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

by Brandon Sanderson

“Do I stand out that much?” Shallan asked, flushing. “Eh, no, of course not, Brightness.” “And by that you mean that I’m as obvious as a wart on a queen’s nose.” Yalb laughed. “Afraid so. But you can’t go someplace a second time until you been there a first time, I reckon. Everyone has to stand out sometime, so you might as well do it in a pretty way like yourself!”

“I believe you, deserter. A pity. Well, I shall trust my memory. The map was poorly rendered anyway. I am almost glad you ripped it, for I was tempted to do the same myself. If I should happen across any portraits of my former wives, I shall see that they cross your path and take advantage of your unique talents.” He strolled away.

“My circumstances are unusual, Brightness.” “Ignorance is hardly unusual, Miss Davar. The longer I live, the more I come to realize that it is the natural state of the human mind. There are many who will strive to defend its sanctity and then expect you to be impressed with their efforts.”

I should never have ripped up the map, Kaladin thought. Bitterness is repaid more often than kindness. One of his father’s sayings.

“Still so formal,” he said, smiling at her. “Tell me, am I so intimidating as that?” “I have been brought up to show respect to ardents.” “Well, I myself find that respect is like manure. Use it where needed, and growth will flourish. Spread it on too thick, and things just start to smell.” His eyes twinkled.

“To show you lack of respect would be to show it to the Almighty.” “I see. And this is how you’d respond if the Almighty himself appeared to you here? All of this formality and bowing?” She hesitated. “Well, no.” “Ah, and how would you react?” “I suspect with screams of pain,” she said, letting her thought slip out too easily. “As it is written that the Almighty’s glory is such that any who look upon him would immediately be burned to ash.” The ardent laughed at that. “Wisely spoken indeed. Please, do sit, though.”

Jasnah focused on Shallan, lowering her freehand. “I should not have treated you with such anger, Miss Davar,” she said in a tired voice. “You were simply showing persistence, a trait I normally encourage. Storms alight, I’ve oft been guilty of stubbornness myself. Sometimes we find it hardest to accept in others that which we cling to in ourselves. My only excuse can be that I have put myself under an unusual amount of strain lately.”

“So, young miss,” Yalb said, leading her carefully through the traffic. “You really want to go back? I just said what I did so I could extract myself from that game there.” “Yes, I do want to go back, please.” “And your princess?” Shallan grimaced. “The meeting was … unproductive.” “She didn’t take you? What’s wrong with her?” “Chronic competence, I should guess. She’s been so successful in life that she has unrealistic expectations of others.”

“I can see you are a woman of discriminating taste.” “I am,” Shallan said, voice firm though her heart fluttered. Was she destined to get into an argument with everyone she met? “I do like my meals prepared very carefully, as my palate is quite delicate.” “Pardon. I meant that you have discriminating taste in books.” “I’ve never eaten one, actually.”

“You don’t have authority,” Gaz called. “You’re not some squadleader on the field. You’re a storming bridgeman. You hear me? You can’t have authority without a rank!” Kaladin left the alleyway behind. “He’s wrong.” Syl walked around to hang in front of his face, hovering there while he moved. She cocked her head at him. “Authority doesn’t come from a rank,” Kaladin said, fingering the spheres in his pocket. “Where does it come from?” “From the men who give it to you. That’s the only way to get it.”

“Really, Elhokar,” Sadeas said. “Must we put up with this … creature?” “I like him,” Elhokar said, smiling. “He makes me laugh.” “At the expense of those who are loyal to you.” “Expense?” Wit cut in. “Sadeas, I don’t believe you’ve ever paid me a sphere. Though no, please, don’t offer. I can’t take your money, as I know how many others you must pay to get what you wish of them.” Sadeas flushed, but kept his temper. “A whore joke, Wit? Is that the best you can manage?” Wit shrugged. “I point out truths when I see them, Brightlord Sadeas. Each man has his place. Mine is to make insults. Yours is to be in-sluts.” Sadeas froze, then grew red-faced. “You are a fool.”

I once saw a spindly man carrying a stone larger than his head upon his back, the passage went. He stumbled beneath the weight, shirtless under the sun, wearing only a loincloth. He tottered down a busy thoroughfare. People made way for him. Not because they sympathized with him, but because they feared the momentum of his steps. You dare not impede one such as this. The monarch is like this man, stumbling along, the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. Many give way before him, but so few are willing to step in and help carry the stone. They do not wish to attach themselves to the work, lest they condemn themselves to a life full of extra burdens. I left my carriage that day and took up the stone, lifting it for the man. I believe my guards were embarrassed. One can ignore a poor shirtless wretch doing such labor, but none ignore a king sharing the load. Perhaps we should switch places more often. If a king is seen to assume the burden of the poorest of men, perhaps there will be those who will help him with his own load, so invisible, yet so daunting.

Brightlord Cadilar! How good it is to see you. Your face reminds me of someone dear to me.” “Really?” wizened Cadilar said, hesitating. “Yes,” Wit said, waving him on, “my horse.

Oh, Brightlord Tumul! How unexpected it is to see you standing there! I didn’t mean to insult your stupidity. Really, it’s quite spectacular and worthy of much praise.

“Obviously your own stench overpowered mine, Wit,” a warm feminine voice said. “Has no one done my son a service and assassinated you yet?” “No, no assassins yet,” Wit said, amused. “I guess I’ve already got too much ass sass of my own.”

“Is it hard for you, Jasnah? Painful, I mean?” “Atheism is not a disease, Your Majesty,” Jasnah said dryly. “It’s not as if I’ve caught a foot rash.” “Of course not, of course not. But … er, isn’t it difficult, having nothing in which to believe?”

“Just because I do not accept the teachings of the devotaries does not mean I’ve discarded a belief in right and wrong.” “But the Almighty determines what is right!” “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.” “But that is the soul of law,” the king said, sounding confused. “If there is no punishment, there can be only chaos.” “If there were no law, some men would do as they wish, yes,” Jasnah said. “But isn’t it remarkable that, given the chance for personal gain at the cost of others, so many people choose what is right?”

“World spinning. What foolishness is this?” “The foolishness of men who care, Dalinar,” Wit said. “And the brilliance of those who do not. The second depend on the first—but also exploit the first—while the first misunderstand the second, hoping that the second are more like the first.

“You are not a weak man, Dalinar,” Navani said. “I am. But weakness can imitate strength if bound properly, just as cowardice can imitate heroism if given nowhere to flee.”