“So be it,” Satoris said, taking hold of the dagger with both hands. “And you shall bear witness.” In his grip, Godslayer’s light intensified, bright as a rising sun. “Ah! It burns! Uru-Alat, how it burns!” Rubescent light exploded in the Chamber, and Vorax’s branded chest contracted. Struggling for breath, he dropped back to his knees. There he saw Satoris rising triumphant, a vast figure of darkness. Held aloft, Godslayer pulsed in his fist, bleeding light. It was a shard of the Souma itself, filled with the power of the world’s birth. Light seemed to illume the Shaper’s bones beneath his obdurate flesh, streamed from the wound in his thigh.

“My Lord!” Vorax-gasped, wheezing. “Please!”

“Death and death and death,” the Shaper whispered, ignoring him. “Oh, Malthus! Haomane’s Weapon, my Brother’s pawn! Do you think I do not know my true enemy ? Do you know what you bring to this world? Do you know how the story ends? Ah, no! So be it, Counselor. I bind you in the web you spun.” He tightened his grip on Godslayer and cried aloud, summoning his will in the form of a Shaper’s skills, and pouring his strength into the effort. “Let the Marasoumië be sealed!”

Attuned to the shard’s power, Vorax felt it, and closed his eyes in pain. What he had seen begin through the eyes of the Helm of Shadows came to pass. Deep below the surface of the earth across the vast nation of Urulat, node-points flickered and died, going ashen-grey.

A part of the world, dying, went dead.

“So,” Satoris said with vicious satisfaction. “Free yourself from that, Counselor!”

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-SEVEN

TANAROS’ BOOTS CRUNCHED IN THE sand as he walked away from the Stone Grove encampment. With every step his scabbard brushed his thigh in reminder, unwanted and unneeded. His Lord’s words echoed over and over in his head, and the sun blazing in his face made his ringing head ache.

Kill them. Kill them ALL!

“Lord General?”

“Go away, Speros,” he said without looking.

“It’s just … did Lord Satoris give us orders? Is he going to open the Ways and bring us home? Because I could have the lads back at the node—”

“Go away, Speros!”

There was a pause. “Aye, General. We’ll be at the campsite when you’re ready.”

When he was ready; there was a bitter jest! Lifting his head, Tanaros stared at the blinding face of the sun. He remembered how good it had felt in Beshtanag to see the sun’s rays gilding the forest after long years of Darkhaven’s eternal gloom. Did the sun still shine in Beshtanag? He supposed it did, despite what had befallen there. It seemed closer, here, where Haomane’s wrath had scorched the earth in pursuit of Satoris. What was it like, living with this surfeit of light?

Bare feet made no sound on the desert floor. “Slayer.”