Words of Radiance

46. Patriots

When Simol was informed of the arrival of the Edgedancers, a concealed consternation and terror, as is common in such cases, fell upon him; although they were not the most demanding of orders, their graceful, limber movements hid a deadliness that was, by this time, quite renowned; also, they were the most articulate and refined of the Radiants.

From Words of Radiance, chapter 20, page 12

Kaladin reached the end of the line of bridgemen. They stood at attention, spears to shoulders, eyes forward. The transformation was marvelous. He nodded under the darkening sky.

“Impressive,” he said to Pitt, the sergeant of Bridge Seventeen. “I’ve rarely seen such a fine platoon of spearmen.”

It was the kind of lie that commanders learned to give. Kaladin didn’t mention how some of the bridgemen shuffled while they stood, or how their maneuvers in formation were sloppy. They were trying. He could sense it in their earnest expressions, and in the way they had begun taking pride in their uniforms, their identity. They were ready to patrol, at least close to the warcamps. He made a mental note to have Teft start taking them out in a rotation with the other two crews that were ready.

Kaladin was proud of them, and he let them know it as the hour stretched long and night arrived. He then dismissed them to their evening meal, which smelled quite different from Rock’s Horneater stew. Bridge Seventeen considered their nightly bean curry to be part of their identity. Individuality through meal choice; Kaladin found that amusing as he moved off into the night, shouldering his spear. He had three more crews to look in on.

The next, Bridge Eighteen, was one of those having problems. Their sergeant, though earnest, didn’t have the presence necessary for a good officer. Or, well, none of the bridgemen had that. He was just particularly weak. Prone to begging instead of ordering, awkward in social situations.

It couldn’t all be blamed on Vet, however. He’d also been given a particularly discordant group of men. Kaladin found the soldiers of Eighteen sitting in isolated bunches, eating their evening meal. No laughter, no camaraderie. They weren’t as solitary as they’d been as bridgemen. Instead, they’d splintered into little cliques who didn’t mingle.

Sergeant Vet called them to order and they rose sluggishly, not bothering to stand in a straight line or salute. Kaladin saw the truth in their eyes. What could he do to them? Surely nothing as bad as their lives had been as bridgemen. So why make an effort?

Kaladin spoke to them of motivation and unity for a time. I’ll need to do another training session in the chasms with this lot, he thought. And if that didn’t work either… well, he’d probably have to break them up, stick them in other platoons that were working.

He eventually left Eighteen, shaking his head. They didn’t seem to want to be soldiers. Why had they taken Dalinar’s offer then, instead of leaving?

Because they don’t want to make choices anymore, he thought. Choices can be hard.

He knew how that felt. Storms, but he did. He remembered sitting and staring at a blank wall, too morose to even get up and go kill himself.

He shivered. Those were not days he wanted to remember.

As he made his way toward Bridge Nineteen, Syl floated past on a current of wind in the form of a small patch of mist. She melded into a ribbon of light and zipped around him in circles before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Everyone else is eating their dinners,” Syl said.

“Good,” Kaladin said.

“That wasn’t a status report, Kaladin,” she said. “It was a point of contention.”

“Contention?” He stopped in the darkness near the barrack of Bridge Nineteen, whose men were doing well, eating around their fire as a group.

“You’re working,” Syl said. “Still.”

“I need to get these men ready.” He turned his head to look at her. “You know something is coming. Those countdowns on the walls… Have you seen more of those red spren?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I think so, at least. In the corners of my eyes, watching me. Very infrequently, but there.”

“Something is coming,” Kaladin said. “That countdown points right toward the Weeping. Whatever happens then, I’ll have the bridgemen ready to weather it.”

“Well, you won’t if you drop dead from exhaustion first!” Syl hesitated. “People really can do that, right? I heard Teft saying he felt like he was going to do so.”

“Teft likes to exaggerate,” Kaladin said. “It’s one mark of a good sergeant.”