had been four days since that night, and Kaladin had frequently found himself on edge since then.
“I have stables near the barracks,” Dalinar said. “You could have made that trip in a fraction of the time if you could ride. Perhaps you won’t spend much of your time in the saddle, but this is going to be an important skill for you and your men to know.”
Kaladin looked back at the other members of Bridge Four. Shrugs all around—a few timid ones—except for Moash, who nodded eagerly. “I suppose,” Kaladin said, looking back at Dalinar. “If you think it’s important, sir, we’ll give it a try.”
“Good man,” Dalinar said. “I’ll send over Jenet, the stablemaster.”
“We’ll await him with eagerness, sir,” Kaladin said, trying to sound like he meant it.
Two of Kaladin’s men escorted Dalinar as he walked toward the stables, a set of large, sturdy stone buildings. From what Kaladin saw, when the horses weren’t inside, they were allowed to roam freely inside this open area west of the warcamp. A low stone wall enclosed it, but surely the horses could jump that at will.
They didn’t. The brutes wandered about, stalking grass or lying down, snorting and whinnying. The entire place smelled strange to Kaladin. Not of dung, just . . . of horse. Kaladin eyed one eating nearby, just inside the wall. He didn’t trust it; there was something too smart about horses. Proper beasts of burden like chulls were slow and docile. He’d ride a chull. A creature like this, though . . . who knew what it was thinking?
Moash stepped up beside him, watching Dalinar go. “You like him, don’t you?” he asked softly.
“He’s a good commander,” Kaladin said, as he instinctively sought out Adolin and Renarin, who were riding their horses nearby. Apparently, the things needed to be exercised periodically to keep them functioning properly. Devilish creatures.
“Don’t get too close to him, Kal,” Moash said, still watching Dalinar. “And don’t trust him too far. He’s lighteyed, remember.”
“I’m not likely to forget,” Kaladin said dryly. “Besides, you’re the one who looked like you’d faint from joy the moment he offered to let us ride these monsters.”
“Have you ever faced a lighteyes riding one of these things?” Moash asked. “On the battlefield, I mean?”
Kaladin remembered thundering hooves, a man in silvery armor. Dead friends. “Yes.”
“Then you know the advantage it offers,” Moash said. “I’ll take Dalinar’s offer gladly.”
The stablemaster turned out to be a she. Kaladin raised an eyebrow as the pretty, young lighteyed woman walked up to them, a pair of grooms in tow. She wore a traditional Vorin gown, though it wasn’t silk but something coarser, and was slit up the front and back, ankle to thigh. Underneath, she wore a feminine pair of trousers.
The woman wore her dark hair in a tail, no ornaments, and had a tautness to her face that he didn’t expect in a lighteyed woman. “The highprince says I’m to let you ruffians touch my horses,” Jenet said, folding her arms. “I’m not pleased about it.”
“Fortunately,” Kaladin said, “neither are we.”
She looked him up and down. “You’re that one, aren’t you? The one everyone is talking about?”
“Maybe.”
She sniffed. “You need a haircut. All right, listen up, soldier boys! We’re going to do this properly. I won’t have you hurting my horses, all right? You listen, and you listen well.”
What proceeded was one of the dullest, most protracted lectures of Kaladin’s life. The woman went on and on about posture—straight-backed, but not too tense. About getting the horses to move—nudges with the heels, nothing too sharp. About how to ride, how to respect the animal, how to hold the reins properly and how to balance. All before being allowed to even touch one of the creatures.
Eventually, the boredom was interrupted by the arrival of a man on horseback. Unfortunately, it was Adolin Kholin, riding that white monster of a horse of his. It was several hands taller than the one Jenet was showing them. Adolin’s almost looked a completely different species, with those massive hooves, glistening white coat, and unfathomable eyes.
Adolin looked the bridgemen over with a smirk, then caught the stablemaster’s eye and smiled in a less condescending way. “Jenet,” he said. “Looking fetching today, as always. Is that a new riding dress?”
The woman bent down without looking—she was now talking about how to guide the horses—and selected a stone from the ground. Then she turned and threw it at Adolin.
The princeling flinched, raising an arm protectively over his face, though