Words of Radiance

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 Jenet’s aim was off.

“Oh, come on now,” Adolin said. “You’re not still sore that—”

Another rock. This one clipped him on the arm.

“Right, then,” Adolin said, jogging his horse away, hunched down to present a smaller target for rocks.

Eventually, after demonstrating saddling and bridling on her horse, Jenet finished the lecture and deemed them worthy of touching some horses. A flock of her grooms, both male and female, scurried out onto the field to select proper mounts for the six bridgemen.

“Lots of women on your staff,” Kaladin noted to Jenet as the grooms worked.

“Horseback riding isn’t mentioned in Arts and Majesty

,” she replied. “Horses weren’t terribly well known back then. Radiants had Ryshadium, but even kings had little access to ordinary horses.” She wore her safehand in a sleeve, unlike most of the darkeyed groom women, who wore gloves.

“Which matters because… ?” Kaladin said.

Frowning, she looked at him, baffled. “Arts and Majesty…” she prompted. “Foundation of masculine and feminine arts… Of course. I keep looking at those captain’s knots on your shoulder, but—”

“But I’m just an ignorant darkeyes?”

“Sure, if that’s how you want to put it. Whatever. Look, I’m not going to give you a lecture on the arts—I’m tired of talking to you people already. Let’s just say that anyone who wants can be a groom, all right?”

She lacked a polished refinement that Kaladin had come to expect in lighteyed women, and he found it refreshing. Better a woman who was overtly condescending than the alternative. The grooms walked the horses out of their enclosure and to a riding ground, shaped like a ring. A group of parshmen with eyes downcast brought the saddles, saddle pads, and bridles—equipment that, following Jenet’s lecture, Kaladin could name.

Kaladin selected a beast that didn’t look too evil, a shorter horse with a shaggy mane and a brown coat. He saddled it with help from a groom. Nearby, Moash finished and threw himself up into his saddle. Once the groom let go, Moash’s horse wandered off without him asking it to do so.

“Hey!” Moash said. “Stop. Whoa. How do I get it to stop walking?”

“You dropped the reins,” Jenet called after him. “Storming fool! Were you even listening?”

“Reins,” Moash said, scrambling for them. “Can’t I just slap it over the head with a reed, like you do a chull?”

Jenet rubbed her forehead.

Kaladin looked into the eye of his own chosen beast. “Look,” he said softly, “you don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. Let’s just be pleasant to one another and get it over with as quickly as possible.”

The horse snorted softly. Kaladin took a deep breath, then grabbed the saddle as instructed, lifting one foot into the stirrup. He rocked a few times, then threw himself up into the saddle. He grabbed the saddle horn in a death grip and held on tight, ready to be thrown about as the beast went charging away.

His horse bent her head and began licking some rocks.

“Hey, now,” Kaladin said, raising the reins. “Come on. Let’s move.”

The horse ignored him.

Kaladin tried cuing it in the flanks as he’d been told. The horse didn’t budge.

“You’re supposed to be some kind of wagon with legs,” Kaladin said to the thing. “You’re worth more than a village. Prove it to me. Get going! Forward! Onward!”

The horse licked the rocks.