“War,” mused the Shaper, taking a step forward to gaze at the Font. The preternatural light shone on the seeping trail of ichor that glistened on his thigh, and the marrow-fire took on an edge of creeping blackness, like shadow made flame. “My Elder Brother gives me no peace, and this time he wagers all. Do you understand why this must be, Tanaros? Do you understand that this is your time?”

“Yes, my Lord.” His teeth chattered, his chest ached and blazed.

“I was stabbed with this dagger.” Lord Satoris reached out a hand, penetrating the blue-white fountain, and the flames grew tinged with darkness. “Thus.” His forefinger touched the crudely rounded knob that formed Godslayer’s hilt. Tanaros hissed through his teeth as the dagger’s light convulsed and the scar of his branding constricted. “To this day, the pain endures. And yet it is not so great as the pain of my siblings’ betrayal.”

“My Lord.” Tanaros drew a deep breath against the tightness in his chest. On the eve of war, he asked the question none of the Three had voiced. “Why did you refuse Haomane’s request?”

“Brave Tanaros.” The Shaper smiled without mirth. “There is danger in conversing with dragons. I saw too clearly the Shape of what-would-be if my Gift were withdrawn from Men, uncoupled forever from the Gift of thought. Out of knowledge, I refused; and out of love, love for Arahila, my Sister. Still.” He paused. “What did Haomane see, I wonder? Why did he refuse my Gift for his Children? Was it pride, or something more?”

“I know not, my Lord,” Tanaros said humbly.

“No.” Considering, Lord Satoris shook his head. “I think not. My Elder Brother was ever proud. And it matters not, now.” His hand tightened on Godslayer’s hilt. “Only this. Haomane seeks it, my General. That is what it comes to, in the end. Blood, and more blood, ending in mine—or his.”

“My Lord!” Tanaros gasped, tearing at his chest.

“Forgive me.” The Shaper withdrew from the marrow-fire, his hands closing on Tanaros’ upper arms. The power in them made Tanaros’ skin prickle. “Would you know what is in my heart?” he asked in a low voice. “I did not choose this, Tanaros Blacksword. But I will not go gently, either. Any of them … any of them!” He loosed his hold and turned away. “Any of them could cross the divide,” he said, softly. “Any of the Six. It is theirs to do, to defy Haomane’s will, to risk mortality. If they did …” He smiled sadly. “Oh, Arahila! Sister, together, you and I …”

Catching his breath, Tanaros bowed, not knowing what else to do before such immeasurable sorrow. “My Lord, we will do our best to deliver you Urulat.”

“Urulat.” The Shaper gathered himself. “Yes. Urulat. If I held Urulat in my palm, would it be enough to challenge Haomane’s sovereignty?” His laughter was harsh and empty. “Perhaps. I would like to find out.”