Pilgrim estimated the length of the bridge spanning the gorge at perhaps a third of a mile. It was narrow for much of its length but opened out into a circle twenty paces across at its half-way point. In the centre of the circle a large statue of an armoured warrior stood atop a rectangular plinth. The warrior wore armour of archaic design, echoing ancient depictions of Valkerin legionaries with its overlapping plates and broad-based helm covering the head from crown to neck. It stood with its gauntleted hands resting on the pommel of a huge tulwar, the black, empty eye-holes of its helm staring east in unmoving vigilance.

Priest paused before setting foot on the bridge, turning to them with grave, almost apologetic sincerity. “Here we come to the point where no guidance from me can help you,” he said, shouting to be heard above the torrent’s roar. “The Crucible Bridge was constructed to guard the path to the Crescent. Famously, Alnachim had no warriors, the Absolved being determined to spare his people the horrors of war. And so, in need of a guard, he made a warrior of iron and filled it with his will, giving unto it the power to discern the thoughts and intentions of others. All who pass over this bridge must endure the warrior’s scrutiny. Put no faith in your capacity for deceit. Take no succour from what lies you have told others or yourself. The warrior will see it all, and in seeing he will change you, for to know unalloyed truth is to be changed. That is why the Absolved named him the Crucible.”

He turned back to the bridge, straightening his back as he gathered his resolve. “Proceed only if you are willing to be judged,” he told them before starting forward. “And know that the Crucible’s judgement is merciless.”

I suppose it would be fruitless to state, the voice said as Pilgrim followed Priest onto the bridge, that I consider this a very unwise course of action.

“I do not fear judgement,” Pilgrim murmured, his words swallowed by the raging spate below.

I can sense what resides within that thing, the voice persisted. And it isn’t judgement. It’s a lock on a door that will permit no inhuman passage. And I, as you know, am very far from human.