“Authority doesn't come from a rank.," Kaladin said, fingering the spheres in his pocket."Where does it come from?""From the men who give it to you. That's the only way to get it.”

“What did you put in the fire?" Kaladin said. "To make that special smoke?""Nothing. It was just and ordinary fire.""But, I saw-""What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind.""What does the story mean, then?""It means what you want it to mean," Hoid said. "The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think , but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.”

“How can you be a lighteyes without light eyes?” Teft said with a scowl.“By having dark eyes,” Rock said, as if it were obvious. “We do not pick our leaders this way. Is complicated. But do not interrupt story.” He milked another reed, tossing the husk into a pile beside him.“The nuatoma, they see our lack of Shards as great shame. They want these weapons very badly. It is believed that the nuatoma who first obtains a Shardblade would become king, a thing we have not had for many years. No peak would fight another peak where a man held one of the blessed Blades.”“So you came to buy one?” Kaladin asked. No Shardbearer would sell his weapon. Each was adistinctive relic, taken from one of the Lost Radiants after their betrayal.Rock laughed. “Ha! Buy? No, we are not so foolish as this. But my nuatoma, he knew of your tradition, eh? It says that if a man kills a Shardbearer, he may take the Blade and Plate as his own. Andso my nuatoma and his house, we made a grand procession, coming down to find and kill one of your Shardbearers.”Kaladin almost laughed. “I assume it proved more difficult than that.”“My nuatoma was not a fool,” Rock said, defensive. “He knew this thing would be difficult, but your tradition, it gives us hope, you see? Occasionally, a brave nuatoma will come down to duel aShardbearer. Someday, one will win, and we will have Shards.”

“You want me to lead the caravan?”“Instructions will be acceptable.”“All right. First, find a cliff.”“That, it will give you a vantage to see the area?”“No,” Kaladin said. “It will give me something to throw you off of.”

“I need you, Teft,” Kaladin said.“I said—”“Not your food. You. Your loyalty. Your allegiance.”The older man continued to eat. He didn’t have a slave brand, and neither did Rock. Kaladin didn’tknow their stories. All he knew was that these two had helped when others hadn’t. They weren’tcompletely beaten down.“Teft—” Kaladin began.“I’ve given my loyalty before,” the man said. “Too many times now. Always works out the same.”“Your trust gets betrayed?” Kaladin asked softly.Teft snorted. “Storms, no. I betray it. You can’t depend on me, son. I belong here, as abridgeman.”“I depended on you yesterday, and you impressed me.”“Fluke.”“I’ll judge that,” Kaladin said. “Teft, we’re all broken, in one way or another. Otherwise wewouldn’t be bridgemen. I’ve failed. My own brother died because of me.”“So why keep caring?”“It’s either that or give up and die.”“And if death is better?”It came back to this problem. This was why the bridgemen didn’t care if he helped the wounded ornot.“Death isn’t better,” Kaladin said, looking Teft in the eyes. “Oh, it’s easy to say that now. But whenyou stand on the ledge and look down into that dark, endless pit, you change your mind. Just likeHobber did. Just like I’ve done.” He hesitated, seeing something in the older man’s eyes. “I think you’veseen it too.”“Aye,” Teft said softly. “Aye, I have.”“So, are you with us in this thing?” Rock said, squatting down.Us? Kaladin thought, smiling faintly.Teft looked back and forth between the two of them. “I get to keep my food?”“Yes,” Kaladin said.Teft shrugged. “All right then, I guess. Can’t be any harder than sitting here and having a staringcontest with mortality.”

“Kaladin spun through the last motions of the kata, chasm forgotten, bridgemen forgotten, fatigue forgotten. For a moment, it was just him. Him and the wind. He fought with her, and she laughed.He snapped the spear back into place, holding the haft at the one-quarter position, spearhead down, bottom of the haft tucked underneath his arm, end rising back behind his head. He breathed in deeply, shivering.Oh, how I’ve missed that.He opened his eyes. Sputtering torchlight revealed a group of stunned bridgemen standing in a damp corridor of stone, the walls wet and reflecting the light. Moash dropped a handful of spheres in stunned silence, staring at Kaladin with mouth agape. Those spheres plopped into the puddle at his feet, causing it to glow, but none of the bridgemen noticed. They just stared at Kaladin, who was still in a battle stance, half crouched, trails of sweat running down the sides of his face.He blinked, realizing what he’d done. If word got back to Gaz that he was playing around with spears…Kaladin stood up straight and dropped the spear into the pile of weapons. “Sorry,” he whispered to it, though he didn’t know why. Then, louder, he said, “Back to work! I don’t want to be caught down here when night falls.”

“And it came to pass in those days, as it had come before and would come again, that the Dark lay heavy on the land and weighed down the hearts of men, and the green things failed, and hope died. - from Charal Drianaan te Calamon, The Cycle of the Dragon”