Oathbringer

Passion, son. Glorious, wondrous passion. Emotion. It is what defines men—though ironically you are poor vessels for it. It fills you up and breaks you, unless you find someone to share the burden

“Words are important,” Gavilar said. “Much more than you give them credit for being.”

“Perhaps,” Dalinar said. “But if they were all-powerful, you wouldn’t need my sword, would you?”

“Perhaps. I can’t help feeling words would be enough, if only I knew the right ones to say.”

“I am,” Dalinar said softly. “But sometimes a hypocrite is nothing more than a person who is in the process of changing.”

a fine night for my torment, and no telling the skies to be still.

a fine night for my torment, and no telling the skies to be still.

Elhokar’s son.

“We protect those,” Drehy said, “who cannot protect themselves.”

The final death of Jezrien. Yaezir. Jezerezeh’Elin, king of Heralds. A figure known in myth and lore as the greatest human who had ever lived.

There were nine orders of them. Why not ten?

He read this latest set of stained-glass images, then felt his fear drain away. He smiled. This seemed to confuse the Fused as they lowered their salutes.

All his life they’d done that. No, Renarin. That’s not for you. You can’t do that. You’re not well, Renarin. Be reasonable, Renarin.

He’d always been reasonable. He’d always listened. It felt wonderful and terrifying at once to know that nobody did that today. The spanreeds continued their scratching, moving on their own, oblivious to the moment.

Renarin stepped outside.