Satoris Third-Born laughed his awful, hollow laugh. “Ah, Cerelinde! You want me to say he will pursue you in all haste; that he will come here, seeking you. That Aracus Altorus will lay siege to Darkhaven itself. Shall I say it? It is true, after all.”

Hope and fear warred in her breast. “Add what will become of me, if he does?”

“Do you care so little for what he will destroy?” The Shaper’s voice was wistful. “Will you not even ask what it is?”

“My Lord—!”

“Never mind.” He turned away from her again, a dark shape in a dark corner. One hand moved, dismissing her. “Begone from me, daughter of Erilonde. Your presence does not ease my grief this night.”

She took her leave, then, rising and gathering her skirts. Beyond her the stairwell beckoned, the three-fold door at the top opening onto the shadowy, twisted passages that led back to her chambers, to the hidden door behind the tapestry. Hesitating on the first step, she glanced over her shoulder. He stood yet, motionless, a column of darkness, hands laced behind his back. “My Lord Satoris …”

“Go!”

His voice echoed like thunder.

Cerelinde fled. Behind her, the three-fold door closed with a mighty crash. On the far side, she found herself shaking.

In the thousands of years she had lived, she had never doubted the nature of truth. Now, uncertainty assailed her; doubt and insidious pity. A thing she had never before grasped had grown clear: the Sunderer believed his own lies. And in the irregular glimmer of the marrow-fire, a worm of doubt whispered a thought.

What if they were not lies?

“No.” Cerelinde said aloud. “It is madness that speaks, not truth.”

The words brought a measure of comfort; but only a measure. She made her way slowly through the walls of her prison, the sound of Satoris Banewreaker’s terrible, despairing laughter still echoing in her ears.

THREE RAVENS CIRCLED OVERHEAD.

Ushahin watched them, shading his eyes with one hand. The skies above the plains of Rukhar were a merciless blue and the sun’s bright light drove a spike of pain through his left eye. It didn’t matter. He was used to such pain, and his awareness rode upon it as if borne upward on a warm draught, rising skyward.

Come, little brothers, he thought. What have you seen?

A flurry of images filled his mind in reply; stone, grey and barren. Straggling weeds, bitter ants crawling. There was a paucity of life on the plains, and the ravens did not want to land.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. For that, he did not blame them.