He shuddered, his head jerking up suddenly, and Khyber Elessedil could see that his eyes had gone entirely white, the iris in each having disappeared.

“These places exist. The landmarks you seek. All exist. I know them, can tell you where to find them, all but the last. The waterfall of light is neither here nor there but somewhere in between. You should not go there. You should not. I see a killing ground. I see dead bodies scattered everywhere. I see … something so dark it dwarfs …”

He groaned softly; she could feel the sound rumbling in her chest, could hear its frightened shiver.

“This is a bad place. Very bad, very far away, this place, this kiln that hammers out men’s souls and leaves them to blacken in the sun, a pit that will allow neither entry nor exit and holds evil and breeds monsters and …”

He trailed off and went silent. Khyber and Farshaun exchanged confused glances. Neither could decipher what the Speakman was saying. Perhaps even he didn’t know, given that he appeared to be communicating while in a trance. For the moment, there was no way to find out. He was lost in a vision of his own, gone to a place where they could not reach him.

“One!” he hissed suddenly, causing both of them to jump. “One will return! One only!”

Then he gave a deep sigh, and his eyes regained color and focus. He shuddered as they did so, arms and legs unfolding to splay out like broken sticks.

“Farshaun?” he whispered, as if not certain the old man was still there.

Farshaun rose and moved over to him, sitting once more, but much closer now. “I’m here.”

“Tell me what I said.”

The old man repeated most of it, Khyber listening from across the way, ready to add anything that might be left out or misstated, but staying put, not wanting to do anything to frighten the seer. That he had seen things, perhaps heard them, too, was undeniable. But she also knew he might not remember any of it. He had been deep under a spell of his own making when he spoke. It was like that sometimes with seers. What mattered was whether he could make any sense of it now.

When Farshaun had finished, the Speakman nodded slowly, and then said, “I know the landmarks. I have seen them in my travels. Save for the waterfall, as I have already said. There is no waterfall in that country. No water of any kind. I can tell you how to get to where it might be. But it is very dangerous. Too dangerous.”

“Can you take us there?” Khyber asked him suddenly. “Can you guide us through the worst of it?”