Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive, #4)

by Brandon Sanderson

When good men disobeyed, it was time to look at your orders.

“Design!” Wit said, turning on her. “What did I tell you about spoiling the ending of stories!” “Something stupid, so I forgot it!” she said, her pattern bursting outward like a blooming flower. “Don’t spoil stories!” Wit said.

“It won’t be like that for me,” Kaladin said. “You told me it would get worse.” “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.”

“We! CHOSE!”

Every general knew there was a time to turn your sword point down and deliver it to your enemy with head bowed. Surrender was a valid tactic when your goal was the preservation of your people—at some point, continuing to fight worked contrary to that goal.

“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.”

“You are a monster,” Teft whispered. Moash took Teft calmly by the front of his burned shirt and hoisted him up. “I am no monster. I am merely silence. The quiet that eventually takes all men.” “Tell yourself that lie, Moash,” Teft growled, gripping the hand that held him, his own hand clawlike from the horrible pain. “But know this. You can kill me, but you can’t have what I have. You can never have it. Because I die knowing I’m loved.”

A pinprick of light, weaving around him. But that wasn’t her. “SYL!” Another pinprick. And another. But those weren’t her. That was. He reached into the darkness and seized her hand, pulling her to him. She grabbed him, physical in this place and his own size. She held to him, and shook as she spoke. “I’ve forgotten the Words. I’m supposed to help you, but I can’t. I …” “You are helping,” Kaladin said, “by being here.” He closed his eyes, feeling the storm as they broke through the moment between and entered the real world. “Besides,” he whispered, “I know the Words.” Say them, Tien whispered. “I have always known these Words.” Say it, lad! Do it! “I accept it, Stormfather! I accept that there will be those I cannot protect!” The storm rumbled, and he felt warmth surrounding him, Light infusing him. He heard Syl gasp, and a familiar voice, not the Stormfather’s. THESE WORDS ARE ACCEPTED.

A black storm. Black wind. Black rain. Then, piercing the blackness like a spear, a lance of light. Kaladin Stormblessed. Reborn.

A rough hand grabbed Navani and spun her around, then pressed her against the pillar. Moash raised his Blade. Navani, the Sibling said. I accept your Words. Power flooded Navani. Infused her, making her pain evaporate like water on a hotplate. Together, she and the Sibling created Light. The energy surged through her so fully, she felt it bursting from her eyes and mouth as she looked up at Moash and spoke. “Journey before destination, you bastard.”