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

by Brandon Sanderson

The hallmark of insecurity is bravado.

Dalinar frowned. Brother, Gavilar had written. You must find the most important words a man can say. … A quote from the ancient text The Way of Kings. It would disagree strongly with the things Sadeas was implying.

“Sometimes,” Dalinar said, “the prize is not worth the costs. The means by which we achieve victory are as important as the victory itself.”

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.

In other places, it outright said that lighteyes were beneath darkeyes. That contradicted Vorin teachings.

He turned his mount and clopped up onto the bridge, then nodded his thanks to the bridgemen. They were the lowest in the army, and yet they bore the weight of kings.

The ardents who passed through town were careful to explain that the Calling of a farmer was a noble one, one of the highest save for the Calling of a soldier. Kal’s father whispered under his breath that he saw far more honor in feeding the kingdom than he did in fighting and dying in useless wars.

“Your brother,” Laral said, looking toward Tien. “He changes you.”

Even a slave could become a lighteyes if he won a Shardblade.”

But neither can I condone mysticism or prophecy in any form. To do so would be to deny Vorinism. The days of the priests are gone. The days of lying to the people, of keeping them in darkness, are gone. Now, each man chooses his own path, and the ardents help him achieve closeness to the Almighty through it. Instead of shadowed prophecies and pretend powers held by a few, we have a population who understand their beliefs and their relationship with their God.”

rather than listening to a book that claims that lighteyes should be the slaves of the darkeyes.” “That’s not what it says,” Dalinar said. “It has been misinterpreted. It’s mostly just a collection of stories which teach that a leader should serve those he leads.”

A woman Shardbearer, Dalinar thought. He’d never seen such a thing.

At the end of the table, Elhokar noticed his mother’s actions, but said nothing. One did not reprove Navani Kholin, not even if one were king.

Roion’s attendants followed; they included both a cupbearer and a shieldbearer.

“All wars are games. The greatest kind, with the pieces lost real lives, the prizes captured making for real wealth! This is the life for which men exist. To fight, to kill, to win.” He was quoting the Sunmaker, the last Alethi king to unite the highprinces. Gavilar had once revered his name.

Why did people always say such things about his father? They called him morbid and unnatural, but would scurry out to buy glyphwards and charms from a passing apothecary or luckmerch. The Almighty pity a man who actually did something useful to help!

“They’ll never actually hate your father—he’s too useful. But he’ll never really be one of them. That’s the price of being a surgeon. Having power over the lives of men is an uncomfortable responsibility.”

“I hate them for making up things about us.” “Don’t hate them, Kal. They’re good people. In this case, they’re just repeating what they’ve heard.”

Two paths. Opposites, in many ways. He could only choose one.

Dalinar said nothing. Battle was a masculine art. A woman wanting to come to the battlefield was like … well, like a man wanting to read. Unnatural.

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.”

Come on, Kaladin thought. Remember why we live. Remember warmth, remember good food. Remember friends, and song, and evenings spent around the hearth.

“Curious,” she said. “I’ll do my best to pretend there was sense in that. As an aside, has it ever struck you that most masculine arts deal with destroying, while feminine arts deal with creation?”

Still, the picture was marvelous. This isn’t Jasnah, Dalinar realized. Whoever was doing the drawing was far, far more talented than his niece.

“Hmm,” Vstim said, still working on his ledgers. “Yes. It’s called soil.” “It makes me feel like I’m going to sink down to my knees. How can the Shin stand living here?”

“Shin are a curious folk,” he said. “Here, warriors are the lowliest of men—kind of like slaves.

In fact, as conversation proceeded, the two both took pains to explain how worthless their goods were.

And yet they thought nothing of walking on stone or using Stormlight for everyday illumination. They ignored the spirits of things that lived around them, and they ate whatever they wanted on any day they wanted.

He would continue to exist. Punished, in agony, but not exiled to nothingness. Better to exist in agony than to vanish entirely.

“There is no greatness in killing,” Szeth said. “You speak like a kukori. Great men create food and clothing. He who adds is to be revered. I am he who takes away. At least in the killing of men such as these I can pretend to be doing a service.”

Youthful immaturity is one of the cosmere’s great catalysts for change, Shallan.

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 isn’t it remarkable that, given the chance for personal gain at the cost of others, so many people choose what is right?” “Because they fear the Almighty.” “No,” Jasnah said. “I think something innate in us understands that seeking the good of society is usually best for the individual as well. Humankind is noble, when we give it the chance to be. That nobility is something that exists independent of any god’s decree.”

“They were suddenly dangerous. Like a calm day that became a tempest.”

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

Staring at that raging, blustering, churning wave of wind-pushed water and debris, Kaladin felt as if he were watching the end of the world descend upon him. He took a deep breath, the pain of his ribs forgotten, as the stormwall crossed the lumberyard in a flash and slammed into him.

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?”

“You do a good work,” Sigzil said, rising, picking up his bowl. “At first, I hated you for lying to the men. But I have come to see that a false hope makes them happy. What you do is like giving medicine to a sick man to ease his pain until he dies. Now these men can spend their last days in laughter. You are a healer indeed, Kaladin Stormblessed.”

‘Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination.’

But our servants do not react to the Parshendi at all, showing no interest in emulating them. This is reassuring.

Finally, Aharietiam came, the Last Desolation. The Voidbringers were cast back into the Tranquiline Halls. The Heralds followed to force them out of heaven as well, and Roshar’s Heraldic Epochs ended. Mankind entered the Era of Solitude. The modern era.”

I’ve been as I am for a great long time, the warm voice said. I sleep so much. I will change. Give me what you have. “I don’t know what you mean! Please, help me!” I will change.

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.

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 took his sphere.” “Earned by the sweat of the darkeyes he exploits.” Syl fell silent for a moment. “This darkness about you when you talk of them frightens me, Kaladin. You stop being yourself when you think about lighteyes.”

“He’s wrong,” Shallan said suddenly, realizing something. Jasnah turned to her. “Kabsal,” Shallan said, blushing. “He says you’re researching the Voidbringers because you want to prove that Vorinism is false.” Jasnah sniffed in derision. “I would not dedicate four years of my life to such an empty pursuit. It’s idiocy to try to prove a negative.

I killed a Shardbearer, he thought again. And then I gave away the Blade and Plate. That single event had to be the most monumentally stupid thing anyone, in any kingdom, in any era, had ever done.

“But why?” Dalinar asked. “Please. Why did they abandon their duty?” The figure seemed to study him. “I have said that cannot be of much help to you. The Night of Sorrows will come, and the True Desolation. The Everstorm.”

Wit will suffice—or if you must, you may call me Hoid.

The cosmere, unfortunately, takes precedence over free food. Watch yourself, Dalinar. Life becomes dangerous, and you’re at the center of it.”