Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive, #4)

by Brandon Sanderson

Confident, and somehow still full of hope, Teft died.

“Look at it, Kal,” Tien said softly. “See the colors. If you think letting Teft die is a failure—but all the times you supported him are meaningless—then no wonder it always hurts. Instead, if you think of how lucky you both were to be able to help each other when you were together, well, it looks a lot nicer, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not strong enough,” Kaladin whispered. “You’re strong enough for me.” “I’m not good enough.” “You’re good enough for me.” “I wasn’t there.” Tien smiled. “You are here for me, Kal. You’re here for all of us.”

I accept that there will be those I cannot protect!”

“Journey before destination, you bastard.”

We need to protect the people in that tower. You in your way. Me in mine.”

“I bring word from the Sibling!” he shouted. “They don’t remember inviting you in. And considering that they aren’t merely the master of this house, they literally are this house, your actions are quite the insult.”

And though she still didn’t say much, Shallan doubted many beings—human or spren—had ever spoken words quite so valuable as Maya had at the trial. One might say, by simple economics, that Maya was one of the best orators who ever existed.

“I’ve been speaking to Kelek, the Herald. He seems to think the reason you’re hunting him is because of an Unmade. Ba-Ado-Mishram? The one who Connected to the singers long ago, giving them forms of power? The one who, when trapped, stole the singers’ minds and made them into parshmen?

She hesitated, then sighed. Wit had asked nicely. “Also, Wit says to tell him, ‘Deal with your own stupid planet, you idiot. Don’t make me come over there and slap you around again.’”

Shallan had kept her head down too long. It was time to soar.

MORTALS SEARCH FOR MEANING, SO IT IS PROPER THEY SHOULD CREATE IT. YOU GET TO DECIDE WHAT IT MEANT, ESHONAI. WHAT YOU MEANT.

Wit nodded to the side, where a few odd spren were following in the air. Almost invisible, and trailing red light. Windspren—but the wrong color. She was expanding her influence, that old one was. He was curious where it would lead. Also horrified. But the two emotions were not mutually exclusive.

A tingling that made his Breaths go wild.

“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.”