The King’s Wit cocked his head, then smiled. Finally, he held out his hand to Kaladin. “And what is your name, my thoughtful bridgeman?” Kaladin hesitantly raised his own hand. “Kaladin. And yours?” “I’ve many.” The man shook Kaladin’s hand. “I began life as a thought, a concept, words on a page. That was another thing I stole. Myself. Another time, I was named for a rock.” “A pretty one, I hope.” “A beautiful one,” the man said. “And one that became completely worthless for my wearing it.” “Well, what do men call you now?” “Many a thing, and only some of them polite. Almost all are true,
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