Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

Life before death, she replied. Or maybe life after death this time? I never really understood that motto anyway. Let’s kick some Fused ass.

“Did you really come to a battle for the fate of the world unarmed

Last of all, he stood here, knowing weakness. Not being enough … like a young man he loved who celebrated now in Azimir. Not enough … You could never be smart enough. Jasnah had learned that. Nor could you just keep fighting forever. Kaladin had learned that. You couldn’t be strong enough, nor could you be perfectly honorable. That was what it was to be mortal. Sometimes you succeeded anyway. Sometimes you failed. Dalinar had experienced the breaking of oath after oath. Humans turning on singers. Singers turning from Honor to Odium. He’d even seen a god trying, as best he could, and finding no way out but to break his word.

Young Kaladin, standing up to volunteer to join the military because his brother had been taken. Beside him, Squadleader Kaladin, on the battlefield and sheltering the new recruits. Then Bridgeman Kaladin, forcing his friends to carry a bridge on its side. Captain Kaladin, who stood to protect Elhokar against even a friend. Radiant Kaladin, battling Szeth in the sky. He looked at all the dead men he’d been, and realized something. He admired

And so, in the face of the most awful darkness he’d ever felt, Kaladin Stormblessed took a deep breath. Then stood up.

“How?” Ishar repeated. “What are you?” He gestured toward Szeth. “Are you … are you his spren? His god?” “No,” Kaladin said. “I’m his therapist.”

“I will protect myself, so that I may continue to protect others.”

the destination wasn’t about a place, but about a Connection. It was about who you had become, not about where you arrived.

He saw it, true honor, in the efforts of two young people to set right an ancient wrong. In the way a young spearman rose to his feet in the darkness. In a man who stood with friends to save a city that was not his own. In the Lightweaver who refused the lies and accepted truth. Even in the way a queen who had been wrong resolved to do better.

Honor was born again in Dalinar Kholin.

“Every parent must choose themselves or their child, every day—sometimes multiple times a day. When to play. When to rest. Every decision we make influences others, and sometimes harms them. That’s not the way of kings. That’s the way of life.”

“Midius is right. You really aren’t as dense as everyone says.” “You realize people have spent literal centuries writing about how wise, and serene, and full of decorum you must have been.” “I’m a king,” Nohadon said. “Therefore, whatever I do is by definition regal. You have the answer?”

“Keeping an oath is not an ultimate good, Taravangian,” Dalinar whispered. “It is only as good as the ideals it is sworn to. Uniting is not an ultimate good. It is only as good as the purposes for that unification.

This was Dalinar’s final test: at long last, trusting someone else to do the job.

“Honor is dead.” Both Heralds spun to see Kaladin Stormblessed slowly pushing himself up to a seated position, hair disheveled, blue uniform rumpled, dirt on his face. He looked at his right hand, what was left of it, and grimaced. Then he sighed and heaved himself to his feet. “But,” Stormblessed said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I,” Kaladin whispered, walking through that version, “accept this journey.”

Herald of Kings. Herald of the Wind. Herald of…” “Herald,” Kaladin said, “of Second Chances.”

What is my life worth? NOTHING, ANYMORE. DALINAR, YOU ARE NOTHING. If so, then I trade it for everything. Taravangian … I call that a bargain.

“Taravangian!” Wit said, spinning around and putting his hands to the sides in an innocent posture. “Have I told you about the time I—” The god vaporized Wit in a wave of red mist.