“Oh! Yeah, I’ve got one a those.” She thrust her hand to the side. Mist formed into a small, glittering Shardblade. . . . Or no, it was just a pole. A silver pole with a rudimentary crossguard. Lift shrugged. “Wyndle doesn’t like hurting people.” Doesn’t like . . . Dalinar blinked. What kind of world did he live in where swords didn’t like hurting people?
