Matal's face grew red. He turned and stalked away to check on the other bridge crews. The two nearest-Bridge Seven and Bridge Eighteen-stood looking toward Kaladin and his team. All twenty bridges had been set? Hardly any casualties?

Stormfather, Kaladin thought. How many archers were firing at me?

"You did it, Kaladin!" Moash exclaimed. "You found the secret. We need to make this work. Expand it."

"I'll bet I could dodge those arrows, if that were all I was doing," Skar said. "With enough armor…"

"We should have more than one," Moash agreed. "Five or so, running around drawing the Parshendi attacks."

"The bones," Rock said, folding his arms. "This is what made it work. The Parshendi were so mad that they ignored bridge crew. If all five wear the bones of Parshendi…"

That made Kaladin consider something. He looked back, searching through the bridgemen. Where was Shen?

There. He was sitting on the rocks, distant, staring forward. Kaladin approached with the others. The parshman looked up at him, face a mask of pain, tears streaking his cheeks. He looked at Kaladin and shuddered visibly, turning away, closing his eyes.

"He sat down like that the moment he saw what you'd done, lad," Teft said, rubbing his chin. "Might not be good for bridge runs anymore."

Kaladin pulled the carapacetied helm off his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. The carapace stuck to his clothing stank faintly, even though he'd washed it off down below. "We'll see," Kaladin said, feeling a twist of guilt. Not nearly enough to overshadow the victory of protecting his men, but enough to dampen it, at least. "For now, there are still many bridge crews that got fired upon. You know what to do."

The men nodded, trotting off to search for the wounded. Kaladin set one man to watch over Shen-he wasn't sure what else to do with the parshman-and tried not to show his exhaustion as he put his sweaty, carapace-covered cap and vest in Lopen's litter. He knelt down to go through his medical equipment, in case it was needed, and found that his hand was shaking and quivering. He pressed it down against the ground to still it, breathing in and out.

Cold, clammy skin, he thought. Nausea. Weakness. He was in shock.

"You all right, lad?" Teft asked, kneeling down beside Kaladin. He still wore a bandage on his arm from the wound he'd taken a few bridge runs back, but it wasn't enough to stop him from carrying. Not when there were too few as it was.

"I'll be fine," Kaladin said, taking out a waterskin, holding it in a quivering hand. He could barely get the top off.

"You don't look-"

"I'll be fine," Kaladin said again, drinking, then lowering the water. "What's important is that the men are safe."

"You going to do this every time. Whenever we go to battle?"

"Whatever keeps them safe."

"You're not immortal, Kaladin," Teft said softly. "The Radiants, they could be killed, just like any man. Sooner or later, one of those arrows will find your neck instead of your shoulder."

"The Stormlight heals."

"The Stormlight helps your body heal. That's different, I'm thinking." Teft laid a hand on Kaladin's shoulder. "We can't lose you, lad. The men need you."

"I'm not going to avoid putting myself in danger, Teft. And I'm not going to leave the men to face a storm of arrows if I can do something about it."

"Well," Teft said, "you are going to let a few of us go out there with you. The bridge can manage with twenty-five, if it has to. That leaves us a few extra, just like Rock said. And I'll bet some of those wounded from the other crews we saved are well enough to begin helping carry. They won't dare send them back to their own crews, not so long as Bridge Four is doing what you did today, and helping the whole assault work."

"I…" Kaladin trailed off. He could imagine Dallet doing something like this. He'd always said that as sergeant, part of his job was to keep Kaladin alive. "All right."

Teft nodded, rising.

"You were a spearman, Teft," Kaladin said. "Don't try to deny it. How did you end up here, in these bridge crews?"

"It's where I belong." Teft turned away to supervise the search for wounded.

Kaladin sat down, then lay back, waiting for the shock to wear off. To the south, the other army-flying the blue of Dalinar Kholin-had arrived. They crossed to an adjacent plateau.

Kaladin closed his eyes to recover. Eventually, he heard something and opened his eyes. Syl sat cross-legged on his chest. Behind her, Dalinar Kholin's army had begun an assault onto the battlefield, and they managed to do so without getting fired on. Sadeas had the Parshendi cut off.

"That was amazing," Kaladin said to Syl. "What I did with the arrows."

"Still think you're cursed?"

"No. I know I'm not." He looked up at the overcast sky. "But that means the failures were all just me. I let Tien die, I failed my spearmen, the slaves I tried to rescue, Tarah…" He hadn't thought of her in some time. His failure with her had been different from the others, but a failure it was nonetheless. "If there's no curse or bad luck, no god above being angry at me-I have to live with knowing that with a little more eff ort-a little more practice or skill-I could have saved them."

Syl frowned more deeply. "Kaladin, you need to get over this. Those things aren't your fault."

"That's what my father always used to say." He smiled faintly. "'Overcome your guilt, Kaladin. Care, but not too much. Take responsibility, but don't blame yourself.' Protect, save, help-but know when to give up. They're such precarious ledges to walk. How do I do it?"

"I don't know. I don't know any of this, Kaladin. But you're ripping yourself apart. Inside and out."

Kaladin stared at the sky above. "It was wondrous. I was a storm, Syl. The Parshendi couldn't touch me. The arrows were nothing."

"You're too new to this. You pushed yourself too hard."

"'Save them,'" Kaladin whispered. "'Do the impossible, Kaladin. But don't push yourself too hard. But also don't feel guilty if you fail.' Precarious ledges, Syl. So narrow…"

Some of his men returned with a wounded man, a square-faced Thaylen fellow with an arrow in the shoulder. Kaladin went to work. His hands were still shaking slightly, but not nearly as badly as they had been.

The bridgemen clustered around, watching. He'd started training Rock, Drehy, and Skar already, but with all of them watching, Kaladin found himself explaining. "If you put pressure here, you can slow the blood flow. This isn't too dangerous a wound, though it probably doesn't feel too good…"-the patient grimaced his agreement-"…and the real problem will come from infection. Wash the wound to make sure there aren't any slivers of wood or bits of metal left, then sew it. The muscles and skin of the shoulder here are going to get worked, so you need a strong thread to hold the wound together. Now…"

"Kaladin," Lopen said, sounding worried.

"Wha?" Kaladin said, distracted, still working.

"Kaladin!"

Lopen had called him by his name, rather than saying gancho. Kaladin stood up, turning to see the short Herdazian man standing at the back of the crowd, pointing at the chasm. The battle had moved farther north, but a group of Parshendi had punched through Sadeas's line. They had bows.

Kaladin watched, stunned, as the group of Parshendi fell into formation and nocked. Fifty arrows, all pointed at Kaladin's crew. The Parshendi didn't seem to care that they were exposing themselves to attack from behind. They seemed focused on only one thing.

Destroying Kaladin and his men.

Kaladin screamed the alarm, but he felt so sluggish, so tired. The bridgemen around him turned as the archers drew. Sadeas's men normally defended the chasm to keep Parshendi from pushing over the bridges and cutting off their escape. But this time, noticing that the archers weren't trying to drop the bridges, the soldiers didn't hasten to stop them. They left the bridgemen to die, instead cutting off the Parshendi route to the bridges themselves.