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Back at the staging chasm, Bridge Four is the last bridge crew of Sadeas's force still on the eastern side. They have two wounded under the deck and the dawn run already in their legs, and they are slow. Sadeas's army is half a mile west of them, retreating in good order toward the warcamps. The crew could keep going. They would make the staging plateau before the Parshendi pickets noticed, and Sadeas would have them home before nightfall.

Kaladin looks east toward the Tower and the Kholin formation he can see being closed on across the chasm. He looks west, at safety. He sets the bridge down and stops. The crew stops with him. He does not have to make a speech; Rock, Teft, Moash, Sigzil, every man of them has already turned to face east. They lift the bridge, turn it around, and run it back toward the Tower with the army's wounded still under the deck. They lay the bridge across the chasm into the closing Parshendi line on the Kholin side, and as the first Kholin infantry start streaming across it Kaladin charges past the bridge head alone, spear up, into the Parshendi rank that is two-deep around Dalinar.

He explodes. A wave of white force blasts the front rank of Parshendi backward off their feet; the air around him goes momentarily incandescent; a soft luminous fog steams off his skin and clothes like smoke from an unseen fire. Teft holds up a hand against the brilliance with the look of a man whose secret faith has just been answered in front of him. Moash grips Rock's shoulder. *Something just changed*, he whispers. *Something important.* As the burst subsides the glow keeps coming, softer, off Kaladin's skin. He raises his spear. Some Parshendi flee outright. The rest step up. He spins into them — a living storm of steel and wood and refusal.