The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time, #8)

by Robert Jordan

Who would sup with the mighty must climb the path of daggers.

On the heights, all paths are paved with daggers.

A queen was supposed to think, lead, and command, which no one could manage while trying to do what any soldier in her army could

We’ll end dead or in the histories or both, so they might as well know what names to write.”

“Be certain to hold your tongue, Verin Mathwin, or you will use it to howl.”

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again.

“Taking care of you is my duty.” His tone softened, conflicting sharply with his angular face and bleak, never-changing eyes. “Besides, caring for you is my heart’s desire, Nynaeve. You can ask or demand anything of me, but never to let you die without trying to save you. The day you die, I die.”

Aan’allein’s bond might belong to another, but his heart hung alongside his ring on that chain around her neck.

Strolling arm-in-arm, chatting about lace! How was she to reach her belt knife if someone attacked them?

Sometimes, it was difficult to tell Nynaeve leading from Nynaeve bullying.

“I, Alliandre Maritha Kigarin, pledge my fealty and service to Lord Perrin Aybara of the Two Rivers, now and for all time, save that he chooses to release me of his own will. My lands and throne are his, and I yield them to his hand. So I do swear.”

“Under the Light, I do accept your pledge and will defend and protect you and yours through battle’s wrack and winter’s blast and all that time may bring. The lands and throne of Ghealdan, I give to you as my faithful vassal. Under the Light, I do accept.

Strong endures; hard shatters.”

“He needs to be strong, and makes himself harder. Too hard, already, and he will not stop until he is stopped. He has forgotten how to laugh except in bitterness; there are no tears left in him. Unless he finds laughter and tears again, the world faces disaster. He must learn that even the Dragon Reborn is flesh. If he goes to Tarmon Gai’don as he is, even his victory may be as dark as his defeat.”

“I offer you water oath,” she said solemnly, picking up one of the cups. “By this, we are bound as one, to teach Rand al’Thor laughter and tears.” She sipped, and Cadsuane imitated her. “We are bound as one.”

Despite the men following, he felt alone. Despite the Power, he felt empty.

Rand, wearing different masks, until suddenly one of those false faces was no longer a mask, but him. Perrin and a Tinker, frenziedly hacking their way through brambles with axe and sword, unaware of the cliff that lay just ahead. And the brambles screamed with human voices they did not hear. Mat, weighing two Aes Sedai on a huge set of balance scales, and on his decision depended. . . . She could not say what; something vast; the world, perhaps.

Recently, all of her dreams about Mat were pale and full of pain, like shadows cast by nightmares, almost as though Mat himself were not quite real.

The Oaths hold us together, a stated set of beliefs that bind us all, a single thread running through every sister, living or dead, back to the first to lay her hands on the Oath Rod. They are what make us Aes Sedai, not saidar.

The Three Oaths are what it is to be Aes Sedai, the heart of being Aes Sedai.

When you die, people begin to forget, who you were and what you did, or tried to do. Everybody dies eventually, and everybody is forgotten, eventually, but there’s no bloody point dying before your time comes.”

They said the damane were all sick, or insane.

To destroy, or be destroyed, Lews Therin laughed. When that’s your choice, is there a difference?

Trust was a knife, and the hilt was as sharp as the blade.