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July 8 - July 16, 2024
Talenelat’Elin, Herald of War.
“You think they’re superstitious fools,” Shallan said softly, watching the sailor leave. “From what I have observed,” Jasnah said, “these sailors are men who have found a purpose in life and now take simple pleasure in it.” Jasnah looked at the next drawing. “Many people make far less out of life. Captain Tozbek runs a good crew. You were wise in bringing him to my attention.”
“Ha!” Rock, towering behind him, clapped Moash on the shoulder. “No complaining today! You do this thing too much. Do not make me kick you. I do not like kicking. It hurts my toes.”
The king stared at Kaladin for a moment, then turned to Dalinar. “I like this one. Why haven’t you put him in charge of your guard before?”
“Ah, the optimism of youth,” Jasnah said. “That is nice to hear on occasion too.” She handed the book to Shallan. “Among the Knights Radiant, there was an order known as the Lightweavers. I know precious little about them, but of all the sources I’ve read, this one has the most information.” Shallan took the volume eagerly. Words of Radiance, the title read.
The scents of a plateau run were the scents of a great stillness: baked stone, dried crem, long-traveled winds.
“I am wrong son to be soldier,” Rock said stubbornly. “It is a thing of the tuanalikina, the fourth son or below. Third son cannot be wasted in battle.” “Didn’t stop you from throwing a tree at my head.” “Was small tree,” Rock said. “And very hard head.”
“Accept no priests either,” Ym said. “Those are from other lands, come to preach to us. Iriali need no preaching, only experience. As each experience is different, it brings completeness. Eventually, all will be gathered back in—when the Seventh Land is attained—and we will once again become One.”
“It is common, Bluth,” Shallan said, “to engage one’s traveling companion in mutually diverting dialogue.”
Expectation wasn’t just about what people expected of you. It was about what you expected of yourself.
“Sapience,”
Scholarform shown for patience and thought. Beware its ambitions innate. Though study and diligence bring the reward, Loss of innocence may be one’s fate.
alacrity.
Artform applied for beauty and hue. One yearns for the songs it creates. Most misunderstood by the artist it’s true, Come the spren to foundation’s fates.
drearifying
“Pardon, Torol, but almost is a big distinction in assassinations.”
Careful planning was, indeed, the water that nourished innovation.
Shallan sat down on the plush, white bed, and sank almost down to her neck. What had they made the thing out of? Air and wishes? It felt luxurious.
“Three?” Kaladin demanded. “Cousins!” Lopen replied, looking up. “You have too many of those,” Kaladin said. “That’s impossible! Rod, Huio, say hello!” “Bridge Four,” the two men said, raising their bowls.
The Weeping was coming up soon, the time of constant rain with no highstorms—the only break was Lightday, right in the middle. It was an off year in the thousand-day cycle of two years, which meant the Weeping would be a calm one this time.
“We’re going to the Ornery Chull.”
A day of honest labor, followed by an evening at the tavern with friends. That was not so bad a life.
“Most men are idiots.” “Nonsense,” Shallan said, smiling. “By the law of averages, only half of them are.”
“Love,” Shallan said, though partially just to distract them, “is like a pile of chull dung.” “Smelly?” Balat asked. “No,” Shallan said, “for even as we try to avoid both, we end up stepping in them anyway.”
“Oh? Was he brilliant, beautiful, and always right?” “He was loud, intolerant, and profoundly acerbic,”
“May the winds treat you well, Rlain.”
“Honor is dead,” a voice whispered from beside him. Dalinar turned and looked at Captain Kaladin. He hadn’t noticed the bridgeman walking down the steps behind him. Kaladin took a deep breath, then looked at Dalinar. “But I’ll see what I can do. If this goes poorly, take care of my men.”
“Yes. It is funny because the word ‘tip’ means several different things.
Perhaps she should cling more firmly, but the thought of it nauseated her. Such behavior reminded her of Father, holding so tightly to everything that he eventually broke it all.
As I fear not a child with a weapon he cannot lift, I will never fear the mind of a man who does not think.’”
Then he followed. What else could he do? Explain to Adolin? Yes, princeling. I let your betrothed wander off alone in the darkness to get eaten by a chasmfiend. No, I didn’t go with her. Yes, I’m a coward.
He bears the weight of God’s own divine hatred, separated from the virtues that gave it context. He is what we made him to be, old friend. And that is what he, unfortunately, wished to become.
“All right then,” he said. “It’s a good thing we’re down here because I had guard duty tonight. Now I’m going to miss it. That is practically like getting the day off.” “To go swimming, no less!”
“You really do try too hard.” “It’s what keeps me insane.”
“It is not a matter of humor,” Shallan said, lifting her head high. “I have a duty.” “Then I shall allow it,” Dalinar said. He liked anything having to do with duty.
Oh, the city was beautiful, but it was the beauty of an artist who wasn’t quite right in the mind.
regicides
“Trying to lure me with exotic foods?” Pai asked. “For the past five years, I have eaten only a bowl of boiled tallew for each meal, with a piece of fruit on special occasions. This will not tempt me.” Lhan stopped in place. “You’re not serious, are you?” She nodded. “What is wrong with you?” She blushed. “I am of the Devotary of Denial. I wished to experience separation from the physical needs of my—” “This is worse than I thought,” Lhan said, taking her by the hand and pulling her through the kitchens.
“On both my most stupid days and my most incredible,” Taravangian said, “I am unable to interact with those around me in a meaningful way. It is like . . . like I become a gear that cannot fit those turning beside it. Too small or too large, it does not matter. The clock will not work.”
The lean Herdazian fell unusually silent. “Well,” he finally said, “maybe you should buy her something nice.” “Buy something nice? For a spren?” “Yeah. Like . . . I don’t know. A nice plant, maybe, or a new hat. Yes, a hat. Might be cheap. She’s small. If a tailor tries to charge you full price for a hat that small, you thump him real good.” “That’s the most ridiculous piece of advice I’ve ever been given.” “You should rub yourself with curry and go prancing through the camp singing Horneater lullabies.” Kaladin looked at Lopen, incredulous. “What?” “See? Now the bit about the hat is only the
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the low roar of thousands of people assembled in a limited area.
“How did you know, sir?” asked Skar, the bridgeman. “How’d you guess that this rock mound would be hollow?” “Because a clever woman,” Adolin said, “once asked me to attack a boulder for her.”
“You sent him to the sky to die, assassin,” Kaladin said, Stormlight puffing from his lips, “but the sky and the winds are mine. I claim them, as I now claim your life.”
“Dalinar!” a voice called. He turned to find the utterly incongruous sight of Sebarial and his mistress sitting beneath a canopy, eating dried sellafruit off a plate held by an awkward-looking soldier. Sebarial raised a cup of wine toward Dalinar. “Hope you don’t mind,” Sebarial said. “We liberated your stores. They were blowing past at the time, headed for certain doom.”
Raising the assassin’s Blade,
