“Having trouble, bridgeboy?” Adolin asked, trotting up.

Kaladin glanced at the princeling. Stormfather, but it was difficult not to feel tiny when riding beside that monster of Adolin’s. Kaladin tried to kick his horse faster. She kept clopping along at her one speed, walking around the circle here that was a kind of running track for horses.

“Spray might have been fast during her youth,” Adolin said, nodding at Kaladin’s mount, “but that was fifteen years ago. I’m surprised she’s still around, honestly, but she seems perfectly suited for training children. And bridgemen.”

Kaladin ignored him, eyes forward, still trying to get the horse to pick up her pace and catch Natam.

“Now, if you want something with more spunk,” Adolin said, pointing toward the side, “Dreamstorm over there might be more to your liking.”

He indicated a larger, leaner animal in its own enclosure, saddled and roped to a pole firmly mortared into a hole in the ground. The long rope let it run in short bursts, though only around in a circle. It tossed its head, snorting.

Adolin heeled his own animal forward and past Natam.

Dreamstorm, eh? Kaladin thought, inspecting the creature. It certainly did seem to have more spunk than Spray. It also looked like it wanted to take a bite out of anyone who drew too close.

Kaladin turned Spray in that direction. Once near, he slowed—Spray was all too happy to do that—and climbed off. Doing so proved more difficult than he’d expected, but he managed to avoid tripping onto his face.

Once down, he put his hands on his hips and inspected the running horse inside its fence.

“Weren’t you just complaining,” Syl said, walking up onto Spray’s head, “that you’d rather walk than let a horse carry you about?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. He hadn’t realized it, but he had been holding some Stormlight. Just a tad. It escaped when he spoke, invisible unless he looked closely and detected a slight warping of the air.

“So what are you doing thinking about riding that?”

“This horse,” he said, nodding to Spray, “is only for walking. I can walk just fine on my own. That other one, that’s an animal for war.” Moash was right. Horses were an advantage on the battlefield, so Kaladin should be at least familiar with them.

The same argument Zahel made to me about learning to fight against a Shardblade, Kaladin thought with discomfort. And I turned him down.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jenet asked, riding up to him.

“I’m going to get on that,” Kaladin said, pointing at Dreamstorm.

Jenet snorted. “She’ll throw you in a heartbeat and you’ll break your crown, bridgeman. She’s not good with riders.”

“She has a saddle on.”

“So she can get used to wearing one.”

The horse finished a round of cantering and slowed.

“I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Jenet told him, turning her own animal to the side. It stomped impatiently, as if eager to be running.

“I’m going to give it a try,” Kaladin said, walking forward.

“You won’t even be able to get on,” Jenet said. She watched him carefully, as if curious what he’d do—though it seemed to him she might be more worried for the horse’s safety than his.

Syl alighted on Kaladin’s shoulder as he walked.

“This is going to be like back at the lighteyed practice grounds, isn’t it?” Kaladin asked. “I’m going to end up on my back, staring at the sky, feeling like a fool.”

“Probably,” Syl said lightly. “So why are you doing this? Because of Adolin?”

“Nah,” Kaladin said. “The princeling can storm away.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m scared of these things.”

Syl looked at him, seeming baffled, but it made perfect sense to Kaladin. Ahead, Dreamstorm—huffing out huge breaths from her run—looked at him. She met his eyes.

“Storms!” Adolin’s voice called from behind. “Bridgeboy, don’t actually do it! Are you mad?”

Kaladin stepped up to the horse. She danced a few steps back, but let him touch the saddle. So he breathed in a little more Stormlight and threw himself at the saddle.

“Damnation! What—” Adolin shouted.

That was all Kaladin heard. His Stormlight-aided leap let him get higher than an ordinary man could probably have managed, but his aim was off. He got hold of the pommel and threw one leg over, but the horse started thrashing.

The beast was incredibly strong, a distinct and powerful contrast to Spray. Kaladin was quite nearly hurled from the seat on the first buck.

With a wild swipe of the hand, Kaladin poured Stormlight onto the saddle and stuck himself in place. That only meant that instead of being tossed from horseback like a limp cloth, he got whipped back and forth like a limp cloth. He somehow managed to get hold of the horse’s mane and, with teeth gritted, did his best to keep from being bounced senseless.

The stable grounds were a blur. The only sounds he could hear were his beating heart and the smashing hooves. The Voidbringer beast moved like a storm itself, but Kaladin was stuck to the saddle as surely as if he’d been nailed there. After what seemed an eternity, the horse—blowing out big, frothy breaths—stilled.

Kaladin’s swimming vision cleared to show a group of bridgemen—keeping their distance—cheering him on. Adolin and Jenet, both mounted, stared at him with what seemed to be a mixture of horror and awe. Kaladin grinned.

Then, in one last, powerful motion, Dreamstorm bucked him free.

He hadn’t realized that the Stormlight in the saddle was exhausted. In a fitting fulfillment of his earlier prediction, Kaladin found himself dazed, lying on his back staring at the sky, having trouble remembering the last few seconds of his life. A number of painspren wiggled out of the ground beside him, little orange hands that grabbed this way and that.

An equine head with unfathomably dark eyes leaned down over Kaladin. The horse snorted at him. The smell was moist and grassy.

“You monster,” Kaladin said. “You waited until I was relaxed, then threw me.”

The horse snorted again, and Kaladin found himself laughing. Storms, but that had felt good! He couldn’t explain why, but the act of clinging for dear life to the thrashing animal had been truly exhilarating.

As Kaladin stood and dusted himself off, Dalinar himself broke through the crowd, brow furrowed. Kaladin hadn’t realized the highprince had still been nearby. He looked from Dreamstorm to Kaladin, then raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t chase down assassins on a placid mount, sir,” Kaladin said, saluting.

“Yes,” Dalinar said, “but it is customary to start training men by using weapons without edges, soldier. Are you all right?”

“Fine, sir,” Kaladin said.

“Well, it seems your men are taking to the training,” Dalinar said. “I’m going to put in a requisition release. You and five others you select are to come here and practice every day for the next few weeks.”

“Yes, sir.” He’d find the time. Somehow.

“Good,” Dalinar said. “I received your proposal for initial patrols outside of the warcamps, and thought it looked good. Why don’t you start in two weeks, and bring some horses with you to practice out in the field.”

Jenet made a strangled sound. “Outside the city, Brightlord? But . . . bandits . . .”

“The horses are here to be used, Jenet,” Dalinar said. “Captain, you’ll be sure to bring enough troops to protect the horses, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Kaladin said.

“Good. But do leave that one behind,” Dalinar said, waving toward Dreamstorm.

“Er, yes, sir.”

Dalinar nodded, moving off and raising his hand toward someone Kaladin couldn’t see. Kaladin rubbed his elbow, which he’d smacked. The remaining Stormlight in his body had healed his head first, then run out before getting to his arm.

Bridge Four moved to their horses as Jenet called out for them to remount and start a second phase of training. Kaladin found himself standing near Adolin, who remained mounted.

“Thanks,” Adolin said, grudgingly.

“For?” Kaladin asked, walking past him toward Spray, who continued to chew at grass, uncaring of the fuss.

“Not telling Father I put you up to that.”

“I’m not an idiot, Adolin,” Kaladin said, swinging into his saddle. “I could see what I was getting myself into.” He turned his horse away from her meal with some difficulty, and got some more pointers from a groom.

Eventually, Kaladin trotted over toward Natam again. The gait was bouncy, but he mostly got the hang of moving with the horse—they called it posting—to keep from slapping around too much.

Natam watched him as he moved up. “That’s unfair, sir.”

“What I did with Dreamstorm?”

“No. The way you just ride like that. Seems so natural for you.”

Didn’t feel that way. “I want to talk some more about that night.”

“Sir?” the long-faced man asked. “I haven’t thought of anything yet. Been a little distracted.”

“I have another question,” Kaladin said, bringing their horses up beside one another. “I asked you about your shift during the day, but what about right after I left? Did anyone other than the king go out onto the balcony?”

“Just guards, sir,” Natam said.

“Tell me which ones,” Kaladin said. “Maybe they saw something.”

Natam shrugged. “I mainly watched the door. The king remained in the sitting room for a time. I guess Moash went out.”

“Moash,” Kaladin said, frowning. “Wasn’t his shift supposed to be done soon?”

“Yeah,” Natam said. “He stayed around a little extra time; said he wanted to see the king settled. While waiting, Moash went out to watch the balcony. You usually want one of us out there.”

“Thanks,” Kaladin said. “I’ll ask him.”

Kaladin found Moash diligently listening to Jenet explain something. Moash seemed to have picked up riding quickly—he seemed to pick up everything quickly. Certainly, he’d been the best student among the bridgemen when it came to fighting.

Kaladin watched him for a few moments, frowning. Then it struck him. What are you thinking? That Moash might have had something to do with the assassination attempt? Don’t be stupid. That was ridiculous. Besides, the man didn’t have a Shardblade.

Kaladin turned his horse away. As he did, however, he saw the person Dalinar had gone to meet. Brightlord Amaram. The two were too far away for Kaladin to hear them, but he could see the amusement on Dalinar’s face. Adolin and Renarin rode up to them, smiling broadly as Amaram waved to them.

The anger that surged within Kaladin—sudden, passionate, almost chokingly strong—made him clench his fists. His breath hissed out. That surprised him. He’d thought the hatred buried deeper than that.