The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,420

forward. “The warcamps speak of your episodes. Even the wives of your officers are uncomfortable. They think you fear the storms, or that you have some disease of the mind. This will vindicate you.”

“How? By making me into some kind of mystic? Many will think that the breeze of these visions blows too close to prophecy.”

“You see the past, Father,” Renarin said. “That is not forbidden. And if the Almighty sends them, then how could men question?”

“Adolin and I both spoke with ardents,” Dalinar replied. “They said it was very unlikely that this would come from the Almighty. If we do decide the visions are to be trusted, many will disagree with me.”

Navani settled back, sipping her wine, safehand lying across her lap. “Dalinar, your sons told me that you once sought the Old Magic. Why? What did you ask of the Nightwatcher, and what curse did she give you in return?”

“I told them that shame is my own,” Dalinar said. “And I will not share it.”

The room fell silent. The flurries of rain following the highstorm had ceased falling on the roof. “It might be important,” Navani finally said.

“It was long ago. Long before the visions began. I don’t think it’s related.”

“But it could be.”

“Yes,” he admitted. Would that day never stop haunting him? Was not losing all memory of his wife enough?

What did Renarin think? Would he condemn his father for such an egregious sin? Dalinar forced himself to look up and meet his son’s bespectacled eyes.

Curiously, Renarin didn’t seem bothered. Just thoughtful.

“I’m sorry you had to discover my shame,” Dalinar said, looking to Navani.

She waved indifferently. “Soliciting the Old Magic is offensive to the devotaries, but their punishments for the act are never severe. I assume that you didn’t have to do much to be cleansed.”

“The ardents asked for spheres to give the poor,” Dalinar said. “And I had to commission a series of prayers. None of that removed the effects or my sense of guilt.”

“I think you’d be surprised at how many devout lighteyes turn to the Old Magic at one point in their lives or another. The ones who can make their way to the Valley, at least. But I do wonder if this is related.”

“Aunt,” Renarin said, turning to her. “I have recently asked for a number of readings about the Old Magic. I agree with his assessment. This does not feel like the work of the Nightwatcher. She gives curses in exchange for granting small desires. Always one curse and one desire. Father, I assume you know what both of those things are?”

“Yes,” he said. “I know exactly what my curse was, and it does not relate to this.”

“Then it is unlikely that the Old Magic is to blame.”

“Yes,” Dalinar said. “But your aunt is right to question. The truth is, we don’t have any proof that this came from the Almighty either. Something wants me to know of the Desolations and the Knights Radiant. Perhaps we should start asking ourselves why that is.”

“What were the Desolations, Aunt?” Renarin asked. “The ardents talk of the Voidbringers. Of mankind, and the Radiants, and of fighting. But what were they really? Do we know anything specific?”

“There are folklorists among your father’s clerks who would serve you better in this matter.”

“Perhaps,” Dalinar added, “but I’m not sure which of them I can trust.”

Navani paused. “Fair enough. Well, from what I understand, there are no primary accounts remaining. This was long, long ago. I do recall that the myth of Parasaphi and Nadris mentions the Desolations.”

“Parasaphi,” Renarin said. “She’s the one who searched out the seedstones.”

“Yes,” Navani replied. “In order to repopulate her fallen people, she climbed the peaks of Dara—the myth changes, listing different modern mountain ranges as the true peaks of Dara—to find stones touched by the Heralds themselves. She brought them to Nadris on his deathbed and harvested his seed to bring life to the stones. They hatched forth ten children, which she used to found a new nation. Marnah, I believe it was called.”

“Origin of the Makabaki,” Renarin said. “Mother told me that story when I was a child.”

Dalinar shook his head. “Born from rocks?” The old stories rarely made much sense to him, although the devotaries had canonized many of them.

“The story mentions the Desolations at the beginning,” Navani said. “Giving them credit for having wiped out Parasaphi’s people.”

“But what were they?”

“Wars.” Navani took a sip of wine. “The Voidbringers came again and again, trying to force mankind off Roshar and into