"Yeah," Gaz said, "but I don't make assignments any more. Brightness Hashal wants to do it herself. In the name of her husband, of course."

Kaladin gritted his teeth. She'd starve Bridge Four of members. "So we get nothing."

"I didn't say that," Gaz said, then spat black spittle to the side. "She gave you one."

That's something, at least, Kaladin thought. There were a good hundred men in the new group. "Which one? He'd better be tall enough to carry a bridge."

"Oh, he's tall enough," Gaz said, gesturing a few slaves out of the way. "Good worker too." The men shuffled aside, revealing one man standing at the back. He was a little shorter than average, but he was still tall enough to carry a bridge.

But he had black and red marbled skin.

"A parshman?" Kaladin asked. To his side, Teft cursed under his breath.

"Why not?" Gaz said. "They're perfect slaves. Never talk back."

"But we're at war with them!" Teft said.

"We're at war with a tribe of oddities," Gaz said. "Those out on the Shattered Plains are right different from the fellows who work for us."

That much, at least, was true. There were a lot of parshmen in the warcamp, and-despite their skin markings-there was little similarity between them and the Parshendi warriors. None had the strange growths of armorlike carapace on their skin, for instance. Kaladin eyed the sturdy, bald man. The parshman stared at the ground; he wore only a loincloth, and he had a thickness about him. His fingers were thicker than those of human men, his arms stouter, his thighs wider.

"He's domesticated," Gaz said. "You don't need to worry."

"I thought parshmen were too valuable to use in bridge runs," Kaladin said.

"This is just an experiment," Gaz said. "Brightness Hashal wants to know her options. Finding enough bridgemen has been difficult lately, and parshmen could help fill in holes."

"This is foolishness, Gaz," Teft said. "I don't care if he's 'domesticated' or not. Asking him to carry a bridge against others of his kind is pure idiocy. What if he betrays us?"

Gaz shrugged. "We'll see if that happens."

"But-"

"Leave it, Teft," Kaladin said. "You, parshman, come with me." He turned to walk back down the hill. The parshman dutifully followed. Teft cursed and did so as well.

"What trick are they trying on us, do you think?" Teft asked.

"I suspect it's just what he said. A test to see if a parshman can be trusted to run bridges. Perhaps he'll do as he's told. Or perhaps he'll refuse to run, or will try to kill us. She wins regardless."

"Kelek's breath," Teft cursed. "Darker than a Horneater's stomach, our situation is. She'll see us dead, Kaladin."

"I know." He glanced over his shoulder at the parshman. He was a little taller than most, his face a little wider, but they all looked about the same to Kaladin.

The other members of Bridge Four had lined up by the time Kaladin returned. They watched the approaching parshman with surprise and disbelief. Kaladin stopped before them, Teft at his side, the parshman behind. It made him itch, to have one of them behind him. He casually stepped to the side. The parshman just stood there, eyes downward, shoulders slumped.

Kaladin glanced at the others. They had guessed, and they were growing hostile.

Stormfather, Kaladin thought. There is something lower in this world than a bridgeman. A parshman bridgeman. Parshmen might cost more than most slaves, but so did a chull. In fact, the comparison was a good one, because parshmen were worked like animals.

Seeing the reaction of the others made Kaladin pity the creature. And that made him mad at himself. Did he always have to react this way? This parshman was dangerous, a distraction for the other men, a factor they couldn't depend on.

A liability.

Turn a liability into an advantage whenever you can.. Those words had been spoken by a man who cared only for his own skin.

Storm it, Kaladin thought. I'm a fool. A downright, sodden idiot. This isn't the same. Not at all. "Parshman," he asked. "Do you have a name?"

The man shook his head. Parshmen rarely spoke. They could, but you had to prod them into it.

"Well, we'll have to call you something," Kaladin said. "How about Shen?"

The man shrugged.

"All right then," Kaladin said to the others. "This is Shen. He's one of us now."

"A parshman?" Lopen asked, lounging beside the barrack. "I don't like him, gancho. Look how he stares at me."

"He'll kill us while we sleep," Moash added.

"No, this is good," Skar said. "We can just have him run at the front. He'll take an arrow for one of us."

Syl alighted on Kaladin's shoulder, looking down at the parshman. Her eyes were sorrowful.

If you were to overthrow the lighteyes and place yourselves in power, abuses would still happen. They'd just happen to other people.

But this was a parshman.

Gotta do what you can to stay alive…

"No," Kaladin said. "Shen is one of us now. I don't care what he was before. I don't care what any of you were. We're Bridge Four. So is he."

"But-" Skar began.

"No," Kaladin said. "We not going to treat him like the lighteyes treat us, Skar. That's all there is to it. Rock, find him a vest and sandals."

The bridgemen split up, all save Teft. "What about…our plans?" Teft asked quietly.

"We proceed," Kaladin said.

Teft looked uncomfortable about that.

"What's he going to do, Teft?" Kaladin asked. "Tell on us? I've never heard a parshman say more than a single word at a time. I doubt he could act as a spy."

"I don't know," Teft grumbled. "But I've never liked them. They seem to be able to talk to each other, without making any sounds. I don't like the way they look."

"Teft," Kaladin said flatly, "if we rejected bridgemen based on their looks, we'd have kicked you out weeks ago for that face of yours."

Teft grunted. Then he smiled.

"What?" Kaladin asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Just…for a moment, you reminded me of better days. Afore this storm came crashing down on me. You realize the odds, don't you? Fighting our way free, escaping a man like Sadeas?"

Kaladin nodded solemnly.

"Good," Teft said. "Well, since you aren't inclined to do it, I'll keep an eye on our friend 'Shen' over there. You can thank me after I stop him from sticking a knife in your back."

"I don't think we have to worry."

"You're young," Teft said. "I'm old."

"That makes you wiser, presumably?"

"Damnation no," Teft said. "The only thing it proves is that I've more experience staying alive than you. I'll watch him. You just train the rest of this sorry lot to…" He trailed off, looking around. "To keep from tripping over their own feet the moment someone threatens them. You understand?"

Kaladin nodded. That sounded much like something one of Kaladin's old sergeants would say. Teft was insistent on not talking about his past, but he never had seemed as beaten down as most of the others.

"All right," Kaladin said, "make sure the men take care of their equipment."

"What will you be doing?"

"Walking," Kaladin said. "And thinking." An hour later, Kaladin still wandered Sadeas's warcamp. He'd need to return to the lumberyard soon; his men were on chasm duty again, and had been given only a few free hours to care for equipment.

As a youth, he hadn't understood why his father had often gone walking to think. The older Kaladin grew, the more he found himself imitating his father's habits. Walking, moving, it did something to his mind. The constant passing of tents, colors cycling, men bustling-it created a sense of change, and it made his thoughts want to move as well.

Don't hedge bets with your life, Kaladin, Durk had always said. Don't put in a chip when you have a pocket full of marks. Bet them all or leave the table.