Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive, #4)

by Brandon Sanderson

I have discovered the entrance to the realm of gods and legends, and once I join them, my kingdom will never end. I will never end.”

“Heroism is a myth you tell idealistic young people—specifically when you want them to go bleed for you. It got one of my sons killed and another taken from me. You can keep your heroism and return to me the lives of those wasted on foolish conflicts.”

Death had come to visit Hearthstone today, despite Lirin’s every effort.

“Nalathis. Scadarial. Tal Dain.

These are names of different planets in the cosmere; Scadarial is Mistborn; Tal Dain is White Sand; Nalathis is Warbreaker

“But promise me that you—and I mean all of you—will avoid doing anything crazy until you talk to me.” “Dear,” she said, “considering who you’re talking to, anything I am prone to try will be—by definition—crazy.”

It would be a disaster of incredible proportions if anyone figured out that Venli—Last Listener, envoyform Regal, Voice of Lady Leshwi—was a Knight Radiant.

“I go to the gods,” Rock said. He held up his finger. “There is one who lives here. One afah’liki. He is powerful god, but tricky. You should not have lost his flute.” “I … don’t think Wit is a god, Rock.”

He tossed his scarf at Kaladin’s feet. Though it must have been a different scarf, for the one he’d started with had been bright red, and this one was dull grey.

aaaaaahhhhh Zahel was using Breaths from Warbreaker!!

Wit never gives me answers. At least not straight ones.” “That’s because Wit is an asshole,”

“Cut off a bit of divinity and leave it alone. Eventually it comes alive. And if you let a man die with too Invested a soul—or Invest him right as he’s dying—he’ll leave behind a shadow you can nail back onto a body. His own, if you’re feeling charitable. Once done, you have this.” Zahel waved to himself. “Type Two Invested entity. Dead man walking.”

“Your surprises,” Kaladin said, “are never fun.” “I put a rat in his boot,” Syl whispered. “It took me forever. I can’t lift something so heavy, so I had to lead it with food.” “Why in the Stormfather’s name,” Lirin said, “would you put a rat in his boot?” “Because it fit so well!” Syl said. “How can you not see how great the idea was?”

“Your abilities are what made the original Oathpact,” she said. “And they existed—and were named—long before the Knights Radiant were founded. A Bondsmith Connected the Heralds to Braize, made them immortal, and locked our enemies away. A Bondsmith bound other Surges and brought humans to Roshar, fleeing their dying world. A Bondsmith created—or at least discovered—the Nahel bond: the ability of spren and humans to join together into something better. You Connect things, Dalinar. Realms. Ideas. People.”

There was a weakness here. In the division between the Vessel and the Shard.

War is the last option of the state that has failed,’” Adolin said, tapping the side with the divine robed figure. He pushed it to spin it in Kaladin’s fingers, showing the other side. “‘But it is better than having no options.’”

your actions define you more than your intentions. That your goals and the journey used to attain them must align.

Endowment at least responded to my overtures, though I have not been able to locate Invention again following our initial contact.

Where are these Shards located? Which planet/magic system?

“Well, I’d say you’re a pretty good thief…” he began. “Oh, don’t you dare.” “… because you stole my heart.” She groaned, leaning her head back. “You dared.”

That said, the most worrying thing I discovered in this was the wound upon the Spiritual Realm where Ambition, Mercy, and Odium clashed—and Ambition was destroyed. The effects on the planet Threnody have been … disturbing.

I have begun searching for a pathway out of this conundrum by seeking the ideal person to act on my behalf. Someone who embodies both Preservation and Ruin. A … sword, you might say, who can both protect and kill.

Harmony! Sazed!

“Nine Surges. You know of the Surges?” “The innate forces by which all life, all reality, are connected. Gravitation. Transportation. Transformation. But … I thought there were ten?” “That is human talk,” Raboniel said to Derision. “They claim a tenth, of Honor alone. Adhesion is not a true Surge, but a lie that was presented to us as one. True Surges are of both Honor and Cultivation—Cultivation for life, Honor to make the Surge into natural law. Things must fall to the ground, so they created Surges to make it happen.”

Passion is nothing without a plan.

Soulcasters didn’t hold spren because they were spren. Manifesting in the Physical Realm like Shardblades. Spren became metal on this side.

“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?”

Today, Kaladin reached the winds. And like everything else today, they tried their best to kill him.

The best and truest duty of a person is to add to the world. To create, and not destroy.

Gavilar Kholin—king, husband, occasional monster—had been searching for a way to kill a god.

“I am an artist,” Wit said. “I should thank you not to demean me by insisting my art must be trying to accomplish something. In fact, you shouldn’t enjoy art. You should simply admit that it exists, then move on. Anything else is patronizing.”

“It will,” Wit said, “but then it will get better. Then it will get worse again. Then better. This is life, and I will not lie by saying every day will be sunshine. But there will be sunshine again, and that is a very different thing to say. That is truth. I promise you, Kaladin: You will be warm again.”

I need a way to measure the strength of Stormlight in a gemstone.” Raboniel didn’t press for details. “There is sand that does this,” she said. “Sand?” “It is black naturally, but turns white in the presence of Stormlight. It can, therefore, be used to measure the strength of Investiture—the more powerful the source of power nearby, the quicker the sand changes.

Is she talking about the sand from White Sand?

“Honor is not dead so long as he lives in the hearts of men!”

“You. Cannot. Have. My. SACRIFICE!” she shouted. “Mine. My sacrifice. Not yours.” She pointed at the crowd. “Not theirs.” She pointed at Adolin. “Not his. Mine. MY SACRIFICE.” “You knew what was going to happen when the Radiants broke their oaths,” Adolin said. “They didn’t murder you. You decided together.”

The agent had noted that Nightblood worked like a larkin, the beasts that could feed on Investiture.

“And who is that, Wit?” she asked. “Who are you really?” “Someone,” he said, “who wisely turned down the power the others all took—and in so doing, gained freedoms they can never again have. I, Jasnah, am someone who is not bound.”

Some people charged toward the goal, running for all they had. Others stumbled. But it wasn’t the speed that mattered. It was the direction they were going.

Jasnah took comfort in the idea that there was no plan, that everything was random. She said that a chaotic universe meant the only actions of actual importance were the ones they decided were important. That gave people autonomy.

“I am death itself, Defeated One,” Kaladin said. “And I’ve finally caught up to you.”

You can kill me, but you can’t have what I have. You can never have it. Because I die knowing I’m loved.”

I am eternal. I am the storm.”

“Since we all go to the same place in the end, the moments we spent with each other are the only things that do matter. The times we helped each other.”

“Journey before destination, you bastard.”

Fucking amazing Queen, Queen Navani!!

“Why would I want to destroy you? I am your god, Dalinar.” Odium shook his head, staring into the infinite golden distance. “I need soldiers. For the true battle that is coming, not for one people or one miserable windswept continent. A battle of the gods. A battle for everything.

A battle between all the Vessels of the Shards?

With help from Kelek, they’d gotten it open without harming the thing inside: a spren in the shape of a glowing ball of light, a strange symbol at the center. No one here recognized the variety of spren, but Wit called it a seon.

A seon from Elantris!!

“The Lord of Scars, Wit calls him.

It's Kelsier!

What game do you play here? “A game of sense.” … What? “Sense, Odium. The only kind I have is nonsense. Well, and some cents, but cents are nonsense here too—so we can ignore them. Scents are mine aplenty, and you never cared for the ones I present. So instead, the sense that matters is the sense Dalinar sensibly sent you.” I hate you.