Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive, #4)

by Brandon Sanderson

Rock shook his head. “This thing I have done here with all of you, he is the end. When we meet again, I suspect it shall not be in this world. This life.” Kaladin embraced his friend. One final, crushing Horneater hug. When they pulled apart, Rock was crying, but smiling. “You gave me back my life,” he said. “Thank you for that, Kaladin, bridgeleader. Do not be sad that now I choose to live that life.”

“There is so much out there, little knife,” Mraize said. “Things that will rock your understanding, expand your perspective, and make into pebbles what once seemed mountains. The things you could know, Shallan. The people you could collect in your notebook, the sights you could see…”

They complimented the stools in particular.” Lift sighed, leaning back, slumping there. Too annoyed to even make a good stool joke. She wasn’t really angry. Wasn’t really sad. Just … blarglegorf. Supremely blarglegorf.

“A … shadow.” “Yes, a starvin’ shadow, all right?” She had to squeeze through the next tunnel too. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “This tower, it’s like a big ol’ corpse. And I’m like blood, sneaking around through its veins.” “Why would a corpse have blood in its veins?” “Fine. It’s not dead. It’s sleepin’ and we are its stormin’ blood. All right?” “I should think,” Wyndle said, “these air vents are much more like intestines. So the allegory would make you more akin to … um … well, feces I guess.” “Wyndle?” she said, pulling through. “Yes, mistress?” “Maybe stop tryin’ to help with my deevy metaphors.” “Yes, all right.”

“I refuse this,” he said, tossing his sword aside. “I will not face a woman in combat. It is demeaning.” And so, Jasnah stabbed him straight through the throat.

Wit dropped his bloody handkerchief before Ruthar. “How remarkable,” he said. “If you spend your life knocking people down, you eventually find they won’t stand up for you. There’s poetry in that, don’t you think, you storming personification of a cancerous anal discharge?”

She drew near to the post, then spoke loudly enough that he heard her easily. “You there! I am super annoyed! Super, super annoyed! How can you stand there? Didn’t you see?” “Brightness?” one of them said, in Alethi. “Er, Ancient One? We are to—” “Come on, come on! No, all of you. Come see this! Right now. I’m really annoyed! Can’t you tell?”

“Irony tastes good. Like sausage.” “And have you ever tasted sausage?” “I don’t believe I have a sense of taste,” Pattern said. “So irony tastes like what I imagine sausage would taste like when I’m imagining tastes.”

“It is,” Kaladin said with awe. “How is Lift, by the way?” “My lunch is gone,” Dalinar said. “So I’d say she’s doing fine. We found her spren once the tower was restored, but now she’s going around asking everyone if they have seen a bright red chicken.”