Words of Radiance

“Yeah,” Kaladin agreed, scanning the men. They were clumped together on one side of the fire, some seated, others standing in a group. Their laughter forced, their postures nervous. When you trained men for war, they started to use combat stances whenever they were uncomfortable. Something on the other side of that fire was a threat.

Kaladin stepped into the light and found a man sitting there in a nice uniform, hands down at his side, head bowed. Renarin Kholin. Oddly, he was rocking back and forth with a small motion, staring at the ground.

Kaladin relaxed. “Brightlord,” Kaladin said, stepping over to him. “Is there something you need?”

Renarin scrambled to his feet and saluted. “I would like to serve under your command, sir.”

Inside, Kaladin groaned. “Let’s talk away from the fire, Brightlord.” He took the spindly prince by the arm, leading him away from the ears of the others.

“Sir,” Renarin said, speaking softly, “I want—”

“You shouldn’t call me sir,” Kaladin whispered. “You’re lighteyed. Storms, you’re the son of the most powerful man in eastern Roshar.”

“I want to be in Bridge Four,” Renarin said.

Kaladin rubbed his forehead. During his time as a slave, dealing with much larger problems, he had forgotten about the headaches of dealing with highborn lighteyes. Once, he might have assumed he’d heard the most outlandish of their ridiculous demands. Not so, it seemed.

“You can’t be in Bridge Four. We’re bodyguards for your own family. What are you going to do? Guard yourself?”

“I won’t be a liability, sir. I’ll work hard.”

“I don’t doubt you would, Renarin. Look, why do you want to be in Bridge Four?”

“My father and my brother,” Renarin said softly, face shadowed, “they’re warriors. Soldiers. I’m not, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yes. Something about…”

“Physical ailments,” Renarin said. “I’ve a blood weakness.”

“That’s a folk description of many different conditions,” Kaladin said. “What do you really have?”

“I’m epileptic,” Renarin said. “It means—”

“Yes, yes. Is it idiopathic or symptomatic?”

Renarin stood absolutely still in the darkness. “Uh…”

“Was it caused by a specific brain injury,” Kaladin asked, “or is it something that just started happening for no reason?”

“I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

“How bad are the seizures?”

“They’re fine,” Renarin said quickly. “It’s not as bad as everyone says. It’s not like I fall to the ground or froth like everyone thinks. My arm will jerk a few times, or I’ll twitch uncontrollably for a few moments.”

“You retain consciousness?”

“Yeah.”

“Myoclonic, probably,” Kaladin said. “You’ve been given bitterleaf to chew?”

“I… Yes. I don’t know if it helps. The jerking isn’t the whole problem. A lot of times, when it’s happening, I get really weak. Particularly along one side of my body.”

“Huh,” Kaladin said. “I suppose that could fit with the seizures. Have you ever had any persistent relaxation of the muscles, an inability to smile on one side of your face, for example?”

“No. How do you know these things? Aren’t you a soldier?”

“I know some field medicine.”

“Field medicine… for epilepsy?”

Kaladin coughed into his hand. “Well, I can see why they didn’t want you going into battle. I’ve seen men with wounds that caused similar symptoms, and the surgeons always dismissed those men from duty. It’s no shame to not be fit enough for battle, Brightlord. Not every man is needed for fighting.”

“Sure,” Renarin said bitterly. “Everyone tells me that. Then they all go back to fighting. The ardents, they claim every Calling is important, but then what do they teach about the afterlife? That it’s a big war to reclaim the Tranquiline Halls. That the best soldiers in this life are glorified in the next.”

“If the afterlife really is a big war,” Kaladin said, “then I hope I end up in Damnation. At least there I might be able to get a wink or two of sleep. Regardless, you’re no soldier.”

“I want to be.”

“Brightlord—”

“You don’t have to set me to doing anything important,” Renarin said. “I came to you, instead of one of the other battalions, because most of your men spend their time patrolling. If I’m patrolling, I won’t be in much danger, and my fits won’t hurt anyone. But at least I can see, I can feel what it’s like.”

“I—”

He rushed on. Kaladin had never heard so many words from the normally quiet young man.

“I will obey your commands,” Renarin said. “Treat me like a new recruit. When I’m here, I’m not a prince’s son, I’m not a lighteyes. I’m just another soldier. Please. I want to be part of it. When Adolin was young, my father made him serve in a spearman squad for two months.”

“He did?” Kaladin asked, genuinely surprised.

“Father said every officer should serve in the shoes of his men,” Renarin said. “I have Shards now. I’m going to be in war, but I’ve never felt what it’s like to really be a soldier. I think this is the closest I’ll be able to get. Please.”