He holds the most frightening and terrible of all of the Shards. Ponder on that for a time, you old reptile, and tell me if your insistence on nonintervention holds firm. Because I assure you, Rayse will not be similarly inhibited.

Dalinar blinked. The stuffy, dimly lit barrack was gone. Instead, he stood in darkness. The air was thick with the scent of dried grain, and when he reached out with his left hand, he felt a wooden wall. He was in a barn of some sort.

The cool night was still and crisp; there was no sign of a storm. He felt carefully at his side. His side sword was gone, as was his uniform. Instead, he wore a homespun belted tunic and a pair of sandals. It was the type of clothing he’d seen depicted on ancient statues.

Stormwinds, where have you sent me this time? Each of the visions was different. This would be the twelfth one he’d seen. Only twelve? he thought. It seemed like so many more, but this had only begun happening to him a few months ago.

Something moved in the darkness. He flinched in surprise as something living pressed against him. He nearly struck it, but froze when he heard it whimper. He carefully lowered his arm, feeling the figure’s back. Slight and small—a child. She was quivering.

“Father.” Her voice trembled. “Father, what is happening?” As usual, he was being seen as someone of this place and time. The girl clutched him, obviously terrified. It was too dark to see the fearspren he suspected were climbing up through the ground.

Dalinar rested his hand on her back. “Hush. It will be all right.” It seemed the right thing to say.

“Mother …”

“She will be fine.”

The girl huddled more closely against him in the black room. He remained still. Something felt wrong. The building creaked in the wind. It wasn’t well built; the plank beneath Dalinar’s hand was loose, and he was tempted to push it free so he could peek out. But the stillness, the terrified child … There was an oddly putrid scent in the air.

Something scratched, ever so softly, at the barn’s far wall. Like a fingernail being drawn across a wooden tabletop.

The girl whimpered, and the scraping sound stopped. Dalinar held his breath, heart beating furiously. Instinctively, he held his hand out to summon his Shardblade, but nothing happened. It would never come during the visions.

The far wall of the building exploded inward.

Splintered wood flew through the darkness as a large shape burst in. Lit only by moonglow and starlight from outside, the black thing was bigger than an axehound. He couldn’t make out details, but it seemed to have an unnatural wrongness to its form.

The girl screamed, and Dalinar cursed, grabbing her with one arm and rolling to the side as the black thing leaped for them. It nearly got the child, but Dalinar whipped her out of the creature’s path. Breathless with terror, her scream cut off.

Dalinar spun, pushing the girl behind him. His side hit a stack of sacks filled with grain as he edged away. The barn fell silent. Salas’s violet light shone in the sky outside, but the small moon wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the barn’s interior, and the creature had moved into a shadowed recess. He couldn’t see much of it.

It seemed part of the shadows. Dalinar tensed, fists forward. It made a soft wheezing noise, eerie and faintly reminiscent of rhythmic whispering.

Breathing? Dalinar thought. No. It’s sniffing for us.

The thing darted forward. Dalinar whipped a hand to the side and grabbed one of the grain sacks, pulling it in front of himself. The beast struck the sack, its teeth ripping into it, and Dalinar pulled, tearing the coarse fabric and flinging a fragrant cloud of dusty lavis grain into the air. Then he stepped to the side and kicked the beast as hard as he could.

The creature felt too soft under his foot, as if he’d kicked a waterskin. The blow knocked it to the ground, and it made a hissing sound. Dalinar flung the bag and its remaining contents upward, filling the air with more dried lavis and dust.

The beast scrambled to its feet and twisted around, smooth skin reflecting moonlight. It seemed disoriented. Whatever it was, it hunted by smell, and the dust in the air confused it. Dalinar grabbed the girl and threw her over his shoulder, then dashed past the confused creature, barreling through the hole in the broken wall.

He burst out into violet moonlight. He was in a small lait—a wide rift in the stone with good enough drainage to avoid flooding and a high stone outcropping to break the highstorms. In this case, the eastern rock formation was shaped like an enormous wave, creating shelter for a small village.

That explained the flimsiness of the barn. Lights flickered here and there across the hollow, indicating a settlement of several dozen homes. He was on the outskirts. There was a hogpen to Dalinar’s right, distant homes to his left, and just ahead—nestled against the rock hill—was a midsized farmhouse. It was built in an archaic style, with crem bricks for walls.

His decision was easy. The thing had moved quickly, like a predator. Dalinar wouldn’t outrun it, so he charged toward the farmhouse. The sound of the beast breaking out through the barn wall came from behind. Dalinar reached the home, but the front door was barred. Dalinar cursed loudly, pounding on it.

Claws scraped on stone from behind as the thing bounded toward them. Dalinar threw his shoulder against the door just as it opened.

He stumbled inside, dropping the girl to the floor as he found his balance. A middle-aged woman stood inside; violet moonlight revealed that she had thick curly hair and a wide-eyed terrified expression. She slammed the door closed behind him, then barred it.

“Praise the Heralds,” she exclaimed, scooping up the girl. “You found her, Heb. Bless you.”

Dalinar sidled up to the glassless window, looking out. The shutter appeared to be broken loose, making the window impossible to latch closed.

He couldn’t see the creature. He glanced back over his shoulder. The building’s floor was simple stone and there was no second story. A fireless brick hearth was set on one side, with a rough-cast iron pot hanging above it. It all looked so primitive. What year was this?

It’s just a vision, he thought. A waking dream.

Why did it feel so real, then?

He looked back out the window. It was silent outside. A twin row of rockbuds grew on the right side of the yard, probably turnips or some other kind of vegetable. Moonlight reflected off the smooth ground. Where was the creature? Had it—

Something slick-skinned and black leapt up from below and crashed against the window. It shattered the frame, and Dalinar cursed, falling as the thing landed on him. Something sharp slashed his face, cutting open his cheek, spilling blood across his skin.

The girl screamed again.

“Light!” Dalinar bellowed. “Get me light!” He slammed his fist into the side of the creature’s too-soft head, using his other arm to push back a clawed paw. His cheek burned with pain, and something raked his side, slashing his tunic and cutting his skin.

With a heave he threw the creature off him. It crashed against the wall, and he rolled to his feet, gasping. As the beast righted itself in the dark room, Dalinar scrambled away, old instincts kicking in, pain evaporating as the battle Thrill surged through him. He needed a weapon! A stool or a table leg. The room was so—

Light flickered on as the woman uncovered a lit pottery lamp. The primitive thing used oil, not Stormlight, but was more than enough to illuminate her terrified face and the girl clinging to her robelike dress. The room had a low table and a pair of stools, but his eyes were drawn to the small hearth.

There, gleaming like one of the Honorblades of ancient lore, was a simple iron fire poker. It leaned against the stone hearth, tip white with ash. Dalinar lunged forward, snatching it in one hand, twirling it to feel out its balance. He had been trained in classical Windstance, but he fell into Smokestance instead, as it was better with an imperfect weapon. One foot forward, one foot behind, sword—or, in this case, poker—held forward with the tip toward his opponent’s heart.

Only years of training allowed him to maintain his stance as he saw what he was facing. The creature’s smooth, dark-as-midnight skin reflected light like a pool of tar. It had no visible eyes and its black, knifelike teeth bristled in a head set on a sinuous, boneless neck. The six legs were slender and bent at the sides, appearing far too thin to bear the weight of the fluid, inklike body.

This isn’t a vision, Dalinar thought. It’s a nightmare.

The creature raised its head, clicking teeth together, and made a hissing sound. Tasting the air.

“Sweet wisdom of Battar,” the woman breathed, holding her child close. Her hands shook as she held up the lamp, as if to use it as a weapon.

A scraping came from outside, and was followed by another set of spindly legs slinking over the lip of the broken window. This new beast climbed into the room, joining its companion, which crouched anxiously, sniffing at Dalinar. It seemed wary, as if it could sense that it faced an armed—or at least determined—opponent.

Dalinar cursed himself for a fool, raising one hand to his side to stanch the blood. He knew, logically, that he was really back in the barrack with Renarin. This was all happening in his mind; there was no need for him to fight.

But every instinct, every shred of honor he had, drove him to step to the side, placing himself between the woman and the beasts. Vision, memory, or delusion, he could not stand aside.

“Heb,” the woman said, her voice nervous. Who did she see him as? Her husband? A farmhand? “Don’t be a fool! You don’t know how—”

The beasts attacked. Dalinar leapt forward—remaining in motion was the essence of Smokestance—and spun between the creatures, striking to the side with his poker. He hit the one on the left, ripping a gash in its too-smooth skin.

The wound bled smoke.

Moving behind the creatures, Dalinar swung again, sweeping low at the feet of the unwounded beast, knocking it off balance. With the follow-through, he slammed the side of the poker into the face of the wounded beast as it turned and snapped at him.

The old Thrill, the sense of battle, consumed him. It did not enrage him, as it did some men, but everything seemed to become clearer, crisper. His muscles moved easily; he breathed more deeply. He came alive.

He leaped backward as the creatures pressed at him. With a kick, he knocked over the table, tumbling it at one of the beasts. He drove the poker at the open maw of the other. As he had hoped, the inside of its mouth was sensitive. The creature let out a pained hiss and scrambled back.

Dalinar moved to the overturned table and kicked off one of the legs. He scooped it up, falling into Smokestance’s sword-and-knife form. He used the wooden leg to fend off one creature while he thrust three times at the face of the other, ripping a gash in its cheek that bled smoke; it came out as a hiss.

There were distant screams outside. Blood of my fathers, he thought. These aren’t the only two. He needed to be done, and quickly. If the fight dragged on, they’d wear him down faster than he wore them down. Who even knew if beasts like this got tired?

Bellowing, he jumped forward. Sweat streamed from his forehead, and the room seemed to grow just faintly darker. Or, no, more focused. Just him and the beasts. The only wind was that of his weapons spinning, the only sound that of his feet hitting the floor, the only vibration that of his heart thumping.

His sudden whirlwind of blows shocked the creatures. He smashed the table leg against one, forcing it back, then threw himself at the other one, earning a rake of the claws against his arm as he rammed the poker into the beast’s chest. The skin resisted at first, but then broke, his poker moving through easily after that.

A powerful jet of smoke burst out around Dalinar’s hand. He pulled his arm free, and the creature stumbled back, legs growing thinner, body deflating like a leaking wineskin.

He knew he’d exposed himself in attacking. There was nothing to do but throw his arm up as the other beast leapt on him, slashing his forehead and his arm, biting his shoulder. Dalinar screamed, slamming the table leg again and again at the beast’s head. He tried forcing the creature back, but it was terribly strong.

So Dalinar let himself slip to the ground and kicked upward, tossing the beast over his head. The fangs ripped free of Dalinar’s shoulder with a spray of blood. The beast hit the floor in a mess of black legs.

Dizzy, Dalinar forced himself to his feet and fell into his stance. Always keep the stance. The creature got to its feet at about the same time, and Dalinar ignored the pain, ignored the blood, letting the Thrill give him focus. He leveled the poker. The table leg had fallen from his blood-slick fingers.

The beast crouched, then charged. Dalinar let the fluid nature of Smokestance direct him, stepping to the side and smashing the poker into the beast’s legs. It tripped as Dalinar turned around, wielding his poker with both hands and slamming it directly down into the creature’s back.

The powerful blow broke the skin, passed through the creature’s body, and hit the stone floor. The creature struggled, legs working ineffectively, as smoke hissed out the holes in its back and stomach. Dalinar stepped away, wiping blood from his forehead, leaving the weapon to fall to the side and clang to the ground, still impaling the beast.

“Three Gods, Heb,” the woman whispered.

He turned to find her looking completely shocked as she stared at the deflating carcasses. “I should have helped,” she mumbled, “should have grabbed something to hit them. But you were so fast. It—it was just a few heartbeats. Where—How—?” She focused on him. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Heb. You fought like a … like one of the Radiants themselves. Where did you learn that?”

Dalinar didn’t answer. He pulled off his shirt, grimacing as the pain of his wounds returned. Only the shoulder was immediately dangerous, but it was bad; his left arm was growing numb. He ripped the shirt in half, tying one portion around his gashed right forearm, then wadded the rest and pressed it against his shoulder. He walked over and pulled the poker free of the deflated body, which now resembled a black silk sack. Then he moved to the window. The other homes showed signs of being attacked, fires burning, faint screams hanging on the wind.

“We need to get someplace safe,” he said. “Is there a cellar nearby?”

“A what?”

“Cave in the rock, man-made or natural.”

“No caves,” the woman said, joining him at the window. “How would men make a hole in the rock?”

With a Shardblade or a Soulcaster. Or even with basic mining—though that could be difficult, as the crem would seal up caverns and highstorm rains made for an extremely potent risk of flooding. Dalinar looked out the window again. Dark shapes moved in the moonlight; some were coming in their direction.

He wavered, dizzy. Blood loss. Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself against the frame of the window. How long was this vision going to last? “We need a river. Something to wash away the trail of our scent. Is there one nearby?”

The woman nodded, growing pale faced as she noticed the dark forms in the night.

“Get the girl, woman.”

“ ‘The girl’? Seeli, our daughter. And since when have you called me woman? Is Taffa so hard to say? Stormwinds, Heb, what has gotten into you?”

He shook his head, moving to the door and throwing it open, still carrying the poker. “Bring the lamp. The light won’t give us away; I don’t think they can see.”

The woman obeyed, hurrying to collect Seeli—she looked to be about six or seven—then followed Dalinar out, the clay lamp’s fragile flame quivering in the night. It looked a little like a slipper.

“The river?” Dalinar asked.

“You know where—”

“I hit my head, Taffa,” Dalinar said. “I’m dizzy. It’s hard to think.”

The woman looked worried at that, but seemed to accept this answer. She pointed away from the village.

“Let’s go,” he said, moving out into the darkness. “Are attacks by these beasts common?”

“During Desolations, perhaps, but not in my life! Stormwinds, Heb. We need to get you to—”

“No,” he said. “We keep moving.”

They continued along a path, which ran up toward the back side of the wave formation. Dalinar kept glancing back at the village. How many people were dying below, murdered by those beasts from Damnation? Where were the landlord’s soldiers?

Perhaps this village was too remote, too far from a citylord’s direct protection. Or perhaps things didn’t work that way in this era, this place. I’ll see the woman and child to the river, then I’ll return to organize a resistance. If anyone is left.

The thought seemed laughable. He had to use the poker to keep himself upright. How was he going to organize a resistance?

He slipped on a steep portion of the trail, and Taffa set down the lamp, grabbing his arm, concerned. The landscape was rough with boulders and rockbuds, their vines and leaves extended in the cool, wet night. Those rustled in the wind. Dalinar righted himself, then nodded to the woman, gesturing for her to continue.

A faint scraping sounded in the night; Dalinar turned, tense.

“Heb?” the woman asked, sounding afraid.

“Hold up the light.”

She raised the lamp, illuminating the hillside in flickering yellow. A good dozen midnight patches, skins too smooth, were creeping over rockbuds and boulders. Even their teeth and claws were black.

Seeli whimpered, pulling close to her mother.

“Run,” Dalinar said softly, raising his poker.

“Heb, they’re—”

“Run!” he bellowed.

“They’re in front of us too!”

He spun, picking out the dark patches ahead. He cursed, looking around. “There,” he said, pointing to a nearby rock formation. It was tall and flat. He shoved Taffa forward, and she towed Seeli, their single-piece, blue dresses rippling in the wind.

They ran more quickly than he could in his state, and Taffa reached the rock wall first. She looked up, as if to climb to the top. It was too steep for that; Dalinar just wanted something solid to put at his back. He stepped onto a flat, open section of rock before the formation and raised his weapon. Black beasts crawled carefully over the stones. Could he distract them, somehow, and let the other two flee? He felt so dizzy.

What I’d give for my Shardplate …

Seeli whimpered. Her mother tried to comfort her, but the woman’s voice was unnerved. She knew. Knew those bundles of blackness, like living night, would rip them and tear them. What was that word she’d used? Desolation. The book spoke of them. The Desolations had happened during the near-mythical shadowdays, before real history began. Before mankind had defeated the Voidbringers and taken the war to heaven.

The Voidbringers. Was that what these things were? Myths. Myths come to life to kill him.

Several of the creatures lunged forward, and he felt the Thrill surge within him again, strengthening him as he swung. They jumped back, cautious, testing for weakness. Others sniffed the air, pacing. They wanted to get at the woman and child.

Dalinar jumped at them, forcing them away, uncertain where he found the strength. One got close, and he swung at it, falling into Windstance, as it was most familiar. The sweeping strikes, the grace.

He struck at the beast, scoring it on its flank, but two others jumped at him from the side. Claws raked his back, and the weight threw him to the stones. He cursed, rolling, punching a creature and tossing it back. Another bit his wrist, causing him to drop the poker in a flash of pain. He bellowed and slammed his fist into the creature’s jaw and it opened reflexively, freeing his hand.

The monsters pressed forward. Somehow he got to his feet and stumbled back against the rock wall. The woman threw the lamp at a creature that got too close, spraying oil across the stones and setting it alight. The fire didn’t seem to bother the creatures.

The move exposed Seeli, as Taffa fell off balance in the throw. A monster knocked her down, and others scrambled for the child—but Dalinar leaped for her, wrapping his arms around her, huddling down and turning his back on the monsters. One leaped on his back. Claws sliced his skin.

Seeli whimpered in terror. Taffa was screaming as the monsters overwhelmed her.

“Why are you showing me this!” Dalinar bellowed into the night. “Why must I live this vision? Curse you!” Claws raked his back; he clutched Seeli, back arching in pain. He cast his eyes upward, toward the sky.

And there, he saw a brilliant blue light falling through the air.

It was like a star rock, dropping at an incredible speed. Dalinar cried out as the light hit the ground a short distance away, cracking the stone, spraying rock chips in the air. The ground shook. The beasts froze.

Dalinar turned numbly to the side, then he watched in amazement as the light stood up, limbs unfolding. It wasn’t a star at all. It was a man—a man in glowing blue Shardplate, bearing a Shardblade, trails of Stormlight rising from his body.

The creatures hissed furiously, suddenly throwing themselves at the figure, ignoring Dalinar and the other two. The Shardbearer raised his Blade and struck forward with skill, stepping into the attacks.

Dalinar lay stunned. This was unlike any Shardbearer he had ever seen. The Plate glowed with an even blue light, and glyphs—some familiar, others not—were etched into the metal. They trailed blue vapor.

Moving fluidly, Plate clinking, the man struck at the beasts. He effortlessly sheared a monster in half, flinging pieces into the night that trailed black smoke.

Dalinar pulled himself to Taffa. She was alive, though her side was torn and flayed. Seeli tugged at her, weeping. Need to … do something … Dalinar thought dully.

“Be at peace,” a voice said.

Dalinar lurched, turning to see a woman in delicate Shardplate kneeling beside him, holding something bright. It was a topaz entwined with a heliodor, both set into a fine metal framework, each stone as big as a man’s hand. The woman had light tan eyes that almost seemed to glow in the night, and she wore no helm. Her hair was pulled back into a bun. She raised a hand and touched his forehead.

Ice washed across him. Suddenly, his pain was gone.

The woman reached out and touched Taffa. The flesh on her side regrew in an eyeblink; the torn muscle remained where it was, but other flesh just grew where the chunks had been torn out. The skin knitted up over it without flaw, and the female Shardbearer wiped away the blood and torn flesh with a white cloth.

Taffa looked up, awed. “You came,” she whispered. “Bless the Almighty.”

The female Shardbearer stood; her armor glowed with an even amber light. She smiled and turned to the side, a Shardblade forming from mist into her hand as she rushed to aid her companion.

A woman Shardbearer, Dalinar thought. He’d never seen such a thing.

He stood up, hesitant. He felt strong and healthy, as if he’d just awakened from a good night’s sleep. He glanced down at his arm, pulling off his makeshift bandage. He had to wipe free blood and some torn skin, but underneath, the skin was perfectly healed. He took a few deep breaths. Then shrugged, picked up his poker, and joined the fight.

“Heb?” Taffa called from behind. “Are you insane?”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t very well just sit there while two strangers fought to protect him. There were dozens of the black creatures. As he watched, one landed a scraping hit on the Shardbearer in blue, and the claw scored the Shardplate, digging into and cracking it. The danger to these Shardbearers was real.

The female Shardbearer turned to Dalinar. She had her helm on now. When had she put it on? She seemed shocked as Dalinar threw himself at one of the black beasts, slashing it with his poker. He fell into Smokestance and fended against its counterattack. The female Shardbearer turned to her companion, then the two of them fell into stances forming a triangle with Dalinar, his position closest to the rock formation.

With two Shardbearers alongside him, the fighting went remarkably better than it had back at the house. He only managed to dispatch a single beast—they were quick and strong, and he fought defensively, trying to distract and keep pressure off the Shardbearers. The creatures did not retreat. They continued to attack until the last one was sliced in two by the female Shardbearer.

Dalinar stopped, puffing, lowering his poker. Other lights had fallen—and still were falling—from the sky in the direction of the village; presumably, some of these strange Shardbearers had landed there as well.

“Well,” a strong voice said, “I must say that I’ve never before had the pleasure of fighting alongside a comrade with such … unconventional means.”

Dalinar turned to find the male Shardbearer regarding him. Where had the man’s helm gone? The Shardbearer stood with his Blade resting on his armored shoulder, and he inspected Dalinar with eyes of such bright blue, they were almost white. Were those eyes actually glowing, leaking Stormlight? His skin was dark brown, like a Makabaki, and he had short black curly hair. His armor no longer glowed, though one large symbol—emblazoned across the front of the breastplate—still gave off a faint blue light.

Dalinar recognized the symbol, the particular pattern of the stylized double eye, eight spheres connected with two at the center. It had been the symbol of the Lost Radiants, back when they’d been called the Knights Radiant.

The female Shardbearer watched the village.

“Who trained you in the sword?” the male knight asked Dalinar.

Dalinar met the eyes of the knight. He had no idea how to respond.

“This is my husband Heb, good knight,” Taffa said, rushing forward, leading her daughter by the hand. “He’s never seen a sword, far as I know.”

“Your stances are unfamiliar to me,” the knight said. “But they were practiced and precise. This level of skill comes only with years of training. I have rarely seen a man—knight or soldier—fight as well as you did.”

Dalinar remained silent.

“No words for me, I see,” the knight said. “Very well. But should you wish to put that mysterious training of yours to use, come to Urithiru.”

“Urithiru?” Dalinar said. He’d heard that name somewhere.

“Yes,” the knight said. “I cannot promise you a position in one of the orders—that decision is not mine—but if your skill with the sword is similar to your skill with hearth-tending implements, then I am confident you will find a place with us.” He turned eastward, toward the village. “Spread the word. Signs like this one are not without import. A Desolation is coming.” He turned to his companion. “I will go. Guard these three and lead them to the village. We cannot leave them alone in the dangers of this night.”

His companion nodded. The blue knight’s armor began to glow faintly, then he launched into the air, as if falling straight up. Dalinar stumbled back, shocked, watching the glowing blue figure rise, then arc downward toward the village.

“Come,” the woman said, voice ringing inside her helm. She began to hurry down the incline.

“Wait,” Dalinar said, hastening after her, Taffa scooping up her daughter and following. Behind them, the oil was burning out.

The female knight slowed to allow Dalinar and Taffa to keep pace with her.

“I must know,” Dalinar said, feeling foolish. “What year is it?”

The knight turned to him. Her helm was gone. He blinked; when had that happened? Unlike her companion, she had light skin—not pale like someone from Shinovar, but a natural light tan, like an Alethi. “It is Eighth Epoch, three thirty-seven.”

Eighth Epoch? Dalinar thought. What does that mean? This vision had been different from the others. They had been more brief, for one thing. And the voice that spoke to him. Where was it?

“Where am I?” Dalinar asked the knight. “What kingdom?”

The knight frowned. “Are you not healed?”

“I am well. I just … I need to know. Which kingdom am I in?”

“This is Natanatan.”

Dalinar released an inhaled breath. Natanatan. The Shattered Plains lay in the land that had once been Natanatan. The kingdom had fallen centuries ago.

“And you fight for Natanatan’s king?” he asked.

She laughed. “The Knights Radiant fight for no king and for all of them.”

“Then where do you live?”

“Urithiru is where our orders are centered, but we live in cities all across Alethela.”

Dalinar froze in place. Alethela. It was the historical name for the place that had become Alethkar. “You cross kingdom borders to fight?”

“Heb,” Taffa said. She seemed very concerned. “You were the one who promised me that the Radiants would come protect us, just before you went out searching for Seeli. Is your mind still muddled? Lady knight, could you heal him again?”

“I should save Regrowth for others who might be wounded,” the woman said, glancing at the village. The fighting seemed to be dying down.

“I’m fine,” Dalinar said. “Alethk … Alethela. You live there?”

“It is our duty and our privilege,” the woman said, “to stay vigilant for the Desolation. One kingdom to study the arts of war so that the others might have peace. We die so that you may live. It has ever been our place.”

Dalinar stood still, sorting through that.

“All who can fight are needed,” the woman said. “And all who have a desire to fight should be compelled to come to Alethela. Fighting, even this fighting against the Ten Deaths, changes a person. We can teach you so that it will not destroy you. Come to us.”

Dalinar found himself nodding.

“Every pasture needs three things,” the woman said, voice changing, as if she were quoting from memory. “Flocks to grow, herdsmen to tend, and watchers at the rim. We of Alethela are those watchers—the warriors who protect and fight. We maintain the terrible arts of killing, then pass them on to others when the Desolation comes.”

“The Desolation,” he said. “That means the Voidbringers, right? Those are what we fought this night?”

The knight sniffed dismissively. “Voidbringers? These? No, this was Midnight Essence, though who released it is still a mystery.” She looked to the side, expression growing distant. “Harkaylain says the Desolation is close, and he is not often wrong. He—”

A sudden screaming sounded in the night. The knight cursed, looking toward it. “Wait here. Call out if the Essence returns. I will hear.” She dashed off into the darkness.

Dalinar raised a hand, torn between following and staying to watch over Taffa and her daughter. Stormfather! he thought, realizing they’d been left in darkness, now that the knight’s glowing armor was gone.

He turned back to Taffa. She stood on the trail beside him, eyes looking oddly distracted.

“Taffa?” he asked.

“I miss these times,” Taffa said.

Dalinar jumped. That voice wasn’t hers. It was a man’s voice, deep and powerful. It was the voice that spoke to him during every vision.

“Who are you?” Dalinar asked.

“They were one, once,” Taffa—or whatever it was—said. “The orders. Men. Not without problems or strife, of course. But focused.”

Dalinar felt a chill. Something about that voice always seemed faintly familiar to him. It had even in the first vision. “Please. You have to tell me what this is, why you are showing me these things. Who are you? Some servant of the Almighty?”

“I wish I could help you,” Taffa said, looking at Dalinar but ignoring his questions. “You have to unite them.”

“As you’ve said before! But I need help. The things the knight said about Alethkar. Are they true? Can we really be that way again?”

“To speak of what might be is forbidden,” the voice said. “To speak of what was depends on perspective. But I will try to help.”

“Then give me more than vague answers!”

Taffa regarded him, somber. Somehow, by starlight alone, he could make out her brown eyes. There was something deep, something daunting, hiding behind them.

“At least tell me this,” Dalinar said, grasping for a specific question to ask. “I have trusted Highprince Sadeas, but my son—Adolin—thinks I am a fool to do so. Should I continue to trust Sadeas?”

“Yes,” the being said. “This is important. Do not let strife consume you. Be strong. Act with honor, and honor will aid you.”

Finally, Dalinar thought. Something concrete.

He heard voices. The dark landscape around Dalinar grew vague. “No!” He reached for the woman. “Don’t send me back yet. What should I do about Elhokar, and the war?”

“I will give you what I can.” The voice was growing indistinct. “I am sorry for not giving more.”

“What kind of answer is that?” Dalinar bellowed. He shook himself, struggling. Hands held him. Where had they come from? He cursed, batting them away, twisting, trying to break free.

Then he froze. He was in the barrack at the Shattered Plains, soft rain rattling on the roof. The bulk of the storm had passed. A group of soldiers held Dalinar down while Renarin watched with concern.

Dalinar grew still, mouth open. He had been yelling. The soldiers looked uncomfortable, glancing at each other, not meeting his gaze. If it was like before, he’d have acted out his role in the vision, speaking in gibberish, flailing around.

“My mind is clear now,” Dalinar said. “It’s all right. You can all let me go.”

Renarin nodded to the others, and they hesitantly released him. Renarin tried to make some stuttering excuses, telling them that his father was simply eager for combat. It didn’t sound very convincing.

Dalinar retreated to the back of the barrack, sitting down on the floor between two rolled up bedrolls, just breathing in and out and thinking. He trusted the visions, yet his life in the warcamps had been difficult enough lately without people presuming him mad.

Act with honor, and honor will aid you.

The vision had told him to trust Sadeas. But he’d never be able to explain that to Adolin—who not only hated Sadeas, but thought the visions were delusions from Dalinar’s mind. The only thing to do was keep going as he had.

And find a way, somehow, to get the highprinces to work together.