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

by Brandon Sanderson

Jezrien walked back to the ring of swords. His own Blade formed in his hands, appearing from mist, wet with condensation. “It has been decided, Kalak. We will go our ways, and we will not seek out one another. Our Blades must be left. The Oathpact ends now.” He lifted his sword and rammed it into the stone with the other seven.

“You’ve killed me. Bastards, you’ve killed me! While the sun is still hot, I die!”

He leaned back, staring up at the sky. He could hear faint thunder. That was odd. The sky was cloudless.

The sun blazed reddish white on the horizon, like the hottest part of a smith’s fire.

There was a certain power in that, a freedom. The freedom of not having to care.

“Shaylor mkabat nour.” The winds have brought us safely.

“I’m dying, aren’t I? Healer, why do you take my blood? Who is that beside you, with his head of lines? I can see a distant sun, dark and cold, shining in a black sky.”

How had he known? How had he heard about Amaram? I’ll find him, Kaladin thought. I’ll gut him with my own hands. I’ll twist his head right off his neck, I’ll— “Yes,” Tvlakv said, studying Kaladin’s face, “so you were not so honest when you said you do not thirst for vengeance. I see.”

“I have seen the end, and have heard it named. The Night of Sorrows, the True Desolation. The Everstorm.”

“A point in your favor, Miss Davar. A scholar knows not to waste time rediscovering information already known. It’s a lesson I sometimes forget.”

His friend chuckled wryly. “Lad, we aren’t nearly there yet. Be glad we aren’t. Arriving is the worst part.”

“They are aflame. They burn. They bring the darkness when they come, and so all you can see is that their skin is aflame. Burn, burn, burn. …”