“How does a woman like you end up without resources, though?” Shallan asked, frowning. “I’d think you would never be without.”
“I’m not,” Tyn said, gesturing. “As you can plainly see. You’re going to have to get used to rebuilding, if you want to join the profession. It comes, it goes. I got stuck down south without any spheres, and am finding my way to more civilized countries.”
“To the Shattered Plains,” Shallan said. “You have a job there of some sort as well? A… con you’re intending to pull?”
Tyn smiled. “This isn’t about me, kid. It’s about you, and what I can do for you. I know people in the warcamps. It’s practically the new capital of Alethkar; everything interesting in the country is happening there. Money is flowing like rivers after a storm, but everyone considers it a frontier, and so laws are lax. A woman can get ahead if she knows the right people.”
Tyn leaned forward, and her expression darkened. “But if she doesn’t, she can make enemies really quickly. Trust me, you want to know who I know, and you want to work with them. Without their approval, nothing big happens at the Shattered Plains. So I ask you again. What are you hoping to accomplish there?”
“I… know something about Dalinar Kholin.”
“Old Blackthorn himself?” Tyn said, surprised. “He’s been living a boring life lately, all superior, like he’s some hero from the legends.”
“Yes, well, what I know is going to be very important to him. Very.”
“Well, what is this secret?”
Shallan didn’t answer.
“Not willing to divulge the goods yet,” Tyn said. “Well, that’s understandable. Blackmail is a tricky one. You’ll be glad you brought me on. You are bringing me on, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Shallan said. “I do believe I could learn some things from you.”
25. Monsters
Smokeform for hiding and slipping between men.
A form of power, like human Surges.
Bring it ’round again.
Though crafted of gods,
It was by Unmade hand.
Leaves its force to be but one of foe or friend.
From the Listener Song of Histories, 127th stanza
Kaladin figured that it took a lot to put him in a situation he’d never before seen. He’d been a slave and a surgeon, served on a battlefield and in a lighteyes’ dining room. He’d seen a lot for his twenty years. Too much, it felt at times. He had many memories he’d rather be without.
Regardless, he had not expected this day to present him with something so utterly and disconcertingly unfamiliar. “Sir?” he asked, taking a step backward. “You want me to do what?”
“Get on that horse,” Dalinar Kholin said, pointing toward an animal grazing nearby. The beast would stand perfectly still, waiting for grass to creep up out of its holes. Then it would pounce, taking a quick bite, which would cause the grass to shoot back down into its burrows. It got a mouthful each time, often pulling the grass out by its roots.
It was one of many such animals dawdling and prancing through the area. It never ceased to stun Kaladin just how rich people like Dalinar were; each horse was worth spheres in profusion. And Dalinar wanted him to climb on one of them.
“Soldier,” Dalinar said, “you need to know how to ride. The time might come when you need to guard my sons on the battlefield. Besides, how long did it take you to reach the palace the other night, when coming to hear about the king’s accident?”
“Almost three-quarters of an hour,” Kaladin admitted. It 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.”