The admirals began to discuss how to best patrol the seas while keeping Thaylen City safe. Dalinar was pleased by the conversation, mostly because the admirals seemed to think that the real danger to Thaylen City had passed. A Veden highprince had managed to get a foot scout close enough to Marat to count the ships at the docks. Well over a hundred vessels were waiting in the various coves and ports along the coast. For whatever reason, they weren’t ready to launch yet, which was a blessing.
The meeting progressed, with Fen belatedly welcoming everyone—Dalinar realized he should have let her take charge from the start. She described the defenses in Thaylen City and raised concerns from her guildmasters about Amaram’s troops. Apparently they’d been carousing.
Amaram stiffened at that. For all his faults, he liked to run a tight army.
Sometime near the end of this discussion, Dalinar noticed Renarin shifting uncomfortably in his seat. As the Azish scribes began explaining their code of rules and guidelines for the coalition, Renarin excused himself in a hoarse voice, and left.
Dalinar glanced at Navani, who seemed troubled. Jasnah stood to follow, but was interrupted by a scribe bringing her a small sheaf of documents. She accepted them and moved to Navani’s side so they could study them together.
Should we break? Dalinar thought, checking his forearm clock. They’d only been going for an hour, and the Azish were obviously excited by their guidelines.
The Stormfather rumbled.
What? Dalinar thought.
Something … something is coming. A storm.
Dalinar stood up, looking about the room, half expecting assassins to attack. His sudden motion caught the attention of one of the Azish viziers, a short man with a very large hat.
“Brightlord?” the interpreter asked at a word from the vizier.
“I…” Dalinar could feel it. “Something’s wrong.”
“Dalinar?” Fen asked. “What are you talking about?”
Spanreeds suddenly started blinking throughout the room. A dozen flashing rubies. Dalinar’s heart sidestepped. Anticipationspren rose around him, streamers whipping from the ground, as the various scribes grabbed the blinking spanreeds from boxes or belts and set them out to begin writing.
Jasnah didn’t notice that one of hers was blinking. She was too distracted by what she and Navani were reading.
“The Everstorm just hit Shinovar,” Queen Fen finally explained, reading over a scribe’s shoulder.
“Impossible!” Ialai Sadeas said. “It has only been five days since the last one! They come at nine-day intervals.”
“Yes, well, I think we have enough confirmation,” Fen said, nodding toward the spanreeds.
“The storm is too new,” Teshav said. She pulled her shawl closer as she read. “We don’t know it well enough to truly judge its patterns. The reports from Steen say it is particularly violent this time, moving faster than before.”
Dalinar felt cold.
“How long until it reaches us?” Fen asked.
“Hours yet,” Teshav said. “It can take a full day for the highstorm to get from one side of Roshar to the other, and the Everstorm is slower. Usually.”
“It’s moving faster though,” Yanagawn said through his interpreter. “How far away are our ships? How are we going to shelter them?”
“Peace, Your Excellency,” Fen said. “The ships are close, and the new docks miles farther along the coast are sheltered from both east and west. We merely need to make sure the fleet goes directly there, instead of stopping here to drop off troops.”
The room buzzed with conversations as the various groups received reports from their contacts in Tashikk, who in turn would be relaying information from contacts in Iri, Steen, or even Shinovar.
“We should break for a short time,” Dalinar told them. The others agreed, distracted, and separated into groups scattered about the room. Dalinar settled back in his seat, releasing a held breath. “That wasn’t so bad. We can deal with this.”
That wasn’t it, the Stormfather said. He rumbled, his concerned voice growing very soft as he continued, There’s more.
Dalinar jumped back to his feet, instincts prompting him to thrust his hand to the side, fingers splayed, to summon a Blade he no longer possessed. Bridge Four responded immediately, dropping food from the table of victuals, grabbing spears. Nobody else seemed to notice.
But … notice what? No attack came. Conversations continued on all sides. Jasnah and Navani were still huddled side by side, reading. Navani gasped softly, safehand going to her mouth. Jasnah looked at Dalinar, lips drawn to a line.
Their message wasn’t about the storm, Dalinar thought, pulling his chair over to them. “All right,” he whispered, though they were far enough from other groups to have some privacy. “What is it?”
“A breakthrough was made in translating the Dawnchant,” Navani whispered. “Teams in Kharbranth and the monasteries of Jah Keved have arrived at the news separately, using the seed we provided through the visions. We are finally receiving translations.”
“That’s good, right?” Dalinar said.
Jasnah sighed. “Uncle, the piece that historians have been most eager to translate is called the Eila Stele. Other sources claim it is old, perhaps the oldest document in written memory, said to be scribed by the Heralds themselves. From the translation that finally came in today, the carving appears to be the account of someone who witnessed the very first coming of the Voidbringers, long, long ago. Even before the first Desolation.”
“Blood of my fathers,” Dalinar said. Before the first Desolation? The last Desolation had happened more than four thousand years ago. They were speaking of events lost to time. “And … we can read it?”
“ ‘They came from another world,’ ” Navani said, reading from her sheet. “ ‘Using powers that we have been forbidden to touch. Dangerous powers, of spren and Surges. They destroyed their lands and have come to us begging.
“ ‘We took them in, as commanded by the gods. What else could we do? They were a people forlorn, without home. Our pity destroyed us. For their betrayal extended even to our gods: to spren, stone, and wind.
“ ‘Beware the otherworlders. The traitors. Those with tongues of sweetness, but with minds that lust for blood. Do not take them in. Do not give them succor. Well were they named Voidbringers, for they brought the void. The empty pit that sucks in emotion. A new god. Their god.
“ ‘These Voidbringers know no songs. They cannot hear Roshar, and where they go, they bring silence. They look soft, with no shell, but they are hard. They have but one heart, and it cannot ever live.’ ”
She lowered the page.
Dalinar frowned. It’s nonsense, he thought. Is it claiming that the first parshmen who came to invade had no carapace? But how would the writer know that parshmen should have carapace? And what is this about songs.…
It clicked. “That was not written by a human,” Dalinar whispered.
“No, Uncle,” Jasnah said softly. “The writer was a Dawnsinger, one of the original inhabitants of Roshar. The Dawnsingers weren’t spren, as theology has often postulated. Nor were they Heralds. They were parshmen. And the people they welcomed to their world, the otherworlders…”