Other men slid down around him. He dropped his axe and seized one man, keeping him from falling all the way off the ledge to his doom. He missed two others.
In all, seven men managed to stop around him. Dalinar puffed out, feeling light-headed again, then looked down over the side of their current perch. At least fifty feet to the bottom of the canyon.
His fellows were a broken, ragged group of men, bloodied and afraid. Exhaustionspren shot up nearby, like jets of dust. Above, the wild men clustered around the edge, looking down longingly, like axehounds contemplating the food on the master’s table.
“Storms!” The man Dalinar had saved slumped down. “Storms! They’re dead. Everyone’s dead.” He wrapped his arms around himself.
Looking about him, Dalinar counted only one man besides himself who had kept his weapon. The tourniquet he’d made was letting blood seep out.
“We win this war,” Dalinar said softly.
Several others looked to him.
“We win. I’ve seen it. Our platoon is one of the last still fighting. While we may yet fall, the war itself is being won.”
Above, a figure joined the wild men: a creature a good head taller than the others, with fearsome carapace armor of black and red. Its eyes glowed a deep crimson.
Yes … Dalinar remembered that creature. In this vision before, he’d been left for dead up above. This figure had walked past: a monster from a nightmare, he’d assumed, dredged from his subconscious, similar to the beings he fought on the Shattered Plains. Now he recognized the truth. That was a Voidbringer.
But there had been no Everstorm in the past; the Stormfather confirmed that. So where had those things come from, back during this time?
“Form up,” Dalinar commanded. “Get ready!”
Two of the men listened, scrambling over to him. Honestly, two out of seven was more than he’d expected.
The cliff face shook as if something huge had struck it. And then the stones nearby rippled. Dalinar blinked. Was the blood loss causing his vision to waver? The stone face seemed to shimmer and undulate, like the surface of a pond that had been disturbed.
Someone grabbed the rim of their ledge from below. A figure resplendent in Shardplate—each piece visibly glowing an amber color at its edges despite the daylight—hauled itself onto their ledge. The imposing figure stood even larger than other men wearing Shardplate.
“Flee,” the Shardbearer commanded. “Get your men to the healers.”
“How?” Dalinar asked. “The cliff—”
Dalinar started. The cliff had handholds now.
The Shardbearer pressed his hand against the incline leading up toward the Voidbringer, and again the stone seemed to writhe. Steps formed in the rock, as if it were made of wax that could flow and be shaped. The Shardbearer extended his hand to the side, and a massive, glowing hammer appeared there.
He charged upward toward the Voidbringer.
Dalinar felt the rock, which was firm to his touch. He shook his head, then ushered his men to start climbing down.
The last one looked at the stump of his arm. “How are you going to follow, Malad?”
“I’ll manage,” Dalinar said. “Go.”
The man left. Dalinar was growing more and more fuzzy-headed. Finally, he relented and drew in some Stormlight.
His arm regrew. First the cut healed, then the flesh expanded outward like a budding plant. In moments he wriggled his fingers, awed. He’d shrugged off a lost arm like a stubbed toe. The Stormlight cleared his head, and he took a deep, refreshed breath.
The sounds of fighting came from above, but even craning his neck, he couldn’t see much—though a body did roll down the incline, then slip off the ledge.
“Those are humans,” Dalinar said.
Obviously.
“I never put it together before,” Dalinar said. “There were men who fought for the Voidbringers?”
Some.
“And that Shardbearer I saw? A Herald?”
No. Merely a Stoneward. That Surge that changed the stone is the other you may learn, though it may serve you differently.
Such a contrast. The regular soldiers looked so primitive, but that Surgebinder …
With a shake of his head, Dalinar climbed down, using the handholds in the rock face. Dalinar spotted his fellows joining a large group of soldiers farther down the canyon. Shouts and whoops of joy echoed against the walls from that direction. It was as he vaguely remembered: The war had been won. Only pockets of the enemy still resisted. The larger bulk of the army was starting to celebrate.
“All right,” Dalinar said. “Bring in Navani and Jasnah.” He eventually planned to show this vision to the young emperor of Azir, but first he wanted to prepare. “Put them somewhere close to me, please. Let them keep their own clothing.”
Nearby, two men stopped in place. A mist of glowing Stormlight obscured their forms, and when the mist faded, Navani and Jasnah stood there, wearing havahs.
Dalinar jogged over to them. “Welcome to my madness, ladies.”
Navani turned about, craning her neck to stare up at the tops of the castle-like rock formations. She glanced toward a group of soldiers who limped past, one man helping his wounded companion and calling for Regrowth. “Storms!” Navani whispered. “It feels so real.”
“I did warn you,” Dalinar said. “Hopefully you don’t look too ridiculous back in the rooms.” Though he had become familiar enough with the visions that his body no longer acted out what he was doing in them, that wouldn’t be so for Jasnah, Navani, or any of the monarchs he brought in.
“What is that woman doing?” Jasnah asked, curious.
A younger woman met the limping men. A Radiant? She had the look about her, though she wasn’t armored. It was more her air of confidence, the way she settled them down and took something glowing from the pouch at her belt.
“I remember this,” Dalinar said. “It’s one of those devices I mentioned from another vision. The ones that provide Regrowth, as they call it. Healing.”
Navani’s eyes widened, and she beamed like a child who had been given a plate full of sweets for Middlefest. She gave Dalinar a quick hug, then hurried over to watch. She stepped right up to the side of the group, then waved impatiently for the Radiant to continue.
Jasnah turned to look around the canyon. “I know of no place in our time of this description, Uncle. This seems like the stormlands, from those formations.”
“Maybe it’s lost somewhere in the Unclaimed Hills?”
“That, or it’s been so long the rock formations have weathered away completely.” She narrowed her eyes at a group of people who came through the canyon, carrying water to the soldiers. Last time, Dalinar had stumbled down into the canyon just in time to meet them and get a drink.
You’re needed above, one had told him, pointing up the shallow slope along the side of the canyon opposite where he had been fighting.
“That clothing,” Jasnah said softly. “Those weapons…”
“We’ve gone back to ancient times.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “But didn’t you tell me this vision comes at the end of the Desolations?”
“From what I remember of it, yes.”
“So the vision with the Midnight Essence happened before this, chronologically. Yet you saw steel, or at least iron, in that one. Remember the poker?”
“I’m not likely to forget.” He rubbed his chin. “Iron and steel then, but men wielding crude weapons here, of copper and bronze. As if they didn’t know how to Soulcast iron, or at least not how to forge it properly, despite it being a later date. Huh. That is odd.”
“This is confirmation of what we’ve been told, but which I could never quite believe. The Desolations were so terrible they destroyed learning and progress and left behind a broken people.”
“The orders of Radiants were supposed to stop that,” Dalinar said. “I learned it in another vision.”
“Yes, I read that one. All of them, actually.” She lo
oked to him then, and smiled.
People were always surprised to see emotion from Jasnah, but Dalinar considered that unfair. She did smile—she merely reserved the expression for when it was most genuine.
“Thank you, Uncle,” she said. “You have given the world a grand gift. A man can be brave in facing down a hundred enemies, but coming into these—and recording them rather than hiding them—was bravery on an entirely different level.”
“It was mere stubbornness. I refused to believe I was mad.”
“Then I bless your stubbornness, Uncle.” Jasnah pursed her lips in thought, then continued more softly. “I’m worried about you, Uncle. What people are saying.”
“You mean my heresy?” Dalinar said.
“I’m less worried about the heresy itself, and more how you’re dealing with the backlash.”
Ahead of them, Navani had somehow bullied the Radiant into letting her look at the fabrial. The day was stretching toward late afternoon, the canyon falling into shadow. But this vision was a long one, and he was content to wait upon Navani. He settled down on a rock.
“I don’t deny God, Jasnah,” he said. “I simply believe that the being we call the Almighty was never actually God.”
“Which is the wise decision to make, considering the accounts of your visions.” Jasnah settled down beside him.
“You must be happy to hear me say that,” he said.
“I’m happy to have someone to talk to, and I’m certainly happy to see you on a journey of discovery. But am I happy to see you in pain? Am I happy to see you forced to abandon something you held dear?” She shook her head. “I don’t mind people believing what works for them, Uncle. That’s something nobody ever seems to understand—I have no stake in their beliefs. I don’t need company to be confident.”
“How do you suffer it, Jasnah?” Dalinar said. “The things people say about you? I see the lies in their eyes before they speak. Or they will tell me, with utter sincerity, things I have reportedly said—even though I deny them. They refuse my own word against the rumors about me!”
Jasnah stared out across the canyon. More men were gathering at the other end, a weak, beleaguered group who were only now discovering they were the victors in this contest. A large column of smoke rose in the distance, though he couldn’t see the source.
“I wish I had answers, Uncle,” Jasnah said softly. “Fighting makes you strong, but also callous. I worry I have learned too much of the latter and not enough of the former. But I can give you a warning.”
He looked toward her, raising his eyebrows.
“They will try,” Jasnah said, “to define you by something you are not. Don’t let them. I can be a scholar, a woman, a historian, a Radiant. People will still try to classify me by the thing that makes me an outsider. They want, ironically, the thing I don’t do or believe to be the prime marker of my identity. I have always rejected that, and will continue to do so.”
She reached over and put her freehand on his arm. “You are not a heretic, Dalinar Kholin. You are a king, a Radiant, and a father. You are a man with complicated beliefs, who does not accept everything you are told. You decide how you are defined. Don’t surrender that to them. They will gleefully take the chance to define you, if you allow it.”
Dalinar nodded slowly.
“Regardless,” Jasnah said, standing. “This is probably not the best occasion for such a conversation. I realize we can replay this vision at will, but the number of storms in which we can do it will be limited. I should be exploring.”
“Last time, I went that way,” Dalinar said, pointing up the slope. “I’d like to see what I saw again.”
“Excellent. We’d best split to cover more ground. I will go in the other direction, then we can meet afterward and compare notes.” She took off down the slope toward the largest gathering of men.
Dalinar stood up and stretched, his earlier exertion still weighing on him. A short time later Navani returned, mumbling explanations of what she’d seen under her breath. Teshav sat with her in the waking world, and Kalami with Jasnah, recording what they said—the only way to take notes in one of these visions.
Navani took his arm in hers and looked after Jasnah, a fond smile on her lips. No, none would think Jasnah emotionless if they’d witnessed that tearful reunion between mother and daughter.
“How did you ever mother that one?” Dalinar asked.
“Mostly without letting her realize she was being mothered,” Navani said. She pulled him close. “That fabrial is wonderful, Dalinar. It’s like a Soulcaster.”
“In what way?”
“In that I have no idea how it works! I think … I think something is wrong with the way we’ve been viewing the ancient fabrials.” He looked to her, and she shook her head. “I can’t explain yet.”
“Navani…” he prodded.
“No,” she said stubbornly. “I need to present my ideas to the scholars, see if what I’m thinking even makes sense, and then prepare a report. That’s the short of it, Dalinar Kholin. So be patient.”
“I probably won’t understand half of what you say anyway,” he grumbled.
He didn’t immediately start them up in the direction he’d gone before. Last time he’d been prompted by someone in the vision. He’d acted differently this time. Would the same prompting still come?
He had to wait only a short time until an officer came running up to them.
“You there,” the man said. “Malad-son-Zent, isn’t that your name? You’re promoted to sergeant. Head to base camp three.” He pointed up the incline. “Up over that knob there, down the other side. Hop to it!” He spared a frown for Navani—to his eyes, the two of them didn’t belong standing in such a familial pose—but then charged off without another word.
Dalinar smiled.
“What?” Navani said.
“These are set experiences that Honor wanted me to have. Though there’s freedom in them, I suspect that the same information will be conveyed no matter what I do.”
“So, do you want to disobey?”
Dalinar shook his head. “There are some things I need to see again—now that I understand this vision is accurate, I know better questions to ask.”
They started up the incline of smooth rock, walking arm in arm. Dalinar felt unexpected emotions start to churn within him, partially due to Jasnah’s words. But this was something deeper: a welling of gratitude, relief, even love.
“Dalinar?” Navani asked. “Are you well?”
“I’m just … thinking,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Blood of my fathers … it’s been nearly half a year, hasn’t it? Since all this started? All that time, I came to these alone. It’s just good to share the burden, Navani. To be able to show this to you, and to know for once—absolutely and certainly—that what I’m seeing isn’t merely in my own mind.”
She pulled him close again, walking with her head on his shoulder. Far more affectionate in public than Alethi propriety would sanction, but hadn’t they thrown that out the window long ago? Besides, there was nobody to see—nobody real, anyway.
They crested the slope, then passed several blackened patches. What could burn rock like that? Other sections looked like they’d been broken by an impossible weight, while yet others had strangely shaped holes ripped in them. Navani stopped them beside a particular formation, only knee high, where the rock rippled in a strange little symmetrical pattern. It looked like liquid, frozen midflow.
Cries of pain echoed through these canyons and across the open plain of rock. Looking out over the ridge, Dalinar found the main battlefield. Stretching into the distance were corpses. Thousands of them, some in piles. Others slaughtered in heaps while pressed against walls of stone.
“Stormfather?” Dalinar said, addressing the spren. “This is what I told Jasnah it was, isn’t it? Aharietiam. The Last Desolation.”
That is what it was called.
“Include Navani in your responses,” Dalinar requested.
; AGAIN, YOU MAKE DEMANDS OF ME. YOU SHOULD NOT DO THIS. The voice rumbled in the open air, and Navani jumped.
“Aharietiam,” Dalinar said. “This isn’t how songs and paintings depict the final defeat of the Voidbringers. In them, it’s always some grand conflict, with tremendous monsters clashing against brave lines of soldiers.”
MEN LIE IN THEIR POETRY. SURELY YOU KNOW THIS.
“It just … seems so like any other battlefield.”
AND THAT ROCK BEHIND YOU?
Dalinar turned toward it, then gasped, realizing something he’d mistaken for a boulder was actually a giant skeletal face. A mound of rubble they’d passed was actually one of those things he’d seen in a different vision. A stone monster that ripped its way out of the ground.
Navani stepped up to it. “Where are the parshmen?”
“Earlier, I fought against humans,” Dalinar said.
THEY WERE RECRUITED TO THE OTHER SIDE, the Stormfather said. I THINK.
“You think?” Dalinar demanded.
DURING THESE DAYS, HONOR STILL LIVED. I WAS NOT YET FULLY MYSELF. MORE OF A STORM. LESS INTERESTED IN MEN. HIS DEATH CHANGED ME. MY MEMORY OF THAT TIME IS DIFFICULT TO EXPLAIN. BUT IF YOU WOULD SEE PARSHMEN, YOU NEED BUT LOOK ACROSS THAT FIELD.
Navani joined Dalinar at the ridge, looking out over the plain of corpses below. “Which ones?” Navani asked.
YOU CAN’T TELL?
“Not from this distance.”
MAYBE HALF OF THOSE ARE WHAT YOU’D CALL PARSHMEN.
Dalinar squinted, but still couldn’t make out which were human and which were not. He led Navani down the ridge, then across a plain. Here, the corpses intermingled. Men in their primitive clothing. Parshmen corpses that bled orange blood. This was a warning he should have recognized, but hadn’t been able to put together his first time in the vision. He’d thought he was seeing a nightmare of their fight on the Shattered Plains.
He knew the path to take, one that led him and Navani across the field of corpses, then into a shadowed recess beneath a tall rocky spire. The light had caught on the rocks here, intriguing him. Before, he thought he’d wandered into this place by accident, but in truth the entire vision had pointed him at this moment.
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