Kaladin caught it, old reflexes still too keen. Possibilities flashed through his mind, and he could see the fight before it took place.

Yank on the spear, throw the soldier off guard.

Step forward and ram an elbow into his forearm, making him drop the weapon.

Take control, spin the spear up and slam the soldier on the side of the head.

Spin into a sweep to drop the two who came to help their companion.

Raise the spear for the—

No. That would only get Kaladin killed.

Kaladin released the butt of the spear. The soldier blinked in surprise that a mere bridgeman had blocked his blow. Scowling, the soldier jerked the butt up and slammed it into the side of Kaladin’s head.

Kaladin let it hit him, rolling with it, allowing it to toss him to the ground. His head rang from the shock, but his eyesight stopped spinning after a moment. He’d have a headache, but probably no concussion.

He took in a few deep breaths, lying on the ground, hands forming fists. His fingers seemed to burn where he had touched the spear. The soldier stepped back into position beside the palanquin.

“No laxness,” Hashal said calmly. “If you must know, my husband requested this assignment. The bridge crews are essential to Brightlord Sadeas’s advantage in the War of Reckoning. Their mismanagement under Lamaril was disgraceful.”

Rock knelt down, helping Kaladin to his feet while scowling at the lighteyes and their soldiers. Kaladin stumbled up, holding his hand to the side of his head. His fingers felt slick and wet, and a trickle of warm blood ran down his neck to his shoulder.

“From now on,” Hashal said, “aside from doing normal bridge duty, each crew will be assigned only one type of work duty. Gaz!”

The short bridge sergeant poked out from behind the palanquin. Kaladin hadn’t noticed him there, behind the porters and the soldiers. “Yes, Brightness?” Gaz bowed several times.

“My husband wishes Bridge Four to be assigned chasm duty permanently. Whenever they are not needed for bridge duty, I want them working in those chasms. This will be far more efficient. They will know which sections have been scoured recently, and will not cover the same ground. You see? Efficiency. They will start immediately.”

She rapped on the side of her palanquin, and the porters turned, bearing her away. Her husband continued to walk alongside her without saying a word, and Gaz hurried to keep up. Kaladin stared after them, holding his hand to his head. Dunny ran and fetched him a bandage.

“Chasm duty,” Moash grumbled. “Great job, lordling. She’d see us dead from a chasmfiend if the Parshendi arrows don’t take us.”

“What are we going to do?” asked lean, balding Peet, his voice edged with worry.

“We get to work,” Kaladin said, taking the bandage from Dunny.

He walked away, leaving them in a frightened clump.

A short time later, Kaladin stood at the edge of the chasm, looking down. The hot light of the noon sun burned the back of his neck and cast his shadow downward into the rift, to join with those below. I could fly, he thought. Step off and fall, wind blowing against me. Fly for a few moments. A few, beautiful moments.

He knelt and grabbed the rope ladder, then climbed down into the darkness. The other bridgemen followed in a silent group. They’d been infected by his mood.

Kaladin knew what was happening to him. Step by step, he was turning back into the wretch he had been. He’d always known it was a danger. He’d clung to the bridgemen as a lifeline. But he was letting go now.

As he stepped down the rungs, a faint translucent figure of blue and white dropped beside him, sitting on a swinglike seat. Its ropes disappeared a few inches above Syl’s head.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked softly.

Kaladin just kept climbing down.

“You should be happy. You survived the storms. The other bridgemen were so excited.”

“I itched to fight that soldier,” Kaladin whispered.

Syl cocked her head.

“I could have beaten him,” Kaladin continued. “I probably could have beaten all four of them. I’ve always been good with the spear. No, not good. Durk called me amazing. A natural born soldier, an artist with the spear.”

“Maybe you should have fought them, then.”

“I thought you didn’t like killing.”

“I hate it,” she said, growing more translucent. “But I’ve helped men kill before.”

Kaladin froze on the ladder. “What?”

“It’s true,” she said. “I can remember it, just faintly.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” She grew paler. “I don’t want to talk about it. But it was right to do. I feel it.”

Kaladin hung for a moment longer. Teft called down, asking if something was wrong. He started to descend again.

“I didn’t fight the soldiers today,” Kaladin said, eyes toward the chasm wall, “because it wouldn’t work. My father told me that it is impossible to protect by killing. Well, he was wrong.”

“But—”

“He was wrong,” Kaladin said, “because he implied that you could protect people in other ways. You can’t. This world wants them dead, and trying to save them is pointless.” He reached the bottom of the chasm, stepping into darkness. Teft reached the bottom next and lit his torch, bathing the moss-covered stone walls in flickering orange light.

“Is that why you didn’t accept it?” Syl whispered, flitting over and landing on Kaladin’s shoulder. “The glory. All those months ago?”

Kaladin shook his head. “No. That was something else.”

“What did you say, Kaladin?” Teft raised the torch. The aging bridgeman’s face looked older than usual in the flickering light, the shadows it created emphasizing the furrows in his skin.

“Nothing, Teft,” Kaladin said. “Nothing important.”

Syl sniffed at that. Kaladin ignored her, lighting his torch from Teft’s as the other bridgemen arrived. When they were all down, Kaladin led the way out into the dark rift. The pale sky seemed distant here, like a far-off scream. This place was a tomb, with rotting wood and stagnant pools of water, good only for growing cremling larvae.

The bridgemen clustered together unconsciously as they always did in this fell place. Kaladin walked in front, and Syl fell silent. He gave Teft the chalk to mark directions, and didn’t pause to pick up salvage. But neither did he walk too quickly. The other bridgemen were hushed behind them, speaking in occasional whispers too low to echo. As if their words were strangled by the gloom.

Rock eventually moved up to walk beside Kaladin. “Is difficult job, we have been given. But we are bridgemen! Life, it is difficult, eh? Is nothing new. We must have plan. How do we fight next?”

“There is no next fight, Rock.”

“But we have won grand victory! Look, not days ago, you were delirious. You should have died. I know this thing. But instead, you walk, strong as any other man. Ha! Stronger. Is miracle. The Uli’tekanaki guide you.”

“It’s not a miracle, Rock,” Kaladin said. “It’s more of a curse.”

“How is that a curse, my friend?” Rock asked, chuckling. He jumped up and into a puddle and laughed louder as it splashed Teft, who was walking just behind. The large Horneater could be remarkably childlike at times. “Living, this thing is no curse!”