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January 3 - January 19, 2014
“Besides,” Jasnah said, “I believe you might have made Taravangian laugh. He seems haunted by something lately.”
busy abducting szeth
Being around a man like Lamaril was like handling a hot coal with bare fingers. There was no way to avoid burning yourself. You just hoped to be quick enough to keep the burns to a minimum.
The Tower was wedge-shaped, uneven, with the eastern point rising far into the air, creating a steep hillside.
tower
“Can that plate reproduce a cymatic pattern corresponding to Urithiru, priest? Or do you only have patterns for the standard four cities?” Kabsal looked at her, obviously shocked to realize that she knew exactly what the plate was for. He picked up his book. “Urithiru is just a fable.”
“Taking the Dawnshard, known to bind any creature voidish or mortal, he crawled up the steps crafted for Heralds, ten strides tall apiece, toward the grand temple above.”
dawnshards
Why now? he thought again. Why here? And, in the name of all heaven, why me? He knelt for a hundred heartbeats, counting, thinking, worrying. Eventually, he pulled himself to his feet and retrieved the spheres—now dun—from Kaladin’s hand. He’d need to trade them for spheres with Light in them. Then he could return and let Kaladin drain those as well. He’d have to be careful. A few spheres each day, but not too many. If the boy healed too quickly, it would draw too much attention. And I need to tell the Envisagers, he thought. I need to … The Envisagers were gone. Dead, because of what he had
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envisagers
Of course, there was one other aspect of that night that Shallan had to think of. She carried a concealed weapon that she hadn’t used. She felt foolish for not even thinking of getting it out that night. But she wasn’t accustomed to
Roshone should never have gone looking for the storming whitespine.”
Some people—like a festering finger or a leg shattered beyond repair—just needed to be removed.
The Voidbringers again. Many people in more rural places whispered of them and other monsters of the dark. The raspings, or stormwhispers, or even the dreaded nightspren. Shallan had been taught by stern tutors that these were superstition, fabrications of the Lost Radiants, who used tales of monsters to justify their domination of mankind. The ardents taught something else. They spoke of the Lost Radiants—called the Knights Radiant then—fighting off Voidbringers during the war to hold Roshar. According to these teachings, it was only after defeating the Voidbringers—and the departure of the
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such as you would lack for attention. That’s like hanging a beautiful painting facing the wall.”
“It’s not as bad as it seems, Kaladin,” his brother said, reaching up to hold his arm. “Things are never as bad as they seem. You’ll see.”
tien
“That isn’t the kind of thing the Dawnsingers did. They were healers, kindly spren sent by the Almighty to care for humans once we were forced out of the Tranquiline Halls.” “Kind of like the opposite of the Voidbringers.
Dawnsingers
Her sketching grew more and more fervent. She finished the figures and moved to the background. Quick, bold lines became the floor and the archway behind. A scribbled dark smudge for the side of the desk, casting a shadow. Crisp, thin lines for the lantern sitting on the floor. Sweeping, breezelike lines to form the legs and robes of the creature standing behind— Shallan froze, fingers drawing an unintended line of charcoal, breaking away from the figure she’d sketched directly behind Kabsal. A figure that wasn’t really there, a figure with a sharp, angular symbol hovering above its collar
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Pattern
She looked down at what she had drawn. Two figures stood on the landing above, wearing the too-straight robes, like cloth made from metal. They leaned down, watching her go.
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.
5 of them?
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. She was interrupted midway through by a voice, uncanny yet distinct: What are you?
Shardblade
The bedroom transformed around her. The bed, the nightstand, her sketchpad, the walls, the ceiling—everything seemed to pop, forming into tiny, dark glass spheres. She found herself in a place with a black sky and a strange, small white sun that hung on the horizon, too far away. Shallan screamed as she found herself in midair, falling backward in a shower of beads. Flames hovered nearby, dozens of them, perhaps hundreds. Like the tips of candles floating in the air and moving in the wind. She hit something. An endless dark sea, except it wasn’t wet. It was made of the small beads, an entire
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Shadesmar
Though I was due for dinner in Veden City that night, I insisted upon visiting Kholinar to speak with Tivbet. The tariffs through Urithiru were growing quite unreasonable. By then, the so-called Radiants had already begun to show their true nature.” —Following the firing of the original Palanaeum, only one page of Terxim’s autobiography remained, and this is the only line of any use to me.
He roared past the Shattered Plains. They looked as if something very large had hit them at the center, sending rippling breaks outward. They too were larger than he’d expected; no wonder nobody had been able to find their way through the chasms.
Ghg
what?
There was a large plateau at the center, but with the darkness and the distance, he could not see much. There were lights, though. Someone lived there.
the tower
The flashes of light came from directly ahead. So transfixing. Brushing past a pretty gold- and red-haired woman who huddled frightened in a corner, Kaladin burst through a door. He had one brief glimpse of what lay beyond. A man stood over two corpses. His pale head shaved, his clothing white, the murderer held a long, thin sword in one hand. He looked up from his victims and almost seemed to see Kaladin. He had large Shin eyes.
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.
ODIUM COMES. MOST DANGEROUS OF ALL THE SIXTEEN
Chachel, third day of the week.
Spearheads flashed in the air around him, hafts hissing with speed. Not one hit him. He could not be stopped, not when he felt like this. When he had the energy of defending the fallen, the power of standing to protect one of his men.
windrunner
Cenn stopped wheezing. He convulsed once, eyes still open. “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!”
death vision
Upon opening her pouch to check on the Soulcaster, she’d found that the sphere Kabsal had given her had stopped glowing. She could remember a vague feeling of light and beauty, a raging storm inside of her. She’d taken the light from the sphere and given it to the goblet—the spren of the goblet—as a bribe to transform. Was that how Soulcasting worked? Or was she just struggling to make connections?
“Flame and char. Skin so terrible. Eyes like pits of blackness.” —A quote from the Iviad probably needs no reference notation, but this comes from line 482, should I need to locate it quickly.
Amaram was talking to one of his stormwardens, a middle-aged man with a square beard and robes of deep black.
Who is this?
To the side, the stormwarden raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t believed that Kaladin had turned down the Shards.
Again, who is this? Must be a Herald
It took hours to decide, but Restares is right—this is what must be done. For the good of Alethkar.”
Restares
Like Baxil, Av was Emuli, with dark skin and hair. But the taller man was far more self-confident. He sauntered down the halls, acting as if they’d been invited, thick-bladed sword slung in a sheath over his shoulder.
Their mistress walked ahead of them, the only other person in the hallway. She wasn’t Emuli—she didn’t even seem Makabaki, though she had dark skin and long, beautiful black hair. She had eyes like a Shin, but she was tall and lean, like an Alethi. Av thought she was a mixed breed. Or so he said when they dared talk about such things. The mistress had good ears. Strangely good ears.
Shalash
mistress. It was dangerous, being employed by a woman as beautiful as she was, with that long black hair, worn free, hanging down to her waist. She never wore a proper woman’s robe, or even a dress or skirt. Always trousers, usually sleek and tight, a thin-bladed sword at her hip. Her eyes were so faintly violet they were almost white. She was amazing. Wonderful, intoxicating, overwhelming.
Shalash
The mistress walked up to the first piece of art. The painting depicted Epan, Lady of Dreams. It was beautiful, a masterpiece of gold leaf on black canvas. The mistress took a knife from her bundle and slashed the painting down the front. Baxil cringed, but said nothing. He’d
Epan?
Baxil said nothing further. The Old Magic, he thought. It could change me. I will go looking for it. Knowing his luck, though, he wouldn’t be able to find it. He sighed, resting back against the wall as muted thuds continued to come from the mistress’s direction.
Geranid nodded absently as she worked on her equations.
