,” Kaladin pressed, “because of what happened to you in these waters.”