The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive, #1)

by Brandon Sanderson

“I gave you a leaf,” she said. “A poisonous leaf. You could have used it to kill yourself or someone else. That’s what you were probably planning to use it for in the first place, back in the wagons.” She looked back up into his eyes, and her tiny voice seemed terrified. “Today, I know what death is. Why do I know what death is, Kaladin?”

You should not be shocked when you hand Kaladin Stormblessed a spear and he knows how to use it.

There will be times when you must make decisions that churn your stomach, Shallan Davar. I’ll have you ready to make those decisions.”

Standing before the deathspren was a tiny figure of light. Not translucent, as she had always appeared before, but of pure white light. That soft, feminine face had a nobler, more angular cast to it now, like a warrior from a forgotten time. Not childlike at all. She stood guard on his chest, holding a sword made of light.

NEED TO KNOW WHO SYL IS

Shallan froze, fingers drawing an unintended line of charcoal, breaking away from the figure she’d sketched directly behind Kabsal. A figure that wasn’t really there, a figure with a sharp, angular symbol hovering above its collar instead of a head.

And five symbol-headed figures in black, too-stiff robes and cloaks. Each had a different symbol, twisted and unfamiliar to her, hanging above a neckless torso. The creatures wove through the crowd unseen. Like predators. Focused on Shallan.

She began the process anyway. Ten heartbeats, to bring forth the fruit of her sin, the proceeds of her most horrific act. She was interrupted midway through by a voice, uncanny yet distinct: What are you? She clutched her hand to her chest, losing her balance on the soft bed, falling to her knees on the rumpled blanket. She put one hand to the side, steadying herself on the nightstand, fingers brushing the large glass goblet that sat there. “What am I?” she whispered. “I’m terrified.” This is true. The bedroom transformed around her. The bed, the nightstand, her sketchpad, the walls, the ceiling—everything seemed to pop, forming into tiny, dark glass spheres. She found herself in a place with a black sky and a strange, small white sun that hung on the horizon, too far away. Shallan screamed as she found herself in midair, falling backward in a shower of beads. Flames hovered nearby, dozens of them, perhaps hundreds. Like the tips of candles floating in the air and moving in the wind. She hit something. An endless dark sea, except it wasn’t wet. It was made of the small beads, an entire ocean of tiny glass spheres. They surged around her, moving in an undulating swell. She gasped, flailing, trying to stay afloat. You want me to change? a warm voice said in her mind, distinct and different from the cold whisper she had heard earlier. It was deep and hollow and conveyed a sense of great age. It seemed to come from her hand, and she realized she was grasping something there. O...

What the fuck

He took a path to the southwest, blowing toward a city built in long troughs in the ground that looked like giant claw marks ripped across the landscape. He was over it in a flash, passing a hinterland where the stone itself was ribbed and rippled, like frozen waves of water. The people in this kingdom were dark-skinned, like Sigzil. The land went on and on. Hundreds of cities. Thousands of villages. People with faintly blue veins beneath their skin. A place where the pressure of the approaching highstorm blew water out of spouts in the ground. A city where people lived in gigantic, hollowed-out stalactites hanging beneath a titanic sheltered ridge.

Kaladin crossed a strange city laid out in a triangular pattern, with tall peaks rising like sentries at the corners and center. The flashes of light were coming from a building on the central peak. Kaladin knew he would pass quickly, for as the storm, he could not retreat. Ever westward he blew. He threw open the door with his wind, entering a long hallway with bright red tile walls, mosaic murals that he passed too quickly to make out. He rustled the skirts of tall, golden-haired serving women who carried trays of food or steaming towels. They called in a strange language, perhaps wondering who had left a window unbarred in a highstorm.

“The spren change when I measure them, Ashir,” she said. “Before I measure, they dance and vary in size, luminosity, and shape. But when I make a notation, they immediately freeze in their current state. Then they remain that way permanently, so far as I can tell.”

me. Until then, Wit will suffice—or if you must, you may call me Hoid.

If we had to rely on what we knew, kings would only be of use in creating laws regarding the proper heating of tea and cushioning of thrones.’ “

“He goes on to become one of the most influential writers Roshar has ever known,” Dalinar said.

Dalinar goes back in time in his visions to allow the future to happen as it has. He influenced Nohadon to write the way of kings

As always, when the name of his wife was spoken, it came to him as the sound of softly rushing air, then slipped from his mind immediately. He could not hear, or remember, the name.

Need to know more, his wife must have been someone significant

“I’ll bring you home. I’ll protect you, Tien. I’ll bring you back… .” He held the body into the evening, long past the end of the battle, clinging to it as it slowly grew cold.

“You’re promoted,” Kaladin said. “Get these men across the bridge as quickly as possible. If anyone asks, you’ve been given a field commission as commander of the rear guard. If anyone claims to outrank you, send them to me.” The man started. “Promoted … Who are you? Can you do that?” “Someone needs to,” Kaladin snapped. “Go. Get to work.” “I—” “Go!” Kaladin bellowed. Remarkably, the lighteyed man saluted him and began yelling for his squad.

Yas kaladin

Dalinar wants these for his bodyguards? Kaladin thought. They were a ragged bunch indeed. As it happened, however, he seconded Dalinar’s choice. If he were going to put his life in someone’s hands, he’d choose this group.

Bridge 4 on top

“Unite them. The sun approaches the horizon. The Everstorm comes. The True Desolation. The Night of Sorrows.”

“Who am I? I … I am Talenel’Elin, Stonesinew, Herald of the Almighty. The Desolation has come. Oh, God … it has come. And I have failed.”