Kaladin locked the Blade into place at the mark on the floor designating the Shattered Plains. When the glow faded, they’d come to Narak.
Sigzil left his pack and armor leaning against the wall, and strode out. Best they could determine, the entire stone top of the platform had come with them, swapping places with the one that had been out here.
At the platform edge, a group of people climbed across a ramp to meet them. A short Alethi woman named Ristina counted out the bridgemen and soldiers as they passed, marking on her ledger.
“Took you long enough, Brightlord,” she noted to Kaladin—whose eyes glowed faintly blue. “The merchants were beginning to complain.”
It took Stormlight to power the device—some of the gemstones in Kaladin’s sack would have been drained by the process—but curiously, it didn’t take much more to swap two groups than it did to travel one way. So they tried to run the Oathgates when they had people on both sides wanting to exchange places.
“Tell the merchants when they next come through,” Kaladin said, “that the Knights Radiant are not their doormen. They’ll want to accustom themselves to waiting, unless they find a way to swear the oaths themselves.”
Ristina smirked and wrote it down, as if she were going to pass on that exact message. Skar smiled at that. Nice to see a scribe with a sense of humor.
Kaladin led the way through the city of Narak, once a Parshendi stronghold, now an increasingly important human waystop between the warcamps and Urithiru. The buildings here were surprisingly sturdy: well constructed of crem and carved greatshell carapace. Skar had always assumed the Parshendi to be like the nomads who roved between Azir and Jah Keved. He imagined Parshendi who were wild and ferocious, without civilization, hiding in caves for storms.
Yet here was a well-built, carefully laid-out city. They’d found a building full of artwork of a style that baffled the Alethi scribes. Parshman art. They’d been painting even while they fought a war. Just like … well, just like ordinary people.
He glanced at Shen—no, Rlain, it was hard to remember—walking with spear to his shoulder. Skar forgot he was there most of the time, and that made him ashamed. Rlain was as much a member of Bridge Four as anyone else, right? Would he rather have been painting than fighting?
They passed sentry posts full of Dalinar’s soldiers, along with many in red and light blue. Ruthar’s colors. Dalinar was putting some of the other soldiers to work, trying to prevent more dustups between soldiers from different princedoms. Without the fighting on the Shattered Plains to keep them focused, the men were getting restless.
They passed a large group of soldiers practicing with bridges on a nearby plateau. Skar couldn’t hold back a grin as he saw their black uniforms and helms. Plateau runs had been started again, but with more structure, and the spoils were shared equally among the highprinces.
Today, it was the Blackcaps’ turn. Skar wondered if any of them would recognize him. Probably not, even if he had caused quite a ruckus among them. There had been only one logical way to get the equipment he needed for his application: He’d stolen it from the Blackcap quartermaster.
Skar had thought they would praise his ingenuity. He was so eager to be a Blackcap that he’d go to great lengths to join them, right?
Wrong. His reward had been a slave brand and eventual sale to Sadeas’s army.
He brushed his fingers across the scars on his forehead. Stormlight had healed the brands of the other men—they’d covered them all up with tattoos anyway—but it seemed another little dig, dividing him from the others. Right now, he was the only fighting man in Bridge Four who still had his slave brand.
Well, him and Kaladin, whose scars wouldn’t heal for some reason.
They reached the training plateau, crossing the old Bridge Four, which was held in place with some Soulcast rock guideposts. Kaladin called a meeting of the officers as several of Rock’s children set up a water station. The tall Horneater seemed beyond enthused to have his family working with him.
Skar joined Kaladin, Sigzil, Teft, and Rock. Though they stood close, there was a conspicuous gap where Moash should have been. It felt so wrong to have a member of Bridge Four completely unaccounted for, and Kaladin’s silence on the topic hung over them like an executioner’s axe.
“I’m worried,” Kaladin said, “that nobody practicing with us has begun breathing Stormlight.”
“It’s only been two weeks, sir,” Sigzil said.
“True, but Syl thinks several ‘feel right,’ though she won’t tell me who, as she says it would be wrong.” Kaladin gestured toward the newcomers. “I asked Khal to send me another batch of hopefuls because I figured the more people we had, the better our chances of finding new squires.” He paused. “I didn’t specify they couldn’t be lighteyed. Perhaps I should have.”
“Don’t see why, sir,” Skar said, pointing. “That’s Captain Colot—good man. He helped us explore.”
“Just wouldn’t feel right, having lighteyed men in Bridge Four.”
“Other than you?” Skar asked. “And Renarin. And, well, any of us who earn our own Blades, and maybe Rock, who I think might have been lighteyed among his people, even if he has dark—”
“Fine, Skar,” Kaladin said. “Point made. Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time left before I leave with Elhokar. I’d like to push the recruits harder, see if they’re likely to be able to swear the oaths. Any thoughts?”
“Shove them off edge of plateau,” Rock said. “Those who fly, we let in.”
“Any serious suggestions?” Kaladin asked.
“Let me run them through some formations,” Teft said.
“A good idea,” Kaladin said. “Storms, I wish we knew how the Radiants used to handle expansion. Were there recruitment drives, or did they just wait until someone attracted a spren?”
“That wouldn’t make them a squire though,” Teft said, rubbing his chin. “But a full Radiant, right?”
“A valid point,” Sigzil said. “We have no proof that we squires are a step toward becoming full Radiants. We might always be your support team—and in that case, it’s not individual skill that matters, but your decision. Maybe that of your spren. You choose them, they serve under you, and then they start drawing in Stormlight.”
“Yeah,” Skar said, uncomfortable.
They all glanced at him.
“The first of you that says something placating,” Skar said, “gets a fist in the face. Or the stomach, if I can’t reach your storming stupid Horneater face.”
“Ha!” Rock said. “You could hit my face, Skar. I have seen you jump very high. Almost, you seem as tall as regular person when you do that.”
“Teft,” Kaladin said, “go ahead and run those potential recruits through formations. And tell the rest of the men to watch the sky; I’m worried about more raids on the caravans.” He shook his head. “Something about those raids doesn’t add up. The warcamps’ parshmen, by all reports, have marched to Alethkar. But why would those Fused keep harrying us? They won’t have the troops to take advantage of any supply problems they cause.”
Skar shared a glance with Sigzil, who shrugged. Kaladin talked like this sometimes, differently from the rest of them. He’d trained them in formations and the spear, and they could proudly call themselves soldiers. But they’d only actually fought a few times. What did they know of things like strategy and battlefield tactics?