Had he been that young, that defiant, twelve hundred years ago? Yes, Tanaros thought; he had been. Twenty-and-eight years of age, hunted and despised throughout the realm. Kingslayer, they had called him. Wifeslayer, some had whispered. Cuckold. Murderer. He had yearned for death, fought for life. A summons tickling his fevered brain had led him to Darkhaven.

Still, he shook his head. “You’re young and angry at the world. It will pass.”

The brown eyes glinted. “As yours did?”

Tanaros awarded him a slight smile. “Anger is only the beginning, Midlander. It does not suffice unto itself.”

“What, then?” Speros shifted in his chains, but his gaze never left Tanaros’ face. “Tell me, General, and I will answer. Why do you serve him? For gold and glory, like the Staccians? Out of mindless loyalty, like the Fjeltroll?”

On his stool, Vorax coughed. Tanaros glanced at him.

“The Staccians’ bargain grants peace and prosperity to the many at a cost to the few,” he said. “And the Fjel are not so mindless as you think.”

“Yet that is not an answer,” Speros said. “Not your answer.”

“No.” Tanaros faced him. “I serve my Lord Satoris because, in my heart, I have declared myself the enemy of his enemies. Because I despise the hypocrisy and cowardice of the Six Shapers who oppose him. Because I despise the tyranny of certitude with which Haomane First-Born seeks to rule over the world, placing his Children above all others.” His voice grew stern. “Make no mistake, lad. For many years, his Lordship sought nothing more than to live unmolested, but great deeds are beginning to unfold. I tell you this, here and now; if you swear yourself to Lord Satoris’ service, you are declaring yourself an enemy of the Lord-of-Thought himself, and a participant in a battle to Shape the world anew.”

The prisoner grinned with his split, swollen lips. “I am not fond of the world as I have found it, General. You name a cause in which I would gladly believe.”

“Haomane’s Wrath is a fearsome thing,” Tanaros warned him.

Speros shrugged. “So was my Da’s.”

It was a boy’s comment, not a Man’s; and yet, the glint in the lad’s eyes suggested it was deliberate, issued as a reckless dare. Against his better judgement, Tanaros laughed. He had found fulfillment and purpose in service to Lord Satoris, in seizing his own warped destiny and pitting himself against the will of an overwhelming enemy. If it afforded him the chance to play a role in Shaping the world that had betrayed him, so much the better.

Did the lad deserve less?

“Vorax,” Tanaros said decisively. “Strike his chains.”

THE LAMPS BURNED LOW IN her quarters.