Still, it had marked the Sunderer, cracking and blackening his flesh, weakening him so that he could not bear the touch of the sun. A whole Age he had hidden himself in the cold, cavernous fastnesses of Neherinach, among the Fjel, seething and healing, until he was fit to emerge and forge his way west, wreaking vengeance upon the world.

Of course the sun did not shine full upon Darkhaven.

“Your pardon, General,” Lilias said. “I did not think upon it.”

“No mind.” Tanaros smiled again, drawing a deep breath of mountain air. “I have missed it.”

Lilias paused, tucking a wind-tugged strand of hair behind her ear. The height was dizzying and the crags fell away beneath their feet, but she was at home, here. “Then why do you serve him?” she asked curiously.

“You know what I did?” His gaze flicked toward her.

She nodded.

She knew; the world knew. Twelve hundred years gone by, Tanaros Caveros had been the Commander of the King’s Guard in Altoria, sworn to serve Roscus Altorus, his kinsman. His wife had betrayed him, and lain with the King, giving birth to a babe of Altorus’ get. For that betrayal, Tanaros had throttled his beloved wife, had run his sworn King through on the point of a sword and fled, bloody-handed. And that was all Urulat had known of him until he returned, four hundred years later, at the head of the army of Darkhaven and destroyed the kingdom of Altoria.

“Well.” Tanaros stared into the distant gorge at the base of the mountain. “Then you know. My Lord Satoris …” He paused, fingering the unseen talisman. “He needed me, my lady. He was the only one who did, the only one who gave me a reason to live. A cause to fight, an army to lead. He is the only one who allowed me the dignity of my hatred.”

Small wonder, that.

Lilias knew something of the Sunderer’s pain, of the betrayal that had Shaped him; but that was between her and the dragon. She wondered how much Tanaros knew. It was difficult to imagine him committing the deeds that had driven him to the Shaper’s side, and yet he had not denied it. She wondered if he regretted them, and thought that he must. Even in the bright sunlight, there was a shadow that never left his eyes. “Come,” she said. “Calandor is waiting.”

And she led him, then, to the mouth of the cavern, scrabbling up the lip of the plateau, all dignity forgotten. It didn’t matter, here. The opening yawned like a mouth, and something moved within it, high above them. Stalagmites rose from the cavern floor, towering in the air in fantastic, tapering columns. Beyond, distant heaps of treasure glinted, gold and trinkets and sorcerers’ gewgaws, books and chalices and gems, all bearing the impress of their once-owners’ touch.

A smell of sulfur hung in the air, and Lilias laughed for pure joy.

“Calandor!”

“Liliasssss.”