Chapter Text
“Where’s Dalinar?” Kaladin asked as he checked over his saddle bags, ensuring the weight was distributed equally. “I figured he’d come to say goodbye. It took a while to convince him that a four-day mission wouldn’t be too much for you, and even then he seemed a little overprotective.”
It was a cool spring day, and though the sun was shining bright and warm over the Kholin stables, the wind was brisk. Kaladin was grateful for his winter uniform jacket.
Renarin didn’t answer.
Kaladin turned to look, and found Renarin was staring at him.
Storms, I have to remember to call Dalinar Brightlord! I’m making his son uncomfortable. “Oh. Uh, I mean the Highprince,” he corrected himself.
The young prince startled and blushed, then ducked his head. “Um. No, I mean, that's okay,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned away, towards his own horse. “I made my father and brother swear not to come by to see us off.”
Kaladin raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Oh.” Of course. He'd said he didn't want to be treated differently. That meant no family to see him off for his first on-duty patrol through the area around the warcamps. It also meant Kaladin should call him Renarin instead of Brightlord, but at least that would be easier. Kaladin grunted in affirmation. “You have everything? Did you remember your medication?”
The younger man flinched, then nodded, and Kaladin regretted asking. It was hard not to though. He just seemed so young and vulnerable, even though they were almost the same age. Kaladin shook his head at himself. If he had let Renarin join Bridge Four, he should do as Renarin had asked, and treat him like any of the others.
Though, he probably would’ve fretted over the others, too.
In the deep silence that followed, Kaladin looked over his horse. She was black, with a black mane and a spot of white on her forehead. Other than that, well, he wasn’t sure. He had learned quite a bit about riding so far, but he had only practised riding this mare a couple of times. She was usually given to the less experienced men.
“That one’s Bakhesh,” a groom said, walking up to the beast and patting her side. He was darkeyed, his black Alethi hair cut very short and his face clean shaven. Perhaps he did it to balance out the hair everywhere else. His stocky form was otherwise thick with body hair, if his rolled-up sleeves and partly open shirt were any indication. He must be impervious to the cold. He was relatively young, but he spoke confidently, head held high with the same pride and spirit that Kaladin had come to expect from the Kholin stablehands he’d been working with the last few weeks.
“She looks thin,” Kaladin said. “You sure she can hold me for four days?”
The man laughed loudly, patting the horse's rump. “Bigger men like you need horses with shorter, stronger backs so they don’t break them, if you’ll pardon me, Captain. Believe me, if she can hold a man in armour, she can hold you. Bakhesh is experienced, and calm as horses go. She won’t give you any trouble. Now let’s fit you for your stirrups.”
He gestured for Kaladin to get up, so he acquiesced. It was much easier getting into a saddle than when he’d started a few weeks ago. From high atop the mountainous beast, he looked out and saw Renarin standing beside his dappled grey horse, talking to another groom. She was a middle aged lighteyed woman wearing a split riding havah, her black Alethi hair in a long, simple braid.
“Prince Renarin, this is Zeras,” the woman said, as if introducing two lighteyes. Considering the value of horses, and the inaneness of lighteyes, he supposed that wasn’t too far off. “She’s been held at the stable for a few months now after an incident. We think she’s ready to get back out there again, so I thought we’d try her with you since you have more experience riding.” She threw a blanket onto the horse’s back, then hefted the saddle up on top. It was a different-looking saddle; it was flatter, and it lacked the horn at the front that Kaladin was accustomed to using for balance.
“That’s a Veden style saddle,” the prince said, pointing.
“Yes, it’s the only kind she’ll accept,” the groom said. “That won’t be a problem, will it, Brightlord?”
Renarin paused, then shook his head. “No, of course not.”
She smiled. “Excellent! I figured, since your brother knows how to ride five kinds of saddles, you’d know at least the most common two!”
As Renarin got onto his horse, Kaladin gazed far down the road towards the horizon, watching Syl flying among some windspren at a safe distance. He felt anxious to leave, and anxious to return. The sooner he could get away from Amaram, the better. But the sooner he returned, the sooner he’d be off this winds-blasted horse, and the sooner he’d find out how his men had fared without him. This would be Bridge Four’s first patrolling mission, and success meant he could keep Bridge Four away from fighting the Parshendi. He would just have to prove to everyone that bridgemen could be trusted with horses, with the responsibility of protecting the region, and especially with protecting Renarin. He let out a breath. He could do this.
Renarin trotted up beside him. “I’m ready,” he said in his quiet, unobtrusive way.
“Good. Then let’s go.” Kaladin grabbed the reins and pressed in his heels, and the horse started moving forward.
“Don’t forget me!” a voice boomed.
Kaladin looked back. It was the hairy groom who had helped him, riding up on a brown horse.
“I’m to come with you,” the man announced, riding alongside Kaladin. “Stablemaster Jenet doesn’t want to leave the horses with you alone yet. She says you’re not ready.”
Kaladin rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Bateb. It’s a pleasure, Brigh–uh, Captain,” the man stammered.
Gritting his teeth, Kaladin pushed his horse to go a little faster, following the road leading south, away from the warcamps and the Shattered Plains. He'd been told that the road would be marked for a good while before it faded off into a stony wilderness of hills and wildlife.
Renarin trotted his horse up on Kaladin's other side. “Thank you for letting me come with you,” he said, the note of anxiety in his voice making it sound like a question.
What should Kaladin say? That none of the other men would’ve wanted to go with him? That Kaladin was nervous about letting him go at all? That if he had his way, he wouldn’t be letting a prince take such a huge risk out in the Unclaimed Hills?
Stop it. Renarin’s Bridge Four now too, he reprimanded himself. It would take time to start trusting him, but storms, he had to try.
Flanked on both sides now, he felt trapped. He'd hoped to get a break from the anxiety of being exposed as a Surgebinder. If he’d had his way, it would’ve been just him and Sigzil on this mission. He could’ve practiced his powers. With Renarin and the groom travelling with him in such close proximity, he wouldn’t get the chance now.
He touched his own upper arm, wishing he’d thought to make a glyphward. He could only hope he wouldn’t be caught.
“You’re welcome, Brightlord,” was all he could think to say.
***
Renarin grimaced at the honorific, feeling like one of the Ten Fools. Why bother hoping? Kaladin would never see him as one of Bridge Four. He knew from watching Adolin’s training that getting paired with the instructor meant you were either too far above everyone else’s level, or too far below.
He knew in his heart which one he was. He was a liability.
Still, at least Kaladin hadn’t said no outright. That would’ve been worse. Renarin looked over at him, sitting spear-straight, obviously uncomfortable in the saddle. Kaladin had the advantages of being tall and lithe, yet strong-jawed and broadly muscled. He also had a perpetual frown, and at times he developed a mysterious, distant look in his eyes. Despite being darkeyed, he carried himself with a nobility that Renarin could only hope to imitate. There was just so much to admire in the man, drawing Renarin to him like a rainspren to the rain. Renarin imagined that Kaladin might understand him better than most lighteyes he knew, including his own family. He seemed to care deeply for his men. Would he come to care for Renarin at all? Or was it of the Fools to even hope? Maybe it was a silly thought, but it made something warm flicker inside him.
Feeling oddly flustered, he reached for his box, but remembered he’d left it behind; it had felt too precious to take on a mission like this. He’d planned on using his usual saddle, with the extra strap he could fiddle with. Unfortunately the groom who had paired him with Zeras must have been new. There was no way Renarin was going to be a prince making a fuss about his special saddle in front of the bridgeman who had saved his family, so he was stuck with running his fingers through his horse’s mane. He hoped she wouldn’t mind.
Renarin looked out over the rocky landscape as he rode, mentally reviewing the preparations he’d made. For now, the area was barren rock, mostly flat. From looking at the maps he knew that the rock would soon turn into jagged ridges lush with life, especially near the river. He’d just finished bonding his new Shardblade, so he’d have a defense against animals or attackers, though he loathed the idea of summoning it. The stormwardens thought the weather would turn towards summer any day now, so he’d brought his summer uniform and extra socks in case he got too sweaty and itchy. Finally, as an extra precaution, he’d brought a spherepouch packed with broams; enough Stormlight to heal a horse. It wasn't necessary to bring spheres on a patrol, but Glys had encouraged him to take them anyway; he almost smiled thinking of Glys’ words. The whole future is not known, Renarin!
The wind blew in his face, and he breathed deeply of the cool, bracing spring air. It felt good to be riding, something he wouldn’t have been allowed to do at all without Kaladin’s assurance to Father that he was worthy to travel, despite having travelled from Kholinar to the Shattered Plains already. He was looking forward to seeing what the world looked like south of the warcamps. He’d been stuck inside for too much of his life. He needed to get out. He had to prove to his Father, to his spren, to everyone, that he was worthy.
Worthy. He wasn’t yet, but he would have to become worthy, to face the future.
The Everstorm comes…
And I have to face it alone.
His anxiety rose again, a tightness in his guts and a burning in his throat. He had no idea how to control his powers, no idea how to stop what was coming, and no one to help him. He was an abomination, foolishly trying to use evil powers for good. Glys pulsed soothingly from inside his chest, and Renarin ran his fingers through Zeras’ mane, trying to breathe normally.
“Thanks, Glys,” he whispered, though it wasn’t really helping. He looked up into the sky, feeling the wind on his face. It was going to be okay, for now. No highstorms were predicted for the next few days, so he was safe to leave for a bit. Going on this mission was a small step, but a necessary one. It would help toughen him up. He needed to be tougher. Storms, it had been less than an hour, and already the unfamiliar saddle was killing his thighs and ass. He twisted towards the spherepouch on his belt, surreptitiously breathing in a bit of Stormlight to heal himself so he wouldn’t look weak in front of Kaladin. No, Captain Kaladin. Use his honorific! Renarin couldn’t afford to be kicked out of Bridge Four. He had to learn to fight somehow.
“You brought a whole spherepouch?”
Renarin cringed as he heard Kaladin’s…Captain Kaladin’s strong voice cut through the wind. Storms, was the man’s eyesight so good that he saw the movement of Stormlight even against the summer sun? Was he that perfect?
“Yes, sir,” he answered, quickly tucking his spherepouch back under his uniform coat.
“Why did you bring so many spheres?” Captain Kaladin was frowning. Oh storms, did that mean he was suspicious?
There is no reason to suspect, Glys whispered to him from inside his chest. This is.
Nevertheless, Renarin’s heart raced. He shrugged. “Because I’m a prince. Why did you bring spheres?” He pointed at the leather pouch on Captain Kaladin’s belt. It was at least the same size as Renarin’s.
Kaladin ducked his head and mumbled something, moving the pouch across his belt to the other side.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the wind,” Renarin called, feeling weirdly flustered again. Why was he still talking?
The captain raised his head, looking at Renarin with an unreadable expression. Little wisps of curly hair that had escaped their tail bounced against his chiseled jawline. “I said I just like to be prepared for anything!” he called back.
Bateb the groom whistled from Kaladin’s other side. “I bet those aren’t clearchips either! Storms, between the two of you, you could finance a whole bandit operation for a year!” He cackled gleefully as Renarin looked away, feeling an embarrassed heat in his cheeks.
“Well, we’ll just have to be sure not to get caught, then,” Kaladin growled. “Won’t we?”
“Yes, Captain,” Renarin said, and to his mortification, he felt himself flush deeper.