“Kaladin screamed, reaching the end of the bridge. Finding a tiny surge of strength somewhere, he raised his spear and threw himself off the end of the wooden platform, launching into the air above the cavernous void. Bridgemen cried out in dismay. Syl zipped about him with worry. Parshendi looked up with amazement as a lone bridgeman sailed through the air toward them. His drained, worn-out body barely had any strength left. In that moment of crystallized time, he looked down on his enemies. Parshendi with their marbled red and black skin. Soldiers raising finely crafted weapons, as if to cut him from the sky. Strangers, oddities in carapace breastplates and skullcaps. Many of them wearing beards. Beards woven with glowing gemstones. Kaladin breathed in. Like the power of salvation itself—like rays of sunlight from the eyes of the Almighty—Stormlight exploded from those gemstones. It streamed through the air, pulled in visible streams, like glowing columns of luminescent smoke. Twisting and turning and spiraling like tiny funnel clouds until they slammed into him. And the storm came to life again.”

“Kaladin spun through the last motions of the kata, chasm forgotten, bridgemen forgotten, fatigue forgotten. For a moment, it was just him. Him and the wind. He fought with her, and she laughed.He snapped the spear back into place, holding the haft at the one-quarter position, spearhead down, bottom of the haft tucked underneath his arm, end rising back behind his head. He breathed in deeply, shivering.Oh, how I’ve missed that.He opened his eyes. Sputtering torchlight revealed a group of stunned bridgemen standing in a damp corridor of stone, the walls wet and reflecting the light. Moash dropped a handful of spheres in stunned silence, staring at Kaladin with mouth agape. Those spheres plopped into the puddle at his feet, causing it to glow, but none of the bridgemen noticed. They just stared at Kaladin, who was still in a battle stance, half crouched, trails of sweat running down the sides of his face.He blinked, realizing what he’d done. If word got back to Gaz that he was playing around with spears…Kaladin stood up straight and dropped the spear into the pile of weapons. “Sorry,” he whispered to it, though he didn’t know why. Then, louder, he said, “Back to work! I don’t want to be caught down here when night falls.”

“Men had always told Kaladin that he fought like nobody else. He’d felt it on the first day he’d picked up a quarterstaff, though Tukks’s advice had helped him refine and channel what he could do. Kaladin had cared when he fought. He’d never fought empty or cold. He fought to keep his men alive.”

“I need you, Teft,” Kaladin said.“I said—”“Not your food. You. Your loyalty. Your allegiance.”The older man continued to eat. He didn’t have a slave brand, and neither did Rock. Kaladin didn’tknow their stories. All he knew was that these two had helped when others hadn’t. They weren’tcompletely beaten down.“Teft—” Kaladin began.“I’ve given my loyalty before,” the man said. “Too many times now. Always works out the same.”“Your trust gets betrayed?” Kaladin asked softly.Teft snorted. “Storms, no. I betray it. You can’t depend on me, son. I belong here, as abridgeman.”“I depended on you yesterday, and you impressed me.”“Fluke.”“I’ll judge that,” Kaladin said. “Teft, we’re all broken, in one way or another. Otherwise wewouldn’t be bridgemen. I’ve failed. My own brother died because of me.”“So why keep caring?”“It’s either that or give up and die.”“And if death is better?”It came back to this problem. This was why the bridgemen didn’t care if he helped the wounded ornot.“Death isn’t better,” Kaladin said, looking Teft in the eyes. “Oh, it’s easy to say that now. But whenyou stand on the ledge and look down into that dark, endless pit, you change your mind. Just likeHobber did. Just like I’ve done.” He hesitated, seeing something in the older man’s eyes. “I think you’veseen it too.”“Aye,” Teft said softly. “Aye, I have.”“So, are you with us in this thing?” Rock said, squatting down.Us? Kaladin thought, smiling faintly.Teft looked back and forth between the two of them. “I get to keep my food?”“Yes,” Kaladin said.Teft shrugged. “All right then, I guess. Can’t be any harder than sitting here and having a staringcontest with mortality.”

“Once there was a bunny. This bunny had a birthday party. It was the bestest birthday party ever. Because that was the day the bunny got a bazooka. THe bunny loved his bazooka. He blew up all sorts of things on the farm. He blew up the stable of Henrietta the Horse. He blew up the pen of Pugsly the Pig. He blew up the coop of Chuck the Chicken. "I have the bestest bazooka ever," the bunny said. Then the farm friends proceeded to beat him senseless and steal his bazooka. It was the happiest day of his life. The end. Epilogue: Pugsly the Pig, now without a pen, was quite annoyed. When none of the others were looking, he stole the bazooka. He tied a bandana on his head and swore vengeance for what had been done to him. "From this day on," he whispered, raising the bazooka, "I shall be known as Hambo.”

“Yelling a battle cry—more to motivate himself than frighten his foes—Lukel grabbed the table leg and swung it at a soldier. The wood bounced off the man's helmet, but the blow was powerful enough to daze him, so Lukel followed it with a solid blow to the face. The soldier dropped and Lukel grabbed his weapon.Now he had a sword. He only wished he knew how to use it.”

“Authority doesn't come from a rank.," Kaladin said, fingering the spheres in his pocket."Where does it come from?""From the men who give it to you. That's the only way to get it.”