TheFlatScadrian

“It’s not a hard proposal, surely, trade agreements haven’t been this calm since—”

“Father.” Queen Fen stopped talking as Renarin stumbled into the room, past where Kaladin stood by the door, and skidded to a stop on the smooth floor. He was breathing heavily, and pale, sickly sweat streaming down his face. “Father, something is coming.”

The monarchs gathered at the conference fell silent, and turned to look at him. Navani turned in her throne beside Dalinar’s, and looked toward her son with concern. Adolin did likewise from his own stool by the broad window, though with some inscrutable emotion Renarin couldn’t quite place.

Dalinar rose from his simple chair on the obsidian dais at the rear of the room, face impassive. “Speak, Renarin,” he rumbled. “Is it Odium?”

The Truthwatcher gasped a few breaths, still winded from his dash through the tower. He looked up at his father, a tortured light dancing behind his eyes.

“No,” he whimpered, after a pregnant pause. “It’s… .” He heaved suddenly, and sunk to his knees. With a single spastic retch, he vomited a few strands of scummy spit onto the floor, flecked red and black, creating a small pool on the polished stones. The Azish viziers nearest to him recoiled in disgust, looking away from the nauseating coalescence as it slowly oozed into the grooves of the floor. 

Renarin was trembling, still heaving, on his hands and knees. Eventually, he looked up, and slowly wiped his white lips with the back of his mouth. “My … my apologies. The visions can be … unpleasant.” He carefully rose to his feet again, and looked around at the inquisitive faces staring back at him.

The Truthwatcher sighed, the weight of everything behind it. “I saw … men.”

The gathered rulers slowly began to talk languidly amongst themselves, all urgency replaced by a marginal interest. Taravangian, who sat on the edges of the gathering, did not join them. A brief flicker of intrigue flashed across his face before he clasped his hands and leaned forwards. “And who might these men be?”

Renarin regarded the old man warily, before continuing. “They… they’re a people. A short people, like the Shin.” He let out something a little like a laugh, but it was too weak and died before it could become one. “They can fly.”

“Radiants?” Kaladin, suddenly stiff with battle readiness, called from his place beside the door. “Or Fused?”

“Are they of Odium?” Jasnah asked, slowly. She shifted wearily on her seat near Navani.

“No,” Renarin responded. “They use fabrials—”

Navani clapped her hands once excitedly, before blushing and folding them in her lap. 

“—and I don’t know what they’re of, but certainly no God on Roshar.” Renarin shook his head. “I… this is no peaceful envoy, mother, these … these machines of theirs … they bring death. Fiery, burning, inescapable death." 

The excited chatter started again, and Renarin’s last words were almost lost as he whispered them:

“And they bring it tonight.”

The talking truly erupted, accusations and speculations bouncing off the strata-lined walls, most tinged with doubt and a hint of worry. Dalinar listened for a moment, eyes closed and jaw set in a grimace.

“Enough.” The others grew quiet again as Dalinar looked down at his son, and gave him an encouraging, if tight, smile. He stepped forward, off the dias, and rested his hand on Renarin’s shoulder. “What else did you see?” The Truthwatcher looked back at him, but only for a moment, before he dropped his father’s gaze and winced.

The young man continued, softly, as if fearing his own voice. “Their fabrials are as wide as the Fourth Bridge, or as small as a chull cart, but fly higher and faster than even the Windrunners can. We couldn’t stop their flight if we tried. I’ve seen so many Radiants fall burning, in my dreams, torn to shreds by some force I couldn’t even see…" A shudder passed through him.

“I don’t know how they kill, but they do it so easily. They fly their fabrials so high over our cities that we can’t even see them, and all they need to do is point with their machines, and where they point them fireballs erupt out of nothingness below, among our soldiers and in our homes, killing hundreds, if not thousands. They can use their magic on a point so small it rips a tiny hole through a person’s heart, or even such that it completely destroys an arm, or a head, or an entire torso before we can even react.” 

He choked up suddenly, and stopped speaking again, breathing hard. Dalinar squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, a firm look stamped on his face. He could see the visions had disturbed Renarin greatly, but he needed the boy to push through; to give them any more information he had.

Renarin continued at his father’s insistence. “I — I saw Urithiru fall. Like an avalanche. Oathgates were destroyed across the world, none could flee except to Shadesmar, or deep into the mountain tunnels, some of which we burrowed ourselves… I … didn’t see many survivors…” Renarin finally, exhausted, withdrew into himself, still breathing hard. The man hadn’t spoken that much in … months, most likely. He looked sick.

Dalinar stepped back, letting his comforting hand drop from Renarin’s shoulder. He turned, looking out the grand, open window set into the multicolored stone. The sky was a brilliant blue, and looked pure, unmarred by even a spec of discoloration as it refracted across the shimmering floor, the light hardly reaching Renarin’s glistening detritus a few feet away.

‘...can’t even see them…’

“We can’t stop them? There’s nothing to block?”

Renarin looked at his shoes. “No.”

Dalinar nodded slowly and continued to look out the window. 

The silence had continued on for a time, broken only slightly by occasional murmurs, when Dalinar finally spoke.

“Well,” the Blackthorn said. “So be it.” He turned away from the window, facing the rulers, hands clasped behind his back. “Seeing as our defenses are incapable of handling this. Our only possibility for survival is to flee.”

He ignored the angered protests that immediately followed as he turned and strode for the door, beckoning for Kaladin, Adolin, and Renarin to join him. The heavy oaken door closed with a heavy thud, cutting off the bickering lighteyes as the four men entered the hallway to prepare for what would come to be known as one of the deadliest days their world would ever experience.