“Perhaps,” Kaladin said, tossing an empty reed into the chasm. “Assuming they agree to duel you in a bout to the death.”
“Oh, they always duel,” Rock said, laughing. “The nuatoma brings many riches and promises all of his possessions to the victor. Your lighteyes, they cannot pass by a pond so warm! To kill an Unkalaki with no Shardblade, they do not see this thing as difficult. Many nuatoma have died. But is all right. Eventually, we will win.”
“And have one set of Shards,” Kaladin said. “Alethkar has dozens.”
“One is a beginning,” Rock said, shrugging. “But my nuatoma lost, so I am bridgeman.”
“Wait,” Teft said. “You came all of this way with your brightlord, and once he lost, you up and joined a bridge crew?”
“No, no, you do not see,” Rock said. “My nuatoma, he challenged Highprince Sadeas. Is well known that there are many Shardbearers here on Shattered Plains. My nuatoma thought it easier to fight man with only Plate first, then win Blade next.”
“And?” Teft said.
“Once my nuatoma lost to Brightlord Sadeas, all of us became his.”
“So you’re a slave?” Kaladin asked, reaching up and feeling the marks on his forehead.
“No, we do not have this thing,” Rock said. “I was not a slave of my nuatoma. I was his family.”
“His family?” Teft said. “Kelek! You’re a lighteyes!”
Rock laughed again, loud and full-bellied. Kaladin smiled despite himself. It seemed like so long since he’d heard someone laugh like that. “No, no. I was only umarti’a—his cousin, you would say.”
“Still, you were related to him.”
“On the Peaks,” Rock said, “the relatives of a brightlord are his servants.”
“What kind of system is that?” Teft complained. “You have to be a servant to your own relatives? Storm me! I’d rather die, I think I would.”
“It is not so bad,” Rock said.
“You don’t know my relatives,” Teft said, shivering.
Rock laughed again. “You would rather serve someone you do not know? Like this Sadeas? A man who is no relation to you?” He shook his head. “Lowlanders. You have too much air here. Makes your minds sick.”
“Too much air?” Kaladin asked.
“Yes,” Rock said.
“How can you have too much air? It’s all around.”
“This thing, it is difficult to explain.” Rock’s Alethi was good, but he sometimes forget to add in common words. Other times, he remembered them, speaking his sentences precisely. The faster he spoke, the more words he forgot to put in.
“You have too much air,” Rock said. “Come to the Peaks. You will see.”
“I guess,” Kaladin said, shooting a glance at Teft, who just shrugged. “But you’re wrong about one thing. You said that we serve someone we don’t know. Well, I do know Brightlord Sadeas. I know him well.”
Rock raised an eyebrow.
“Arrogant,” Kaladin said, “vengeful, greedy, corrupt to the core.”
Rock smiled. “Yes, I think you are right. This man is not among the finest of lighteyes.”
“There are no ‘finest’ among them, Rock. They’re all the same.”
“They have done much to you, then?”
Kaladin shrugged, the question uncovering wounds that weren’t yet healed. “Anyway, your master was lucky.”
“Lucky to be slain by a Shardbearer?”
“Lucky he didn’t win,” Kaladin said, “and discover how he’d been tricked. They wouldn’t have let him walk away with Sadeas’s Plate.”
“Nonsense,” Teft broke in. “Tradition—”
“Tradition is the blind witness they use to condemn us, Teft,” Kaladin said. “It’s the pretty box they use to wrap up their lies. It makes us serve them.”
Teft set his jaw. “I’ve lived a lot longer than you, son. I know things. If a common man killed an enemy Shardbearer, he’d become a lighteyes. That’s the way of it.”
He let the argument lapse. If Teft’s illusions made him feel better about his place in this mess of a war, then who was Kaladin to dissuade him? “So you were a servant,” Kaladin said to Rock. “In a brightlord’s retinue? What kind of servant?” He struggled for the right word, remembering back to the times he’d interacted with Wistiow or Roshone. “A footman? A butler?”
Rock laughed. “I was cook. My nuatoma would not come down to the lowlands without his own cook! Your food here, it has so many spices that you cannot taste anything else. Might as well be eating stones powdered with pepper!”
“You should talk about food,” Teft said, scowling. “A Horneater?”
Kaladin frowned. “Why do they call your people that, anyway?”
“Because they eat the horns and shells of the things they catch,” Teft said. “The outsides.”
Rock smiled, with a look of longing. “Ah, but the taste is so good.”
“You actually eat the shells?” Kaladin asked.
“We have very strong teeth,” Rock said proudly. “But there. You now know my story. Brightlord Sadeas, he wasn’t certain what he should do with most of us. Some were made soldiers, others serve in his house hold. I fixed him one meal and he sent me to bridge crews.” Rock hesitated. “I may have, uh, enhanced the soup.”
“Enhanced?” Kaladin asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rock seemed to grow embarrassed. “You see, I was quite angry about my nuatoma’s death. And I thought, these lowlanders, their tongues are all scorched and burned by the food they eat. They have no taste, and…”
“And what?” Kaladin asked.
“Chull dung,” Rock said. “It apparently has stronger taste than I assumed.”
“Wait,” Teft said. “You put chull dung in Highprince Sadeas’s soup?”
“Er, yes,” Rock said. “Actually, I put this thing in his bread too. And used it as a garnish on the pork steak. And made a chutney out of it for the buttered garams. Chull dung, it has many uses, I found.”
Teft laughed, his voice echoing. He fell on his side, so amused that Kaladin was afraid he’d roll right into the chasm. “Horneater,” Teft finally said, “I owe you a drink.”
Rock smiled. Kaladin shook his head to himself, amazed. It suddenly made sense.
“What?” Rock said, apparently noticing his expression.
“This is what we need,” Kaladin said. “This! It’s the thing I’ve been missing.”
Rock hesitated. “Chull dung? This is the thing you need?”
Teft burst into another round of laugher.
“No,” Kaladin said. “It’s…well, I’ll show you. But first we need this knobweed sap.” They’d barely made their way through one of the bundles, and already his fingers were aching from the milking.
“What of you, Kaladin?” Rock asked. “I have been telling you my story. You will tell me yours? How did you come to those marks on your forehead?”
“Yeah,” Teft said, wiping his eyes. “Whose food did you trat in?”