The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive, #1)

by Brandon Sanderson

Everyone else can speak lies, but I can’t speak the truth? Do your sons mean so little to you?”

‘Those candle flames were like the lives of men. So fragile. So deadly. Left alone, they lit and warmed. Let run rampant, they would destroy the very things they were meant to illuminate.

A man’s emotions are what define him, and control is the hallmark of true strength. To lack feeling is to be dead, but to act on every feeling is to be a child.”

They only exist where foolish men choose to live.” “You live here, Rock,” Kaladin noted. “And I am foolish,” the large Horneater said, chuckling. “Did you not notice this thing?”

You were not shocked when a child knew how to breathe. You were not shocked when a skyeel took flight for the first time. You should not be shocked when you hand Kaladin Stormblessed a spear and he knows how to use it.

For I have never been dedicated to a more important purpose, and the very pillars of the sky will shake with the results of our war here. I ask again. Support me. Do not stand aside and let disaster consume more lives. I’ve never begged you for something before, old friend. I do so now.

And what will happen to the value of gemstones if we continue to capture gemhearts at the rate we have?” “I …” That was a good question. “What happens, I wonder, when the scarcest, yet most desirable, substance in the land suddenly becomes commonplace?

They were very particular about a lot of things. Of course, that could be said for most peoples—the only difference was the things they were particular about.

Better to exist in agony than to vanish entirely.

Likely this newcomer didn’t believe the reputation of Makkek’s phantom assassin. Well, he had reason to be skeptical. Szeth’s reputation was inaccurate. He was far, far more dangerous than it suggested.

“And what would be the right word, then?” “I don’t know. ‘Errorgant,’ perhaps.” Jasnah raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It means to be twice as certain as someone who is merely arrogant,” Shallan said, “while possessing only one-tenth the requisite facts.”

“Ignorance may reside in a man hiding from intelligence, but scholarship can seem ignorance hidden behind intelligence.”

“Please, just remember that a woman’s mind is her most precious weapon. It must not be employed clumsily or prematurely.

“Too many scholars think of research as purely a cerebral pursuit. If we do nothing with the knowledge we gain, then we have wasted our study. Books can store information better than we can—what we do that books cannot is interpret. So if one is not going to draw conclusions, then one might as well just leave the information in the texts.”

“Must someone, some unseen thing, declare what is right for it to be right? I believe that my own morality—which answers only to my heart—is more sure and true than the morality of those who do right only because they fear retribution.”

“It is not my place to say.” “We can move to another place.” “I’m firm on this point, Brightness. I will not speak of it.” “Write it, then.”

Syl was silent for a moment. “Do you want to be a miracle?” “No,” Kaladin whispered. “But for them, I will be.”

He opened his mouth to call out into the darkness, but hesitated. That silence was not to be broken. The air itself seemed to weigh less, as did he. He almost felt as if he could float away. In that darkness, an enormous face appeared just in front of his. A face of blackness, yet faintly traced in the dark. It was wide, the breadth of a massive thunderhead, and extended far to either side, yet it was somehow still visible to Kaladin. Inhuman. Smiling.

Except … Teft stood up straight, holding the dun sphere. An empty sphere after a storm, he thought. And a man who’s still alive when he should be dead. Two impossibilities. Together they bespoke something that should be even more impossible.

“Philosophy? What good is that?” Isn’t it the art of saying nothing with as many words as possible?

Am I a monster or am I a hero? Did I just slaughter four men, or did I stop four murderers from walking the streets? Does one deserve to have evil done to her by consequence of putting herself where evil can reach her? Did I have a right to defend myself? Or was I just looking for an excuse to end lives?”

Kaladin gasped suddenly, drawing in a short, quick, powerful breath. The glow in his hand faded. Teft froze, eyes widening. Wisps of Light began to rise from Kaladin’s body. It was faint, but there was no mistaking that glowing white Stormlight streaming off his frame. It was as if Kaladin had been bathed in sudden heat, and his very skin steamed. Kaladin’s eyes snapped open, and they leaked light too. He gasped again loudly, and the trailing wisps of light began to twist around the exposed cuts on his chest. A few of them pulled together and knit themselves up.

Some problems didn’t seem to have any good answers. Just a lot of wrong ones. She could choose the source of her guilt, but she couldn’t choose to be rid of that guilt entirely.

The people are known for their great fondness for debate. At each intersection in the city they have small pedestals on which a man can stand and proclaim his arguments. It is said that everyone in Marabethia carries a pouch with an overripe fruit just in case they pass a proclaimer with whom they disagree.”

He’d never been an optimist. He saw the world as it was, or he tried to. That was a problem, though, when the truth he saw was so terrible.

“Somebody has to start. Somebody has to step forward and do what is right, because it is right. If nobody starts, then others cannot follow.

This was real. At that moment, Kaladin knew he could kill, if he needed to. Some people—like a festering finger or a leg shattered beyond repair—just needed to be removed.

“An action can be right,” Shallan said. “It is simply something done, viewed without considering intent. Killing four men in self-defense is right.” “But not moral?” “Morality applies to your intent and the greater context of the situation. Seeking out men to kill is an immoral act, Jasnah, regardless of the eventual outcome.”

“I’m always truthful as well. So full of truth, in fact, that sometimes it squeezes the lies right out my lips. There isn’t a place for them inside, you see.” He laughed heartily. “Shallan Davar. I can’t imagine anyone as sweet as yourself uttering a single untruth.” “Then for the sake of your sanity, I’ll keep them coming in pairs.”

You shouldn’t say such things; you’re a man of religion.” “But still a man, Shallan.” “One who said his interest in me was only academic.” “Yes, academic,” he said idly. “Involving many experiments and much firsthand field research.” “Kabsal!”

“My father is a man of passion and virtue. Just never at the same time.”

“I shouldn’t be intriguing.” “Why not?” “Logic puzzles are intriguing. Mathematical computations can be intriguing. Political maneuvers are intriguing. But women … they should be nothing short of baffling.”

Days spent learning, lunches spent laughing with Kabsal, evenings chatting and debating with Jasnah. That was what she wanted. And those were the parts of her life that were complete lies.

The Almighty was supposed to be able to see all and know all. So why did he need a prayer burned before he would do anything? Why did he need people to fight for him in the first place?

The pale sky seemed distant here, like a far-off scream.

To the townspeople, it was a cherished time to rest from farming and relax. But Kaladin longed for the sun and the wind. He actually missed the highstorms, with their rage and vitality. These days were dreary, and he found it difficult to get anything productive done. As if the lack of storms left him without strength.

A storm—whether from a person or the sky—was something you could react to. But this suffocation, this slow and steady dousing of life … That was far, far worse.

And five symbol-headed figures in black, too-stiff robes and cloaks. Each had a different symbol, twisted and unfamiliar to her, hanging above a neckless torso. The creatures wove through the crowd unseen. Like predators. Focused on Shallan.

She was helpless. Except … Storms! she thought, frantic. I can’t use that. I promised myself. She began the process anyway. Ten heartbeats, to bring forth the fruit of her sin, the proceeds of her most horrific act.

CHILD OF TANAVAST. CHILD OF HONOR. CHILD OF ONE LONG SINCE DEPARTED. The sudden voice shook Kaladin; he floundered in the air. THE OATHPACT WAS SHATTERED.

MEN RIDE THE STORMS NO LONGER. The voice was thunder, crashing in the air. THE OATHPACT IS BROKEN, CHILD OF HONOR. “I don’t understand!” Kaladin screamed into the tempest. A face formed before him, the face he had seen before, the aged face as wide as the sky, its eyes full of stars. ODIUM COMES. MOST DANGEROUS OF ALL THE SIXTEEN. YOU WILL NOW GO.

“You see, the elderly are given office. The older you are, the more authority you have. Everyone gets a chance to rule, if they live long enough. The king is called the Most Ancient.” “Sounds fair,” Moash said, walking over to join Sigzil beneath the overhang. “Better than deciding who rules based on eye color.” “Ah yes,” Sigzil said. “The Babath are very fair. Currently, the Monavakah Dynasty reigns.” “How can you have a dynasty if you choose your leaders based on their age?” Kaladin asked. “It’s actually quite easy,” Sigzil said. “You just execute anyone who gets old enough to challenge you.”

and after several years of dealing with disaster after disaster, he could finally pause and think. He wasn’t certain he liked that. Thinking had proven dangerous lately.

“He watches!” the boy hissed. “The black piper in the night. He holds us in his palm … playing a tune that no man can hear!”

“Keeping me here gives me health at the expense of my wellness,

Jasnah seemed displeased. “I did not mean to suggest fault in you, child. I was attempting the opposite. Unfortunately I’m … unaccustomed to such behavior.” “Apologizing?” “Yes.” “Well, you see,” Shallan said, “in order to grow proficient at apologizing, you must first make mistakes. That’s your problem, Jasnah. You’re absolutely terrible at making them.” The woman’s expression softened. “The king mentioned to me that you would be returning to your family.” “What? When?” “When he met me in the hallway outside,” she said, “and finally gave me permission to visit you.” “You make it sound as if you were waiting out there.” Jasnah didn’t reply. “But your research!” “Can be done in the hospital waiting chamber.” She hesitated. “It has been somewhat difficult for me to focus these last few days.” “Jasnah! That’s quite nearly human of you!”

“I should think,” Jasnah said, “that apology is an art of which we could use a few more masters. Do not use me as a model in this. Pride is often mistaken for faultlessness.”

“You will find wise men in any religion, Shallan, and good men in every nation. Those who truly seek wisdom are those who will acknowledge the virtue in their adversaries and who will learn from those who disabuse them of error. All others—heretic, Vorin, Ysperist, or Maakian—are equally closed-minded.”

Let the Vorin believe as they wish—the wise among them will find goodness and solace in their faith; the fools would be fools no matter what they believed.”

‘I’m sorry I drove you to suicide. Here’s some bread.’