The Radiants. They walked away from their discarded weapons. They all seemed individuals now, each walking alone despite the crowd. Dalinar charged after them, tripping over discarded breastplates and chunks of armor. He finally stumbled free of it all.
“Wait!” he called.
None of them turned.
He could now see others in the distance, far off. A crowd of soldiers, not wearing Shardplate, waiting for the Radiants to return. Who were they, and why hadn’t they come forward? Dalinar He caught up to the Radiants—they weren’t walking very quickly—and grabbed one by the arm. The man turned; his skin was tan and his hair dark, like an Alethi. His eyes were of the palest blue. Unnaturally so, in fact—the irises were nearly white.
“Please,” Dalinar said. “Tell me why you are doing this.”
The former Shardbearer pulled his arm free and continued to walk away. Dalinar cursed, then ran into the midst of the Shardbearers. They were of all races and nationalities, dark skin and light, some with white Thaylen eyebrows, others with the skin ripples of the Selay. They walked with eyes forward, not speaking to one another, steps slow but resolute.
“Will someone tell me why?” Dalinar bellowed. “This is it, isn’t it? The Day of Recreance, the day you betrayed mankind. But why?” None of them spoke. It was as if he didn’t exist.
People spoke of betrayal, of the day the Knights Radiant turned their backs on their fellow men. What were they fighting, and why had they stopped? Two orders of knights were mentioned, Dalinar thought. But there were ten orders. What of the other eight?
Dalinar fell to his knees in the sea of solemn individuals. “Please. I must know.” Nearby, some of the keep’s soldiers had reached the Shardblades—but rather than chasing after the Radiants, these men were cautiously pulling the Blades free. A few officers scrambled out of the keep, calling for the Blades to be put down. They were soon outnumbered by men who began boiling out of side gates and rushing toward the weapons.
“They are the first,” a voice said.
Dalinar looked up to see that one of the knights had stopped beside him. It was the man who looked Alethi. He looked over his shoulder at the crowd gathering around the blades. Men had begun to scream at one another, everyone scrambling to get a Blade before they were all claimed.
“They are the first,” the Radiant said, turning to Dalinar. Dalinar recognized the depth of that voice. It was the voice that always spoke to him in these visions. “They were the first, and they were also the last.”
“Is this the Day of Recreance?” Dalinar asked.
“These events will go down in history,” the Radiant said. “They will be infamous. You will have many names for what happened here.”
“But why?” Dalinar asked. “Please. Why did they abandon their duty?”
The figure seemed to study him. “I have said I that cannot be of much help to you. The Night of Sorrows will come, and the True Desolation. The Everstorm.”
“Then answer my questions!” Dalinar said.
“Read the book. Unite them.”
“The book? The Way of Kings?”
The figure turned and walked from him, joining the other Radiants as they crossed the stone plain, walking toward places unknown.
Dalinar looked back at the melee of soldiers rushing for Blades. Many had already been claimed. There weren’t enough Blades for everyone, and some had begun raising theirs up, using them to fend off those who got too close. As he watched, a bellowing officer with a Blade was attacked by two men behind him.
The glow from within the weapons had completely vanished.
The killing of that officer made others bold. Other skirmishes started, men scrambling to attack those who had Blades, hoping to get one. Eyes began to burn. Screams, shouts, death. Dalinar watched until he found himself in his quarters, tied to his chair. Renarin and Adolin watched nearby, looking tense.
Dalinar blinked, listening to the rain of the passing highstorm on the roof. “I’ve returned,” he said to his sons. “You may calm yourselves.” Adolin helped untie the ropes while Renarin stood up and fetched Dalinar a cup of orange wine.
Once Dalinar was free, Adolin stood back. The youth folded his arms. Renarin came back, his face pale. He looked to be having one of his episodes of weakness; indeed, his legs were trembling. As soon as Dalinar took the cup, the youth sat down in a chair and rested his head in his hands.
Dalinar sipped the sweet wine. He had seen wars in his visions before. He had seen deaths and monsters, greatshells and nightmares. And yet, for some reason, this one disturbed him more than any. He found his own hand shaking as he raised the cup for a second sip.
Adolin was still looking at him.
“Am I that bad to watch?” Dalinar asked.
“The gibberish you speak is unnerving, Father,” Renarin said. “Unearthly, strange. Skewed, like a wooden building pushed to a slant by the wind.”
“You thrash about,” Adolin said. “You nearly tipped over the chair. I had to hold it steady until you stilled.”
Dalinar stood up, sighing as he walked over to refill his cup. “And you still think I don’t need to abdicate?”
“The episodes are containable,” Adolin said, though he sounded disturbed. “My point was never to get you to abdicate. I just didn’t want you relying upon the delusions to make decisions about our house’s future. So long as you accept that what you see isn’t real, we can move on. No reason for you to give up your seat.”
Dalinar poured the wine. He looked eastward, toward the wall, away from Adolin and Renarin. “I don’t accept that what I see isn’t real.”
“What?” Adolin said. “But I thought I convinced—”
“I accept that I’m no longer reliable,” Dalinar said. “And that there’s a chance I might be going mad. I accept that something is happening to me.” He turned around. “When I first began seeing these visions, I believed them to be from the Almighty. You have convinced me that I may have been too hasty in my judgment. I don’t know enough to trust them. I could be mad. Or they could be supernatural without being of the Almighty.”
“How could that happen?” Adolin said, frowning.
“The Old Magic,” Renarin said softly, still sitting.
Dalinar nodded.
“What?” Adolin said pointedly. “The Old Magic is a myth.”
“Unfortunately, it is not,” Dalinar said, then took another drink of the cool wine. “I know this for a fact.”
“Father,” Renarin said. “For the Old Magic to have affected you, you’d have had to travel to the West and seek it. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, ashamed. The empty place in his memories where his wife had once existed had never seemed as obvious to him as it did at that moment. He tended to ignore it, with good reason. She’d vanished completely, and it was sometimes difficult for him to remember that he had been married.
“These visions are not in line with what I’ve understood about the Nightwatcher,” Renarin said. “Most consider her to be just some kind of powerful spren. Once you’ve sought her out and been given your reward and your curse, she’s supposed to leave you alone. When did you seek her?”